What were the feelings of the faithful couple as their eyes wandered to the left of the map, where these huge letters confronted them, we can only surmise.

That they felt that ten thousand self-sacrificing men could be employed in this portion of the country we may well imagine.
As the evening meal was not yet ready, the missionary folded the map and fell to musing--musing of the future he had marked out for himself; enjoying the sweet approval of his conscience, higher and purer than any enjoyment of earth.

All at once came back the occurrence of the afternoon, which had been absent from his thoughts for the hour past.

But, now that it was recalled, it engaged his mind with redoubled force.
Could he be assured that it was a red-man who had fired the shot, the most unpleasant apprehension would be dissipated; but a suspicion _would_ haunt him, in spite of himself, that it was not a red-man, but a white, who had thus signified his hostility.

The rolling of the stones must have been simply to call his attention, and the rifle-shot was intended for nothing more than to signify that he was an enemy.
And who could this enemy be?
If a hunter or an adventurer, would he not naturally have looked upon any of his own race, whom he encountered in the wilderness, as his friends, and have hastened to welcome them?
What could have been more desirable than to unite with them in a country where whites were so scarce, and almost unknown?
Was it not contrary to all reason to suppose that a hermit or misanthrope would have penetrated thus far to avoid his brother man, and would have broken his own solitude by thus betraying his presence?
Such and similar were the questions Harvey Richter asked himself again and again, and to all he was able to return an answer.