Zane which clung to her all her life. She was seven when the men came from
Detroit to ransom the brothers, and she showed such grief when she learned

that Isaac was to be returned to his people that Tarhe refused to accept any
ransom for Isaac. As Myeerah grew older her childish fancy for the white boy

deepened into an intense love.
But while this love tendered her inexorable to Isaac on the question of giving

him his freedom, it undoubtedly saved his life as well as the lives of other
white prisoners, on more than one occasion.

To the white captives who fell into the hands of the Hurons, she was kind and
merciful; many of the wounded she had tended with her own hands, and many poor

wretches she had saved from the gauntlet and the stake. When her efforts to
persuade her father to save any one were unavailing she would retire in sorrow

to her lodge and remain there.
Her infatuation for the White Eagle, the Huron name for Isaac, was an old

story; it was known to all the tribes and had long ceased to be questioned. At
first some of the Delawares and the Shawnee braves, who had failed to win

Myeerah's love, had openly scorned her for her love for the pale face. The
Wyandot warriors to a man worshipped her; they would have marched straight

into the jaws of death at her command; they resented the insults which had
been cast on their princess, and they had wiped them out in blood: now none

dared taunt her.
In the spring following Isaac's recapture a very serious accident befell him.

He had become expert in the Indian game of ball, which is a game resembling
the Canadian lacrosse, and from which, in fact, it had been adopted. Goals

were placed at both ends of a level plain. Each party of Indians chose a goal
which they endeavored to defend and at the same time would try to carry the

ball over their opponent's line.
A well contested game of Indian ball presented a scene of wonderful effort and

excitement. Hundreds of strong and supple braves could be seen running over
the plain, darting this way and that, or struggling in a yelling, kicking,

fighting mass, all in a mad scramble to get the ball.
As Isaac had his share of the Zane swiftness of foot, at times his really

remarkable fleetness enabled him to get control of the ball. In front of the
band of yelling savages he would carry it down the field, and evading the

guards at the goal, would throw it between the posts. This was a feat of which
any brave could be proud.

During one of these games Red Fox, a Wyandot brave, who had long been
hopelessly in love with Myeerah, and who cordially hated Isaac, used this

opportunity for revenge. Red Fox, who was a swift runner, had vied with Isaac
for the honors, but being defeated in the end, he had yielded to his jealous

frenzy and had struck Isaac a terrible blow on the head with his bat.
It happened to be a glancing blow or Isaac's life would have been ended then

and there. As it was he had a deep gash in his head. The Indians carried him
to his lodge and the medicine men of the tribe were summoned.

When Isaac recovered consciousness he asked for Myeerah and entreated her not
to punish Red Fox. He knew that such a course would only increase his

difficulties, and, on the other hand, if he saved the life of the Indian who
had struck him in such a cowardly manner such an act would appeal favorably to

the Indians. His entreaties had no effect on Myeerah, who was furious, and who
said that if Red Fox, who had escaped, ever returned he would pay for his

unprovoked assault with his life, even if she had to kill him herself. Isaac
knew that Myeerah would keep her word. He dreaded every morning that the old

squaw who prepared his meals would bring him the new that his assailant had
been slain. Red Fox was a popular brave, and there were many Indians who

believed the blow he had struck Isaac was not intentional. Isaac worried
needlessly, however, for Red Fox never came back, and nothing could be learned

as to his wherabouts.
It was during his convalescence that Isaac learned really to love the Indian

maiden. She showed such distress in the first days after his injury, and such
happiness when he was out of danger and on the road to recovery that Isaac

wondered at her. She attended him with anxious solicitude; when she bathed and
bandaged his wound her every touch was a tender caress; she sat by him for

hours; her low voice made soft melody as she sang the Huron love songs. The
moments were sweet to Isaac when in the gatheringtwilight she leaned her head

on his shoulder while they listened to the evening carol of the
whip-poor-will. Days passed and at length Isaac was entirely well. One day

when the air was laden with the warm breath of summer Myeerah and Isaac walked
by the river.

"You are sad again," said Myeerah.
"I am homesick. I want to see my people. Myeerah, you have named me rightly.

The Eagle can never be happy unless he is free."
"The Eagle can be happy with his mate. And what life could be freer than a

Huron's? I hope always that you will grow content."
"It has been a long time now, Myeerah, since I have spoken with you of my

freedom. Will you ever free me? Or must I take again those awful chances of
escape? I cannot always live here in this way. Some day I shall be killed

while trying to get away, and then, if you truly love me, you will never
forgive yourself."

"Does not Myeerah truly love you?" she asked, gazing straight into his eyes,
her own misty and sad.

"I do not doubt that, but I think sometimes that it is not the right kind of
love. It is too savage. No man should be made a prisoner for no other reason

than that he is loved by a woman. I have tried to teach you many things; the
language of my people, their ways and thoughts, but I have failed to civilize

you. I cannot make you understand that it is unwomanly--do not turn away. I am
not indifferent. I have learned to care for you. Your beauty and tenderness

have made anything else impossible."
"Myeerah is proud of her beauty, if it pleases the Eagle. Her beauty and her

love are his. Yet the Eagle's words make Myeerah sad. She cannot tell what she
feels. The pale face's words flow swiftly and smoothly like rippling waters,

but Myeerah's heart is full and her lips are dumb."
Myeerah and Isaac stopped under a spreading elm tree the branches of which

drooped over and shaded the river. The action of the high water had worn away
the earth round the roots of the old elm, leaving them bare and dry when the

stream was low. As though Nature had been jealous in the interest of lovers,
she had twisted and curled the roots into a curiously shaped bench just above

the water, which was secluded enough to escape all eyes except those of the
beaver and the muskrat. The bank above was carpeted with fresh, dewy grass;

blue bells and violets hid modestly under their dark green leaves; delicate
ferns, like wonderful fairy lace, lifted their dainty heads to sway in the

summer breeze. In this quiet nook the lovers passed many hours.
"Then, if my White Chief has learned to care for me, he must not try to

escape," whispered Myeerah, tenderly, as she crept into Isaac's arms and laid
her head on his breast. "I love you. I love you. What will become of Myeerah

if you leave her? Could she ever be happy? Could she ever forget? No, no, I
will keep my captive."

"I cannot persuade you to let me go?"
"If I free you I will come and lie here," cried Myeerah, pointing to the dark

pool.
"Then come with me to my home and live there."

"Go with you to the village of the pale faces, where Myeerah would be scorned,
pointed at as your captors laughed at and pitied? No! No!"

"But you would not be," said Isaac, eagerly. "You would be my wife. My sister
and people will love you. Come, Myeerah save me from this bondage; come home

with me and I will make you happy."
"It can never be," she said, sadly, after a long pause. "How would we ever

reach the fort by the big river? Tarhe loves his daughter and will not give
her up. If we tried to get away the braves would overtake us and then even

Myeerah could not save your life. You would be killed. I dare not try. No, no,
Myeerah loves too well for that."

"You might make the attempt," said Isaac, turning away in bitter
disappointment. "If you loved me you could not see me suffer."

"Never say that again," cried Myeerah, pain and scorn in her dark eyes. "Can
an Indian Princess who has the blood of great chiefs in her veins prove her

love in any way that she has not? Some day you will know that you wrong me. I
am Tarhe's daughter. A Huron does not lie."

They slowly wended their way back to the camp, both miserable at heart; Isaac
longing to see his home and friends, and yet with tenderness in his heart for

the Indian maiden who would not free him; Myeerah with pity and love for hind
and a fear that her long cherished dream could never be realized.

One dark, stormy night, when the rain beat down in torrents and the swollen
river raged almost to its banks, Isaac slipped out of his lodge unobserved and

under cover of the pitchy darkness he got safely between the lines of tepees
to the river. He had just the opportunity for which he had been praying. He