"See here, De Croix!" he cried, excitedly, "the prodigal has had good cause to lag behind. He has found the lost fairy of this wilderness."

Before I could relieve myself of my burden,—for the mockery of his words angered me,—the Frenchman appeared at his side, and glanced down where his companion's finger pointed. For a moment he gazed; then he murmured a sharp French oath, and strode heavily down the sand-bank. There was a look in his face that caused me to lay the girl's head back upon the sand and rise hastily. The sudden movement awoke her, and her dark eyes looked up in startled confusion. By this time I had taken a quick step forward, and faced De Croix.

"This lady is under my protection," I said, a bit hotly, not relishing the manner of his approach, "and any disrespect from either of you will be unwarranted."

He paused, evidently surprised at my bold front, and his lip curled contemptuously.

"Ah, my young game-cock!" he ejaculated, surveying me curiously. "So you have spurs, and think you can use them? Well, I have no quarrel with you, but perchance I may have more reason to be the protector of this young lady than you suppose. Stand aside, Monsieur."

She had risen from the sand, and now stood erect beside me. I saw Jordan grinning in great enjoyment of the scene, and that De Croix's eyes were full of anger; but I would not stir. In my heart I felt a dull pain at his words, a fear that they might prove too true; but I remained where I was, determined to take no step aside until she herself should judge between us.

"Will you stand back, Monsieur?" he said, haughtily, dropping his hand upon the hilt of his rapier, "or shall I show you how a gentleman of France deals with such impertinence?"

If he thought to affright me with his bravado, he reckoned ill of my nature, for I have ever driven badly; my blood seems slow to heat, though it was warm enough now.

"If the lady wishes it, you may pass," I answered shortly, my eyes never leaving his face. "Otherwise, if you take so much as another step I will crush every bone in your body."

He saw I meant it, but there was no cowardice in him; and the steel had already flashed in the sunlight to make good his threat, when she touched me gently upon the shoulder.

"I beg you do not fight," she urged. "I am not worthy, and 't is all unneeded. Captain de Croix," and she swept him a curtsey which had the grace of a drawing-room in it, "'t is indeed most strange that we should meet again in such a spot as this. No contrast could be greater than the memory of our last parting. Yet is there any cause for quarrel because this young gentleman has preserved my life?"

De Croix hesitated, standing half-poised for attack, even his glib tongue and ready wit failing as she thus calmly questioned him. Indeed, as I later learned, there was that of witchery about this young girl which held him at bay more effectually than if she had been a princess of the royal blood,—a something that laughed his studied art to scorn. She noted now his hesitancy, and smiled slightly at the evidence of her power.

"Well, Monsieur, 'tis not often that your lips fail of words," she continued, archly. "Why is it I am made the subject of your quarrel?"

The slight sarcastic sting in her voice aroused him.

"By all the saints, Toinette!" he exclaimed, striving to appear at his ease, "this seems a poor greeting for one who has followed you through leagues of forest and across oceans of sand, hopeful at the least to gain a smile of welcome from your lips. Know you not I am here, at the very end of the world, for you?"

"I think it not altogether unlikely," she replied with calmness. "You have ever been of a nature to do strange things, yet it has always been of your own sweet will. Surely, Monsieur, I did never bid you come, or promise you a greeting."

"No," he admitted regretfully, "'t is, alas, true,"; and his eyes seemed to regain something of their old audacity. "But there was that about our parting,—you recall it, Toinette, in the shadow of the castle wall?—which did afford me hope. No one so fair as you can be without heart."

She laughed softly, as though his words recalled memories of other days, pressing back her hair within its ribbon.

"Such art of compliment seems more in place at Montreal than here. This is a land of deeds, not words, Monsieur. Yet, even though I confess your conclusion partially true, what cause does it yield why you should seek a quarrel with my good friend, John Wayland?"

"You know him, then?" he asked, in quick astonishment.

"Know him! Do you think I should be here otherwise? Fie, Captain de Croix, that you, the very flower of the French court, should express so poor a thought of one you profess to respect so highly!"

He looked from one to the other of us, scarce knowing whether she were laughing at him or not.

"Sacre!" he exclaimed at last. "I believe it not, Mademoiselle. The boy would have boasted of such an acquaintance long before this. You know him, you say,—for how long?"

"Since yester even, if you must know. But he has a face, Monsieur, a face frank and honest, not like that of a man long trained at courts to deceive. 'T is for that I trust him, and have called him friend."

"You may rue the day."

"No, Captain de Croix," she exclaimed, proudly. "I know the frontiersmen of my father's blood. They are brave men, and true of heart. This John Wayland is of that race." And she rested one hand lightly upon my arm.

The motion, simple as it was, angered him.

"You ask why I sought quarrel," he said sternly. "'T was because I suspected this uncouth hunter had wronged you. Now I understand 't was of your own choice. I wish you joy, Mademoiselle, of your new conquest."

I felt the girl's slight form straighten, and saw his bold eyes sink beneath the flame of her look.

"Captain de Croix," and every sentence stung like the lash of a whip, "those are cowardly words, unworthy a French gentleman and soldier. Did you leave all your courtesy behind in Montreal, or dream that in this wilderness I should cringe to any words you might speak? You wish the truth; you shall have it. Three days ago, through an accident, I drifted, in an oarless boat, out from the river-mouth at Fort Dearborn to the open lake. None knew of my predicament. A storm blew me helpless to the southward, and after hours of exposure to danger, and great mental anguish, I was driven ashore amid the desolation of this sand. This comrade of yours found me scarce alive, ministered to my sore need, protected me through the hours of the night, stood but now between me and your ribaldry, counting his life but little beside the reputation of a woman. He may not wear the latest Paris fashions, Monsieur, but he has proved himself a man."

"I meant not all I said, Toinette," he hastened to explain. "You will forgive, I know, for I was sorely hurt to find that some one else had done the duty that was plainly mine. Surely no rude backwoodsman is to come between us now?"

She glanced from the one to the other, with true French coquetry.

"Faith, I cannot tell, Monsieur," she said, gayly; "stranger things have happened, and 't is not altogether fine clothes that win the hearts of maidens on this far frontier. We learn soon to love strength, and the manly traits of the border. On my word, Monsieur, this John Wayland seems to have rare powers of body; I imagine he might even have crushed you, as he said."

"Think you so?" he asked, eying me curiously. "Yet 't is not always as it looks, Mademoiselle."

It came so quickly as to startle me. I was wondering at the smile that curled his lips, when he sprang upon me, casting his arms around my waist, and twining one leg about mine. The shock of this sudden and unexpected onset took me completely by surprise, and I gave back sharply, scarce realizing his purpose, till he had the under-hold, and sought to lift me for a throw. 'T was my weight alone that saved me, together with the rare good fortune that I had been leaning upon my gun.

As the breath came back to me, we locked grimly in a fierce struggle for the mastery. I had felt the straining grip of strong arms before, but De Croix surprised me,—he was like steel, quick of motion as a wildcat, with many a cunning French wrestling trick that tried me sorely. I heard a quick exclamation of surprise from the girl, a shout of delighted approval from Jordan, and then there was no sound but the harsh trampling of our feet and the heavy breathing. De Croix's effort was to lift me to his hip for a throw; mine, to press him backward by bodily strength. Both of us were sadly hindered by the sliding sand on which we strove. Twice I thought I had him, when my footing failed; and once he held me fairly uplifted from the ground, yet could not make the toss. 'T was a wild grapple, for when we had exhausted all the tricks we knew, it came to be a sheer test of physical endurance. Then, for the first time, I felt myself the master,—though he was a man, that gay French dandy, and never did my ribs crack under the pressure of a stronger hand. But I slowly pressed him back, inch by inch, struggling like a demon to the last, until I forced his shoulders to the sand.

For a moment he lay there, panting heavily; then the old frank and easy smile came upon his lips.

"Your hand, monsieur," he said; "that is, if it yet retains sufficient strength to lift me."

Upon his feet he brushed the sand from out his long hair, and bowed gallantly.

"I have done my very best, Mademoiselle. 'Tis defeat, but not disgrace, for I have made your giant puff to win. May I not hope it has won me restoration to your good graces?"



CHAPTER IX

IN SIGHT OF THE FLAG

It would have been impossible not to respond to his humor and good-nature, even had the girl been desirous of doing otherwise. From the first I felt that she liked this reckless courtier, whose easy words and actions made me realize more deeply than ever my own heaviness of thought and wit.

As he stood there now, bowing low before her, his clothing awry and his long hair in disorder from our fierce contest, she smiled upon him graciously, and extended a hand that he was prompt enough to accept and hold.

"Surely," she said mockingly, "no maid, even in the glorious days of chivalry, had ever more heroic figures to do battle for her honor. I accept the amende, Monsieur, and henceforth enroll you as knight at my court. Upon my word," and she looked about at the desolate sand-heaps surrounding us, "'tis not much to boast of here; nor, in truth, is Dearborn greatly better."

She paused, drawing her hand gently from his grasp, and holding it out toward me.

"Yet, Captain," she continued, glancing at him archly over her shoulder, "I have likewise another knight, this wood ranger, who hath also won my deep regard and gratitude."

De Croix scowled, and twisted his short mustache nervously.

"You put a thorn beside every rose," he muttered. "'T was your way in Montreal."

"A few hundred miles of travel do not greatly change one's nature. Either at Dearborn or Montreal, I am still Toinette. But, Messieurs, I have been told of a camp quite close at hand,—and yet you leave me here in the sand to famish while you quarrel."

The tone of her voice, while still full of coquetry, was urgent, and I think we both noted for the first time how white of face she was, and how wearily her eyes shone. The Frenchman, ever ready in such courtesies, was the first to respond by word and act.

"You are faint, Toinette," he cried, instantly forgetful of everything else, and springing forward to give her the aid of his arm. "I beg you lean upon me. I have been blind not to note your weakness before. 'T is indeed not a long walk to our camp from here,—yet, on my life, I know nothing of where it lies. Jordan," he added, speaking as if he were in command, "lead back along the path we came. Sacre! the old bear was gruff enough over the delay of our search; he will be savage now."

I know not how Jordan ever found his way back, for the sliding sand had already obliterated all evidences of former travel; but I walked sullenly beside him, leaving De Croix to minister to the needs of the girl as best he might. I felt so dull beside his ready tongue that, in spite of my real liking for the fellow, his presence angered me. 'T is strange we should ever envy in others what we do not ourselves possess, ignoring those traits of character we have which they no less desire. So to me then it seemed altogether useless to contend for the heart of a woman,—such a woman, at least, as this laughing Toinette,—against the practised wiles of so gay and debonair a cavalier. I steeled my ears to the light badinage they continued to indulge in, and ploughed on through the heavy sand at Jordan's heels, in no mood for converse with any one.

We came upon the camp suddenly, and discovered Captain Wells pacing back and forth, his stern face dark with annoyance. At sight of me, his passion burst all restraint.

"By God, sir!" he ejaculated, "if you were a soldier of mine, I would teach you what it meant to put us to such a wait as this! Know you not, Master Wayland, that the lives of helpless women and children may depend upon our haste? And you hold us here in idleness while you wander along the lake-shore like a moonstruck boy!"

Before I could answer these harsh words, the girl stepped lightly to my side, and standing there, her hand upon my arm, smiled back into his angry eyes. I do not think he had even perceived her presence until that moment; for he stopped perplexed.

"And am I not worth the saving, Monsieur le Capitaine," she questioned, pouting her lips, "that you should blame him so harshly for having stopped to rescue me?"

His harsh glance of angry resentment softened as he gazed upon her.

"Ah! was that it, then?" he asked, in gentler tones. "But who are you? Surely you are not unattended in this wilderness?"

"I am from Fort Dearborn," she answered, "and though only a girl, Monsieur, I have penetrated to the great West even farther than has Captain Wells."

"How know you my name?"

"Mrs. Heald told me she believed you would surely come when you learned of our plight at the Fort,—it was for that she despatched the man Burns with the message,—and she described you so perfectly that I knew at once who you must be. There are not so many white men travelling toward Dearborn now as to make mistake easy."

"And the Fort?" he asked, anxiously. "Is it still garrisoned, or have we come too late?"

"It was safely held two days ago," she answered, "although hundreds of savages in war-paint were then encamped without, and holding powwow before the gate. No attack had then been made, yet the officers talked among themselves of evacuating."

For a moment the stern soldier seemed to have forgotten her, his eyes fastened upon the western horizon.

"The fools!" he muttered to himself, seemingly unconscious that he spoke aloud; "yet if I can but reach there in time, my knowledge of Indian nature may accomplish much."

He turned quickly, with a sharp glance over his military force.

"We delay no longer. Jordan, do you give this lady your horse for to-day's journey, and go you forward on foot with the Miamis. Watch them closely, and mark well everything in your front as you move."

"But, Captain Wells," she insisted, as he turned away, "I am exceedingly hungry, and doubt not this youth would also be much the better for a bit of food."

"It will have to be eaten as you travel, then," he answered, not unkindly, but with all his thought now fixed on other things, "for our duty is to reach Dearborn at the first moment, and save those prisoned there from death, and worse."

I shall always remember each detail of that day's march, though I saw but little of Toinette save in stolen glances backward, Wells keeping me close at his side, while De Croix, as debonair as ever, was her constant shadow, ministering assiduously to her wants and cheering her journey with agreeable discourse. I heard much of their chatter, earnestly as I sought to remain deaf to it. To this end Wells aided me but little, for he rode forward in stern silence, completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

During the first few hours we passed through a dull desolation of desert sand, the queerly shaped hills on either side scarcely breaking the dead monotony, although they often hid from our sight our advance scouts, and made us feel isolated and alone. Once or twice I imagined I heard the deepening roar of waves bursting upon the shore-line to our right, but could gain no glimpse of blue water through those obscuring dunes. We were following a well-worn Indian trail, beaten hard by many a moccasined foot; and at last it ran from out the coarser sand and skirted along the western beach, almost at the edge of the waves. 'T was a most delightful change from the cramped and narrowed vision that had been ours so long. Our faces were now set almost directly northward; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the noble expanse of water heaving and tumbling in the dazzling sunlight. Indeed, there was little else about our course to attract attention; the shore in front lay clear and unbroken, bearing a sameness of outline that wearied the vision; each breaking wave was but the type of others that had gone before, and each jutting point of land was the picture of the next to follow. To our left, there extended, parallel to our course of march, a narrow ridge of white and firmly beaten sand, as regular in appearance as the ramparts of a fort. Here and there a break occurred where in some spring flood a sudden, rush of water had burst through. Glancing curiously down these narrow aisles, as we rode steadily onward, I caught fleeting glimpses of level prairie land, green with waving grasses, apparently stretching to the western horizon bare of tree or shrub. At first, I took this to be water also; until I realized that I looked out upon the great plains of the Illinois.

The Captain was always chary of speech; now he rode onward with so stern a face, that presently I spoke in inquiry.

"You are silent, Captain Wells," I said. "One would expect some rejoicing, as we draw so close to the end of our long journey."

He glanced aside at me.

"Wayland," he said slowly, "I have been upon the frontier all my life, and have, as you know, lived in Indian camps and shared in many a savage campaign. I am too old a man, too tried a soldier, ever to hesitate to acknowledge fear; but I tell you now, I believe we are riding northward to our deaths."

I had known, since first leaving the Maumee, that danger haunted the expedition; yet these solemn words came as a surprise.

"Why think you thus?" I asked, with newly aroused anxiety, my thoughts more with the girl behind than with myself. "Mademoiselle Toinette tells me the Fort is strong and capable of defence, and surely we are already nearly there."

"The young girl yonder with De Croix? It may be so, if it also be well provisioned for a long siege, as it is scarce likely any rescue party will be despatched so far westward. If I mistake not, Hull will have no men to spare. Yet I like not the action of the savages about us. 'T is not in Indian nature to hold off, as these are doing, and permit reinforcements to go by, when they might be halted so easily. 'T would ease my mind not a little were we attacked."

"Attacked? by whom?"

He faced me with undisguised surprise, a sarcastic smile curling his grim mouth. His hand swept along the western sky-line.

"By those red spies hiding behind that ridge of sand," he answered shortly. "Boy, where are your eyes not to have seen that every step we have taken this day has been but by sufferance of the Pottawattomies? Not for an hour since leaving camp have we marched out of shot from their guns; it means treachery, yet I can scarce tell where or how. If they have spared us this long, there is some good Indian reason for it."

I glanced along that apparently desolate sandbank, barely a hundred feet away, feeling a thrill of uneasiness sweep over me at the revelation of his words. My eyes saw nothing strange nor suspicious; but I could not doubt his well-trained instinct.

"It makes my flesh creep," I admitted; "yet surely the others do not know. Hear how the Frenchman chatters in our rear!"

"The young fool!" he muttered, as the sound of a light laugh reached us; "it will prove no jest, ere we are out of this again. Yet, Wayland," and his voice grew stronger, "the red devils must indeed mean to pass us free,—for there is Fort Dearborn, and, unless my sight deceive me, the flag is up."

I lifted my eyes eagerly, and gazed northward where his finger pointed.



CHAPTER X

A LANE OF PERIL

We passed a group of young cottonwoods, the only trees I had noted along the shore; and a few hundred feet ahead of us, the ridge of sand, which had obscured our westward view so long, gradually fell away, permitting the eye to sweep across the wide expanse of level plain until halted by a distant row of stunted trees that seemed to line a stream of some importance. As Captain Wells spoke, my glance, which had been fixed upon these natural objects, was instantly attracted by a strange scene of human activity that unfolded to the north and west.

The land before us lay flat and low, with the golden sun of the early afternoon resting hot upon it, revealing each detail in an animated panorama wherein barbarism and civilization each bore a conspicuous part. The Fort was fully a mile and a half distant, and I could distinguish little of its outward appearance, save that it seemed low and solidly built, like a stockade of logs set upon end in the ground. It appeared gloomy, grim, inhospitable, with its gates tightly closed, and no sign of life anywhere along its dull walls; yet my heart was thrilled at catching the bright colors of the garrison flag as the western breeze rippled its folds against the blue background of the sky.

But it was outside those log barriers that our eyes encountered scenes of the greatest interest,—a mingling of tawdry decoration and wild savagery, where fierce denizens of forest and plain made their barbaric show.

No finer stage for such a spectacle could well be conceived. Upon one side stretched the great waste of waters; on the other, level plains, composed of yellow sand quickly merging into the green and brown of the prairie, while, scattered over its surface, from the near lake-shore to the distant river, were figures constantly moving, decked in gay feathers and daubed with war-paint. Westward from the Fort, toward the point where a branch of the main river appeared to emerge from the southward, stood a large village of tepees, the sun shining yellow and white on their deerskin coverings and making an odd glow in the smoke that curled above the lodge-poles. From where we rode it looked to be a big encampment, alive with figures of Indians. My companion and I both noted, and spoke together of the fact, that they all seemed braves; squaws there may have been, but of children there were none visible.

Populous as this camp appeared, the plain stretching between it and us was literally swarming with savages. A few were mounted upon horses, riding here and there with upraised spears, their hair flying wildly behind them, their war-bonnets gorgeous in the sunshine. By far the greater number, however, were idling about on foot, stalwart, swarthy fellows, with long black locks, and half-naked painted forms. One group was listening to the words of a chief; others were playing at la crosse; but most of them were merely moving restlessly here and there, not unlike caged wild animals, eager to be free.

I heard Captain Wells draw in his breath sharply.

"As I live!" he ejaculated, "there can be scarce less than a thousand warriors in that band,—and no trading-party either, if I know aught of Indian signs."

Before I could answer him, even had I any word to say, a chief broke away from the gathering mass in our immediate front, and rode headlong down upon us, bringing his horse to its haunches barely a yard away.

He was a large, sinewy man, his face rendered hideous by streaks of yellow and red, wearing a high crown of eagle feathers, with a scalp of long light-colored hair, still bloody, dangling at his belt. For a moment he and Captain Wells looked sternly into each other's eyes without speaking. Then the savage broke silence.

"Wau-mee-nuk great brave," he said, sullenly, in broken English, using Wells's Indian name, "but him big fool come here now. Why not stay with Big Turtle? He tell him Pottawattomie not want him here."

"Big Turtle did tell me," was the quiet answer, "that the Pottawattomies had made bad medicine and were dancing the war-dance in their villages; but I have met Pottawattomies before, and am not afraid. They have been my friends, and I have done them no wrong."

He looked intently at the disguised face before him, seeking to trace the features. "You are Topenebe," he said at last.

"True," returned the chief, with proud gravity. "You serve me well once; for that I come now, and tell you go back,—there is trouble here."

Wells's face darkened.

"Have I ever been a coward," he asked indignantly, "that I should turn and run for a threat? Think you, Topenebe, that I fear to sing the death-song? I have lived in the woods, and gone forth with your war-parties; am I less a warrior, now that I fight with the people of my own race? Go take your warning to some squaw; we ride straight on to Dearborn, even though we have to fight our way."

The Indian glanced, as Wells pointed, toward the Fort, and sneered.

"All old women in there," he exclaimed derisively. "Say this to-day, and that to-morrow. They shut the gates now to keep Indian on outside. No trade, no rum, no powder,—just lies. But they no keep back our young men much longer." His face grew dark, and his eyes angry.

"Why you bring them?" he asked hotly, designating our escort of Miamis, already shrinking from the taunts of the gathering braves. "They dog Indians, bad medicine; they run fast when Pottawattomie come."

"Don't be so certain about that, Topenebe," retorted Wells, shortly. "But we cannot stop longer here; make way, that we may pass along, Jordan, push on with your advance through that rabble there."

The Indian chief drew his horse back beside the trail, and we moved slowly forward, our Indian guides slightly in advance, and exhibiting in every action the disinclination they felt to proceed, and their constantly increasing fear of the wild horde that now resorted to every means in their power, short of actual violence, to retard their progress. As they closed in more closely around us, taunting the Miamis unmercifully, even shaking tomahawks in their faces, with fierce eyes full of hatred and murder, I drew back my horse until I ranged up beside Mademoiselle Antoinette, and thus we rode steadily onward through that frenzied, howling mass, the girl between De Croix and me, who thus protected her on either side.

It was truly a weary ride, full of insult, and perchance of grave peril had we faced that naked mob less resolutely. Doubtless the chiefs restrained their young men somewhat, but more than once we came within a hair's-breadth of serious conflict. They hemmed us in so tightly that we could only walk our horses; and twice they pressed upon Jordan so hard as to halt him altogether, bunching his cowardly Miamis, and even striking them contemptuously with their blackened sticks. The second time this occurred, Captain Wells rode forward to force a path, driving the spurs into his horse so quickly that the startled animal fairly cut a lane through the crowded savages before they could draw back. Naught restrained them from open violence but their knowledge of that stern-faced swarthy soldier who fronted them with such dauntless courage. Hundreds in that swarm had seen him before, when, as the adopted son of a great war-chief of the Miamis he had been at their side in many a wild foray along the border.

"Wau-mee-nuk, the white chief," passed from lip to lip; and sullenly, slowly, reluctantly, the frenzied red circle fell back, as he pressed his rearing horse full against them.

How hideous their painted faces looked, as we slowly pushed past them, their lips shrieking insult, their sinewy hands gripping at our stirrups, their brandished weapons shaken in our faces. With firm-set lips and watchful eyes I rode, bent well forward, so as best to protect the girl, my rifle held across my saddle pommel. Twice some vengeful arm struck me a savage blow, and once a young devil with long matted hair hanging over his fierce eyes thrust a sharpened stake viciously at the girl's face. I struck with quick-clinched hand, and he reeled back into the mass with a sharp cry of pain. My eyes caught the sudden dazzle, as De Croix whipped out his rapier.

"Not that, Monsieur!" I cried hastily, across her horse's neck. "Use the hilt, not the blade, unless you wish to die."

He heard me above the clamor, and with a quick turn of the weapon struck fiercely at a scowling brave who grasped at his horse's rein. He smiled pleasantly across at me, his fingers twisting his small mustache.

"'T is doubtless good advice, friend Wayland," he said, carelessly, "but these copper-colored devils are indeed most annoying upon this side, and I may lose my temper ere we reach the gate."

"For the sake of her who rides between us, I beg that you hold in hard, Monsieur," I answered. "'T would be overmuch to pay, I imagine, for a hot brain."

I glanced at her as I spoke, scarcely conscious even then that I had removed my eyes from the threatening mob that pressed me, though I know I must have done so, for I retain the picture of her yet. She rode facing me, although her saddle was of the old army type with merely a folded blanket to soften its sharp contours, and her foot could barely find firm support within the narrow strap above the wooden stirrup. She sat erect and easily, swaying gently to the slow step of the horse. Her face was pale, but there was no evidence of timidity in her dark eyes, and she smiled at me as our glances met.

"You are surely a brave girl, Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed, unable to restrain my admiration. "'T is a scene to try any nerves."

"Yet almost worth the danger," she returned softly, "to realize what men can be in such stress of need. You are the real—Beware of that half-breed, Monsieur!"

Her last words were a quick warning, yet my eyes were already upon the fellow, and as he dodged down, knife in hand, to aim a vicious lunge at the forward leg of her horse, I brought the stock of my rifle crunching against his shoulder. The next instant we had passed over his naked body as he lay gasping in the trail.

"See!" she cried, with eagerness. "The gates are opened!"

We were possibly a hundred yards from the southern front of the stockade, when I glanced forward and saw the level ground between a seething mass of savage forms, so densely wedged together as to block further progress. I could see hundreds of brown sinewy arms uplifted from a sea of faces to brandish weapons of every description, and marked how the Miamis cowered like whipped curs behind the protection of Wells's horse, while close beside him stood Jordan, erect and silent as it on parade, a rifle grasped in his hands, his head bare, a great welt showing redly across his white forehead.

A little party, hardly more than twenty infantry-men, marched steadily out from the open gateway of the Fort. The first file bore bayonets fixed upon their guns, and the naked savages fell slowly back before the polished steel. It was smartly done, and it thrilled my blood to note with what silent determination that small band of disciplined men pressed their way onward, passing through the threatening mass of redskins as indifferently as if they had been forest trees. A young, smooth-faced fellow, wearing a new officer's uniform, led them, sword in hand, a smile of light contempt upon his lips.

"Clear the space wider, Campbell!" he said sternly, to the big corporal at his side. "Swing your files to left and right, and push the rabble out of the way."

They did it with the butts of their guns, laughing at the brandished knives and tomahawks and the fierce painted faces that scowled at them, paying no apparent heed to the taunts and insults showered from every side. There were some stones thrown, a few blows were struck, but no rifle-shot broke the brief struggle. The young officer strode forward down the open space, and fronted our advance.

"I presume this is Captain Wells, from Fort Wayne?" he said, lifting his cap as he spoke.

"It is," was the reply, "and I am very glad to find that you still hold Fort Dearborn."

The other's frank and boyish face darkened slightly, as if at an unpleasant memory.

"'T is no fault of some," he muttered hastily; then he checked himself. "We are glad to greet you, Captain Wells," he added, in a more formal tone, glancing about upon us, "and your party. I am Ensign Ronan, of the garrison; and if you will kindly pass between my guard lines, you will find Captain Heald awaiting you within."

Thus we rode freely forward, with the guarding soldiery on either side of us, their faces to the howling savages; we passed in at the great southern gate, and halted amid the buildings of old Fort Dearborn.



CHAPTER XI

OLD FORT DEARBORN

It makes my old head dizzy to recall the events of that hour across the years that have intervened. Possibly I, as I write these words, am the only person living who has looked upon that old stockade and taken part in its tragic history. What a marvellous change has less than a century witnessed! Once the outermost guard of our western frontier, it is now the site of one of the great cities of two continents. To me, who have seen these events and changes, it possesses more than the wonderment of a dream.

That day, as I rode forward, I saw but little of the Fort's formation, for my eyes and thoughts were so filled with those frenzied savages that hemmed us about, and the cool deployment of the few troops that guarded our passage-way, that everything else made but a dim impression. Yet the glimpse I obtained, even at that exciting moment, together with the subsequent experiences that came to me, have indelibly impressed each detail of the rude Fort upon my memory.

It stands before me now, clear-cut and prominent, its outlines distinct against the background of blue water or green plains. In that early day the Fort was a fairly typical outpost of the border, like scores of others scattered at wide and irregular intervals from the Carolina mountains upon the south to the joining of the great lakes at the north, forming one link in the thin chain of frontier fortifications against Indian treachery and outbreak. It bore the distinction, among the others, of being the most advanced and exposed of all, and its small garrison was utterly isolated and alone, a forlorn hope in the heart of the great wilderness.

The Fort had been erected nine years before our arrival, upon the southern bank of a dull and sluggish stream, emptying into the Great Lake from the west, and known to the earlier French explorers as the river Chicagou. The spot selected was nearly that where an old-time French trading-post had stood, although the latter had been deserted for so long that no remnant of it yet lingered when the Americans first took possession, and its site remained only as a vague tradition of those Indian tribes whose representatives often visited these waters.

The earliest force despatched by the government to this frontier post erected here a simple stockade of logs. These were placed standing on end, firmly planted in the ground and extending upward some fifteen feet, their tops sharpened as an additional protection against savage assailants. This log stockade was built quite solid, save for one main entrance, facing to the south and secured by a heavy, iron-studded gate, with a subterranean or sunken passage leading out beneath the north wall to the river, protected by a door which could be raised only from within. The enclosure thus formed was sufficiently large to contain a somewhat restricted parade-ground, about which were grouped the necessary buildings of the garrison, the quarters for the officers, the soldiers' barracks, the commandant's office, the guardhouse, and the magazine. These rude structures were built in frontier style, of cleaved logs, and with one exception were but a single story in height, so that their roofs of rived shingles were well below the protection of the palisade of logs. Besides these interior buildings, two block-houses were built, each constructed so that the second story overhung the first, one of them, standing at the southeast and one at the northwest corner of the palisaded walls. A narrow wooden support, or walk, accessible only from one or the other of these block-houses, enabled its defenders to stand within the enclosure and look out over the row of sharpened logs.

At the time of our arrival the protective armament of this primitive Fort, besides the small-arms of the garrison, consisted of three pieces of light artillery, brass six-pounders of antique pattern, relics of the Revolution. Outside the Fort enclosure, only a few yards to the west along the river bank, stood the agency building, or, as it was often termed, "goods factory," built for purposes of trading with the Indians, so that it would not be necessary to open the Fort to them. This agency building was a rather large two-story log house, not erected for any purposes of defence. Along the southern side of the stream, in both directions, the soldiers had excavated numerous root-houses, or cellars, in which to store the products of their summer gardens,—these excavations fairly honeycombing the bank.

Such was Fort Dearborn in August of the fatal year 1812. It stood ugly, rude, isolated, afar from any help in time of need. Its nearest military neighbor lay directly across the waters of the Great Lake, where a small detachment of troops, scarcely less isolated than itself, garrisoned a similar stockade near the mouth of the river Saint Joseph. To the westward, the vast plains, as yet scarce pressed by the adventurous feet of white explorers, faded away into a mysterious unknown country, roamed over by countless tribes of savages; to the northward lay an unbroken wilderness for hundreds of leagues, save for a few scattered traders at Green Bay, until the military outpost at Mackinac was reached; to the eastward rolled the waters of the Great Lake, storm-swept and unvexed by keel of ship, an almost unsurpassable barrier, along whose shore adventurous voyagers crept in log and bark canoes; while to the southward alternating prairie and timber-land stretched away for unnumbered leagues the Indian hunting-grounds,—broken only by a few scattered settlements of French half-breeds.

From the walls of the Fort the eye ranged over a dull and monotonous landscape, nowhere broken by signs of advancing civilization or even of human presence. A few hundred yards to the east the waves of Lake Michigan broke upon the wide, sandy beach, whence the tossing waters stretched away in tumultuous loneliness to their blending with the distant sky. Southward, along the shore of the lake, the nearly level plain, brown and sun-parched, soon merged into rounded heaps of wind-drifted sand, barely diversified by a few straggling groups of cottonwoods. To the westward extended the boundless prairie, flat and bare as a floor, except where the southern fork of the little river cut its way through the soft loam, and gave rise to a scrubby growth of cottonwood and willow; while northward, across the main body of the river, the land appeared more rugged and broken, and somewhat heavily wooded with oak and other forest trees, but equally devoid of evidences of habitation.

In all this wide survey from the little knoll on which the Fort stood, five houses only were visible. These were built roughly of logs in the most primitive style of the frontier, and, with a single exception, were now deserted by their occupants, who had retreated for safety to the stockade of the Fort. The single exception was the larger and more ambitious dwelling standing on the north bank of the river, occupied by John Kinzie and his family, himself an old-time Indian trader, whose honesty and long dealing with the savages had made him confident of their friendship and fidelity. At one time, however, so threatening had become the strange bands that flocked in toward Dearborn, as crows to a feast, he also deserted his home, and, with those dependent upon him, sought refuge within the Fort walls; but, influenced by the pledge of the Pottawattomies, and believing that safety lay in trusting to their friendship, they had returned to their own house. The other cabins were scattered to the westward of the stockade, close to the river bank. These dwellings had been occupied by the families of Ouilmette, Burns, and Lee, respectively; while the last named owned a second cabin, built some distance up the south branch of the river, and occupied by a tenant named Liberty White.

The prospect was in truth depressing to one accustomed to other and more civilized surroundings. A spirit of loneliness, of fearful isolation, seemed to hover over the restless waters upon the one hand, and those vast silent plains on the other; sea and sky, sky and sand, met the wearied eye wherever it wandered. The scene was unspeakably solemn in its immensity and loneliness; while irresistibly the thought would wander over those fateful leagues of prairie and forest that stretched unbrokenly between this far frontier and the few scattered and remote settlements that were its nearest neighbors.

It was not until some time later that these sombre reflections pressed upon me with all their force. After the excitement of our first boisterous greeting was over, and I found opportunity to lean across the top of the guarded stockade and gaze alone over the desolate spectacle I have endeavored to describe, I could feel more acutely the hopelessness of our situation and the danger threatening us from every side. But at the moment of our entrance, all my interest and attention had been centred upon the scenes and persons immediately about me. It was my first experience within the stockaded walls of an armed government post. The scene was new to my young senses, and, in spite of the excitement that still heated my blood, I looked upon it with such absorbing interest as to be forgetful for the moment even of the fair girl who rode in at my side.

The dull clang of the heavy iron-bound gate behind us was a welcome sound after the fierce buffetings of our perilous passage; yet it only partially shut off the savage howlings, while above the hideous uproar came the sharp reports of several guns. But the instant bustle and confusion within scarcely allowed opportunity to notice this disorder; moreover, there had come to us a sense of safety and security,—we were at last within the barriers we had struggled so long to gain. However the savage hordes might rage without, we were now beyond their reach, and might take breath again.

Our little party, closely bunched together, with Wells and the timorous Miamis at its head, surged quickly through between the bars, and came to a halt in an open space, evidently the parade-ground of the garrison, the bare earth worn smooth and hard by the trampling of many feet. A tall flag-pole rose near the centre, and the wavering shadow of the banner at its top extended to the eastern edge of the enclosure. Out from the log-houses which bordered this enclosure there came a group of people to welcome us,—officers and soldiers, women neatly dressed and with bright intelligent faces, women of rougher mould attired in calico or deerskin, hardy-looking men in rude hunter's garb, picturesque French voyageurs wiry of limb and dark of skin, an Indian or two, silent, grave, emotionless, a single negro, and trailing behind them a number of dirty, delighted children, and dogs of every breed and degree. It was a motley gathering, and appeared almost like a multitude as it hurried forth into the open parade-ground, and surged joyfully about us, all eager to welcome us to Dearborn, and hopeful that we brought them encouragement and relief. We were of their own race, a link between them and the far-distant East; and our coming told them they were not forgotten.

The odd commingling of tongues, the constant crowding and scraps of conversation, the volley of questioning from every side, was confusing and unintelligible. I could gain only glimpses here and there of what was going on; nor was I able to judge with any accuracy of the number of those present. I looked down upon their appealing, anxious faces, with a sad heart. In some way the sight of them brought back thoughts of the savage, howling mob without, clamoring for blood, through which we had won our passage by sheer good-fortune; of those leagues of untracked forest amid whose glooms we had ploughed our way. I thought of these things as I gazed upon the helpless women and children thronging about me, and my heart sank as I realized how great indeed was the burden resting upon us all, how frail the hope of safety. Death, savage, relentless, inhuman death in its most frightful guise with torture and agony unspeakable, lurked along every mile of our possible retreat; nor could I conceive how its grim coming might long be delayed by that palisade of logs. We were hopeless of rescue. We were alone, deserted, the merest handful amid the unnumbered hordes of the vast West. Swift and terrible as this conception was when it swept upon me, it grew deeper as I learned more fully the details of our situation.

Just in front of where I lingered in my saddle, the crush slightly parted, and I noticed a tall man step forward,—a fair man, having a light beard slightly tinged with gray, and wearing the undress uniform of a captain of infantry. A lady, several years his junior, stood at his side, her eyes bright with expectancy. At sight of them, Captain Wells instantly sprang from his horse and hastened forward, his dark face lighted by one of his rare smiles.

"Captain," he exclaimed, clasping the officers hand warmly, and extending his other hand in greeting to the lady, "I am glad indeed to have reached you in time to be of service; and you, my own dear niece,—may we yet be permitted to bring you safely back to God's country."

I was unable to catch the reply of either; but I noted that the lady flung her arms about the speaker's neck and kissed his swarthy cheek.

Then Captain Wells spoke more loudly, so that his words reached my ears.

"But, Heald," he said, "what means all this litter of garrison equipment lying scattered about? Surely you have no present intention to leave the Fort, in face Of that savage mob out yonder?"

"'T is the orders of General Hull," was the low; and somewhat hesitating response, "and the Pottawattomie chiefs have pledged us escort around the head of the lake. But this is no place to discuss the matter. As soon as possible I would speak with you more fully in my office."

The look of undisguised amazement upon Wells's face startled me; and as I glanced about me, wondering whom I might take counsel with, I was astonished to note the horse that Toinette had ridden standing with empty saddle. De Croix, negligently curling his mustache between his slender fingers, gazed at me with a blank stare.

"Where is Mademoiselle?" I questioned anxiously, as he remained silent. "Surely she was with us as we came in!"

"Pish! of course," he returned carelessly; "if she chooses to dismount and rejoin her friends, what has that to do with John Wayland? Cannot the girl so much as move without your permission, Monsieur?"

The words were insolent, not less than the manner that accompanied them. Instantly there flashed upon me the thought that this Frenchman sought a quarrel with me; but I could conceive no reason therefor, and was not greatly disposed to accommodate him.

"'T was no more than curiosity that urged my question," I answered, assuming not to notice his bravado. "I was so deeply interested in other things as to have forgotten her presence."

"Something no lady is ever likely to forgive," he interjected. "But what think you they propose doing with us here?"

As if in direct answer to his question, the young officer who had met us without now elbowed his way through the throng, until he stood at our horses' heads.

"Gentlemen," he said, with a quick glance into our faces, "dismount and come within. There is but little to offer you here at Dearborn, we have been cut off from civilization so long; but such as we possess will be shared with you most gladly."

De Croix chatted with him in his easy, familiar manner, as we slowly crossed the parade; while I followed them in silence, my thoughts upon the disappearance of Toinette and the Frenchman's sudden show of animosity. My glance fell upon the groups of children scattered along our path, and I wondered which among them might prove to be Roger Matherson's little one. At the entrance of one of the log houses fronting the parade,—a rather ambitious building of two stories, if I remember rightly, with a narrow porch along its front,—an officer was standing upon the step, talking with a sweet-faced woman who appeared scarce older than seventeen.

"Lieutenant Helm," said Ronan, politely, "this is Captain de Croix, of the French army."

He presented De Croix to Mrs. Helm, and then turned inquiringly toward me.

"I believe I have failed to learn your name?"

"I am simply John Wayland," I answered, and, with a glance at my face, Lieutenant Helm cordially extended his hand.

"We are greatly pleased to welcome you both," he said earnestly, but with a grave side-glance at his young wife, "though I fear we have little to offer you except privation and danger."

"How many have you in the garrison?" I questioned, my eyes upon the moving figures about us. "It looks a crowd, in that narrow space."

"They are all there who are able to crawl," he said, with a grave smile. "But in this case our numbers are a weakness. In the garrison proper we have four commissioned officers, with fifty-four non-commissioned officers and privates. To these may be added twelve settlers acting as militiamen, making a total defensive force of seventy men. But fully twenty-five of these are upon the sick-list, and totally unfit for active duty; while we are further burdened by having under our protection twelve women and twenty children. It almost crazes one to think of what their fate may be."

"Your defences look strong enough to keep off savages," broke in De Croix, "and I am told there is a sufficiency of provisions. Saint Guise! I have seen places where I had rather reside in my old age; yet with plenty of wine, some good fellows, and as lovely women as have already greeted me here, 'twill not prove so bad for a few weeks."

Helm glanced at him curiously; then his gaze, always gravely thoughtful, wandered back to me.

"We are to evacuate the Fort," he said quietly.

"Evacuate?" echoed the Frenchman, as if the word were displeasing. "'T is a strange military act, in my judgment, and one filled with grave peril. Does such decision come from a council?"

"There has been no council," broke in Ronan, hastily. "The commander has not honored his officers by calling one. Such were the orders as published on parade this morning."

He would have added more, but Helm warned him, by a sudden look of disapproval.

"I understand," he explained quietly, "that the instructions received from General Hull at Detroit were imperative, and that Captain Heald was left no discretion in the matter."

"I have not yet discovered the man who has seen the orders," exclaimed the Ensign hotly, "and we all know it means death."

Helm faced him sternly.

"A soldier's first duty is obedience," he said shortly, "and we are soldiers. Gentlemen, will you not come in?"



CHAPTER XII

THE HEART OF A WOMAN

As I sat in the officers' quarters, listening to the conversation regarding existing conditions at the Fort and the unrest among the Indians of the border, my thoughts kept veering from sudden and ungracious disappearance of Mademoiselle to the early seeking after that hapless orphan child for whose sake I had already travelled so far and entered into such danger. Evidently, if I was to aid her my quest must be no longer interrupted.

With characteristic gallantry, De Croix had at once been attracted toward Lieutenant Helm's young and pretty bride, and they two had already forgotten all sense of existing peril in a most animated discussion of the latest fashionable modes in Montreal. I was not a little amused by the interest manifest in her soft blue eyes as she spoke with all the art of a woman versed in such mysteries, and at the languid air of elegance with which he bore himself. Meanwhile, I answered as best I might the flood of questions addressed to me by the two officers, who, having been shut out from the world so long, were naturally eager for military news from Fort Wayne and from the seat of government. As these partially ceased, I asked: "Has a date been set for the abandonment of the Fort?"

"We march out upon the fifteenth," was Helm's reply, "the day after to-morrow, unless something occurs meanwhile to change Captain Heald's plans. I confess I dread its coming, much as I imagine a condemned man might dread the date of his execution," and his grave eyes wandered toward his young wife, as if fearful his words might be overheard by her. "There are other lives than mine endangered, and their peril makes duty doubly hard."

"Lieutenant," I said, recalled to my own mission by these words, "I myself am seeking to be of service to one here,—the young daughter of one Roger Matherson, an old soldier who died at this post last month. He was long my father's faithful comrade in arms, and with his dying breath begged our care for his orphan child. It has come to us as a sacred trust, and I was despatched upon this errand. Can you tell me where this girl is to be found?"

Before he could frame a reply, for he was somewhat slow of speech, his wife, who had turned from De Croix, and was listening with interest to my story, spoke impulsively.

"Why, we have been wondering, Mr. Wayland, where she could have gone. Not that we have worried, for she is a girl well able to care for herself, and of a most independent spirit. She disappeared very suddenly from the Fort several days ago; we supposed she must have gone with my mother when Mr. Kinzie took his family back to their home."

"With Mr. Kinzie?" I questioned, for at that moment I could not recall hearing the name. "May I ask where that home is?"

"He is the very good step-father of my wife, and one she loves as truly as if he were her own father," answered Helm, warmly; "a man among a thousand. Mr. Kinzie is an Indian trader, and has been here for several years, if indeed he be not the first white settler, for old Pointe Au Sable was a West Indian mulatto. His relations with these savages who dwell near the Great Lake, and especially those of the Pottawattomie and Wyandot tribes, are so friendly that he has felt safe to remain with his family unguarded in his own home. They have always called him Shaw-nee-aw-kee, the Silver-man, and trust him as much as he trusts them. He is, besides, a great friend of Sau-ga-nash, the half-breed Wyandot; and that friendship is a great protection. His house is across the river, a little to the east of the Fort; it can easily be seen from the summit of the stockade. But we have had no direct communication for several days; the orders have been very strict since the gates were closed. It is not safe for our soldiers to venture outside except in force, and neither Kinzie nor any of his family have lately visited us. Doubtless they feel that to do so might arouse the suspicion of their Indian friends."

"But are you sure they are there, and safe? And do you believe the one I seek will be found with them?"

"Smoke rises from the chimney, as usual, and there was a light burning there last evening. We do not know certainly that your friend is there, but think such is the case, as she was extremely friendly with a young French girl in their employ named Josette La Framboise."

I sat in silence for some time, thinking, and neglectful of the conversation being carried on around me by the others, until we were called to supper by the soldier who officiated as steward for the officers' mess. I remember many details of the situation, as they were frankly discussed in my presence while we lingered at the table; yet my own reflections were elsewhere, as I was endeavoring to determine my duty regarding the safety of her whom I had come so far to aid. Surely, my first object now must be to ascertain where she was, in order to be at her service when the hour for departure came. Nor had I any time to spare, if we were to march out on the fifteenth. I cannot describe, at this late day, how strangely my allegiance wavered, in that hour, between the unknown, unseen girl, and the fair, vivacious Toinette. My heart drew me toward the one, my clear duty to the other; and I could see no way out of the dilemma except to find Elsa Matherson without delay, in order that the two should be close together where, as need arose, I could stand between them and whatever of evil impended.

I fear I was an indifferent guest, for I was never nimble of tongue, and that night I was more silent than usual. However, De Croix most effectually hid my retirement by his rare good-humor and the sparkling badinage with which he concentrated all attention upon himself, and was consequently soon in the happiest of moods. I know not how the fellow succeeded in working the miracle, but he sat at the board, upon Mrs. Helm's left hand, powdered and curled as if he were gracing a banquet at the Tuileries. His ruffled shirt, glittering buckles, and bright blue waistcoat, were startling amid such homely surroundings; while his neatly folded handkerchief of lace exhaled a delicate perfume. Deeply as I was immersed in my own thoughts and plans, I could not help admiring his easy grace, and more than once forgot myself in listening to his marvellous tales and witty anecdotes.

He was detailing a recent scandal of the French court, passing delicately over its more objectionable features, when I grasped the opportunity to slip unobserved from the room into the open of the parade-ground. It proved a dark night without, but the numerous lights in the surrounding buildings, whose doors and windows were open, sufficiently illumined the place, so that I found my way about with little difficulty. A group of soldiers lounged at the open door of the guard-house, and I paused a moment to speak with one, a curly-headed lad, who sat smoking, his back resting easily against the logs.

"Are the outer gates ever opened at night?" I asked.

He glanced up at me in surprise, shading his eyes to be assured of my identity before speaking.

"Scarcely either day or night now, sir," he replied, respectfully, "but between sunset and sunrise they are specially barred, and a double guard is set. No one can pass except on the order of Captain Heald."

"In which direction is the Kinzie house?"

He pointed toward the northeast corner of the stockade.

"It is just over there, sir, across the river. You might see the light from the platform; beyond the shed yonder is the ladder that leads up into the blockhouse."

Thanking him, I moved forward as directed, found the ladder, and pushed my way up through the narrow opening in the floor of the second story. The small square room, feebly lighted by a single sputtering candle stuck in the shank of a bayonet, contained half a dozen men, most of them idling, although two were standing where they could readily peer out through the narrow slits between the logs. All of them were heavily armed, and equipped for service. They looked at me curiously as I first appeared, but the one who asked my business wore the insignia of a corporal, and was evidently in command.

"I wish to look out over the stockade, if there is no objection. I came in with Captain Wells's party this afternoon," I said, not knowing what their orders might be, or if I would be recognized.

"I remember you, sir," was the prompt response, "and you are at liberty to go out there if you desire. That is the door leading to the platform."

"The Indians appear to be very quiet to-night."

"The more reason to believe them plotting some fresh deviltry," he answered, rising to his feet, and facing me. "We never have much to disturb us upon this side, as it overhangs the river and is not easy of approach; but the guard on the south wall is kept pretty busy these last few nights, and has to patrol the stockade. The Indians have been holding some sort of a powwow out at their camp ever since dark, and that 's apt to mean trouble sooner or later."

"Then you keep no sentry posted on the platform?" I asked, a thought suddenly occurring to me.

"Not regularly, sir; only when something suspicious happens along the river. There 's nobody out there now excepting the French girl,—she seems to be fond of being out there all alone."

The French girl? Could it be possible that he meant Toinette? I was conscious of a strange fluttering of the heart, as I stepped forth upon the narrow footway and peered along it, searching for her. I could distinguish nothing, however; and as I slowly felt my way forward, testing the squared log beneath me with careful foot and keeping hold with one hand upon the sharpened palisades, I began to believe the corporal had been mistaken. The door, closing behind, shut off the last gleam of light, and I was left alone in utter darkness and silence, save for the low rumble of voices within the Fort enclosure, and the soft plashing below where the river current kissed the bank at the foot of the stockade.

I had gone almost the full length of that side, before I came where she was leaning against the logs, her chin resting upon one hand, her gaze turned northward. Indeed, so silent was she, so intent upon her own thought, I might have touched her unnoticed in the gloom, had not the stars broken through a rift in the cloud above us, and sent a sudden gleam of silver across her face.

"Mademoiselle," I said, striving to address her with something of the ease I thought De Croix would exercise at such a moment, "I meant not to intrude upon your privacy, yet I am most glad to meet with you once more."

She started slightly, as though aroused from reverie, and glanced inquiringly toward me.

"I supposed my visitor to be one of the guard," she said pleasantly; "and even now I am unable to distinguish your face, yet the sound of the voice reminds me of John Wayland."

"I am proud to know that it has not already been forgotten. You deserted me so suddenly this afternoon, I almost doubted my being welcome now."

She laughed lightly, tapping the ends of the logs with her finger-tips.

"Have you, then, never learned that a woman is full of whims, Monsieur?" she questioned. "Why, this afternoon your eyes were so big with wonder that they had forgotten to look at me. Truly, I spoke to you twice to aid me from the saddle; but you heard nothing, and in my desperation I was obliged to turn to the courtesy of Captain de Croix. Ah, there is a soldier, my friend, who is never so preoccupied as to neglect his duty to a lady."

"It was indeed most ungallant of me," I stammered, scarce knowing whether she laughed at me or not. "Yet my surroundings were all new, and I have the training of De Croix in such matters."

"Pah! 't is just as well. I am inclined to like you as you are, my friend, and we shall not quarrel; yet, with all his love for lesser things, your comrade has always shown himself a truly gallant gentleman."

I made no answer to these flattering words, for I felt them to be true; yet no less this open praise of him, falling from her lips, racked me sorely, and I lacked the art to make light of it.

"The soldiers in the block-house tell me you come here often," I ventured at last, for the dead silence weighed upon me. "You have never seemed to me like one who would seek such loneliness."

"I am one whom very few wholly comprehend, I fear, and surely not upon first acquaintance," she answered thoughtfully, "for I am full of strange moods, and perhaps dream more than other girls. This may have been born of my early convent training, and the mystic tales of the nuns; nor has it been lessened by the loneliness of the frontier. So, if I differ from other young women, you may know 't is my training, as well as my nature, that may account for it. I have led a strange life, Monsieur, and one that has known much of sadness. There are times when I seek my own thoughts, and find liking for no other company. Then I come here, and in some way the loneliness of water and plain soothe me as human speech cannot. I used to love to stand yonder by the eastern wall and gaze out over the Great Lake, watching the green surges chase each other until they burst in spray along the beach. But since I went adrift in the little boat, and felt the cruelty of the water, I have shrunk from looking out upon it. Monsieur, have you never known how restful it sometimes is to be alone?"

"My life has mostly been a solitary one," I answered, responding unconsciously to her mood, and, in doing so, forgetting my embarrassment. "It is the birthright of all children of the frontier. Indeed, I have seen so little of the great world and so much of the woods, that I scarcely realize what companionship means, especially that of my own age. I have made many a solitary camp leagues from the nearest settlement, and have tracked the forest alone for days together, so content with my own thought that possibly I understand your meaning better than if my life had been passed among crowds."

"Ah! but I like the crowds," she exclaimed hastily, "and the glow and excitement of that brighter, fuller life, where people really live. It is so dull here,—the same commonplace faces, the tiresome routine of drill, the same blue sky, gray water, and green plains, to look upon day after day. Oh, but it is all so wearisome, and you cannot conceive how I have longed again for Montreal and the many little gaieties that brighten a woman's world. There are those here who have never known these happier things; their whole horizon of experience has been bounded by garrison palisades; but 't is not so with me,—I tasted of the sweet wine once, when I was a girl, and the memory never leaves me."

"Yet you are often happy?"

"'T is my nature, Monsieur, a legacy of my mother's people; but I am not always gay of heart when my lips smile."

"And the coming of the French gallant has doubtless freshened your remembrance of the past?" I said, a trifle bitterly.

"It has indeed," was her frank admission. "He represents a life we know so little about here on the far frontier. To you, with your code of border manliness, he may appear all affectation, mere shallow insincerity; but to me, Captain de Croix represents his class, stands for the refinements of social order to which women can never be indifferent. Those were the happiest days of my life, Monsieur; and at Montreal he was only one among many."

She was gazing out into the black void as she spoke, and the slowly clearing skies permitted the starlight to gleam in her dark eyes and reveal the soft contour of her cheek.

"You do not understand that?" she questioned finally, as I failed to break the silence.

"I have no such pleasant memory to look back upon," I answered; "yet I can feel, though possibly in a different way, your longing after better things."

"You realize this sense of loneliness?—this absence of all that makes life beautiful and worth the living?"

"Perhaps not that,—for life, even here, is well worth living, and to my eyes the great sea yonder, and the dark forests, are of more interest than city streets. But in one sense I may enter into your meaning; my thought also is away from here,—it is with a home, scarcely less humble than are our present surroundings, yet it contains the one blessing worth striving after—love."

"Love!" she echoed the unexpected word almost scornfully. "'T is a phrase so lightly spoken that I scarce know what it may signify to you. You love some one then, Monsieur?" and she looked up at me curiously.

"My mother, Mademoiselle."

I saw the expression upon her face change instantly. "Your pardon," she exclaimed, hastily. "'T was not the meaning I had thought. I know something of such love as that, and honor you for thus expressing it."

"I have often wondered, since first we met, at your being here, seemingly alone, at this outermost post of the frontier. It seems a strange home for one of your refinement and evident delight in social life."

"'T is not from choice, Monsieur. My mother died when I was but a child, as I have already told you. I scarce have memory of her, yet I bear her name, and, I am told, inherit many of her peculiarities. She was the daughter of a great merchant at Montreal, and the blood of a noble family of France flowed in her veins. She gave up all else to become my father's wife; nor did she ever live to regret it."

Her voice was so low and plaintive that I hesitated to speak; yet finally, as she ceased, and silence fell between us, I asked another question:

"And 't was then you voyaged into this wilderness with your father?"

"I have never since left him while he lived," she answered softly, her head resting upon her hand. "But he also has gone now, and I merely wait opportunity to journey eastward."

"He was a trader, you told me once?"

"A soldier first, Monsieur; a true and gallant soldier, but later he traded with the Indians for furs."

I felt that she was weeping softly, although I could see but little, and I leaned in silence against the rough logs, gazing out into the black night, hesitating to break in upon her grief. Then a voice spoke rapidly at the farther end of the stockade, and a sudden glow of light shot like an arrow along the platform. I turned quickly, and there in the open doorway, clearly outlined against the candle flame, stood De Croix.



CHAPTER XIII

A WAGER OF FOOLS

"It looks a narrow walk, my friend," he said rather doubtfully, peering forward with shaded eyes, "and 'tis dark as Erebus; yet gladly will I make the venture for hope of the reward."

The door closed behind him, shutting off the last vestige of light; and we, with our eyes accustomed to the gloom, could mark his dim outline as he advanced toward us. His actions belied his words, for he moved with all his accustomed jauntiness along the uncertain foot-way, barely touching the top of the palisades with one hand to guide his progress. He was almost upon the girl before he perceived either of us; and then his earliest words surprised me into silence.

"Ah, Toinette!" he cried eagerly, "I fear I must have kept you waiting overlong; yet I was with Mrs. Helm,—a most fair and charming bride,—and scarce noted the rapid passage of time."

"I naturally supposed it was a woman," she answered, with what I interpreted as a strained assumption of indifference, "as that has ever been your sufficient reason for breaking faith with me."

"Do not interpret it so, I beg," he hastened to implore. "Surely, my being a few moments in arrears is not a matter sufficiently serious to be called a breakage of faith. I do assure you, Toinette, you were never once absent from my thought."

"Indeed?" she exclaimed incredulously, and with an echo of suppressed laughter in her voice. "Then truly you are far more to be commiserated on this occasion than I, for in truth, Monsieur de Croix, I have not missed you over-much. I have enjoyed most excellent company."

"The mysterious spirits of the starry night?" he questioned, looking out into the darkness, "or the dim figures of your own imagination?"

"Very far from either," she retorted, with a laugh; "a most substantial reality, as you are bound to confess. Master Wayland, is it not time for you fitly to greet Captain de Croix? He may deem you lax in cordiality."

I can perceive now how dearly the laughing witch loved to play us one against the other, hiding whatever depth of feeling she may have had beneath the surface of careless innocence, and keeping us both in an uncertainty as aggravating as it was sweet. I could not read the expression upon De Croix's face in the gloom, yet I saw him start visibly at her almost mocking words, and there was a trace of ill-suppressed irritation in his voice.

"Saint Guise! 'T was for that, then, he left us so mysteriously," he exclaimed, unconsciously uttering his first thought aloud. "But how knew he you were to be here?"

Before she could answer, I spoke, anxious to relieve her of embarrassment; for 't was ever my nature to yield much without complaint.

"As it chances, Captain de Croix, she did not know," I said, standing back from the palisades where he could see me more clearly. "I left the table below with no thought of meeting Mademoiselle, and came out on this platform for a different purpose. As you know, I am visiting Dearborn upon a special mission."

"Ah, true," and I could feel the trace of relief in his voice as he instantly recalled my story. "You also sought a girl in this wilderness,—may I ask, have you yet found trace of her?"

I heard Mademoiselle move quickly.

"A girl?" she asked in surprise. "Here, at Dearborn?"

"She was at Dearborn until very lately, but they tell me now I must seek for her at the Kinzie house. It was for the purpose of marking its position from the Fort that I came up here."

For a moment no one of our voices broke the strained silence. I was troubled by this knowledge of a pre-arranged meeting between these two, yet felt it was nothing with which I had a right to interfere. This careless French girl, whom I had known for scarcely two days, was not one to be easily guided, even had I either reason or excuse for attempting it.

"'T is strange," she said, musingly, "that she has never so much as spoken to me about it; yet she was always shy of speech in such matters."

"Of whom do you speak, Toinette?" questioned De Croix.

"Of Master Wayland's young friend with the Kinzies," she answered, the old sprightliness again in her voice. "I know her very well, Monsieur,—a dear, sweet girl,—and shall be only too glad to speed you on to her. Yet 't is not so easy of accomplishment, hemmed in as we are here now. Yonder is the light, Master Wayland; but much of peril may lurk between. 'Tis not far, were the way clear; indeed, in the old days of peace a rope ferry connected Fort and house, but now to reach there safely will require a wide detour and no little woodcraft. There were patrols of savages along the river bank at dusk, and it is doubtful if all have been withdrawn."

I looked as she pointed, and easily distinguished the one glittering spark that pierced the darkness to the north and east. I wondered at her earlier words; yet they might all be true enough, for I knew nothing of this Elsa Matherson. Before I could question further, De Croix had interfered,—eager, no doubt, to be rid of me.

"Upon my soul!" he exclaimed recklessly, "if I could voyage here from Montreal to win but a smile, it should prove a small venture for our backwoods friend to cover yonder small distance. Sacre! I would do the deed myself for one kiss from rosy lips."

I have wondered since what there was about those words to anger me. It must have been their boastful tone, the sarcasm that underlay the velvet utterance, which stung like salt in a fresh wound. I felt that from the summit of his own success he durst laugh at me; and my blood boiled instantly.

"You are wondrous bold, Monsieur," I retorted, "when the matter is wholly one of words. I regret I cannot pledge you such reward, so that I might learn how you would bear yourself in the attempt."

He stared at me haughtily across the shoulder of the girl, as it doubting he heard aright.

"You question my courage to venture it?"

"It has been my experience that the cock that crows the loudest fights the least."

"Oh, hush, Messieurs!" broke in Mademoiselle, her voice showing suppressed amusement. "This platform is far too narrow to quarrel upon; and, besides, the condition of the wager is most easily met,—that is, if my lips be deemed of sufficiently rosy hue."

I know I stood with opened mouth, so astounded by these mocking words as to be stricken dumb; but not so De Croix. The audacity of his nature made eager response to the bold challenge.

"Do you mean what you say, Toinette?" he asked, striving to gain a view of her face in the darkness.

"Do I? And pray, why not?" she questioned lightly. "One kiss is not so very much to give, and I shall never miss it. 'T is duller here than at Montreal, and no doubt 't will greatly interest me to witness the race. Surely it will prove a better way to end your foolish quarrel than to shoot each other. But come, Messieurs, why do you hesitate so long? is not the prize enough?"

He bowed gallantly, and took her hand.

"'T would be the ransom of a king," he answered; "though first I wish to know the terms of this contest more clearly."

She looked out into that silent and lonely night, her eyes upon the distant gleam, and instinctively our glances followed hers. It was a dull desolation, with no sound, no movement, in all the black void. The stars gleamed dull on the water of the river beneath us, and we could dimly see the denser shadow of the opposite shore; beyond this, nothing was apparent save that distant candle flame. What lay between,—what strange obstruction of land, what ambushed foes,—neither of us had means of knowing. We could simply plunge into the mystery of it blindfolded by the fates. Yet to draw back now would brand either of us forever with the contempt of her who had challenged us so lightly.

"'T is all simple enough," she said at last, her eyes glowing with quick excitement. "The goal is yonder where that light glows so clearly, though I warn you the longest way round may prove the surest in the end. To the one of you who reaches there first and returns here, I am to give one kiss as a measure of reward. I care not how it may be accomplished,—such minor matters rest with your own wits."

"But the young girl we seek," he insisted; "must she also be brought here upon the return?"

"Pish! what care I what may be done with the girl? Besides, she is far safer from the savages there than she would be here."

I saw De Croix lean far out over the sharpened palisades and peer downward. The movement gave me instantly a thought of his purpose, and, unnoticed, I loosened the pistol-belt about my waist and silently dropped it upon the platform. Whatever desperate chance he might choose to take, I was determined now to equal.

"Doth the water of the river come to the very foot of these logs?" he asked, unable to determine in the darkness.

"No, Monsieur, the earth slopes downward for some feet, yet the current is at this bank, and gives much depth of water at the shore."

"But of what width is the strip of earth between?"

"Perhaps the length of a tall man."

"Saint Guise! 'tis well I thought to ask!" he explained jauntily. "And now, Mademoiselle, if you will but kindly hold this coat and sword, I shall strive to show you how highly I value the prize offered, and what a French gentleman can do for love."

I fully grasped his purpose now, and even as he turned toward her, holding out the valuables he hesitated to lose, I scaled the low barrier in my front, planted my feet firmly between the pointed stakes, and sprang boldly into the darkness.



CHAPTER XIV

DARKNESS AND SURPRISE

It was a greater distance to the water than I had supposed, but I struck at last fairly enough, and went down until I thought I should never come up again. As I rose to the surface and shook the moisture from my face and ears, a light laugh rang out high above me, and Mademoiselle's clear voice cried mockingly:

"The backwoodsman has taken the first trick, Monsieur."

I saw De Croix's body dart, like a black arrow, far out into the air, and come sweeping down. He struck to my left, and a trifle behind me; but I waited not to learn just how. With lusty strokes I struck out for the north shore. It was a hard swim, for my deerskins held the water like so many bags, and the current, though not rapid, was sufficiently strong to make me fight valiantly for every foot of way. I came out, panting heavily, upon a low bank of soft mud, and crept cautiously up under the black shadow of some low bushes growing there. I took time, as I rested, to glance back, hoping thus to learn more of the direction I should follow; for the Kinzie light was no longer visible, and my struggle with the current had somewhat bewildered me. I neither saw nor heard anything of De Croix; but the flame of the candle gleaming through the narrow slits of the block-house told me clearly where it stood, while a wild yelling farther to the southward convinced me that our Indian besiegers were yet astir and concocting some fresh deviltry at their camp. With a half-uttered prayer that they might all be there, I hastily pressed the water from my soggy clothes and plunged forward into the unknown darkness. A big cottonwood, as from its shape I judged it to be, rose against the stars in my front,—a dim outline swaying slightly in the westerly wind, and I took it as my first guide-mark, moving over the rough unknown ground as rapidly and silently as possible.

The soft moccasins I wore aided me greatly, nor were there many trees along the way to drop twigs in the path to crackle under foot; yet I found the ground uneven and deceptive, rifted with small gullies, and more or less bestrewn with stones, against which I stumbled in the darkness. I was too thoroughly trained in the stern and careful school of the frontier not to be cautious at such a time, for I knew that silence and seeming desolation were no proof of savage desertion; nor did I believe that Indian strategy would leave the north of the Fort wholly unguarded. Any rock, any black ravine, any clump of trees or bushes, might well be the lurking-place of hostiles, who would only too gladly wreak their vengeance upon any hapless straggler falling into their hands. I was unarmed, save for the long hunting-knife I carried in the bosom of my shirt; but my thought was not of fighting,—it was to get through without discovery.

To De Croix I gave small consideration, save that the memory of the wager was a spur to urge me forward at greater speed. The place was strangely, painfully still; even the savage yelling of the distant Indians seemed to die away as I advanced, and nothing broke the oppressive silence but an occasional flutter of leaves, or my own deep breathing. I had gone, I take it, half or three-quarters of a mile, not directly north, but circling ever to the eastward, seeking thus to reach the house from the rear, when I came to a sharp break in the surface of the land, somewhat deeper and more abrupt than those before encountered. It seemed like a cut or ravine made by some rush of water lakeward; and, as I hesitated upon the edge of it, peering across and wondering if I had better risk the plunge, my eyes caught the blaze of the Kinzie light scarce a hundred yards from the opposite bank of the ravine.

Assured that I was headed right, I stepped off with a new confidence that, for the moment, conquered my usual prudence,—for the steep bank gave way instantly beneath my weight. I grasped vainly at the edge, fell heavily sidewise, and rolled like a great log, bruised and half-stunned, into the black gorge below. I remember gripping at a slender bush that yielded to my touch; but all the rest was no more than a breathless tumble, until I struck something soft at the bottom,—something that squirmed and gripped my long hair savagely, and pushed my head back with a grasp on the throat that nearly throttled me.

It was all so sudden, so unexpected, that for the moment I was helpless as a child, struggling merely from the natural instinct of preservation to break free. I could perceive nothing, the darkness was so intense; yet as I gradually succeeded in getting my hands loose, I wound them in long coarse hair, pressed them against bare flesh, heard deep labored breathing close to my face, and believed I was struggling with a savage.

It was a question of mere brute strength, and neither of us had had the advantage of surprise. I could feel the sharp prick of my own knife as he hugged me to him, but I dare not reach for it, and I held his arms so tightly that he lay panting and struggling as if in a vise. It was an odd fight, as we turned and tossed, writhed and twisted among those sharp pointed rocks like two infuriated wild-cats in the dark, neither venturing to break hold for a blow, nor having breath enough in our bodies for so much as a curse. My adversary struck me once with his head under the chin, so hard a blow that everything turned red before me; and then I got my knee up into the pit of his stomach and caused him to quiver from the agony of it; yet the fellow clung to me like a bull-terrier, and never so much as whined.

It was never my nature to yield easily, and I felt now this struggle was to cost his life or mine; so I clinched my teeth, and sought my best to push back the other's head until the neck should crack. But if I was a powerful man, this other was no less so, and he fought with a fierce and silent desperation that foiled me. We dug and tore, gouged and struck, digging our heels into the soft earth in a vain endeavor to gain some advantage of position. My cheek, I knew, was bleeding from contact with a jagged stone, and I was fast growing faint from the awful tension, when I felt his arms slip.

"My God!" he panted. "The devil has me!"

So startled was I by these English words, that I loosed my grip, staring breathlessly through the darkness.

"Are you white?" I gasped, so weakened I could scarce articulate.

For a moment he did not answer, but I could hear his breath coming in gasps and sobs. Then he spoke slowly, his voice hoarse from exertion.

"By the memory of Moses! I was once,—but that squeeze must have turned me black, I 'm thinkin'. An' ye're no Injun?"

"Not so much as a feather of one," I retorted. "But that is what I took you to be."

We were both sitting up by this time, he with his back against the bank, both of us panting as if we could never regain our breath, and eagerly seeking to see each other's features in the gloom. Any attempt at conversation was painful, but I managed at last to stammer:

"You must be a whalebone man, or I 'd have broken every rib in your body."

"An' I 'm not a bit sure ye did n't," was the response, uttered between puffs. "'T was the worst grip ever Ol' Tom Burns had squeeze him,—an' I 've felt o' bars mor' nor oncet. Who may ye be, anyhow, stranger? an' for what cause did ye jump down yere on me?"

There was a trace of growing anger in his tone, as remembrance of the outrage returned to his mind, which caused me to smile, now that I could breathe less painfully. It seemed such a ludicrous affair,—that dark struggle, each mistaking the purpose and color of the other.

"My name is Wayland," I made haste to explain, "and I left the Fort but now, hoping by this round-about route to reach the Kinzie place and return under cover of darkness. I slipped on the edge of the bank up yonder, and the next thing I knew we were at it. I can assure you, friend, I supposed myself in the arms of a savage. You say your name is Burns?"

"Ol' Tom Burns."

"What? It is not possible you are the same who brought a message to Major Wayland on the Maumee?"

"I reckon I am," he said, deliberately. "An' be you the boy I met?"

"Yes," I said, still doubtful. "But how came you here?"

"Wal, here's whar I belong. I've bin a sorter huntin' an' trappin' yer'bouts fer goin' on nine year or so, an' I built a shanty to live in up yonder by the forks. I hed n't much more nor got home frum down east, when the Injuns burnt thet down; an' sence then I ain't bin much o' nowhar, but I reckon'd I 'd go inter ther Fort to-morrow and git some grub."

He spoke with a slow, deliberate drawl, as if not much accustomed to converse; and I pictured him to myself as one of those silent plainsmen, so habituated to solitude as almost to shun companionship, though he had already let drop a word or two that made me deem him one not devoid of humor. Suddenly I thought of De Croix.

"Has any one passed here lately?" I asked, rising to my feet, the old emulation throbbing in my veins. "A white man, I mean, going north."

"Wal," he answered slowly, and as he also stood up I could make out, what I had not noted in our previous meeting, that he was as tall as I, but spare of build; "I ain't seen nuthin', but some sort o' critter went ploughin' down inter the gulch up yonder, maybe ten minutes 'fore ye lit down yere on me. Dern if I know whether it were a human er a bar!"

"Will you show me the nearest way to the Kinzie house?"

"I reckon I 'll show ye all right, but ye bet ye don't git me nigher ner a hundred foot o' the door," he returned seriously. "John Kinzie 's a mighty good man, stranger, but he an' Ol' Tom Burns ain't never hitched worth a cent."

We climbed silently, and came out together upon the top. A slight beam of light crept along through the open door of the log house just in front of us, and for the first time I caught a fair view of my companion. He was a tall, gaunt, wiry fellow, typical in dress and manner of his class,—the backwoodsmen of the Southwest,—but with a peculiarly solemn face, seamed with wrinkles, and much of it concealed beneath a bushy, iron-gray beard. We eyed each other curiously.

"Dern if ever I expected ter meet up with ye agin in no sich way as this," he said shortly. "But thet 's the house. Be ye goin' ter stay thar long?"

"No," I answered, feeling anxious to have his guidance back to the Fort, "not over five minutes. Will you wait?"

"Reckon I may as well," and he seated himself on a stump.

No one greeted me at the house, not even a dog; though I could see figures moving within. Either the occupants felt that an assumption of confidence was their best security, or experienced no fear of Indian treachery, for I rapped twice before there was any response. A young girl, with a face of rare beauty and a pair of roguish black eyes, peered out curiously. At sight of a stranger she drew back slightly, yet paused to ask:

"Did you wish to see some one here?"

"I am seeking for a young girl," I answered, wondering if this could possibly be she, "and they told me at the Fort I should probably find her here. May I ask if you are Elsa Matherson?"

For a moment she looked out at me, as if I might be an escaped lunatic. Then she turned her face over her shoulder toward those within.

"Mr. Kinzie," said she, "here 's another man looking for Elsa Matherson."



CHAPTER XV

AN ADVENTURE UNDERGROUND

A heavily-built man in shirt-sleeves, with a strong, good-humored face, and a shock of gray hair, appeared beside the girl in the doorway.

"'T is not the same scamp that kissed you, Josette," he exclaimed, after examining me intently in the dim light, "but I doubt not he may prove of similar breed, and it behooves you to be careful where you stand."

"Has De Croix been here?" I questioned, scarcely deeming it possible he could have outstripped me in our race through the night.

"I know not the rascal's name," was the reply, in the man's deep voice, "but certain I am there was one here scarce ten minutes agone asking after this same Matherson girl. Saint James! but she must have made some sweet acquaintances, judging from the looks of her callers! Josette has been rubbing the fellow's kiss off her lips ever since he caught her unawares."

"He was a dandified young fellow?" I urged, impatient to be off, yet eager to be sure.

The girl laughed lightly, her roguish eyes ablaze with merriment.

"He might be sometime, Monsieur," she cried, evidently glad to talk, "but to-night he reminded me of those scare-crows the farmers near Quebec keep in their fields; a little chap, with a bit of turned-up mustache, and a bright eye, but rags,—gracious, such rags as he wore!"

'T was De Croix, there could be no doubt of it,—De Croix, torn and dishevelled by his mad rush through the darkness, but with no shred of his reckless audacity gone. There was naught left me now but to race back upon his trail, hopeful for some chance that might yet allow me to come in first on the return journey. In my throat I swore one thing,—the graceless villain should never collect his reward at both ends of his journey. He had already stolen the sweets from Josette's red lips, but he should never claim those of Mademoiselle. I lingered for but a single question more.

"But this Elsa Matherson,—she is not here, then?"

"No," returned Mr. Kinzie, somewhat gruffly, "and has not been since the closing of the gates of the Fort. I think you are a parcel of mad fools, to be chasing around on such an errand; yet humanity leads me to bid you come in. There is not a safe foot of ground to-night for any strange white man within three hundred miles of Dearborn."

I glanced about me into the black shadows, startled at his solemn words of warning. Away to the southward a faint glimmer told of the location of the Fort; farther to the west, a sudden blaze swept up into the sky, reflected in ruddy radiance on the clouds, and the thought came to me that the savages had put torch to the deserted cabin on the south branch of the river.

"No doubt 'tis true," I answered hastily; "yet, whatever the danger may be, I must regain the stockade before dawn."

I saw him step forward, as if he would halt me in my purpose; but, wishing to be detained no longer, my thoughts being all with De Croix and Mademoiselle, I turned away quickly and plunged back into the darkness.

"You young fool!" he called after me, "come back, or your life will be the forfeit!"

Without so much as answering, I ran silently in my moccasins to the spot where I had left Ol' Tom Burns. He sat upon his stump, motionless, apparently without the slightest interest in anything going on about him.

"Ol' Kinzie was gol-dern polite ter ye, sonny," he commented. "Reckon if an Injun was a scalpin' me right on his front doorstep he 'd never hev asked me ter walk inside like that! He an' me sorter drew on each other 'bout a year ago, down at Lee's shebang; an' he don't 'pear ter fergit 'bout it."

"Show me the nearest safe passage to the Fort," I said, interrupting him, almost rudely.

He got up slowly, and cast his eyes with deliberation southward.

"Oh, thar ain't no sich special hurry, I reckon," he answered with an exasperating drawl. "We 'll be thar long afore daylight,—perviding allers we don't hit no Injuns meantime,—an' the slower we travel the less chance thar is o' thet."

"But, friend Burns," I urged, "it is a racing matter. I must reach there in advance of another man, who has already been here ahead of me."

"So I sorter reckoned from what I heerd; but ye need n't rip the shirt off ye on thet account. The feller can't git in thar till after daylight, nohow. Them sojers is too blame skeered ter open the gates in the dark, an' all the critter 'll git if he tries it will be a volley o' lead; so ye might just as well take it easylike."

The old man's philosophy seemed sound. De Croix would certainly not gain admittance until he could make himself known to the guard, and, carefully as the stockade was now patrolled, it was hardly probable he would be permitted to approach close enough for identification during the night. De Croix was no frontiersman, and was reckless to a degree; yet his long training as a soldier would certainly teach him a measure of caution in approaching a guarded fort at such a time.

"'Tis doubtless true," I admitted, "yet I shall feel safer if we push on at once."

"Ye called the feller De Croix, didn't ye?" he asked. "Is it the French dandy as was at Hawkins's?"

"Yes," I answered, "and I guess you don't care much to help him."

Burns wasted no breath in reply, but moved forward with noiseless step. Glancing back, I could clearly perceive Kinzie framed in the light of his open door. The vivacious French lass stood beside him, peering curiously out across his broad shoulders. Then we sank into the blackness of the ravine, and everything was blotted from our sight.

Burns evidently knew the intricacies of the path leading to the Fort gate, for I soon felt my feet upon a beaten track, and stumbled no more over the various obstacles that rendered my former progress so uncertain. My guide moved with excessive caution, as it seemed to me, frequently pausing to peer forward into the almost impenetrable darkness, and sniffing the night air suspiciously as if hoping thus to locate any lurking foes when his keen eyes failed in the attempt. So dark was it that I had almost to tread upon his heels in order to follow him, as not the slightest sound came from his stealthy advance. As he surmounted the steeper inclines of land, I was able to perceive him dimly, usually leaning well forward and moving with the utmost caution, his long rifle held ready for instant use. As we drew nearer the river,—or where I supposed the river must be, for I could distinguish but little of our position,—he swerved from the footpath we were following, and the way instantly grew rougher to our feet.

"Reckon we 'd better hit the crick a bit below the Fort," he muttered, over his shoulder; "less likely ter find Injuns waitin' fer us thar."