"You think there are savages on this shore?"

He turned partially, and peered at me through the darkness.

"I never heerd tell as Injuns was fools," he answered briefly. "In course thar 's some yere, an' we 're almighty likely ter find 'em."

On the bank of the river, which I could see dimly by the faint light of a star or two that had broken through the cloud-rifts, he paused suddenly, sniffing the air like a pointer dog.

"The gol-dern fools!" he muttered, striking his rifle-butt on the ground with an expression of disgust. "They 've gone and done it now!"

"Done what?" I questioned, almost guessing his meaning as a pungent odor assailed my nostrils. "That smells like rum!"

"'T is rum. Dern if ever I see whar the A'mighty finds so many blame idjits ter make sojers of! Them ar' fellers in the Fort wer n't in tight 'nough pickle, with a thousand savages howlin' 'bout 'em, so they 've went an' poured all their liquor inter the river! If I know Injun nature, it jist means the craziest lot o' redskins, whin they find it out, ever was on these yere plains. I bet they make thet fool garrison pay mighty big fer this job!"

"You mean the destruction of the liquor will anger them?"

"Anger? It'll drive 'em plum crazy,—they'll be ravin' maniacs! It's the hope o' spoils thet's held 'em back so long. They 've wanted the Fort to be 'vacuated, so as they could plunder it,—thet's been the song o' the chiefs to hold their young men from raisin' ha'r. But come, sonny, thar 's nothin' gained a-stayin' here, an' dern me if I want ter meet any Injun with thet thar smell in the air. I don't swim no river smellin' like thet one does. We 'll hev ter go further up, I reckon, an' cross over by the ol' agency buildin'."

We crept up the edge of the stream, keeping well in under the north bank, and moving with the utmost caution, for the chances were strong that this portion of the river would be closely watched by the redskins. We met with no obstacle, however, nor were we apparently even observed from the stockade, as we slowly passed its overhanging shadow. I could distinguish clearly its dark outlines, even making out a head or two moving above the palisades; but no hail of any kind rang out across the intervening water, and we were soon beyond the upper block-house, where a faint light yet shone. We could see the dim shape of the two-story factory building, looking gloomy and deserted on the south shore. Burns lay flat at the water's edge, studying the building intently; and his extreme caution made me a bit nervous, although I could scarcely determine why, for I had thus far marked not the slightest sign of danger.

"I reckon we 'll hev ter risk it," he said at length, as he bound his powder-horn upon his head with a dark cloth. "Come right 'long arter me, and don't make no splashin'."

He slipped off so silently that I scarcely knew he was gone, until I missed the dark outline of his figure at my side. With all possible caution, I followed him. The current was not strong, but I partially faced it, and struck out with a long, steady stroke, so that my progress, as nearly as I could judge, was almost directly across the stream. Burns had been completely lost to my sight, although as I looked along the slightly glistening water I could see for some distance ahead. I remember a black log bearing silently down upon me, and how I shrank from contact with it, fearful lest it might conceal some human thing. Soon after it had swirled by, my feet touched the shelving bank, and I crept cautiously up into the overhanging shadow. Burns was there, and had already reconnoitred our position; for my first knowledge of his presence came when he slowly lowered himself down the bank until he lay close beside me.

"They're thar," he said, soberly. "Thought most likely they wud be."

"Indians?" I asked, doubtfully,—for I had an impression the factory might be garrisoned by some of our own people.

"Sure; I heerd as how the sojers hed been drawed in, an' naturally reckoned the Injuns would n't be over-long findin' it out. 'Nother fool thing fer the sojers ter dew."

He paused, listening intently. In the silence, above the slight sound of the running water, I felt sure I could distinguish voices speaking not far distant.

"It 's no place yere ter stay," he whispered, his lips close at my ear. "Reckon best thing we kin dew now is to find one o' the sojers' root-caves somewhar along the bank, an' crawl in thar till daylight. The Injuns ain't so likely to bother us when the guards kin see 'em from the Fort. They don't want no out-'n'-out fuss, to my notion, till they kin git inter the stockade for good. Creep 'long yere with me, sonny, an' 't won't be far till I find a hole somewhar thet 'll hide us fer awhile anyhow."

We crawled slowly along, snake-fashion, at the edge of the river, for perhaps thirty feet, our movements hidden by the high and slightly overhanging bank at our left. The night was so dark that Burns relied more upon feeling than sight to guide him. At last he stopped suddenly.

"Here's one o' 'em," he said. "Crawl along in, sonny; thar's lots o' room after ye go a foot er two."

It was the merest hole dug into the bank, roughly lined with irregular bits of rock, which opened out into quite a cellar about a yard from the surface. The air within felt somewhat chill and damp, as I put my head cautiously down the narrow opening; but there seemed no cause for fear, and I crept nimbly forward, feeling my way as I advanced along the rude mud walls. I could hear Burns behind me on his hands and knees, puffing slightly as he squeezed through the small aperture that led into the larger chamber.

I had advanced perhaps two yards without reaching the end of this odd underground apartment, when suddenly, and directly in my front, there sounded a deep, hollow, unearthly groan. The sound was so terrifying that I stopped with chilled blood and beating heart, gripping my knife-hilt and peering forward into the dark as frightened as ever I was in my life. I heard Burns gasp and half turn; then, before I could move, even had I dared venture such a thing, an instantaneous flash lit up the black interior. I caught one confused glimpse of a huge object, topped with a head of tumbled hair, of two flapping wings stretching out upon either side, and then the impenetrable curtain of the dark hid everything once more. Sweat bathed me in cold drops; nor could I have moved a limb to save my life. Behind me Burns was muttering what might have been a prayer; when the thing groaned again, a hollow, awful moan, thrilling with agony, that sent me grovelling upon my face as nearly dead as one could well be and yet breathe and know.



CHAPTER XVI

"FRANCE WINS, MONSIEUR!"

For the moment, every muscle of my body seemed paralyzed. I distinctly heard the creature moving in my direction, and I backed away violently, actuated only by the thought of instant escape into the open air. But Burns blocked the solitary passage.

"Back out of here, for God's sake!" I managed to exclaim through parched lips. "That devil-thing is coming this way!"

He struggled desperately in the darkness, tugging madly at some obstacle, an oath smothered on his lips. I waited and listened, every nerve on edge.

"Dern it all, but I can't!" he groaned at last. "My blame of gun hes got wedged, and won't give an inch."

Then a half-smothered laugh rippled out of the gloom just in front of me.

"Heaven protect me, but it's Wayland!" came a voice, and the laughter broke into a roar of merriment.

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! This will be the death of me!"

The voice, choked and muffled as it was, sounded strangely hollow in that dark cave; yet it had a familiar tone. So surprising was the situation, that I could only stare into the black void, speechless. It was Burns who realized the need of action.

"Whoever the dern fool is," he growled, his voice hoarse with anger, "choke the wind out of him, or his blame howling will bring every Injun on the river yere!"

"De Croix!" I exclaimed quickly, aroused to recollection by the seriousness of the situation, "stop that infernal racket, or the two of us will throttle you!"

He puffed and gurgled, striving his best to smother the sense of ludicrousness that mastered him. To me there was small cause for merriment; the supreme terror of those moments merged into hot anger at the deception, and I crept forward eager to plant my hand upon the rascal's throat.

"What French mockery is this?" I exclaimed, my hand hard upon his arm. "Think you, Captain de Croix, that you can play such tricks in this wilderness, and not be made to pay for them?"

I felt him tremble under my fierce grasp; yet it was not from fear, for my words only served to loosen his laughter once more. Burns now broke in, shoving the barrel of his long rifle forward over my shoulder till he struck the Frenchman a blow that effectually silenced him.

"You chattering ape!" he said, growling like an angry bear, "another yawp like that, and I 'll blow a hole clean through you! Now, you French ninny, tell us what this means, an' be quick about it if ye want ter save yer hide!"

De Croix did not answer, but he ceased to laugh, and panted as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Another impatient movement by Burns led me to speak up hastily in his defence.

"Wait," I said, laying my grasp upon his gun, "he has no breath left with which to make reply. 'T is the French gallant who raced with me, the same whom you met at Hawkins's Ford; and no doubt he felt good reason to play the ghost here in this dark pit."

"Ay," panted De Croix painfully, "I truly thought the savages were upon me, and sought to frighten them by the only means I could devise. Sacre! but you hit me a sore blow in the ribs! If I have frightened you, 't was no worse than the terror that took me at your entrance here."

For a time none spoke, and no sound, save De Croix's labored breathing, broke the silence. Burns had turned slightly, and I knew was listening intently for any sound without. Apparently satisfied that the noise made by us had not been overheard, he asked in his old deliberate drawl:

"How in thunder, Mister Parly-voo, did ye git up thet thar combination, anyhow?"

I heard the Frenchman chuckle, and pinched him as a warning to be careful. He answered, in his reckless, easy way:

"'T was all simple enough behind the scenes, Messieurs. I but took some old sacking discovered here, and used it as a robe, standing my hair well on end; and a flash of powder made the scene most realistic. The thing indeed worked well. I would I had a picture of Master Wayland's face to show Toinette!"

This chance mention of her name recalled me to myself. The undecided wager was yet to be won, and the night was now nearly spent. There came to me a sudden determination to risk a rush through the darkness to the Fort gates, rather than chance any further defeat at the hands of this rash gallant. Yet prudence bade me question somewhat further before I ventured upon so mad a deed.

"No doubt 't was most happy from your point of view, Monsieur. From ours, it was less so; and instead of laughing, you might better be thanking your lucky stars that you did not pay more dearly for such folly. But what brought you here? Why have you failed to reach the stockade?"

"Sacre!" he muttered carelessly, "but I had a fierce enough run for it as it was. Why did I not reach the stockade? Because, my friend, I am no real ghost to be invisible in the night, nor am I a bird to fly. 'T was in the shadow of that big building yonder that I ran into a nest of those copper-colored fiends, and 't was nip and tuck which of us won, had I not, by pure good luck, chanced to stumble into this hole, and so escape them. Perchance they also thought me a ghost, who knows? But, be that as it may, they were beating the river bank for me in the flesh, when you came creeping here."

We lay flat on the floor, the three of us, our eyes fastened upon the faint light that began to stream in through the entrance. I could hear Burns muttering to himself, as is often the way with men who lead lives of solitude; and every now and then De Croix would shake silently at the recollection of what had just occurred. I minded neither of them, but chiefly planned how best I might outwit De Croix and win the prize offered by Mademoiselle. The promise of dawning day was in the outer air, too dim as yet to render our faces visible. Suddenly the slight draft of air veered, and swept a tiny breath of smoke into my nostrils. It came so quickly that I scarcely realized its significance until Burns scrambled to his knees with a growl.

"God! the devils have run us to cover!" he cried, sullenly. "They have started a fire to smoke us out!"

It hardly needed a moment to prove this true; the thin smoke grew more and more dense, filling the narrow entrance until we lay gasping for breath. De Croix, ever the most impulsive, was the first to act.

"Parbleu!" he gasped, pulling himself forward with his hands. "Better Indians than this foul air! If I die, it shall at least be in the open."

To remain longer cooped in that foul hole was indeed madness; and as soon as I could I followed him, rolling out of the entrance to the water's edge, fairly sick with the pressure upon my lungs, and caring so little what the end might be, provided I might first attain one breath of pure air, that before I gained strength to resist I was prisoner to as ill-looking a crew of savages as ever my eyes encountered. The villains triced us firmly with thongs of skin, and sat us up against the bank like so many puppets, dancing about before us, snapping their dirty fingers in our faces, and treating us to all manner of taunts and insults. 'T was done so quickly as to seem a dream, had I not smarted so sorely from the blows dealt me, and my limbs chafed where the tight cords were drawn.

I recall glancing aside at Burns; but his seamed and puckered face remained emotionless, as the red devils rolled him over till he stared straight up at the sky, now gray with coming dawn. The sight of De Croix almost set me laughing, which won for me a kick from the brute who had me in special charge. The Frenchman was surely no court dandy now; his fancy clothing clung to him in rags, while the powder-flash within the cellar had blackened his face and made sad havoc with his gay mustache. He endeavored to smile at me as our eyes met, but the effort produced only what seemed like a demoniac grin.

"'T is a hard life, Monsieur," I could not forbear remarking, "and will hardly remind you of Versailles."

His form stiffened in its bonds, as if the words spurred his memory of other days.

"A French soldier smiles at fate, wherever it overtakes him," he answered, a touch of pride in his voice. "Besides, the game is not played out,—I may yet prove the first one in. But see! if I mistake not, here comes the chief of all these devils."

The new-comer strode down the high bank alone, and was greeted noisily by our captors. It was the same Indian that had halted Captain Wells the day previous; and he looked us over with a contemptuous sneer that curled his lips and transformed the whole expression of his hideously painted face. I noted that he paid but small heed to either De Croix or myself, contenting his vengeance with sharp kicks at our prostrate bodies; but as he came to Burns, he paused, bending down till he could peer into the old borderer's upturned face.

"Bah! I know you," he said, brokenly. "You Ol' Burns. Stake down in village for you."

The old man neither moved his head nor gave the slightest sign that he had heard.

"Squaw eat heart," went on the Indian, prodding him with his stick; "feed bones to dog. All white men go that way now,—Ol' Burns first."

"Topenebe," was the quiet reply, as the victim rolled over until he half-sat against the bank, "I had the pleasure o' kickin' ye once down on the Kankakee, an' should be mighty glad ter do it agin. I reckon as how ye don't feel over friendly ter me, but ye 're simply wastin' yer breath tauntin' me. Any time yer derned old fire is hot, I 'm ready to dance."

These calm words angered the warrior, and he spat at him; then he turned and grunted an order in his own language. With blows of their sticks the Indians got us on our feet; but when they sought to drive us up the steep bank to the prairie, Ol' Burns balked and absolutely refused to move.

"Not one dern step, Topenebe," he swore grimly, "with these yere things on my legs. I 'm no pony ter be hobbled, an' blame if I 'll jump 'long fer any red-skin. Ye kin carry me, if ye ain't too lazy; but, by thunder! thar 'll be no walkin' till ye cut them bonds."

Blows, curses, and threats failed alike to budge the old man. He simply sat down and smiled grimly at them; and we followed his example, dimly perceiving there must be a purpose in it. Sheer obstinacy wins many a battle, and when we went up the bank our lower limbs were free, although to my mind we were as hopelessly bound as ever. Not so with Burns. I chanced to press close to him, as we came out upon the prairie, and he muttered a quick word into my ear.

"See how they herd us in the shade of the Agency! They are not yet ready to let the sojers know whut they're re'lly up to. Not an Injun will go beyond thet line long enough to be seen. Be ready to run fer it as soon as I say 'Go,' an' tell the Frenchman."

I succeeded in making De Croix understand, by means of the mongrel French at my command, which seemed not to be intelligible to the savages; and we moved forward at as slow a gait as our vigilant guards permitted, with every muscle tense for the coming strain. We were bunched together, with no pretence of order on the part of our captors; indeed, they seemed to be of various minds over what was to be done with us, though Topenebe exercised sufficient control over his mongrel followers to compel at least partial obedience to his orders. We tramped along to the west of the factory, the walls of which shut off all view of the Fort, a half-dozen of the savages about us, while the chief stalked on a few feet in advance.

We had almost reached the southwestern corner of the big Agency building, and Topenebe had already taken a step to the right, carefully keeping the log walls as a protection between our movements and the eyes of the garrison, when Burns, shaking off the Indians nearest him, bounded suddenly forward and struck Topenebe with his head, hurling the fellow by his side over backward as he passed.

"Run for the gate!" he yelled.

Like an arrow from the bow, I shot around the Agency corner, and raced for the stockade, De Croix, running like a deer, barely a foot behind me. I never dreamed, in that moment of intense action, that Burns was not also coming,—that he had deliberately sacrificed himself in order to hold back the savages and give us the better chance for life. Behind arose the sound of struggle, but there was no indication of pursuit, and as I rounded the end of the stockade the lower gate swung open just before me and I glanced back, half pausing as I realized the old borderer had not followed us; then some one tripped me, and I fell headlong. With a sudden rush, De Croix swept by.

"France wins, Monsieur!" he cried back in mocking triumph, as I staggered to my knees.



CHAPTER XVII

A CONTEST OF WITS

Though I was never of hasty or violent temper, it was quite as well that I failed to gain a sight of De Croix as I passed the posts and the sentry clanged the gate behind me. The Frenchman's scurvy trick would have heated cooler blood than mine; nor was my spirit soothed by the harsh fall I suffered. But De Croix had not waited; nowhere along the bare sunlit parade was he visible. I saw nothing but a squad of grinning soldiers lounging beside the barracks, until Captain Wells, issuing from the guard-house door, caught sight of me and came forward.

"Back, are you, Master Wayland?" he said gruffly, and 't was easy to see he did not approve of my escapade. "I scarcely thought to see you here again with so full a head of hair, after I learned of your mad wager. Providence must indeed take special care of fools. Have the redskins captured our French friend?"

"He entered a step in my advance."

A gleam of amusement played over his swarthy face.

"Ah, and so you let him win!" he exclaimed; "he, a mere voyager from the courts, unused to forest play! Such remissness deserves the guard-house, at the very least. Come, how happened it that this gay sprig outfooted you?"

"'T was but a trick," I retorted, aroused by these contemptuous words, "and one I shall make him pay well for. But I pray you cut these bands and set me free."

I think he had not noticed them before; but now, as he quickly drew his knife across the deerskin thongs, his whole expression changed.

"'Tis Indian tying," he said earnestly; "you have been in the hands of the savages?"

"Ay!" and the memory of it instantly brought back the recollection of the sacrifice that had won us our freedom. "There were three of us taken at daylight on the river bank, beyond the factory building. De Croix and I escaped through the efforts of one who is still a prisoner, and marked for torture."

Many were gathering about us by this time, anxious to learn whatever news I brought from without; but it was Captain Heald himself who now pushed his way through the throng until he fronted me.

"Who was it?" he asked, sharply. "We have lost no men!"

"His name is Burns, sir. I ran across him just back of the Kinzie house."

"Burns? Ol' Tom Burns?"

"Yes, sir."

Heald laughed, a look of evident relief on his haggard features.

"We shall not have to worry much as to his fate," he said, turning toward Wells. "You remember the fellow, William? He was one of Mad Anthony's scouts, and came west with you in 1803 when you first held council here."

The other nodded, a twinkle of pleasant recollection in his eyes. "Remember him?" he repeated. "I am not likely ever to forget him. He it was who brought me your message at Fort Wayne a month ago. My sympathies in this case are entirely with the Indians. There are likely to be things happening when Ol' Tom is around, unless he has lost his versatility and nerve in recent years. Come, my lad, give us the details of the story, for it must be worth the hearing if Ol' Burns played a leading part. He is as full of tricks as a dog of fleas."

I repeated the story briefly, for I was now eager to be away before De Croix could dress and claim his wager. I knew well the conceited coxcomb would never seek the presence of Mademoiselle until he had shed the rags he wore on entering the Fort. I remember yet that throng of faces, anxious yet amused, peering over each other's shoulders to get a better view of me as I talked, and constantly augmented as the word passed quickly about the garrison that we had safely returned from our midnight adventures.

"You will send aid to him?" I questioned, as I concluded, my eyes fixed appealingly upon Captain Heald.

"Not I," was the prompt and decisive rejoinder. "No soldier of this command shall leave the stockade until the hour for our final departure. The fellow had a chance to come in here with the others before the gates were closed, but was obstinate as a mule, and must now take the consequences. But you need not worry about Ol' Tom, my boy; he 'll circumvent those red devils in some way, you may rest assured, nor would he even thank us for interference. I have no force with which to control the horde of savages that surround us here. A clash of arms would be their excuse for immediate attack, and might mean death and torture to the whole garrison. Our only hope lies in being permitted to pass out without armed collision; and to do this requires that we ignore such hidden deeds. 'Twas a mad prank of yours last night, and might have involved us all in common ruin. Go this time free, except for these words of censure; for you are not directly under my orders. Another such attempt, subversive of all discipline, and the gates of Dearborn will be closed against you."

These harsh expressions stung me, but I felt them in a measure merited, and made no reply.

"'T was but the act of a boy, Heald," interposed Wells kindly, resting his hand upon my shoulder, "and you will find the lad well worth having when time of trial comes."

I slipped away through an opening in the curious throng, and hastened across the open parade toward the messroom. I felt dust-covered and bruised from my rough experiences, and hoped to discover opportunities for a bath. The building called the mess-room was long, running nearly half the length of the stockade, built like the others of logs, two stories in height, and containing a number of rooms. The single flight of stairs, opening just within the porch, was exceedingly rude, and built without any protecting rail. I hesitated a moment when fairly within the entrance, scarce knowing which way to turn in search of what I sought; but as I waited there, a light step sounded upon the bare floor above, and glancing up, with quickened beat of the heart, my eyes caught the soft drapery of a woman as she stepped on the upper stair.

I could scarcely have retreated had I wished to do so, though I realized instantly who it was, and drew back against the wall, so that she came down, singing lightly to herself, without noticing my presence until we were face to face. It was a picture to touch the heart of any man, and abide forever in the memory. I saw the sunlight as it streamed through an upper window along the rough log wall and flecked her white dress with ever-changing spots of quivering gold, and, as she drew nearer to my standing-place, played softly amid the masses of her dark-brown hair, giving it a tinge of glory. How daintily fair she was! how archly sweet looked the clear girlish face under the coquettish sweep of the broad hat! and with what unconscious grace she moved down the rude stairway, one white hand steadying her against the brown logs, the other gathering her draperies so close that I could not be blind to the daintily slippered foot that shyly peeped below the petticoat of ruffled silk. I may not have loved her then as I learned to do in later days, but my heart throbbed riotously at her presence, and I stood forgetful of all else.

As she turned aside at the foot of the stairs, she saw me, and the color deserted her face, only to return instantly in deeper volume, while her tell-tale eyes hid themselves behind long lashes.

"And are you indeed returned, Master Wayland?" she asked quickly, conquering her first emotion with a proud uplifting of her head. "You surprised me greatly. I think I first mistook you for a ghost come back to haunt me for having despatched you on so perilous a quest. You cannot know how I have been scolded for doing such a thing; yet surely you would have gone, even if I had failed to encourage it."

"Perhaps so, Mademoiselle," I answered, hoping I might lead her to speak with greater seriousness; "but it was the hope of the reward that spurred me forward."

"Ah, of course," she said deliberately ignoring her own offer, and with a reckless toss of her head, "you sought a fair girl for whose sake you have travelled far. Pray tell me, Monsieur,—I am so curious to know,—do you truly think Josette fairer than I?"

She spoke so lightly, smiling softly into my eyes, that I hardly detected the faint tinge of regretful sarcasm in her low voice.

"Josette, you ask me? Why, Josette is indeed a most charming girl, Mademoiselle; but to my mind there can be no comparison between her and you, for you are the fairest woman I have ever known."

Her dark eyes were full upon me, and I saw her parted lips move as if she would speak. But no words came, and we stood there silent except for the nervous tapping of her foot against the floor. Her look of seriousness changed into a smile.

"By my faith, but you pay compliments with so grave a countenance, Monsieur, that I hardly know how to receive them. Most men whisper such things with a light laugh, or a twinkle of the eye, and I know their words to be empty as bubbles of air. But you,—why, you almost make me feel you are in earnest."

"And I am," I interrupted, longing to seize her hand as I knew De Croix would have done, and pour forth the words that burnt upon my lips. "I have not been privileged to see much of the great outside world, Mademoiselle,—the world of courts and cities,—nor do I know how lovely its women may be; but no ideal formed in dreams satisfies me as you do. I know naught of idle compliments, nor the graces of a courtier; but my words are from the heart."

"I do truly believe and trust you, John Wayland," and she gave me her hand. "But let us talk of this no longer. My vanity is already more than satisfied by your frank and honest speech. And so you found Josette?"

"Yes," I answered, scarce noting what it was I said, so puzzled was I by her quick retreat.

"And that meeting, perchance, was so pleasant that it has taken your thought from all else? It must indeed be so, or why is it that Master Wayland doth not claim of me the stake of the wager?"

"Because," I stammered, greatly embarrassed by her roguish questioning eyes, "I fear it has not been fairly won."

"Not fairly won?" she echoed, puzzled by my tone and manner. "Surely you have made the trip, and the terms were plain. Really, Monsieur, you do not think I would withhold so small a reward from the winner?"

"But there was another,—the prize was destined for him who came back first."

"And has Captain de Croix returned also?"

"We arrived together, Mademoiselle, but it was his good fortune to be earliest through the gate."

'Twas good to see how her face lit up with the amusement this reply afforded her.

"Pish! but you are in truth the most marvellous man I ever knew. 'T is good to meet with such open honesty; and when did maid ever have before so unselfish a cavalier to do her honor? Monsieur, I greatly doubt if Captain de Croix will prove so thoughtful when his hour comes."

"You are right, Toinette," broke in a voice at my back. "I know not what Master Wayland may be yielding up so easily, but, like the Shylock of your William Shakespeare, I am here to claim my pound of flesh."

I wheeled and faced him, standing firmly between his approach and the girl, my blood instantly boiling at the familiar sound of that drawling voice.

"I have refused to accept from Mademoiselle what I had not fairly earned," I said, with quiet emphasis, "and so, no doubt, will you."

There was that about my words and action that astonished him, and for the moment his old audacity was gone as he swept a puzzled glance over our faces. I have often reflected upon the contrast we must have presented to her sight as we stood there,—for De Croix had donned his best attire, and was once again resplendent in frills and ribbons, with heavily powdered hair.

"Oh, most certainly, what I have not earned," he said at length, "but the kiss promised is surely mine by every right, as I was the first in."

"'T was done by a most scurvy trick."

"Poof! what of that? 'Tis the same whether the goal be won by wit and strategy, or mere fleetness of foot. Toinette will make no such fine distinction, I warrant you."

"Mademoiselle," and I turned toward the smiling girl, who seemingly enjoyed our interchange of compliments, "what may have been your understanding of this wager?"

"Why," she answered slowly, endeavoring to recall the details to mind, "Captain de Croix declared he would willingly make the trip for a touch of rosy lips, and in a spirit of venture I promised that whichever of you two first completed the journey and returned here should obtain such reward."

"There, 't is plain enough," he cried, stroking his mustache complacently, "and I have won."

"Most surely you have," I retorted, "and the reward has already been given you."

"Been given?" she questioned, "and by whom?"

"The girl Josette."

She looked from the one to the other of us, puzzled for a brief moment at the odd situation. Then, as her eyes settled upon De Croix's flushed and angry face, she laughed gaily, even as she daintily drew aside her skirts to pass us by.

"Pish, Monsieur!" she cried, shaking her finger at him, "I doubt it not. No, you need not deny it, for 't is but one of your old-time tricks, as I knew them well at Montreal. 'T would be no more than right were I even now to reward Master Wayland, for he hath truly won it,—yet for that I will delay awhile."

And with a flash of her dark eyes that held us speechless, she was gone.



CHAPTER XVIII

GLIMPSES OF DANGER

If any trace of anger held place in my heart, it utterly vanished as I noted the bewildered surprise with which De Croix gazed after Mademoiselle's departing figure.

"Sacre!" he exclaimed presently, turning toward me, his face flushed, and forgetful of all his well-practised graces. "'T was an unworthy trick, Master Wayland, and one I am not likely to forget."

"'T was a moment ago," I answered, in great good-humor at his discomfiture, "that you claimed wit was as important a factor as fleetness of foot in the winning of a race. I did no more than illustrate your theory, Monsieur."

The humor of it failed to touch him, and there was a direct menace in his manner which caused me to fall back a step in the narrow passage and front him warily.

"No boor of the woods shall laugh at me!" He exclaimed, his eyes aflame with passion, "be the cause love or war. What mean all these sly tricks of speech and action?—this hurried message to the ear of Mademoiselle? By my faith, you did not even pause to wash the dust from off your face before you sought her company. 'T is strange such intimacy could spring up between you in so short a time! But mark you this, Master Wayland, once and for all; I have not voyaged here from Montreal to be balked in my plans by the interference of an uncouth adventurer. I give you now fair warning that if you ever step again between Toinette and me, naught but the decision of steel shall end our quarrel."

That he was indeed in deadly earnest, and indulged in no vain threat, I well knew; his passion was too strongly painted on his face. My own temper rose in turn.

"I hear your words, Monsieur," I returned coldly, "and care no more for them than for a child's idle boasting. There is naught between Mademoiselle and me that the whole world might not know. We are good friends enough, but if by any chance love should be born from that friendship, no French gallant, though he sport a dozen swords, shall come between us. Win her if you can by reckless audacity and lavishness of perfume, but dream not to frighten me away from her presence by the mutterings of bravado. I am the son of a soldier, Monsieur, and have myself borne arms in battle."

"You will fight, then?"

"With pleasure, whenever the occasion arises," I replied slowly, struggling hard to keep back more bitter words. "But I see none at present, and, if I mistake not, all our skill at arms will soon be needed to save this girl, as well as ourselves, from savage hands."

I know not how we would have parted, for 't was evidently his wish to goad me on to fight; and there are times when passion overwhelms us all. But at that moment I heard the soft rustle of a dress, and wheeled to face the fair young wife of Lieutenant Helm. It was plain she had been weeping; but De Croix, ever quicker than I in such matters, was first to accost her in words of courtesy. A pretty face to him was instant inspiration.

"We bow to you, Madame," he exclaimed with excessive gallantry, doffing his hat till it swept the stairs; "your coming makes the very sunshine a brighter gold."

"I trust it may bring peace as well," she answered, striving to smile back at him, although trouble yet shadowed her sweet face; "surely my ears caught the sound of harsh words."

"A slight misunderstanding, which will hardly grow to any serious end," he protested.

"I trust not, gentlemen, for the time is come when we women at Dearborn surely need you all to protect us. Our case already appears desperate."

"Has something new occurred," I questioned anxiously, "that makes you more alarmed?"

Her eyes, grown strangely serious once more, swept our faces.

"You may neither of you comprehend this in its full meaning as clearly as I do," she returned gravely, "for I am frontier-bred, and have known the Indian character from childhood. We have long been acquainted, in my father's family, with many of the chiefs and warriors now encamped around us. We have traded in their villages, lived with them in their smoke-stained tepees on the great plains, and trusted them as they showed faith in us. You, I learn," and she looked at me more intently, "were at my father's house no later than last night. In spite of rumors of war and tightly guarded Fort-gates, you found his door wide open to whosoever might approach, with never a dog to bark at an intruder, be he white or red. This is because the Silver-man has always dealt fairly with the Indian, and won his respect and gratitude in return. Now, in time of peril this trader dares to believe in their good faith toward him and his. 'T is because of this I know so well all that is going on without, and have been able to inform Captain Heald of much his scouts were unable to discover. From the first there have been two factions among the savages gathered yonder; and whether we live or die may depend upon which counsel prevails among them—that of peace or that of war. Until within an hour I have hoped it might be peace,—that the older chiefs would hold their young men in control, and the red wampum be not seen at Dearborn. Twenty minutes ago one of the noblest advocates of peace,—a Pottawattomie warrior named Black Partridge,—sought interview with Captain Heald, and his words have shown me how desperate indeed has our situation become."

"He threatened?" broke in De Croix, his hand upon his sword-hilt.

"Nay, Monsieur, 't is not the way of an Indian, nor is Black Partridge one to indulge in vain words. I have known him long; in childhood I sat upon his knee, and believe him so friendly to the whites that naught but a sense of duty could move him otherwise. Yet, as I say, he came just now to the commandant of this garrison, and returned a medal once given him by the government. It was done sadly, and with deep regret,—for I overheard his speech. He said: 'Father, I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. Our young men are resolved to imbue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy.'"

She stopped, her agitated face buried in her hands, and neither of us spoke. The solemnity of her words and manner were most impressive.

"You feel, then, that the die is cast?" asked De Croix, all lightness vanished from his voice.

"I believe we march forth from these walls to our death to-morrow."

"But why," I protested, "should you, at least, take part in such hazard? Your father's family, you tell us, will be safe from attack. Surely, that home might also prove your refuge?"

The little woman, with the face of a girl, looked up at me indignantly through her tears.

"Lieutenant Helm marches with the troops," she answered quietly, "and I am his wife."

I retain no memory, at this late day, of what conversation followed. I know that De Croix in his easy carelessness about the future, sought to laugh at her fears and restore a feeling of hopefulness; but all my thoughts were elsewhere,—upon the grave dilemma in which we found ourselves, and my duty to these helpless ones upon every side.

I must have left the two standing there and conversing, though just how I moved, and why, is dim to me. I recall crossing the bare parade, and noting the company that formed the little garrison drawn up in the shadow of the south stockade. At any other time I should have paused in interest, for military evolutions always attracted my attention; but then I had no sense other than that of mental and physical exhaustion from the hours of toil and lack of rest. Owing to my absence the night before, no quarters had been assigned me; but finding the barracks of the troops unoccupied, and yielding to imperative need, I flung myself, without undressing, upon a vacant bunk, and lay there tossing with the burden of intense fatigue.

And then how the thoughts I sought to banish thronged upon me! No effort of my will could shut them out. I went over again and again the quarrel with De Croix, the incidents of the night, the solemn words of Mrs. Helm. Little by little, each detail clear and absolute, there unrolled before my mind's view the picture of our situation. I saw it as a frontiersman must, in all its grim probabilities. The little isolated Fort was cut off from all communication, held by a weakened garrison. Hope of rescue there was none. Without were already gathered hundreds of warriors attracted by rumors of war and promise of pillage; and these were growing in number and increasing in ferocity each day. I had ridden through them once, when their mood was only to annoy, and realized with a shudder of horror what it would mean to face them in our retreat, with all restraint of their chiefs removed. I thought of those long leagues of tangled forest-land stretching between us and the nearest border settlements, of ambuscades, of constant and harassing attack on the ever-thinning column as we fought for each foot of the way. Once my mind dwelt for an instant upon the quiet home I had left on the banks of the Maumee; as my eyes filled at the memory I drove it from me, for the present necessity was all too stern to permit indulgence in such weakness.

'T was of the women and children I thought most, and their probable fate if we failed to win a passage. The half-framed thought of such a possibility made my heart throb with dread apprehension, as I set my lips together in firm resolve. What had become of Roger Matherson's orphan child? 'T was indeed strange that I could gain no trace of the little girl. At the Fort they said she was with the Kinzies, at Kinzies' they told me she was at the Fort. It was, as Seth had prophesied, like seeking after a will-o'-the-wisp; yet surely she must be in the flesh somewhere. My plain duty was to find her at once; and I resolved to take up the task anew that day, and question every one I met till some trace yielded to my persistency. However, I needed first to sleep; but as I resolutely closed my eyes, there came gliding into my memory another face,—an arch, happy face, with softly rounded cheeks and dark laughing eyes, a face that mirrored a hundred moods, and back of them all a sweet womanly tenderness to make every mood a new and rare delight. Toinette!—never before was woman's name so pleasant to my lips. Ignorant as I was in mysteries of the heart, I knew not clearly whether I loved her, though this I knew beyond cavil,—no savage hand should ever touch her while I lived; and if I had to fight each step of the path from that accursed spot to Wayne, I swore within my heart she should come safe through. Her gentle memory was with me when all the rest yielded to the drowsy god, and in sheer exhaustion I slept—to dream.



CHAPTER XIX

A CONFERENCE AND A RESOLVE

"To my mind, the risk would be extreme; and I greatly doubt the wisdom of the step."

"But, William, what other alternative offers us any hope?"

"I confess I know not, for your last mistake has greatly aggravated the situation."

I sat up hastily, for seemingly these words were spoken at the very side of the bunk on which I lay. As I glanced about me I saw the room was vacant; so I knew the conference thus accidentally overheard must be taking place in an adjoining apartment. I was thoroughly awake when Captain Heald's voice spoke again.

"You say a mistake,—what mistake?" he questioned, as though aggrieved. "I have done no more than simply obey the orders of my superior officer."

"That may be true," broke in the gentler tones of Lieutenant Helm, "but of that we are unable to judge, for not one of your officers has been privileged to see those orders."

"You shall see them now. If I have been remiss in taking you into my confidence in these grave matters, it has been because of certain malcontents in the garrison with whom I hesitated to confer."

There was a rustle of paper, and Heald read slowly. I failed to distinguish the opening words, but as he reached the more important portion of the document his utterance grew deeper, and I heard distinctly this sentence:

"Evacuate the post if practicable, and in that event distribute the property belonging to the United States in the Fort, and in the factory or agency, to the Indians in the neighborhood."

There was a pause as he concluded. Captain Wells spoke first.

"To my mind, these orders are not positive, and leave much to your discretion. Who brought the message, and when?"

"A Wyandot named Winnemeg. He reached here on the ninth."

"I have heard the name, and believe him worthy of confidence. Did you advise with him?"

"Ay! Though he had no oral message from General Hull, he counselled immediate evacuation. I also felt such action to be wise; but things were in such condition within the Fort,—so large a number of helpless women and children to be provided for, and so heavy a proportion of the garrison on the sick-list,—that I found it impossible to act promptly. The Indians gathered so rapidly without, and assumed so hostile a manner, that I thought it suicidal to attempt a march through the wilderness, encumbered as we should be, without some positive understanding with their chiefs."

"I can easily comprehend all this, and that you have sought to act for the best," was Wells's comment; "but I fail to realize how you hoped to appease those same Indians by the wanton destruction last night of the liquor thrown into the river. It was done in direct opposition to the orders you have just read, and is bound to increase the hatred of the savages. You may be sure they are not ignorant of the contents of your despatch, and must resent the destruction of property they consider their own."

"'Twas done upon the advice of two of their leading chiefs."

"Indeed! Which two?"

"Topenebe and Little Sauk."

"The two biggest devils in that whole Pottawattomie camp, and the head and front of their war-party! Their purpose is clear enough to my mind, and seamed with treachery. Well, Heald, from my knowledge of Indian nature I must say that whoever goes forth now to confer with yonder redskins has a desperate mission; but if you are still determined upon such a conference, I will take my chances with you. 'T is given unto man but once to die."

"No, William," replied Captain Heald, with more firmness. "It is your part to remain here in protection of your niece, my wife; and if my own officers refuse to volunteer in this service, I shall go forth alone to meet the chiefs. It is my duty as commandant."

"Two of your officers are here," said Wells, "and they can probably answer for themselves. Ensign Ronan is not present."

"He is acting as officer of the day," returned Heald, somewhat stiffly, "and is therefore not eligible for such service. Perhaps one of the officers here present possesses courage enough for the venture?"

Apparently neither cared to express himself, after such an insinuation. At last one, whose voice I recognized as that of Surgeon Van Voorhis, gave utterance to his refusal.

"As the only medical officer of the garrison, I feel justified in declining to go upon so desperate an expedition," he said gravely. "It would expose not only my own life to unnecessary peril, but the lives of many others as well."

"And what say you, Lieutenant Helm? Have you also personal scruples?"

I could detect a tremor in the younger officer's voice, as he answered promptly.

"Captain Heald has before this seen me in time of danger," he said quietly, "and can have no reason for ascribing cowardice to me. But I will frankly say this, sir, and with all respect to my commanding officer, I believe such conference as now proposed with the hostile Indians yonder, at this late day, to be perfectly useless, and that every hour's delay since the receipt of orders to evacuate the post has only tended to increase our danger and lessen our hope of escape. I feel now that our only chance of safety lies in defending this stockade against attack until a rescue party from the East can reach us. I have a young wife among the women of this garrison; to her I owe allegiance, as well as to the flag I serve. Feeling as I do, Captain Heald, as a soldier I will obey any command you give, and will go forth upon this mission if ordered to do so, either in your company or alone; but I cannot volunteer for such service. I believe it to be foolhardy, and that whoever undertakes it goes forth to almost certain death."

"Then I shall go alone," said Heald, sternly; "nor do I look forward to any such disastrous ending to so open a mission of peace."

"Wait," broke in Wells, impulsively. "I have a final suggestion to make, if you are resolved to go. There rode in my party hither a rattle-brained gallant, bearing a French commission, who ought to prove sufficiently reckless to lend you his companionship. Faith! but I think it may well suit the fellow. Besides, if he wore his French uniform it might have weight with the reds."

"Who is he?" asked Heald, doubtfully. "I seem not to have memory of him."

"He calls himself Captain Villiers de Croix, and holds commission in the Emperor's Guard."

Scarcely were the words spoken when I was on my feet, all vestige of sleep gone from my eyes. De Croix was hardly a friend of mine, since late developments, but he had been my comrade for many a league of hard forest travel, and I was unwilling to have him carelessly sacrificed in a venture regarding the danger of which he knew nothing. Besides, I counted on his sword to aid in the defence of Mademoiselle. I understood thoroughly the desperate chances of Indian treachery that lay before such a commission as was now proposed. It was rash in the extreme; and only the terrors of our position could sanction such an experiment. The savages that hemmed us in were already in an ugly mood, and fully conscious of their power. To go forth to them, unarmed and uninvited, as Captain Heald coolly proposed doing, was to walk open-eyed into a trap which treachery might snap shut at any time. It was not my purpose to halt De Croix, nor to stand between him and any adventure he might choose to undertake; but I could at least warn him, in a friendly spirit, of the imminent danger such a thing involved.

With this thought in mind, I ran hastily across the open parade into the officers' mess-hall, hoping I might find him loitering there. To my hasty glance, the place appeared deserted; and I drew back, wondering where to turn next in search. As I hesitated on the threshold, the low voice of Mademoiselle fell upon my ear; and at that moment she emerged from behind the curtain which divided the officers' quarters.

"May I hope you are seeking me?" she asked, graciously; "for it has been most lonely here all day,—even Captain de Croix seems to have forgotten my existence."

"It was De Croix I sought," I answered, somewhat nettled by her prompt reference to him; "and doubtless you are well able to give me trace of him."

She studied me keenly, marking an angry note in my voice that I sought vainly to disguise.

"Forever a quarrel?" she said, regretfully. "Do you know, Master Wayland, I had thought better of you. Surely it is not your nature to be a brawler, and always seeking opportunity to show the strong hand! What has Captain de Croix done now to make you seek him so vengefully?"

"'T is not in quarrel," I explained,—I fear with ill grace, for her words in his defence were little inclined to mollify me. "You may indeed have so poor conception of me as to misinterpret my coming; yet in truth I seek De Croix in friendship, hoping that I may by a chance word serve him."

"Indeed! what danger threatens, that he needs to be warned against?"

I hesitated; for, now that my blood had somewhat cooled, my mission seemed a bit foolish.

"I insist upon knowing," she continued haughtily, her eyes full upon mine, "or I shall believe you sought him for hostile purpose, and would deceive me by fair words."

"Mademoiselle," I answered gravely, "you do me wrong. Only a few moments ago I chanced to overhear a discussion, by the officers of this Fort, regarding a commission to go forth and hold council with the Indians. Captain Heald is determined upon such a course; but none will volunteer to accompany him, because of the grave danger of savage treachery. The Frenchman's name was mentioned as one reckless enough to join with such a party; and I sought to warn him ere he accepted blindly. He is hardly a friend of mine,—yet it seems no more than fair that he should know the full measure of his peril before saying 'yes.'"

She came impulsively forward, with quickly extended hand, her face aglow.

"You are indeed a true heart, John Wayland, and have shamed me rightly. I know well the deceit and treachery of Indian nature, and can understand the peril such a party would run. Promise me that you will prevent Captain de Croix from becoming one of them."

"I?" I exclaimed in perplexed surprise; "I can do no more than warn him."

"But you must do more!" she cried imperatively. "He will surely go if asked. A warning such as you propose would only stir his blood. I beg you to use your wits a little, so that he may know nothing of it."

I looked at her, deeply hurt by the interest so openly displayed.

"You are wondrously aroused for the Frenchman's safety, Mademoiselle!"

"Yes, though not as you may fancy. Captain de Croix came here for my sake, even though no word of mine gave him reason for doing so. For this reason I could never forgive myself if harm befell him on such a journey. 'T would be as if I had lured him to his death. So 'tis for my sake, not his, that I ask the favor."

I leaned against the log wall and thought quickly, her anxious eyes never leaving my face. There came into my mind a conviction that the girl really loved him; and this made the struggle harder for me to serve him. Nor did I see clearly how it could well be done, save through a sacrifice of myself, such as I had never intended.

"Surely," she urged, "your wits will conceive some way in which it may be done?"

"Yes," I answered, eager now to hide my own feeling from her; "'tis not hopeless. You desire that he be kept within the Fort, ignorant of this commission?"

"I do; 't is the only way."

"Very well, it shall be done, Mademoiselle. No, I need no thanks from you. Only do this simple thing, which, I am sure, you will find no hardship,—keep Captain de Croix from any possible contact with others for an hour. Your eyes will prove sufficient, no doubt, to enchain him that long; if not, use other measures."

"But what will you do?"

"That does not count. 'T is the result, not the means, that must content you. I have my plan, and it will work; but I cannot stay here longer to discuss it. Only do your part well, and I pledge you the safety of De Croix."

I left her standing there, the light of questioning still in her eyes; but I wished mainly to be safely away, where I might hide my own sudden heart-ache in the energy of action.



CHAPTER XX

IN THE INDIAN CAMP

It cut me deeply to think that this girl would willingly sacrifice me to save the French gallant from injury, and an anxiety to escape her presence before I should speak words I might always regret caused me to leave with scant ceremony. Yet I was none too soon; for scarce had I stepped without the door when I met Lieutenant Helm ascending the steps.

"Ah, Wayland!" he said, catching sight of me, "do you happen to know where I am most likely to find Captain de Croix?"

"He is scarcely to be disturbed at present, unless the matter be truly urgent," I replied, my plan hastily sketched in mind. "Have you arranged a banquet in honor of the Frenchman?"

"No such good fortune," was the grave response. "Captain Heald desires his company upon an immediate mission to the Pottawattomie camp."

"Oh, is that all? Well, Captain de Croix will hardly be found sufficiently recovered from his late adventure to enter upon another one so early. 'T is in my thought he either sleeps or is prinking himself for more pleasant conquests. But why worry him? In my judgment, no poorer choice could be made for so serious a task as you propose. He is a mere French courtier,—brave enough, and rash, I grant, yet without knowledge of Indian ways and treachery. Might not I answer better as his substitute?"

"You?"

"Ay! and why not? I am frontier-bred, long trained in woodcraft and savage ways, and surely far better fitted for such a task than is this petted darling of the courts. Were it a flirtation, now, the post might be truly his."

"'T is true, you would be my choice; but do you realize the peril involved?"

"Fully, my friend, yet scarce think it so desperate as you imagine. It is my judgment the savages yonder are seeking bigger game than so small a party would afford, and will therefore allow us to go free. However, if it should prove otherwise," and I spoke the words with a sore heart as I recalled what had just occurred, "I am a lone man in the world, and to such an one death is not so terrible, even at Indian hands. Come, I will go with you to confer with Captain Heald, and offer him my services. He can do no more than refuse."

Helm offered no further objection, doubtless feeling it useless in my venturesome mood; and we crossed the parade together without speaking.

Captain Wells was the first to see me as we entered, and some instinct told him instantly of my purpose.

"Ah, Wayland, my boy! I have been troubled lest you might chance to hear of our plight, and jump in. Come now, lad! 't was not you we sent after, nor can we use you in so grave a matter."

"And pray, why not?" I questioned, a little touched by this evidence of kindness, yet firmly determined to keep my pledge to Mademoiselle. "I am a better man for such deeds than the Frenchman, and am eager to go."

"So this is not your Captain de Croix?" said Captain Heald, eying me curiously. "Saint George! but he is a big fellow,—the same who made the race last night, or I mistake greatly. And what is this man's name?"

"It is John Wayland," I answered, anxious to impress him favorably; "a frontiersman of the Maumee country, and fairly skilled in Indian ways. I have come to volunteer my services to go with you."

"You are anxious to die? have the spirit of a Jesuit, perchance, and are ambitious of martyrdom?"

"Not unusually so, sir, but I think the danger overrated by these gentlemen. At least, I am ready and willing to go."

"And so you shall, lad!" cried the old soldier, striking a hand upon his knee. "You are of the race of the long rifles; I know your kind well. Not another word, William! here is a man worth any twenty of your French beaux strutting with a sword. Now we start at once, and shall have this matter settled speedily."

The earliest haze of the fast-descending twilight was hovering over the level plain as we two went forth. In the west, the red tinge of the sun, which had just disappeared below the horizon, lingered well up in the sky. Against it we could see, clearly outlined in inky blackness, the distant Indian wigwams; while to the eastward the crimson light was reflected in fantastic glow upon the heaving surface of the lake. For a moment we paused, standing upon the slope of the mound on which the Fort was built, and gazed about us. There was little movement to arrest the eye. The dull, dreary level of shore and prairie was deserted; what the more distant mounds of sand or the overhanging river banks might hide of savage watchers, we could only conjecture. Seemingly the mass of Indian life, which only the day before had overflowed that vacant space, had vanished as if by some sorcerer's magic. To me, this unexpected silence and dreary barrenness were astounding; I gazed about me fairly bewildered, almost dreaming for the moment that our foes had lifted the long siege and departed while I slept. Heald no doubt read the thought in my eyes, for he laid a kindly hand upon my sleeve and pointed westward.

"They are all yonder, lad, at the camp,—in council, like enough. Mark you, Wayland, how much farther to the south the limit of their camp extends than when the sun sank last night? Saint George! they must have added all of fifty wigwams to their village! They gather like crows about a dead body. It has an ugly look."

"Yet 't is strange they leave the Fort unguarded, so that the garrison may come and go unhindered. 'T is not the usual practice of Indian warfare."

"Unguarded? Faith! the hundreds of miles of wilderness between us and our nearest neighbor are sufficient guard. But dream not, my lad, that we are unobserved; doubtless fifty pair of skulking eyes are even now upon us, marking every move. I venture we travel no more than a hundred yards from the gate before our way is barred. Note how peaceful the stockade appears! But for the closed gates, one would never dream it the centre of hostile attack. Upon my word, even love-making has not deserted its log-walls!"

I lifted my eyes where he pointed, and even at that distance, and through the gathering gloom, I knew it was De Croix and Mademoiselle who overhung those eastern palisades in proximity so close. The sight was as fire to my blood, and with teeth clinched to keep back the mad utterance of a curse, I strode beside Captain Heald silently down the declivity to the deserted plain below.

It is my nature to be somewhat chary of speech, and to feel deeply and long; but if I doubted it before, I knew now, in, this moment of keen and bitter disappointment, that my heart was with that careless girl up yonder, who had sent me forth into grave peril apparently without thought, and who cared so little even now that she never lifted her eyes from the sparkling water to trace our onward progress. Anger, disappointment, disgust at her duplicity, her cruel abuse of power, swept over and mastered me at the moment when I realized more deeply than ever my own love for her, and my utter helplessness to oppose her slightest whim. No Indian thongs could bind me half so tightly as the false smiles of Toinette.

Plunged into this whirlpool of thought, I moved steadily forward at Captain Heald's shoulder, unconscious of what might be taking place about us, and for the moment indifferent to the result of our venture. But this feeling was not for long. Scarcely had our progress taken us across the front of the deserted agency building, and beyond the ken of the sentinels in the Fort, when a single warrior rose before us as from the ground, and blocked the path. He was a short, sturdy savage, bare to the waist save for a chain of teeth which dangled with sinister gleam about his brawny throat, and, from the wide sweep of his shoulders, evidently possessed of prodigious strength. He held a gun extended in front of him, and made a gesture of warning impossible to misapprehend.

"What seeks the White Chief?" he questioned bluntly. "Does he come for peace or war?"

The query came with such grave abruptness that Heald hesitated in reply.

"Never since I have been at Dearborn have I sought war," he replied at last. "Little Sauk knows this well. We travel now that we may have council of peace with the chiefs of the Pottawattomies. See!" and he held up both empty hands before the Indian's eyes, "we are both unarmed, because of our trust in the good faith of your people."

Little Sauk uttered a low grunt of disapproval, and made no motion to lower his threatening rifle.

"Ugh! You talk strong! Did any Pottawattomie send to White Chief to come to council?"

"No," admitted Heald. "We come because it is the wish of the Great Father of the white men down by the sea that we talk together of the wrongs of the red men, and make proposals of peace between us. There is no cause for these rumors of war, and the Great Father has heard that the Pottawattomies are dissatisfied, and it has made him sad."

The Indian looked from one to the other of us in the growing darkness, and made a gesture of contempt.

"The real Great White Father wears a red coat, and is friend to the Pottawattomie," he said with dignity. "He no lie, no shut Indian out of Fort, no steal furs, no throw rum in river. Who this man, White Chief? He no soldier,—he long-knife."

"Yes, he is a frontiersman, and came to the Fort yesterday with Wau-me-nuk, bringing word of greeting from the Great Father to the Pottawattomies. He goes now with me to council. May we pass on to your camp?"

For a moment Little Sauk did not answer, stepping closer in order that he might better scan my features. Apparently satisfied by the keen scrutiny, he turned his broad back upon us and strode off with contemptuous dignity.

"Come," he said shortly; and without further word we followed across that dim plain and through the thickening darkness.

The Indian's step was noiseless, and his figure cast the merest shadow; but as we moved onward others constantly joined us, stalking out of the black night like so many phantoms, gliding silently in their noiseless moccasins across the soft grass, until fully a dozen spectral forms hedged our pathway and kept step to every movement. It was a weird procession, through the shifting night-shadows; and although I could catch but fleeting glimpses of those savage faces and half-naked forms, the knowledge of their presence, and our own helplessness if they proved treacherous, caused my heart to throb till I could hear it in the painful silence like the beat of a drum. Now and then a guttural voice challenged from the darkness, to be instantly answered by those in advance, and another savage glided within our narrowed vision, scanned us with cruel and curious eyes, and fell in with the same silent, tiger-like tread of his fellows.

It was not long that we were compelled to march thus, the gathering warriors pressing us closer at each step; and it was well it proved so soon ended, for the grim mockery set my nerves on edge. Yet the change was hardly for the better. Just before reaching the spot where the river forked sharply to the southward, we came to the upper edge of the wigwams, and into a bit of light from their scattered fires. There rushed out upon us a wild horde of excited savages, warriors and squaws, who pushed us about in sheer delirium, and even struck viciously at us across the shoulders of our indifferent guard, so that it was only by setting my teeth that I held back from grappling with the demons. But Heald, older in years and of cooler blood, laid restraining hands upon my arm.

"'T is but the riff-raff," he muttered warningly. "The chiefs will hold them back from doing us serious harm."

As he spoke, Little Sauk uttered a gruff order, and the grim warriors on our flank drove back the jeering, scowling crowd, with fierce Indian cursing and blows of their guns, until the way had been cleared for our advance. We moved on for two hundred yards or more, the maddened and vengeful mob menacing us just beyond reach of the strong arms, and howling in their anger until I doubted not their voices reached the distant Fort.

We came to a great wigwam of deer-skin, much larger than any I had ever seen, with many grotesque figures of animals sketched in red and yellow paint upon the outside, and clearly revealed by the blazing fire without. A medicine-man of the tribe, hideous with pigment and high upstanding hair, sat beating a wooden drum before the entrance, and chanting wildly to a ferocious-looking horde of naked savages, many bleeding from self-inflicted wounds, who danced around the blaze, the leaping figures in the red glare making the scene truly demoniacal. Little Sauk strode through the midst of them, unheeding the uproar, and flung aside the flap of the tent.

"White Chief and Long Knife wait here," he said Sternly. "Come back pretty soon."

There was nothing to be seen within, excepting some skins flung carelessly upon the short trodden grass. We sat down silently upon these, gazing out through the narrow opening at the blazing fire and the numerous moving figures constantly crowding closer about the entrance, both of us too deeply immersed in thought to care for speech.

The black shadows upon the tepee cover told me that guards had been posted to keep back the rabble from intrusion, and once I saw signs of a brief struggle in front when the swarm had grown too inquisitive and were forced back with scant ceremony. The weird dance and incantation continued; and although I knew but little of the customs of the Pottawattomies, there was a cruel savagery and ferocity about it which I felt held but little promise of peace.

"'T is the war-dance," whispered Heald in my ear, "and bodes ill for our purpose. See! the red wampum is in the fellow's hand."

As I bent forward to catch the gleam of it in the flames, a new figure suddenly flitted past our narrow vista, between us and the wild circle of dancers. It was a woman, attired in fanciful Indian dress; but surely no Pottawattomie squaw ever possessed so graceful a carriage, or bore so clear a face.

"Captain!" I ejaculated eagerly. "Did you see that white woman there, with the long skirt and red hair?"

"Ay!" he answered as though he scarce had faith in his own eyes. "I marked not the color of her hair, but I saw the lass, and, by Saint George! she looked to me like old Roger Matherson's daughter."



CHAPTER XXI

A COUNCIL OF CHIEFS

I was on my feet in an instant, forgetful of everything excepting my duty to this girl whom I had come so far to find, and who now was plainly a prisoner in Indian hands. At the entrance of the tepee, a scowling warrior pushed me roughly back, pretending not to understand my eager words of expostulation, and, by significant gesture, threatening to brain me with his gun-stock if I persisted. A slight return of reason alone kept me from striking the fellow down and striding over his prostrate body. While I stood struggling with this temptation, Captain Heald grasped me firmly.

"Are you mad, Wayland?" he muttered, dragging me back into the dark interior of the tepee. "For God's sake, don't anger these fellows! Think of all the helpless lives depending on the success of our errand here! What is the girl to you?"

"I will wait," I answered, calmed by his earnestness, and ashamed of my boyish impetuosity; "but I am here at Dearborn seeking this young woman, whom I had supposed rather to be a young child. Her father was my father's dearest friend, and wrote us from his death-bed asking our protection for her."

"You are Major Wayland's son,—I remember the circumstances now, and that I endorsed such a letter. 'T is most strange. This girl disappeared from Dearborn some days ago. Mrs. Heald heard the matter discussed among the ladies of the garrison, and then all supposed her to be at John Kinzie's in company with Josette La Framboise; yet I would almost have sworn I saw her again, and not two hours ago, within the Fort. By Saint George! the glimpse I got just now makes me doubt my own eyesight. She was ever an odd creature,—but what can bring her here, walking so freely about in this camp of vengeful savages?"

I could not answer him; the mystery was beyond my clearing. Only, if this was the Elsa Matherson for whom I had sought so long, surely God had in some way led me on to find her; nor should any peril turn my quest aside.

I had hardly time for this resolve, ere the flap of the tepee was held back by a dark hand, and in grimly impressive silence warrior after warrior, plumed, painted, and gaudily bedecked with savage ornaments, stalked solemnly within, circled about us without sign of greeting, and seated themselves cross-legged upon the bare ground. The uplifted door-skin permitted the red flames from without to play freely over their stern, impassive faces, and shone back upon us from their glittering eyes. It was an impressive scene, their stoical demeanor breathing the deep solemnity of the vast woods and plains amid which their savage lives were passed; nor could one fail to feel the deep gravity with which they gathered in this council of life or death. To them it was evident that the meeting was of most serious portent.

I saw only two faces that I recognized in that red ring,—Topenebe and Little Sauk. I knew, however, it was probable there were some great chiefs among that company; and I marked especially two, one with long white hair, and a tall, slender, rather young fellow, having two wide streaks of yellow down either cheek.

The Indians sat motionless, gazing intently at us; and I swept the entire dark circle of scowling faces, vainly endeavoring to find one hopeful glance, one friendly eye. Open hatred, undisguised distrust, implacable enmity, were stamped on every feature. Whatever our plea might be, I felt convinced that the chiefs were here only to carry out their own purposes and make mock of every offering of peace.

After several moments of this painful silence, the chief with the long white hair deliberately lighted a large pipe drawn from his belt. It was curiously and grotesquely fashioned, the huge bowl carved to resemble the head of a bear. He drew from the stem a single thick volume of smoke, breathed it out into the air, and solemnly passed the pipe to the warrior seated upon his right. With slow deliberation, the symbol moved around the impassive and emotionless circle, passing from one red hand to another, until it finally came back to him who had first lighted it. Without so much as a word being uttered, he gravely offered it to Captain Heald. I heard, and understood, the quick sigh of relief with which my companion grasped it; he drew a breath of the tobacco, and I followed his example, handing back the smoking pipe to the white-haired chief without rising, amid the same impressive silence.

The Indian leader spoke for the first time, his voice deep and guttural.

"The Pottawattomies have met in council with the White Chief and the Long Knife," he said soberly, "and have smoked together the peace-pipe. For what have the white men come to disturb Gomo and his warriors?"

I gazed at him with new interest. No name of savage chief was wider known along the border in those days, none more justly feared by the settlers. He was a tall, spare, austere man, his long coarse hair whitened by years, but with no stoop in his figure. His eyes, small and keen, blazed with a strange ferocity, as I have seen those of wildcats in the dark; while his flesh was drawn so closely against his prominent cheek-bones as to leave an impression of ghastliness, as of a corpse suddenly returned by some miracle to life. With dabs of paint across the forehead, and thin lips drawn in a narrow line of cruelty, his face formed a picture to be long remembered with a shudder.

It was easy enough to see that Captain Heald felt uncertain how far to venture in his proposals, though he spoke up boldly, and with no tremor in his voice. His long frontier experience had taught him the danger that lay in exhibiting timidity in the face of Indian scorn.

"Gomo," he said firmly, "and you other Chiefs of the Pottawattomies, there has never been war between us. We have traded together for many seasons; you have eaten at my table, and I have rested by your fires. We have been as brothers, and more than once have I judged between you and those who would wrong you. I have remembered all this, and have now come into your camp through the night, without fear and unarmed, that I might talk with you as friends. Am I not right to do this? In all the time I have been the White Chief at Dearborn, have I ever done wrong to a Pottawattomie?"

He paused; but no warrior made reply. A low guttural murmur ran around the line of listeners, but the bead-like eyes never left his face. He went on:

"Why should I fear to meet the Pottawattomies, even though word had come to me that their young men talk war, and seek alliance with our enemy the red-coats? The Chiefs have seen war, and are not crazed for the blood of their friends. They will restrain such wild mutterings. They know that the White Father to the east is strong, and will drive the red-coats back into the sea as he did when they fought before. They will ally themselves with the strong one, and make their foolish young man take up arms for their friends."

Still no one spoke, no impassive bronze face exhibited the faintest interest. It was as if he appealed to stone.

"Is this not so?"

"The White Chief has spoken," was the cold reply. "His words are full of eloquence, but Gomo hears nothing that calls for answer. The White Chief says not why he has come and demanded council of the Pottawattomies."

A low murmur, expressive of approval, swept down the observant line; but no man among them stirred a muscle.

"I came for this, Gomo," said Heald, speaking now rapidly, and with an evident determination to trust all in a sentence and have it over with, for it was clear the savages were in no mood for diplomatic evasion: "to ask your guidance and protection on our march eastward on the morrow. I come to the Pottawattomies as friends; for I fear we may meet with trouble on the way, from roving bands of Wyandots and Miamis, and we are greatly burdened by our women and children. It is to ask this that I and the Long Knife are here."

"You say the White Father is strong, and will drive the red-coats into the sea: did he at Mackinac?"

"There was treachery there."

"Ugh! Why, if White Father so strong, you leave Fort and go way off?"

"Because just now I can serve him better elsewhere; but we shall come again."

"My young men have rumor that Detroit go like Mackinac."

"It is untrue; your young men bring false news."

Gomo turned and looked about him upon the expectant warriors; and, as if the glance was an invitation to free speech, one sitting half-way across the circle asked gruffly:

"Why you pour out rum, if you love Pottawattomie?"

"Because I am only the White Chief at Dearborn," returned Heald, facing the questioner, "and, like Peesotum who asks, have higher chiefs elsewhere whom I must obey. What they tell me I have to do."

"White Chief lies!" was the short, stern answer. "Winnemeg brought no such word."

So furious were the many dark, glowering faces, that I braced myself, thinking the next moment would be one of struggle for life or death; but Gomo held them motionless with a wave of his hand. He rose slowly to his feet, and faced us with grave dignity.

"It is true, as Peesotum says," he said impressively. "The White Chief has used a double tongue to the Red man; yet we will deal fairly with him, for he has come to us in peace. White Chief, there is to be war between us; 't is the will of our young men, and the red wampum has passed among our lodges and the lodges of our brothers the Wyandots. Yet when you unlock the gates we will go forth with you and your people, around the sweep of the water. Such is the will of the Great Spirit, and the decision of the Pottawattomie in council of chiefs."

Heald looked about upon the scowling circle with disbelief so clearly expressed in his eyes, that Gomo, reading it, turned to his warriors and called upon them one by one to say if he spoke the truth. I heard him speak thus to Little Sauk, Black Bird, Topenebe, Mankia, Pipe Bird, Peesotum, and Ignance; and each answered with the low grunt of assent. He fixed his eyes upon the younger Indian who had already attracted my attention by the manliness of his face as well as the yellow stripes that disfigured him.

"And you, Black Partridge?"

"I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans," was the grave response. "I have no more to say."

I confess these words chilled me, as I recalled their meaning; and Heald half rose to his feet as though he would protest, but not a stolid face among the warriors changed in expression. Gomo drew his robes more closely about his gaunt figure in simple but impressive dignity.

"Doth Shaw-nee-aw-kee go east also with the white men?" he asked.

"I have not of late conferred with the Silver-man. He has been at his own lodge, and doubtless you may know his purpose better than I."

"We wish him to stay. He good man; Pottawattomie's friend."

The Indian stood motionless, his eyes watching keenly the expression of each face. He added slowly:

"The White Chief hears the promise of the Pottawattomies. It is enough. He can go forth in peace upon the morrow, with all his warriors, squaws, and pappooses, and the people of my nation will walk with them as guards. It is our pledge; we will counsel no longer."

At a simple commanding gesture of his long arms, the circle melted away through the narrow opening as silently as it had gathered, the dark figure of each warrior silhouetted for an instant against the red glare of the fire, before it suddenly disappeared in the darkness beyond. At last Little Sauk alone stood between us and the blaze.

"Come," he commanded gruffly, "White Chief go back to his people."

Enclosed by that same phantom guard of savages, we passed out through the limits of the camp; but now the rabble paid not the slightest heed to our presence. Our mission known, and no longer a mystery, they treated us with the stolid indifference of Indian contempt. I walked with eyes alert upon either side of our path for another glimpse of that girlish figure that I had seen before so dimly; but we traversed nearly the full length of the tepee rows before I saw any one that at all resembled her. Even then, I was far from certain, until the sudden leaping up of a dying fire reflected on her crown of auburn hair, and set my heart to throbbing.

"Little Sauk!" I cried, in my excitement clutching his naked arm, "who is that white girl yonder, and how comes she here?"

The startled Indian sprang aside, flinging me from him with a violence that showed his giant strength.

"No white girl," he protested, vehemently. "Pottawattomie."

"No Pottawattomie has hair like the sunset," I retorted. "Come, I would speak with the girl."

For an instant I saw the bead-like eyes of the savage glittering in the darkness and wandering where I pointed. He faced me doggedly.

"Long Knife leave Indian maid alone," he said grimly. "Long Knife go Fort; no talk."

I was in a mood to resist the fellow's dictation, and reckless enough of consequences at that moment to take the chance; but Heald interfered.

"You can serve her far better, lad, in that way," he muttered hastily. "We shall not always be two to twelve."

With teeth gritted to keep back the fierce anger that shook me, I strolled sullenly on, not even venturing to glance back lest I should give way. It was thus we reached the Fort gate, and entered, leaving our dusky escort to slink back into the night. An anxious crowd met us. It was Wells who questioned first.

"So those devils have let you go unharmed? What answer made the savages?"

"They pledge us safe convoy around the head Of the lake."

"They do? Who spoke the words of the pledge?"

"Old Gomo himself, and it was ratified by each of the chiefs in turn."

"They are lying dogs,—all but one of them. What answered Black Partridge?"

Heald made no response; and Wells wheeled impetuously to me.

"Come, lad, the truth,—what reply did Black Partridge make to this Indian mummery?"

"He said, 'I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans, and have nothing more to say.'"

For a moment the old Indian soldier stared at me, his stern face fairly black with the cloud in his eyes. He brought his clinched hand down hard against the log wall.

"By God! it is treachery!" he exclaimed fiercely, and turned and walked away.



CHAPTER XXII

THE LAST NIGHT AT DEARBORN

It was evident that preparations were even then well under way for retreat the following morning. Trunks and boxes, together with various military stores and arms, strewed the sides of the parade-ground; farther back, a number of wagons, partially filled, stood waiting the remainder of their loads. Men and women were hastening back and forth, and children were darting through the shadows, their little arms piled high with bundles, and making play, as children ever will, of what was to prove an awful tragedy. A large fire, burning brightly before the deserted guard-house, cast its ruddy glow over the animated scene, checkering the rude walls with every passing shadow.

I noticed, as I slowly pushed my way along, that the soldiers worked seriously, with few jests on their lips, as if they realized the peril that menaced them; while many among the women, especially those of the humbler sort, were rejoicing over the early release from garrison monotony, and careless of what the morrow might bring of danger and suffering.

A few steps from the gate, I paused for a moment that I might watch their flitting figures, the incessant bustle being a positive relief after the dull and ghostly silence without. My mind,—though I strove to cast the thought aside,—was still occupied with the mystery of Elsa Matherson; but the more I dwelt upon it, the less I was able to penetrate the secret of her strange presence in the Indian camp, or devise any scheme for reaching her. The ache in my heart made me dread to meet again with Mademoiselle Toinette, lest I should utter words of reproach which she did not deserve; for, sad as such a confession was, I had to acknowledge that she had a perfect right to protect the man she loved, even at my cost.