I had made my long speech nervously, knowing, in my heart, that what I asked the man to do would take more courage of soul than one would expect to find in his slender frame.  For I might be throwing him over to fiendish torment.  The Indian women were cruel as weasels, and more ingenious in their trap-setting than the men.  It cooled my blood to think what Singing Arrow’s friendliness might really mean.

The prisoner heard me without flinching.  “But what is Singing Arrow’s motive?” he asked, with his mournful eyes full on my own.  “We cannot read men’s hearts, but, after all, there are but few springs that rule their action.  You know that I will be loyal to you to save my head, to which, though it has served me badly, I yet cling.  I know that you will be loyal to me because I see that God gave you a softness of heart which your brain tells you is unwise.  But what string pulls this Indian that she should be a traitor to her people?  If you will give me a hint, I will play upon it as best I can.”

I could only shrug.  “It may be my man, Pierre,” I hazarded.  “He is red as a flamingo, and a fool into the bargain; but he has shoulders like an ox, so the women want him.  I can see no other motive.  Will you trust to that, monsieur?”

He looked back at me with the flicker of a smile.  “It is sufficient.”

I do not like smiles that I cannot understand, so I changed the subject.  “The plan is simple, monsieur,” I said briskly.  “Singing Arrow will come to the window, and you are to make love to her.  After a time—­not too long—­you are to beguile her inside.  I think the guards will be complaisant, if you play your part well.  Be as debonair as possible.  A soldier is always tempted to be lenient to a jaunty foe.”

The prisoner nodded.  “And you will meet me?”

“Outside in the camp.  I shall stand near a fire, so that you can find me at once.  Remember, monsieur, that you are Singing Arrow, and that it will be your cue to follow me, and mine to shrug you away.”

The Englishman drew a long breath.  “I am ready, monsieur,” he said, with a little squaring of the shoulders, and I saw that, mortal danger that he was in, his spirit yet responded to the touch of comedy in the game.

I saluted him with a laugh of my own.  “Then I will go, monsieur.  Go into the next room to change your clothing, or the guard may come in and find you.  One thing more.  Remember you have overpowered Singing Arrow, and taken your disguise by force.  It may be well to lock her in that inside room before you leave; but do as you like.  I leave details to you.”

He made acknowledgment with a sweeping bow.  “I will be a monster of cruelty,” he promised, and he pulled at imaginary mustachios like a child at play.

Now it may be well to commend nonchalance, but there are bounds that should not be passed.  Had this man no reverence toward the mystery of his own life that he jested on the edge of it?  I had rather have seen him with a rosary in his hand than with defiance on his lips.