“Leave you? Sacre! how could I ever hope to find my way alone through the wilderness?  ’T would be impossible.  Yet why should we stay here?  What can you and I hope to accomplish in so mad a search amid all these savages?  You speak harsh words,—­words that under other conditions I should make you answer for with the sword; but what is the good of it all?  You know I am no coward; I can fight if there be need; yet to my mind no help can reach Toinette through us, while to remain here longer is no less than suicide.”

I saw he was in earnest, and I felt there was much truth in his words, however little they affected my own determination.

“As you please, Monsieur,” I answered coldly, turning from him and slowly wading ashore.  “With me ’t is not matter for argument.  I seek Mademoiselle.  You are at perfect liberty either to accompany me or to hunt for safety elsewhere, as you wish.”

I never so much as glanced behind, as I went up the beach, now shrouded in the swift-descending night; but I was aware that he kept but a step behind me.  Once I heard him swear; but there was no more speaking between us, until, in the darkness, I stumbled and partially fell over a dead body outstretched upon the sand.

“A Miami, judging from the fringe of his leggings,” I said briefly, from my knees.  “One of the advance guard, no doubt, brought down in flight.  ’T is good luck, though, De Croix, for the fellow has retained his rifle.  Perchance if you be well armed also, it may yield you fresh courage.”

“Parbleu! ’tis not courage I lack,” he returned, with something of his old-time spirit, “but I hate greatly to yield up a chance for life on so mad an errand.  More, Master Wayland, had this firearm been in my hands when you flouted me in the water yonder, your words should not have been so easily passed over.”

The stars gave me a dim view of him, and there was a look in his face that caused me to feel it would be best to have our trouble settled fully, and without delay.

“Monsieur,” I said sternly, laying my hand upon his shoulder, and compelling him to front me fairly, “I for one am going into danger where I shall require every resource in order to preserve my life and be of service to others.  I have already told you that I care not whether you accompany me or no.  But this I say:  we part here, or else you journey with me willingly, and with no more veiled threats or side looks of treachery.”

“I meant no harm.”

“Then act the part of a man, Monsieur, and cease your grumbling.  The very life of Mademoiselle may hang upon our venture; and if you ever interfere or obstruct my purpose, I will kill you as I would a dog.  You understand that, Monsieur de Croix; now, will you go or stay?”

He looked about him into the lonely, desolate shadows, and I could see him shrug his shoulders.

“I go with you, of course. Sacre! but I have small choice in the matter; ’t would be certain death otherwise, for I know not east from west in this blind waste of sand.”