“Where go you?”

“To learn if I may gain entrance to the Indian camp unobserved.  There can be no better time than while they are occupied yonder.”

He looked uneasily about him into the dark corners, shuddering.

“I would rather go with you,” he protested, weakly.  “I have not the heart to remain here alone.”

“Nevertheless, here you stay,” I retorted shortly, thoroughly exasperated by his continued childishness; “you are in no spirit to meet the perils yonder.  Conquer your foolishness, Monsieur, for I know well ’t is not part of your nature so to exhibit fear.”

“’T is naught alive that I so shrink from; never have I been affrighted of living man.”

“True; nor have I ever found the dead able greatly to harm.  But now I go forth to a plain duty, and you must wait me here.”

I did not glance back at him, although I knew he had sunk dejected on a bench beside the door; but with careful look at the priming of my rifle, I stepped forth into the open, and started down the slight slope leading to the river.  A fringe of low, straggling trees hid my movements from observation by possible watchers along the southern bank; nor could I perceive with any definiteness what was going on there.  The fires had died down somewhat, and I thought the savage yelling and clamor were considerably lessened.

I confess I went forward hesitatingly, and was doubtful enough about the outcome; but I saw no other means by which I might hope to locate Mademoiselle definitely, and I valued my own life now only as it concerned hers.  The selfish cowardice of De Croix—­if cowardice it truly was—­served merely to stir me to greater recklessness and daring, and I felt ready to venture all if I might thereby only pluck her from the grasp of those red fiends.  As I crept through the fringe of bushes which lined the bank, my eyes were on the darkened upper extremity of the Indian camp, and all my thoughts were concentrated upon a plan of entrance to it.  I may have been somewhat careless, for I had no conception of any serious peril until after I had crossed the stream, and it certainly startled me to hear a voice at my very elbow,—­a strange voice, beautifully soft and low.

“You have the movement of an Indian; yet I think you are white.  What seek you here?”

I turned quickly and faced the speaker, my rifle flung forward ready for action.  The light was poor enough there amid the shadows, yet the single glimpse I had told me instantly I faced the mysterious woman of the Indian camp.  For a moment I made no response, held speechless by surprise; and she questioned again, almost imperatively.

“I asked, why are you here?”

“I am one, by the grace of God, spared from the massacre,” I answered blindly.  “But you?—­I saw you within the Indian camp only last night.  Surely you are not a savage?”