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

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

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

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

“How know you my name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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