“’Tis doubtless true,” I admitted, “yet I shall feel safer if we push on at once.”

“Ye called the feller De Croix, didn’t ye?” he asked.  “Is it the French dandy as was at Hawkins’s?”

“Yes,” I answered, “and I guess you don’t care much to help him.”

Burns wasted no breath in reply, but moved forward with noiseless step.  Glancing back, I could clearly perceive Kinzie framed in the light of his open door.  The vivacious French lass stood beside him, peering curiously out across his broad shoulders.  Then we sank into the blackness of the ravine, and everything was blotted from our sight.

Burns evidently knew the intricacies of the path leading to the Fort gate, for I soon felt my feet upon a beaten track, and stumbled no more over the various obstacles that rendered my former progress so uncertain.  My guide moved with excessive caution, as it seemed to me, frequently pausing to peer forward into the almost impenetrable darkness, and sniffing the night air suspiciously as if hoping thus to locate any lurking foes when his keen eyes failed in the attempt.  So dark was it that I had almost to tread upon his heels in order to follow him, as not the slightest sound came from his stealthy advance.  As he surmounted the steeper inclines of land, I was able to perceive him dimly, usually leaning well forward and moving with the utmost caution, his long rifle held ready for instant use.  As we drew nearer the river,—­or where I supposed the river must be, for I could distinguish but little of our position,—­he swerved from the footpath we were following, and the way instantly grew rougher to our feet.

“Reckon we ’d better hit the crick a bit below the Fort,” he muttered, over his shoulder; “less likely ter find Injuns waitin’ fer us thar.”

“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!”