“Wonder-child!” I exclaimed.  “When and where have you learned to understand and answer me in the tongue of the Long House?”

"Kio-ten-se,” she said with a faint smile.

[* “I am working for somebody.”]

“For whom?”

“For my mother, Euan.  Did you suppose I could neglect anything that might be useful in my life’s quest?  Who knows when I might need the tongue I am slowly learning to speak?...  Oh, and I know so little, yet.  Something of Algonquin the Mohican taught me; and with it a little of the Huron tongue.  And now for nearly a month every day I have learned a little from the Oneidas at Otsego—­ from the Oneida girl whose bridal dress you bought to give to me.  Do you remember her?  The maid called Drooping Wings?”

“Yes—­ but—­ I do not understand.  To what end is all this?  When and where is your knowledge of the Iroquois tongue likely to aid you?”

She gave me a curious, veiled look—­ then turned her face away.

“You do not dream of following our army, do you?” I demanded.  “Not one woman would be permitted to go.  It is utterly useless for you to expect it, folly to dream of such a thing....  You and Lana are to go to Easton as soon as the heavier artillery is sent down the river, which will be the day we start—­ Friday.  This frontier gypsying is ended—­ all this coquetting with danger is over now.  The fort here is no place for you and Lana.  Your visit, brief as it has been, is rash and unwarranted.  And I tell you very plainly, Lois, that I shall never rest until you are at Easton, which is a stone town and within the borders of civilization.  The artillery will be sent down by boat, and all the women and children are to go also.  Neither Boyd nor I have told this to you and Lana, but——­” I glanced over my shoulder.  “I think he is telling her now.”

Lois slowly turned and looked toward them.  Evidently they no longer cared what others saw or thought, for Lana’s cheek lay pressed against his shoulder, and his arm encircled her body.

We walked back, all together, to the fort, and left Lois and Lana at the postern; then Boyd and I continued on to my bush-hut, the Indians following.

Muffled drums of a regiment were passing, and an escort with reversed arms, to bury poor Kimball, Captain in Colonel Cilly’s command, shot this morning through the heart by the accidental discharge of a musket in the careless hands of one of his own men.

We stood at salute while the slow cortege passed.

Said Boyd thoughtfully: 

“Well, Kimball’s done with all earthly worries.  There are those who might envy him.”

“You are not one,” I said bluntly.

“I?  No.  I have not yet played hard enough in the jolly blind man’s buff—­ which others call the game of life.  I wear the bandage still, and still my hands clutch at the empty air, and in my ears the world’s sweet laughter rings——­” He smiled, then shrugged.  “The charm of Fortune’s bag is not what you pull from it, but what remains within.”