“Which way, my friends?” he said to the warriors.

But again they understood no English and shook their heads.

“Don’t plume yourself too much on that rifle,” he said, speaking to the warrior who had taken his favorite weapon.  “You have it for the present, but when I escape for the second time I mean to take it with me.  I give you fair warning.”

The warrior, who seemed to be good natured, shook his head once more, and grinned, not abating at all his air of proprietorship so far as the rifle was concerned.

“And you with the pistol,” continued the prisoner, “I beg to tell you it’s mine, not yours, and I shall claim it again.  What, you don’t understand?  Well, I’ll have to find some way to make you comprehend later on.”

The three warriors walked briskly and Robert, of course, had no choice but to keep pace with them.  They indicated very conclusively that they knew where they meant to go, and so he assumed that a hostile camp was not very far away.  Resolved to show no sign of discouragement, he held his head erect and stepped springily.

About three miles, and he saw a gleam of uniforms through the trees, a few steps more and his heart gave a leap.  He beheld a group of Indians, and several Frenchmen, and one of them, tall, young, distinguished, was St. Luc.

The Chevalier was in a white uniform, trimmed with silver, a silver hilted small sword by his side, and his smile was not unpleasant when he said to Robert: 

“I sent out these three warriors to find me a prisoner and bring him in, but I little suspected that it would be you.”

“I suspected as little that it was you to whom I was being taken,” said Robert.  “But since I had to be a prisoner I’m glad I’m yours instead of De Courcelles’ or Jumonville’s, as those two soldiers of France have as little cause to love me as I have to love them.”

“Monsieur De Courcelles is suffering from a bullet wound.”

“It was my bullet.”

“You say that rather proudly, but perhaps I’d better not tell it to him.  It seems, Mr. Lennox, that you have a certain facility in getting yourself captured, as this is the second time within a year.”

“I was treated so well by the French that I thought I could risk it again,” said Robert jauntily.

The Chevalier smiled.  Robert felt again that current of understanding and sympathy, that, so it seemed to him, had passed so often between them.

“I see,” said St. Luc, “that you are willing to give credit to France, the evergreen nation, the nation of light and eternal life.  We may lose at times, we may be defeated at times, but we always rise anew.  You British and Americans will realize that some day.”

“I do not hate France.”

“I don’t think you do.  But this is scarcely a time for me to give you a lecture on French qualities.  Sit down on this log.  I trust that my warriors did not treat you with undue harshness.”