Tim grinned at me, but did not appear particularly flattered at his reception.

“Not quite so fast, yung lady,” he said, stuttering a bit and holding the pipe in his hand.  “I reckon I wus thar all right, just as ye say, an’ thet I did yer a mighty mean turn, but I ain’t such a dern ornary cuss as ye think—­am I, Cap?”

“No, you are not,” I hastened to explain.  “Miss Beaucaire does not understand, that is all.  We have been talking together for some time, but I had forgotten to tell her that you were one of her rescuers.  Kennedy here, merely supposed he was doing his duty, until he learned what Kirby contemplated.  Then he refused to have any hand in it and the two quarreled.  Shall I relate that part of the story?”

Her eyes softened, her lips almost smiling.

“Yes,” she said.  “I am glad to know; tell me all.”

I described Tim’s part in the whole tragedy swiftly, while he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and occasionally interjected some comment or correction.  He was not wholly at ease in the role of hero, nor under the steadfast gaze of her eyes.  As I stopped speaking she held out her hand frankly.

“Then I shall count you my friend now,” she said simply.  “And I am so delighted to understand everything.  There are four of us here, counting the mulatto girl, and we are in hiding not far from Yellow Banks.  You both think that Kirby and Rale must be hunting us already?”

“Probably; they are very certain not to be very far away.  I was planning our course when I glanced up and caught your eyes watching me—­”

“And I—­I thought I saw a ghost,” she interrupted.  “And then, when, you actually spoke, I—­I was so glad.”

Tim’s eyes fell upon the map, lying outspread on the ground.

“An’ whut did ye think wus best, Cap?” he inquired gravely. “’Tain’t likely we got all summer ter sit ‘round yere an’ talk in.  I reckon we done rested ’bout long ’nough.  ’Tain’t such a bad place, but my notion is, we ought ter be joggin’ ’long.”

“Mine also.  Come over here, both of you, and I’ll give you my idea.  I figured our chances in this way.”

In a few words I explained my choice of route, pointing it out on the map and telling them briefly why I was afraid to seek refuge either at Fort Madison or Fort Armstrong, or, indeed, at any of the nearer settlements.  Eloise said nothing, her gaze rising from the map to our faces as we debated the question, for Tim spoke his mind freely, his stubby forefinger tracing the course I had indicated.

“Thar’s a trail south o’ yere thet leads ter a town called Ottaway, an’ thar’s another trail north o’ yere—­Injun, I reckon—­whut runs straight east.  Whar we are is plum in atween the two ov ’em, but it looks like it might be gud travelin’.  Enyhow, thar ain’t no rivers er nuthin’ so fer as I see.  What’s this Ottaway, enyhow?”

“There is a small settlement there and a blockhouse.  Possibly there are other settlements between here and there, not on the map.”