“We met her across the river in the darkness last night,” I answered.  “At my request, she acted as my guide into the Indian camp.”

The expression in her eyes puzzled me; nor could I interpret the sudden flush that lent color to her cheeks.

“You are frank, Monsieur,” she said quietly, “and doubtless ’tis better so.  But the strange situation of this young woman has much of romance about it, and interests me greatly.  How chances she to be here?  Surely she cannot be of Indian blood?”

“She holds connection with some sisterhood of the Church, as I understand, and has lived for some time amid the Pottawattomies, seeking to win the heathen to Christ.”

“A Catholic?” she asked, her eyes brightening with deeper interest.

“Such is my understanding, though in truth she never said as much to me.  Indeed, we spoke little, Mademoiselle, for our path was in the midst of peril, even before the capture of poor De Croix upset all our plans.”

“Doubtless,” she answered with a slight trace of sarcasm in the soft voice.  “But Captain de Croix,—­he was not seriously injured, I trust?  Where have the savages confined him?  And know you what they intend as to his future?”

“He will forever bear some scars, I fear,” I answered, wondering dully at the calmness of her inquiry.  “I have just left him sleeping quietly in the council tent.  Know you anything of what fate has befallen other of our friends of the garrison?”

Her eyes grew sad.  “Only what little I have learned through the taunting of my own captor,” she answered, her voice trembling.  “Captain Wells is dead, together with Ensign Ronan and Surgeon Van Voorhees.  Both Captain Heald and his wife were sorely wounded, and they, with Lieutenant Helm, are prisoners somewhere in the camp; but the Lieutenant’s wife is safe with the Silver-man’s family across the river.  The Indians hold these in hope of ransom, and wreak their vengeance upon the common soldiers who were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands alive.  Yet few, I think, survived the massacre.”

“You have doubtless guessed aright.  I noted with what fearful spirit of revenge the savages dealt with some of their captives, while sparing others.  Surely you, for instance, have met with but little hardship thus far at the hands of Little Sauk?”

She glanced up at me, with a touch of the old coquettishness in her dark eyes and a quick toss of her head, while one white hand smoothed her soft hair.

“Think you then, Monsieur, I do not look so ill?”

In spite of every effort at control, my heart swept into my eyes; she must have read the swift message, for her own drooped instantly, with a quick flutter of long lashes against her cheeks.

“I have already told you how greatly I admire you,” I faltered, “and you make no less fair a picture now.”

“Then I shall not tempt you to add to your compliment,” she hastily responded, rising to her feet, “for I like loyalty in a man better than mere gallantry of speech.  You ask me about Little Sauk.  He holds me for ransom,—­although Heaven knows ’twill prove but waste of time, for I am aware of no one in all the East who would invest so much as a dollar to redeem me from Indian hands.  Yet such is his purpose, as told to me this morning.”