“The sand?” he questioned, glancing up as if startled at the sound of my voice.  “Why, it has been cast there by the stormy waves of the Great Lake, my lad, and beaten into those strange and fantastic shapes by the action of the wind.  Doubtless ’tis the work of centuries of storms.”

“Are we, then, so close to the lake?” I asked eagerly,—­for I had never yet seen so large a body of water, and his description fired my imagination.

“’T is but just beyond those dunes yonder, and will be still nearer when we come to camp.  Possibly you might reach the shore before dark if you exercise care,—­for there is danger of becoming lost in that sand desert.  Those hills seem all alike when once you are among them.”

“What is it that so greatly disturbs your Miamis?” I ventured to ask, for I had been noticing for some time that they were restless and travelling poorly.  “They have been counselling now for two hours.”

He glanced aside at me in apparent surprise.

“Why, boy, I thought you were bred to the border; and can you ask me such a question?  Do you observe nothing, like that fine gentleman yonder?  What have we been following since first we entered this valley?”

“An old Indian trail.”

“True,” he exclaimed, “and one that has been traversed by a large war-party, bound west, within twelve hours.”

“How know you this?”

“By a hundred signs far plainer than print will ever be to my eyes.  In faith, I thought those fellows out yonder would have summoned me to council long ere this, instead of threshing it out among themselves.  They are bolder warriors than I deemed, though they will doubtless revolt in earnest when we camp.  We shall have to guard them well to-night.”

As he paused, his eyes fixed anxiously upon our Indian allies, De Croix began to hum a popular tune of the day, riding meanwhile, hat in hand, with one foot out of the stirrup to beat the time.  Then Jordan caught up the refrain, and sang a verse.  I saw one or two of the older Indians glance around at him in grave displeasure.

“The young fools!” muttered Wells, uneasily.  “I shall enjoy seeing if that French popinjay keeps all of his fine airs when the hour for stern work comes.”

He lifted his voice.

“Jordan!”

The young soldier instantly ceased his song, and turned in his saddle to glance back.

“The time has come when I must insist on less noise, and more decorum upon the march,” Wells said sternly.  “This is not Fort Wayne, nor is our road devoid of danger.  Captain de Croix, I shall have to request you also to cease your singing for the present.”

There was that in his voice and manner which forbade remark, and we rode on silently.  I asked: 

“But you have not explained to me how you learned all this of which you spoke?”