No one greeted me at the house, not even a dog; though I could see figures moving within.  Either the occupants felt that an assumption of confidence was their best security, or experienced no fear of Indian treachery, for I rapped twice before there was any response.  A young girl, with a face of rare beauty and a pair of roguish black eyes, peered out curiously.  At sight of a stranger she drew back slightly, yet paused to ask: 

“Did you wish to see some one here?”

“I am seeking for a young girl,” I answered, wondering if this could possibly be she, “and they told me at the Fort I should probably find her here.  May I ask if you are Elsa Matherson?”

For a moment she looked out at me, as if I might be an escaped lunatic.  Then she turned her face over her shoulder toward those within.

“Mr. Kinzie,” said she, “here ’s another man looking for Elsa Matherson.”

CHAPTER XV

AN ADVENTURE UNDERGROUND

A heavily-built man in shirt-sleeves, with a strong, good-humored face, and a shock of gray hair, appeared beside the girl in the doorway.

“’T is not the same scamp that kissed you, Josette,” he exclaimed, after examining me intently in the dim light, “but I doubt not he may prove of similar breed, and it behooves you to be careful where you stand.”

“Has De Croix been here?” I questioned, scarcely deeming it possible he could have outstripped me in our race through the night.

“I know not the rascal’s name,” was the reply, in the man’s deep voice, “but certain I am there was one here scarce ten minutes agone asking after this same Matherson girl.  Saint James! but she must have made some sweet acquaintances, judging from the looks of her callers!  Josette has been rubbing the fellow’s kiss off her lips ever since he caught her unawares.”

“He was a dandified young fellow?” I urged, impatient to be off, yet eager to be sure.

The girl laughed lightly, her roguish eyes ablaze with merriment.

“He might be sometime, Monsieur,” she cried, evidently glad to talk, “but to-night he reminded me of those scare-crows the farmers near Quebec keep in their fields; a little chap, with a bit of turned-up mustache, and a bright eye, but rags,—­gracious, such rags as he wore!”

’T was De Croix, there could be no doubt of it,—­De Croix, torn and dishevelled by his mad rush through the darkness, but with no shred of his reckless audacity gone.  There was naught left me now but to race back upon his trail, hopeful for some chance that might yet allow me to come in first on the return journey.  In my throat I swore one thing,—­the graceless villain should never collect his reward at both ends of his journey.  He had already stolen the sweets from Josette’s red lips, but he should never claim those of Mademoiselle.  I lingered for but a single question more.