“But this Elsa Matherson,—­she is not here, then?”

“No,” returned Mr. Kinzie, somewhat gruffly, “and has not been since the closing of the gates of the Fort.  I think you are a parcel of mad fools, to be chasing around on such an errand; yet humanity leads me to bid you come in.  There is not a safe foot of ground to-night for any strange white man within three hundred miles of Dearborn.”

I glanced about me into the black shadows, startled at his solemn words of warning.  Away to the southward a faint glimmer told of the location of the Fort; farther to the west, a sudden blaze swept up into the sky, reflected in ruddy radiance on the clouds, and the thought came to me that the savages had put torch to the deserted cabin on the south branch of the river.

“No doubt ’tis true,” I answered hastily; “yet, whatever the danger may be, I must regain the stockade before dawn.”

I saw him step forward, as if he would halt me in my purpose; but, wishing to be detained no longer, my thoughts being all with De Croix and Mademoiselle, I turned away quickly and plunged back into the darkness.

“You young fool!” he called after me, “come back, or your life will be the forfeit!”

Without so much as answering, I ran silently in my moccasins to the spot where I had left Ol’ Tom Burns.  He sat upon his stump, motionless, apparently without the slightest interest in anything going on about him.

“Ol’ Kinzie was gol-dern polite ter ye, sonny,” he commented.  “Reckon if an Injun was a scalpin’ me right on his front doorstep he ’d never hev asked me ter walk inside like that!  He an’ me sorter drew on each other ‘bout a year ago, down at Lee’s shebang; an’ he don’t ’pear ter fergit ’bout it.”

“Show me the nearest safe passage to the Fort,” I said, interrupting him, almost rudely.

He got up slowly, and cast his eyes with deliberation southward.

“Oh, thar ain’t no sich special hurry, I reckon,” he answered with an exasperating drawl.  “We ’ll be thar long afore daylight,—­perviding allers we don’t hit no Injuns meantime,—­an’ the slower we travel the less chance thar is o’ thet.”

“But, friend Burns,” I urged, “it is a racing matter.  I must reach there in advance of another man, who has already been here ahead of me.”

“So I sorter reckoned from what I heerd; but ye need n’t rip the shirt off ye on thet account.  The feller can’t git in thar till after daylight, nohow.  Them sojers is too blame skeered ter open the gates in the dark, an’ all the critter ’ll git if he tries it will be a volley o’ lead; so ye might just as well take it easylike.”

The old man’s philosophy seemed sound.  De Croix would certainly not gain admittance until he could make himself known to the guard, and, carefully as the stockade was now patrolled, it was hardly probable he would be permitted to approach close enough for identification during the night.  De Croix was no frontiersman, and was reckless to a degree; yet his long training as a soldier would certainly teach him a measure of caution in approaching a guarded fort at such a time.