“You can serve her far better, lad, in that way,” he muttered hastily.  “We shall not always be two to twelve.”

With teeth gritted to keep back the fierce anger that shook me, I strolled sullenly on, not even venturing to glance back lest I should give way.  It was thus we reached the Fort gate, and entered, leaving our dusky escort to slink back into the night.  An anxious crowd met us.  It was Wells who questioned first.

“So those devils have let you go unharmed?  What answer made the savages?”

“They pledge us safe convoy around the head Of the lake.”

“They do?  Who spoke the words of the pledge?”

“Old Gomo himself, and it was ratified by each of the chiefs in turn.”

“They are lying dogs,—­all but one of them.  What answered Black Partridge?”

Heald made no response; and Wells wheeled impetuously to me.

“Come, lad, the truth,—­what reply did Black Partridge make to this Indian mummery?”

“He said, ’I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans, and have nothing more to say.’”

For a moment the old Indian soldier stared at me, his stern face fairly black with the cloud in his eyes.  He brought his clinched hand down hard against the log wall.

“By God! it is treachery!” he exclaimed fiercely, and turned and walked away.

CHAPTER XXII

THE LAST NIGHT AT DEARBORN

It was evident that preparations were even then well under way for retreat the following morning.  Trunks and boxes, together with various military stores and arms, strewed the sides of the parade-ground; farther back, a number of wagons, partially filled, stood waiting the remainder of their loads.  Men and women were hastening back and forth, and children were darting through the shadows, their little arms piled high with bundles, and making play, as children ever will, of what was to prove an awful tragedy.  A large fire, burning brightly before the deserted guard-house, cast its ruddy glow over the animated scene, checkering the rude walls with every passing shadow.

I noticed, as I slowly pushed my way along, that the soldiers worked seriously, with few jests on their lips, as if they realized the peril that menaced them; while many among the women, especially those of the humbler sort, were rejoicing over the early release from garrison monotony, and careless of what the morrow might bring of danger and suffering.

A few steps from the gate, I paused for a moment that I might watch their flitting figures, the incessant bustle being a positive relief after the dull and ghostly silence without.  My mind,—­though I strove to cast the thought aside,—­was still occupied with the mystery of Elsa Matherson; but the more I dwelt upon it, the less I was able to penetrate the secret of her strange presence in the Indian camp, or devise any scheme for reaching her.  The ache in my heart made me dread to meet again with Mademoiselle Toinette, lest I should utter words of reproach which she did not deserve; for, sad as such a confession was, I had to acknowledge that she had a perfect right to protect the man she loved, even at my cost.