“We have not even alarmed the dogs, M’sieur Philip,” she whispered.  “Is not that splendid?  I am going to surprise father, and you will go with Pierre.  I will see you a little later, and—­”

She rose on tiptoe, and her face was dangerously close to his own.

“And you are very, very welcome to Fort o’ God, M’sieur.”

She slipped away into the darkness, and Pierre stood beside Philip.  His white teeth were gleaming strangely, and he said in a soft voice: 

“M’sieur, that is the first time that I have ever heard those words spoken at Fort o’ God.  We welcome no man here who has your blood and your civilization in his veins.  You are greater than a king!”

With a sudden exclamation Philip turned upon Pierre.

“And that is the reason for Jeanne’s surprise?” he said.  “She wishes to pave a way for me.  I begin to understand!”

“It is true that you might not have received that welcome which you are certain to receive now from the master of Fort o’ God,” replied Pierre, frankly.  “So we will go in quietly, and make no disturbance, while your way is being paved, as you call it.”

He walked ahead, with Philip following so closely that he could have touched him.  He made out more distinctly now the lines of the huge black edifice from which the lights shone.  It was a massive structure of logs, two stories high, a half of it almost completely hidden in the impenetrable shadow of a great wall of rock.  Philip’s eyes traveled up this wall, and he was convinced that he stood under the rock upon whose towering crest he had seen the last reflection of the evening sun.  About him there were no signs of life or of other habitation.  Pierre moved swiftly.  They passed under a small lighted window that was a foot above Philip’s head, and turned around the corner of the building.  Here all was blackness.

Pierre went straight to a door, and uttered at low word of satisfaction when he found that it was not barred.  He opened it, and reached out a guiding hand to Philip’s arm.  Philip entered, and the door closed softly behind him.  He felt the flow of warm air in his face, and his moccasined feet trod upon something soft and velvety.  Faintly, as though coming from a great distance, he heard a voice singing.  It was a woman’s voice, but he knew that it was not Jeanne’s.

In spite of himself his heart was beating excitedly.  The mystery of Fort o’ God was about him, warm and subtle, like a strange spirit, sending through him the thrill of anticipation, a hundred fancies, little fears.  Pierre advanced, still guiding him; then he stopped, and chuckled softly in the darkness.  The distant voice had stopped singing, and there came in place of it the loud barking of a dog, an unintelligible sound of a voice, and then quiet.  Jeanne had sprung her surprise.

Pierre led the way to another room.

“This is to be your room, M’sieur,” he explained.  “Make yourself comfortable.  I have no doubt that the master of Fort o’ God will wish to see you very soon.”