Her hand was still at her bruised lips; I bent forward; she moved it aside.  But I kissed only her hand.

Then I turned and ran toward the fort; and in the torch-light at the gate encountered Boyd, who said to me gleefully: 

“It’s you and your corps of guides!  The express is from Clinton.  Hanierri remains; the Sagamore goes with you; but the regiment is not marching yet awhile.  Lord help us!  Listen to those beastly Oneidas in their paint!  Did you ever hear such a wolf-pack howling!  Well, Loskiel, a safe and pleasant scout to you.”  He offered his hand.  “I’ll be strolling back to Croghan’s.  Fare you safely!”

“And you,” I said, not thinking, however, of him.  But I thought of Lana, and wished to God that Boyd were with us on this midnight march, and Lana safe in Albany once more.

As I entered the fort, through the smoky flare of torches, I saw Dolly Glenn waiting there; and as I passed she gave a frightened exclamation.

“Did you wish to speak to me?” I asked.

“Is—­ is Lieutenant Boyd going with you?” she stammered.

“No, child.”

She thanked me with a pitiful sort of smile, and shrank back into the darkness.

I remained but a few moments with Major Parr and Captain Simpson; a rifleman of my own company, Harry Kent, brought me my pack and rifle—­ merely sufficient ammunition and a few necessaries—­ for we were to travel lightly.  Then Captain Simpson went away to inspect the Oneida scouts.

“I wish you well,” said the Major quietly.  “Guard the Mohican as you would the apple of your eye, and—­ God go with you, Euan Loskiel.”

I saluted, turned squarely, and walked out across the parade to the postern.  Here I saw Captain Simpson inspecting the four guides, one of whom, to me, seemed unnecessarily burdened with hunting shirt and blanket.

Running my eye along their file, where they stood in the uncertain torchlight, I saw at once that the guides selected by Major Parr were not all Oneidas.  Two of them seemed to be; a third was a Stockbridge Indian; but the fourth—­ he with the hunting-shirt and double blanket, wore unfamiliar paint.

“What are you?” said I in the Oneida dialect, trying to gain a square look at him in the shifty light.

“Wyandotte,” he said quietly.

“Hell!” said I, turning to Captain Simpson.  “Who sends me a Wyandotte?”

“General Clinton,” replied Simpson in surprise.  “The Wyandotte came from Fortress Pitt.  Colonel Broadhead, commanding our left wing, sent him, most highly recommending him for his knowledge of the Susquehanna and Tioga.”

I took another hard look at the Wyandotte.

“You should travel lighter,” said I.  “Split that Niagara blanket and roll your hunting-shirt.”

The savage looked at me a moment, then his sinewy arms flew up and he snatched the deerskin shirt from his naked body.  The next instant his knife fairly leaped from its beaded sheath; there was a flash of steel, a ripping sound, and his blue and scarlet blanket lay divided.  Half of it he flung to a rifleman, and the other half, with his shirt, he rolled and tied to his pack.