“But Yndaia!”

“That we will scour the instant we have Amochol.”

“You promise?”

“Dearest, I promise solemnly.  Yet—­ I think—­ if your mother lives—­ she may be here in Catharines-town tonight.  This is the Dream Feast, Lois.  I and my Indians believe that she has bought her life of Amochol by dreaming for them.  And if this be true, and she has indeed become their Prophetess and Interpreter of Dreams, then this night she will be surely here to read their dreams for them,”

“Will we see her before you begin the attack?”

“Little Lois, how can I tell you such things?  We are to creep up close to the central fire—­ as close as we dare.”

“Will there be crowds of people there?”

“Many people.”

“Warriors?”

“Not many.  They are with Hiokatoo and Brant.  There will be hunters and Sachems, and the Cat-People, and the Andastes pack, and many women.  The False Faces will not be there, nor the Wyoming Witch, nor the Toad Woman, because all these are now with Hiokatoo and Walter Butler.  For which I thank God and am very grateful.”

“How shall I know her in this fire-lit throng?” murmured Lois, staring ahead of her where the evening dusk had now veiled the nearer trees with purple.

Before I could reply, the Sagamore rose from his place on my left, and we all sprang lightly to our feet, looked to our priming, covered our pans, and trailed arms.

“Now!” he muttered, passing in front of me and taking the lead; and we all filed after him through the open forest, moving rapidly, almost on a run, for half a mile, then swung sharply out to the right, where the trees grew slimmer and thinner, and plunged into a thicket of hazel and osier.

“I smell smoke,” whispered Lois, keeping close to me.

I nodded.  Presently we halted and stood in silence, minute after minute, while the purple dusk deepened swiftly around us, and overhead a few stars came out palely, as though frightened.

Then Mayaro dropped noiselessly to the ground and began to crawl forward over the velvet moss; and we followed his example, feeling our way with our right hands to avoid dry branches and rocks.  From time to time we paused to regain our strength and breathe; and the last time we did so the aromatic smell of birch-smoke blew strong in our nostrils, and there came to our ears a subdued murmur like the stirring of pine-tops in a steady breeze.  But there were no pines around us now, only osier, hazel, and grey-birch, and the deep moss under foot.

“A house!” whispered the Yellow Moth, pointing.

There it stood, dark and shadowy against the north.  Another loomed dimly beyond it; a haystack rose to the left.

We were in Catharines-town.

And now, as we crawled forward, we could see open country on our left, and many unlighted houses and fields of corn, dim and level against the encircling forest.  The murmur on our right had become a sustained and distinct sound, now swelling in the volume of many voices, now subsiding, then waxing to a dull tumult.  And against the borders of the woods, like a shining crimson curtain shifting, we could see the red reflection of a fire sweeping across the solid foliage.