“This,” said Maren, and she reached a hand to the body of McElroy.

“Sancta Maria!  This factor?  This heavy-blooded man?....  But he did speak of half-requited—­Oh, Saints of Heaven!  What a jest of the world!  The threads of tragedy are tangled into a farce!”

De Courtenay threw up his head and took a silent laugh at the ways of Fate.

“Three fools together!  And the riddle’s key too late!  At least I can set it straight for one—­”

He broke his laughing whisper to listen to new sounds without, a dull blow, muffled and heavy, the slight whisper of garments sliding against garments, the crunch and rustle of a body eased down to earth,—­nay, two blows, coming at a little interval, and from either end the beat walked by the two guards, and from the southern end there came a grunt, a cry choked in the throat that uttered it.  Instantly the venturer was up and. at the flap, peering outside.  A figure loomed against the stars, paced slowly by with an audible step, passed and turned and passed again.

It was Marc Dupre, an eagle feather, snatched from the quivering form of the guard lying in the darkness by the wall of the lodge, slanting from his head against the heavens.

A little way beyond at the ashes of a fire a warrior stirred, lifted a head, and peered toward the tepee of captives; then, satisfied that all was well, lay down again to slumber.  Back and forth, back and forth paced the solitary watcher.  De Courtenay within was quivering from head to foot with the knowledge that something was happening.  As he stood so the pacing figure halted a moment before the opening.

“S-s-t!” it whispered; “warn Ma’amselle!” then walked away.

Swift on the words another figure crept noiselessly to the lodge door.

“M’sieu,” said Edmonton Ridgar, beneath his breath, “give me the factor’s shoulders.  Do you take his feet and follow,—­softly, for your life.  Bring the maid.”

De Courtenay stepped back, groped for Maren, took her head in his hands, and brought her ear up to his lips.

“Rescue!” he breathed; “Ridgar and Dupre.  We carry our friend of the fort here.  Follow.”

He loosed her and bent to lift McElroy.

With all her courage leaping at the turn, Maren quietly raised the flap and in a moment they were all outside among the sleeping camp.

With measured tread Dupre came up to them, walked with them as they moved silently back, and was on the turn when Maren touched his arm.

“This way,” she whispered; “straight ahead.”

One more step,—­two,—­the youth took beside her.  It seemed that the heart within him was breaking in his agony.  The shadows of the wood were drawing very near, the chances of escape multiplying with every step.

Another sweet moment of nearness and the misty white figure beside him would fade into the darkness forever, pass forever out of his sight.