“Where are we going?” the Indian girl asked, turning toward him. “Up the river,” roughly, in a thick, guttural voice. “Come, get in.” She stepped aboard, not especially remarking the men. Then suddenly her eye fell upon Valbonais, who greeted her with a joyous expression. Had he been handed over to Elk Horn? She experienced a certain contentment, and suspicion was allayed. But as they emerged from the shadow of the overhanging trees she saw that all the faces were strange. She had not noted the newcomers in the camp, having been kept in seclusion, and it also being her choice. Now a chill of terror ran over her. Noting the aspect of two of the rowers more closely, she saw to her dismay that they were Hurons. One man had his head turned from her and bowed down. “Why do we go so early?” asked Renée. “And we have had no breakfast.” “I do not know,” tremblingly. “And why did Elk Horn stay on shore?” “Did he?” with a curious lift of the brows. “Oh, yes; I saw him. And these men—oh, where are Pierre and Jules? But there is the young man who came and talked to us. Oh, Wawataysee, shall we never stay anywhere again? How can we get back to St. Louis?” “Hush, dear; hush!” “But I am getting hungry. And I am so tired of sailing.” She leaned her head down on Wawataysee’s lap. Every moment the Indian girl grew more terrified. True, Elk Horn and his men might come on. But these Hurons! The boat glided along. The sun rose higher and made of the river a band of gold and gems, where each little wavelet dazzled in strange colors. They passed great plains where grass grew rank and waved in the wind like another sea of green. Then a belt of pines or walnut, the first standing stiff and strong, the others mound-like. The bowed figure had straightened itself and spoken to the men, but not turned his face. Now he gave an order and the boat swerved in toward the shore, grating a little on the pebbly beach. The other one in advance turned also. Some food was distributed. He spoke in the Huron language, and said they must make Bear Creek by night. It was dreadful to go out in the broiling sun again, but presently a cooling breeze blew up. They passed a chain of boats well laden, going down, the French sailors singing a merry lilt, and they gave each other greeting. The shadows began to grow longer and a reviving fragrance was wafted over from the shore edge. There were fields abloom with gay flowers, then shrubby clumps, and when the sun went down they had neared a little cove where one could see two rather dilapidated wigwams. Here they were to stop for the night. The men began to make a fire, while provisions were brought out of the boat. The two girls had been left alone, but now the chief—Wawataysee knew he was that by his dress and a long black feather stuck through the topknot of hair—turned to her. Oh, then she was quite sure she had seen him before and her heart stood still. Yes, it was in that life she had fled from.