He folded the blankets around the two, who certainly looked comfortable in their rocky bed. He pushed his way through the thicket and ran down a short distance, where he had command of the river. Nothing was going either way. How sweet and tranquil it all was, after the terrors of last night! He could have stayed there hours watching the stars come out brighter and brighter, and the soft wind weaving strange melodies, whispering of hope. Both girls were asleep when he returned. He sat down outside the enclosure and leaned his shoulders against it. His gun was by his side, his knife in his belt. He should have had a hatchet, too; that useful article no one scarcely travelled without, but in the excitement he had not thought of everything. Once he replenished the fire; then the fuel gave out and he fell asleep. Nothing molested them. The singing of some birds in the thicket roused him. He hurried to the river; all was tranquil, silent, with no enemy in sight. Then he glanced down the long and arid space, where even grass grew sparsely in the sandy soil that held no moisture. They must start early so as to escape the mid-day heat. Wawataysee had risen and smoothed her ruffled plumes. “It is so beautiful!” she said, with heartfelt pleasure. “And, oh, to be free from horrid fears! I slept so tranquilly. Did you have any rest?” “I forgot everything,” and he laughed with a glad sound. “I was not a very good watcher, perhaps, but I think any unusual noise would have startled me.” “You are so good! What would we have done without you?” raising her beautiful, grateful eyes. He flushed warmly. “We cannot have much variety for breakfast,” with a gleam of amusement. “We may fare better to-night.” He lighted the small fire again, collecting the charred embers. “Is it far to the river—and safe?” “Not much of a run,” he answered. “The shore is shallow. I had a reviving bath.” “Come, Renée,” and she held out her hand to the child. Meanwhile, Valbonais replaced the stones, wondering what hands had brought them there in the first instance, and whether white or Indian lay at rest beneath them. The girls were racing over the sand, bright, fresh and glowing, and they partook of their simple breakfast and started on their journey. The sun was not shining brightly, yet there was no indication of rain. It was as if Nature was indulging in a tranquil mood. Now and then a flock of birds went sailing over their heads, and a squirrel out of place ran nimbly across the sand. “You have no idea how far it is to St. Louis?” their companion inquired. “Oh, hundreds of miles!” cried Renée. “Hardly that,” said Wawataysee. “There have been so many delays. When I came from the straits it was with the fleet, and I hardly took note;” flushing as she recalled the delightful journey with her husband. “Yet it seems to me we cannot have gone so very far up.”