“I dinks I hain’t got time,” said Jan, quickly. “How can I go ven I can not dell vether dere pe anybotty dere? Penn coes mit himself.” “That’s enuff foolin’,” said Ben. “Jan didn’t see no Injun, I hope. But we are tired with a long journey. Jule, let us fix some sort of place for the gal. I don’t like thet she sh’u’d hev to rough it like us men.” “You are too kind to me,” said Millicent. “How can I ever thank you?” “Never mind; you ain’t got no call to thank me ez I knows on. I ain’t gone round gittin’ sech things ez thanks this year. Wait till I ask ’em. Jule, you come yer.” They had a good supply of extra blankets; these were brought in, and by the aid of two of them, they curtained off a recess in one corner of the unfinished building, in which they laid the other blankets, and, apologizing in a homely but heartfelt way for their lack of good accommodations, they allowed Millicent to retire. It was in the middle of the night when a strange alarm occurred. Jules, who was very tired, had taken upon himself the post of sentry for the first part of the night, and had stationed himself just outside the building, sitting down at the foot of a tree. The hours crept slowly by, and he dropped off into a doze. All at once he awakened to find himself prostrate upon the ground, with some heavy body lying on his breast which pressed him close to the soil. By the ghostly moonlight he made out his assailant to be the creature which they had met that day. It was making no attempt to harm him, but simply lying upon his breast, its long, heavy hands toying with his throat. Jules Damand was a cool, hardy fellow, and had been in danger before now. But, there was something so frightful in the load upon his breast, that for a moment his heart failed him. He lay silent, and put out his hand toward a pistol by slow degrees. The strange thing uttered, now and then, a low, chuckling laugh, horrible to hear. Ben, who lay near the door of the cabin, heard the sound and stirred uneasily in his sleep. Jules, silent as the grave, allowed his hand to slide along the ground toward the pistol-butt. Even the slight motion he made annoyed the savage brute, and he uttered a sort of low snarl. Jules stopped and waited for him to become quiet. He was in an uncomfortable position, flat upon his back, with his right arm lying under the body of the assailant, who grinned and chattered at him, and scratched at his throat with his long nails in a playful manner. “Sacré!” muttered Jules. “If I could only get my right arm free.”