"I offer you many apologies on behalf of the commandant, monsieur," said the officer who brought the orders to Steve. "But you will understand. There are certain necessary preparations. Work is going on in the batteries which you must not see. You will remain in this fort, and will leave it at the risk of your life. Also, you will confine yourself to the front face of the fort, and will not venture to walk along the other walls. I wish to warn you formally that the sentries are under orders to fire the instant they detect an attempt at escape. Pardon, monsieur. It is unpleasant to have to speak so to such a friend as you are." Steve bowed, and thanked the officer, saying that he fully understood the necessity for the order. Two months later, when the spring weather had fully set in and the river was entirely free of ice, an Indian entered the courtyard of the fort in which Steve was located. There were always numbers of braves hovering about the batteries and barracks, and the presence of this one was therefore not remarkable. Steve had not even seen him, for he was leaning on the wall staring out at the green woods on the Isle of Orleans. Suddenly the tinkle of some metal instrument attracted his notice, and he swung round to catch sight of the Indian trudging past him, and of a tomahawk which had fallen on to the stone paving of the courtyard. "Stop," he called out in the Mohawk tongue. "Stop, brother, you have dropped your tomahawk." Picking it up Steve followed the Indian and handed the weapon to him. Then only did he look into his face. It was Silver Fox, painted and daubed as a Huron Indian, cool and absolutely unruffled as of yore. "Greeting, chief. Silver Fox delights to look into the eyes of the Hawk. Read this, and be ready to-night. I have spoken." He took his tomahawk, grunted his thanks, and passed on, leaving a tiny note in Steve's hand. "My lad, my dear, dear lad," ran the note, which our hero carefully opened when out of sight of the sentry, "we have tracked you to the fort at Quebec, and have completed our arrangements for a rescue. Be ready to-night. Listen for a voice beneath the front wall where you are accustomed to walk. Your father." A rescue! That very night, too! Steve thrust the note into his pocket and straightway commenced to whistle merrily, for he was tired of this captivity, and longed to be free again, fighting and hunting with his friends in the forest. Chapter XVI The Return of the Hurons Steve was filled with delight at the idea of rescue. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind, a thousand memories of the old days, which seemed now so very long ago, for despite the easy terms of his imprisonment, the time had dragged heavily.