"Nobody has got to the point of using hatchets and guns on this river," corroborated a man on the other side of the fire from Vittum. Other men pitched their voices higher then, giving up the cautious monotone of the preceding conference. "Is any man afeard?" asked Vittum. They assured him with confidence and gay courage that no man was afraid. "I didn't hear any of you Injuns pipe up," said Vittum. "You ain't very strong on talk, anyway. But I'd kind of like to know how you feel in this matter. We all understood--all of us regulars--that we was coming up here to fight when it got to that point. You have grabbed in later and perhaps didn't understand it. We ain't asking you to do anything you don't want to do." The Indians were silent. Even Felix Lapierre said nothing when Vittum questioned him with a glance. The French Canadian turned to Frank Orono, squatting within arm's reach, and patted him on the shoulder. It became plain that there was an understanding which did not require words. Orono rose slowly; he grinned. From the breast of his leather jacket he brought forth a cow's horn and shook it over his head, and its contents rattled sharply. The other Indians leaped up. They were grinning, too. Orono began a slow march around the camp fire, lifting his knees high, stepping slowly, beating the rattling horn into the palm of his hand. Behind him in single file, imitating his step, marched the other Indians. The smiles faded out of their countenances; their jaws were set, and deep in their throats they growled a weird singsong. "My Gawd!" yelped Vittum. "It's the old Tarratine war dance and it just fits my notions right now, and I'm in on it!" He scrambled to his feet and fell into line at the rear of the Indians. Every man in the Flagg crew followed suit. They imitated the Indian singsong as best they were able, their voices constantly giving forth greater volume until they were yelling their defiance to the Three C's company and all its works. The men far out on the deadwater, pushing against the bars of the capstan, heard the tumult on the shore and shouted the chorus of their challenging chantey. Between Lida and the men who were circling the fire there was a veil of mist, and in the halation her champions loomed with heroic stature. She did not want them to suppose that she was indifferent; courage of her own leaped in her. The campaign which she had waged with them had given her an experience which had fortified the spirit of the Flaggs. She stepped forth from her little tent and walked down and stood in the edge of the light cast by the camp fire. They cheered her, and she put aside her qualms and her fears as best she was able. When she was back in her tent she did not shield her ears from the challenging chantey, as she had done before, and she heard with fortitude the vociferous pledges of faith in the morrow. The dawn came so sullenly and so slowly that the day seemed merely a faded copy of the night.