I shouldered my way to her lodge with speed that made me a target for scantily hidden laughter. But I could not find her. Lodge and fire were alike deserted. I asked questions, but was met by shrugs. My eagerness had been unwise. I had sought too openly and brusquely, and the Ottawas suspected my zeal of being official rather than personal. I saw myself in their eyes as an officer of the law, and knew that I had closed one door in my own face. I told myself contemptuously that I had made so many blunders in that one day that I must, by this time, have exhausted the list, and that I would soon stumble on the right road as the only one left. And so it proved. For I went to my canoes, and there, perched bird-wise on my cargo, and flinging jests and laughter at Pierre and the men, sat Singing Arrow. It was what I most wanted, and so relieved was I at finding it, that I could not forbear a word of reproof. "I told you to keep away from Singing Arrow!" I stormed at Pierre, like the mother who stops to shake her recovered child before she cries over it. Pierre grinned shamefacedly, but Singing Arrow smiled like May sunlight. "Has monsieur been looking for me?" she asked. "He carries the wet red clay that lies in front of my wigwam," and she pointed a curving finger at my boots. I could have embraced her. If I had no wit, she had it and to spare. I made up my mind, then and there, to trust her. It was a mad chance, but a good gamester likes a dangerous throw. "Come here, Singing Arrow," I commanded, and I would have led her down the beach out of earshot. She followed but a step or two, then halted, balancing herself on one foot like a meditative crane. "I want sunset-head to go too," she insisted, darting her covert bird-glance at Pierre, and when I would have objected, I saw her mouth pinch together, and I remembered that no Indian will submit to force. So I let her have her will. We held short council: Pierre the peasant, Singing Arrow the squaw, and I, the Seignior de Montlivet. We mingled suggestions and advice, and struck a balance. The sunset flamed in the woods behind us, and I knew that the moon rose early. I could have used a knife upon Pierre for the time it took me to convince him that our canoes could carry one man more. Heretofore my nod had been enough to bring him to my heels, but now he thought his head in danger, so he fought with me like an animal or an equal. The equal I would not tolerate, and the animal I cowed in brute fashion. Then I sent Singing Arrow to do her work, and I went to the Englishman. The Englishman saw me from the window, and was at the door before I could lift the latch. Yet his eagerness did not trip him into carelessness, and so long as the guards could see, he greeted me with a hostile stare. I pushed him within, and closed the door. "Have you seen any one?" I asked. "Only the guard with my supper."