"You think it was a tree?" Pierre shuffled. "There are no Hurons here. This is the Pottawatamie country. But I have thought about it all day. It was a queer tree. Shall I go back and see?" I shook my head. I pointed to a stale bear print, and set the men upon it. Then I turned and slipped back to camp. I walked with uneasiness in my throat. Why did a Huron dog us in this fashion? Was he alone? Did he mean mischief to the Englishman? Was the Englishman in league with him? Too many questions for a slow man. I felt entrapped and befogged. I must see for myself. And so I crept to the camp to spy upon it. I have never seen sweeter spot for an anchorage than we had found that day. We had not camped on the open coast as had been our custom, but in a sun-warmed meadow a few paces inland, where there were birds, and tasseling grasses, and all kinds of glancing lights and odors to steal into a man's blood. I parted the trees. The blur of gray ashes from our fire was undisturbed; our canoes lay, bottom upwards, waiting to have the seams newly pitched, and the cargo was piled, untouched, against a tree. All was as we left it. And there, in the shade of a maple, lay the Englishman, asleep on his scarlet blanket. I went softly, and looked down at him. I ought to have waked him, and rated him for sleeping at his post, but I could not. It was balm to find him here safe. He was twisted like a kitten with his head in his arm, and I noticed that his dark hair, which he kept roughly cut, was curly. He must have been wandering in the woods, for he had a bunch of pink blossoms, very waxy and odorous, shut tight in his hand. I looked at him till I suddenly wanted him to wake and look at me. I picked a grass stalk, and, leaning over, brushed it against his lips. He woke as a child does, not alert at once, but with drowsy stirrings, and finally with open eyes so sleep-filled that they were as expressionless as a fawn's. He stared as if trying to remember who I was. I sat beside him. "I am the owner of that cargo you are guarding," I supplied to aid his memory, and then laughed to see the red flood his face when he came to himself and realized what he had done. But I was not at ease. He had shivered and drawn back when he first opened his eyes. Could he be afraid of me? I should not wish that. I tried to be crafty. "Who did you think I was when you first woke?" I asked, taking my pipe and preparing to be comfortable. He pushed back his hair. "Benjamin," he answered vaguely. He was still half asleep. "But you told me your name was Benjamin!" I put down my flint and tinder. He met my look. "I have a cousin Benjamin, as well," he rejoined. "I was dreaming of him. Monsieur, I am humiliated to think that I went to sleep. I have never done so before."