The fourth morning came without rain, and the sun struggled out. We built great fires, dried our clothing, repacked the canoes, and were afloat by noon. By contrast it was pleasant, but it still was cold, and we stood to our paddling. I wrapped the woman in extra blankets, and made her swallow some brandy. I hoped that she would sleep, but she did not, for it was she who called to us that there were three canoes ahead. It showed how clogged I was by sombre thought that I had not seen them, for in a moment they swept in full sight. I crowded the woman down in the canoe, and covered her with sailcloth. Then I hailed the canoes with a long cry, "Tanipi endayenk?" which means, "Whence come you?" and added "Peca," that they might know I called in peace. The canoes wheeled and soon hung like water birds at our side. They were filled with a hunting party of Pottawatamies, and the young braves grunted and chaffered at me in high good humor. I gave them knives and vermilion, and they talked freely. I saw them look at the draped shape in the canoe, but I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Ouskouebi!" which might mean either "drunken" or a "fool," and they grinned and seemed satisfied. They promised to report to me at La Baye des Puants, and I saw by their complaisance that the French star was at the zenith. I should have stretched my legs in comfort as I went on my way. CHAPTER XII A COMPACT We paddled that afternoon till the men splashed water into the canoes, which was their way of telling me that I had worked them hard enough. It was dusk when we landed, and starlight before our kettles were hot. I had been silent, when I had not been fault finding, till, supper over, the woman, leaning across the fire, asked me why. "Is something wrong?" she ventured. "Ever since we met the Pottawatamies you have seemed in haste." I looked around. The men were at a distance preparing for sleep. "I wish to reach the Pottawatamie Islands before to-morrow night. Mademoiselle Starling, may I talk of our future?" She rose. "You called me mademoiselle." "Yes, mademoiselle." "And you mean"-- I took off my hat. "Will you come with me?" I asked,--"come where we shall not be overheard? We must talk of our future." I knew that she trembled as she bowed her assent, but I pretended to be blind. I led the way outside of the circle of light, then waited for her to come to me. I stood with my hat in hand, and my heart cried in pity for the woman, but my tongue was heavy as a savage's. "I learned from the Pottawatamies," I said, "that Father Nouvel is tarrying at their islands. If we haste, we may find him there. Mademoiselle, will you marry me?"