He fell asleep, but awoke some time before midnight. A bright moon was shining in at his window and the little village within the walls was very quiet and peaceful. He turned over and closed his eyes in order that he might go to sleep again, but he was restless and sleep would not come. Then he got up and stood by the window, looking at the part of the court that lay within range. Nothing stirred. There were sentinels, of course, but they did not pass over the area commanded by his window. The silence was very deep, but presently he heard a sound very faint and very distant. It was the weird cry of the owl that goes so far on a still night. No wilderness note could have been more characteristic, but it was repeated a certain number of times and with certain intonations, and a little shiver ran down Henry's back. He knew that cry. It was the signal. His friends were speaking to him, while others slept, sending a voice across the woods and waters, telling him that they were there to help. Then, a strange, capricious idea occurred to him. He would reply. The second window on the side of the river, too narrow for a man to pass through, was open, and putting his face to it, he sent back the answering cry, the long, weird, wailing note. He waited a little and again he heard a voice from the far shore of the river, the exact rejoinder to his own, and he knew that the four out there understood. The chain of communication had been established. Now he went back to his pallet, fell asleep with ease, and slept peacefully until morning. The next day, superstition assailed the French-Canadians in the village, and many of the Indians. A second private who had a late beat near the forest had been carried off. There were signs of a struggle. No blood had been shed, but Private Myers had vanished as completely as his predecessor. To many of the people who sat about the lodges or cabins it seemed uncanny, but it filled the heart of de Peyster with rage. He visited Timmendiquas a second time in his lodge of skins and spoke with some heat. "You have great warriors," he said, "men who can trail anything through the forest. Why is it that they cannot find this petty little band of marauders, only four?" "They did find them," returned Timmendiquas gravely; "they took your soldiers, but your soldiers returned without them. Now they hold two of your men captive, but it is no fault of the Wyandots or their brethren of the allied tribes. We wait here in peace, while the other presents that you have promised us come from Niagara." De Peyster bit his lip. He had rashly promised more and greater gifts for which he would have to send to Niagara, and Timmendiquas had announced calmly that the warriors would remain at Detroit until they came. This had made another long delay and de Peyster raged internally, although he strove to hide it. Now he made the same effort at self-command, and replied pacifically: