"Aye, good ones! We shall have what we desire. I have seen--I have said! Be satisfied." This was spoken with due solemnity by the person in whom the credulity of his companions had found sources of power unknown to their experience. "But why not show us what you have seen? Speak plainly, man. Out with it, and leave that mysterious shaking of the head, which has really nothing in it." Such was the language of the more manly and impetuous Le Genevois. It provoked only a fierce glance from the magician. "All in good time," said the latter. "Be patient. We shall soon hear from Oolenoe." "Good! and you have seen that we shall be successful?" demanded Fourneaux. "We shall be successful." "That will depend upon ourselves, rather than upon your visions, I'm thinking," said Le Genevois. "We must have courage, my friends. The signs are not good when we call for signs. If we despond, we are undone." "Stay--hark!" said Fourneaux, interrupting him eagerly. "I hear sounds." "The wind only." "No!--hist." They bent forward in the attitude of listeners, but heard nothing. They had begun again to speak, when an Indian, covered with leaves artfully glued upon his person, stood suddenly among them. They started to their feet and grasped their weapons. "_Ami!_" was the single word of the intruder, at he stretched out his arms in signification of friendship. "Said I not?" demanded the magician, confidently. "This is our man." His assurance was confirmed by the savage, who spoke the French sufficiently to make himself understood. He came from Oolenoe, and a few sentences sufficed to place both parties in possession of their mutual plans. The outlaws were not without friends in La Caroline. They were to find their way once more into that fortress. They had no fears from the sagacity of Laudonniere, during the absence of the youthful but vigilant D'Erlach; and, for the latter, he was to be disposed of by Oolenoe. And now the question arose, who should venture to "bell the cat?" who should venture himself within the walls of La Caroline? "Ah!" said one of the conspirators, "if we could only bring Le Genré to his senses. He would be the man." "Speak nothing of him," cried Le Genevois, quickly; "he is no longer a man. He is a priest. That defeat has killed his courage. He repents, and is constantly writing to Laudonniere for mercy and pity, and all that sort of thing. He must not know what we design." "Who has seen him lately?" "I know not. He was crossed to the other side of the river by Captain Bourdet in his boats. He crossed to seek refuge with the people of Mollova." "He is not far, be sure. He will linger close to the fort, in the hope to get back to it, and, finally, to France. He is not to be thought of in this expedition." "Who then?" was the demand of Le Genevois. "Somebody must muzzle the cannon. Who? Who will take the peril and the glory of the enterprise, and in the character of an Indian will put his head in the jaws of the danger?"