"That is not your Indian name?" she asked. "Yes,--Mary." "Did you never have another?" "My other name is forgotten." "These Mission girls like to ape our ways," said Menard, in French. The girl looked curiously at them, then she untied a fold of her skirt, and showed a heap of strawberries. "For the white man's squaw," she said. Mademoiselle blushed and laughed. "Thank you," she replied, holding out her hands. The girl gave her the berries, and turned away. Menard looked up as a thought came to him. "Wait, Mary. Do you know where the young white chief is?" "Yes. He tried to run away. He cannot run away from our warriors." "Are you afraid to go to him?" "My brother, Tegakwita, is guarding him. I am not afraid." Menard went to a young birch tree that stood near the hut, peeled off a strip of bark, and wrote on it:-- "If you try to escape again you will endanger my plans. Keep your patience, and I can save you." "Will you take him some berries, and give him this charm with them?" She took the note, rolled it up with a nod, and went away. Menard saw the question in Mademoiselle's eyes, and said: "It was a warning to be cool. Our hope is in getting the good-will of the chiefs." "Will they--will they hurt him, M'sieu?" "I hope not. At least we are still alive and safe; and years ago, Mademoiselle, I learned how much that means." The maid looked into the trees without replying. Her face had lost much of its fulness, and only the heavy tan concealed the worn outlines. But her eyes were still bright, and her spirit, now that the first shock had passed, was firm. Father Claude returned, after a time, with a heavy face. He drew Menard into the hut, and told him what he had gathered: that the Long Arrow and his followers were planning a final vengeance against Captain Menard. All the braves knew of it; everywhere they were talking of it, and preparing for the feasting and dancing. "They will wait until after the fighting, won't they?" "No, M'sieu. It is planned to begin soon, within a day or two." "Have you inquired for the Big Throat?" "He is five leagues away, at the next village. We can hardly hope for help from him, I fear. All the tribes are preparing to join in fighting our troops." Menard paused to think. "It looks bad, Father." He walked up and down the hut. "The Governor's column must have followed up the river within a few days of us. Then much time was lost in getting us down here." He turned almost fiercely to the priest. "Why, the campaign may have opened already. Word may come to-morrow from the Senecas calling out the Onondagas and Cayugas. Do you know what that means? It means that I have failed,--for the first time in my life, Father,--miserably failed. There must be some way out. If I could only get word to the Big Throat. I'm certain I could talk him over. I have done it before." Father Claude had never before seen despair in Menard's eyes. "You speak well, M'sieu. There must be some way. God is with us."