"No. It is merely a lot of drunken youths. They have probably forgotten by now. Can you sleep, Mademoiselle?--have you tried?" "No, I--I fear that I could not." "It would be well to make the effort," he said gently, looking over his shoulder at her as she leaned against the doorpost. "We do not know what may happen. At any rate, even if you escape, you will need all your strength on the morrow. A fallen captain may not command, Mademoiselle, but--" "If it is your command, M'sieu, I will try. Good night." There was a long stillness, broken only by the distant noises of the dance. "You, too, will sleep, M'sieu?" said Father Claude. "I will watch." "No, no, Father." "I beg it of you. At the least you will let me divide the night with you?" "We shall see, we shall see. There is much to be said before either of us closes his eyes. Hello, here is a runner." An Indian was loping up the path. He turned in toward the hut. "Quiet," said the priest. "It is Tegakwita." The warrior had run a long way. He was breathing deeply, and the sweat stood out on his face and caught the shine of the firelight. "My brother has been far," said Menard, rising. "The White Chief is not surprised? He heard the word of Tegakwita, that he would return before another sun. He has indeed been far. He has followed the track of the forest wolf that stole the child of the Onondagas. He has found the bold, the brave white warrior, who stole away in the night, robbing Tegakwita of what is dearer to him than the beating of his heart." The maid stood again in the doorway, resting a hand on the post, and leaning forward with startled eyes. "He has found--he has found him--" she faltered. The Indian did not look at her. He drew something from the breast of his shirt, and threw it on the ground at Menard's feet. Then, with broken-hearted dignity, he strode away and disappeared in the night. Father Claude stooped, and picked up the object. Dimly in the firelight they could see it,--two warm human scalps, the one of brown hair knotted to the other of black. Menard took them in his hand. "Poor boy!" he said, over and over. "Poor boy!" He looked toward the door, but the maid had gone inside. CHAPTER X. A NIGHT COUNCIL. The night crept by, as had the day, wearily. The two men sat in the doorway or walked slowly back and forth across the front of the hut, saying little. The Captain was calling to mind every incident of their capture, and of the original trouble between La Grange and the hunting party. He went over the conversation with Major Provost at Quebec word by word, until he felt sure in his authority as the Governor's representative; although the written orders in the leather bag that hung from his neck were concerned only with his duties in preparing Fort Frontenac for the advancing column,--duties that he had not fulfilled.