"Yes," replied the priest, "yes." He walked slowly by them, and about in a circle, repeating the word. The maid leaned back and watched him, wondering. He paused before the Captain and seemed about to speak. Then abruptly he went into the hut, and they could hear him moving within. Menard and the maid looked at each other, the soldier smiling quietly. He understood. Father Claude came out holding the portrait of Catharine, the Lily of the Onondagas, in his hands. "It may be that this could be used for the fourth present," he said. Menard took it without a word, and laid it on the ground by the fur coat. The maid looked at it curiously. "Oh, it is a picture," she said. "Yes, Mademoiselle," the Captain replied. "It is the portrait of an Onondaga maiden who is to them, and to the French, almost a saint. They will prize this above all else." The maid raised it, and looked at the strangely clad figure. Father Claude quietly walked away, but Menard went after and gripped his hand. CHAPTER XI. THE BIG THROAT SPEAKS. The light of the rising sun struggled through the mist that lay on the Onondaga Valley. The trees came slowly out of the gray air, like ships approaching through a fog. As the sun rose higher, each leaf glistened with dew. The grass was wet and shining. Menard had seized a few hours of sleep. He awoke with the first beam of yellow light, and rose from his bed on the packed, beaten ground before the door. Father Claude was sitting on a log, at a short distance, with bowed head. The Captain stretched his stiff limbs, and walked slowly about until the priest looked up. "Good morning, Father." "Good morning, M'sieu." "It was a selfish thought that led me to choose the earlier watch. These last hours are the best for sleeping." "No, I have rested well." "And Mademoiselle?" "I have heard no sound. I think that she still sleeps." "Softly, then. There has been no disturbance?" "None. The singing has died down during the last hour. There, you can hear it, M'sieu." "Yes. But it is only a few voices. It must be that the others are sleeping off the liquor. They will soon awaken." "Listen." A musket was fired, and another. "That is the signal." The song, which one group after another had taken up all through the night, rose again and grew in volume as one at a time the sleepers aroused and joined the dance. The only sign of the fire was a pillar of thin smoke that rolled straight upward in the still air. "Father," said Menard, "are the guards about?" "I have not seen them. I suppose they are wandering within call." "Then, quickly, before we are seen, help me with this log." "I do not understand, M'sieu." "Into the hut with it, and the others, there. If a chance does come,--well, it may be that we shall yet be reduced to holding the hut. These will serve to barricade the door."