They were not disturbed while they rolled the short logs within and piled them at one side of the door, where they could not be seen from the path. "Quietly, Father," whispered the Captain. He knew that the maid lay sleeping, back among the shadows. "And the presents,--you have packed them away?" "In my bundle, M'sieu. They will not be harmed." They returned to the open air, and looked about anxiously for signs of a movement toward the hut; but the irregular street was silent. Here and there, from the opening in the roof of some low building of bark and logs, rose a light smoke. "They are all at the dance," said Menard. His memory supplied the picture: the great fire, now sunk to heaps of gray ashes, spread over the ground by the feet of those younger braves who had wished to show their hardihood by treading barefoot on the embers; the circle of grunting figures, leaning forward, hatchet and musket in hand, moving slowly around the fire with a shuffling, hopping step; the outer circle of sitting or lying figures, men, women, and children, drunken, wanton, quarrelsome, dreaming of the blood that should be let before the sun had gone; and at one side the little group of old men, beating their drums of wood and skin with a rhythm that never slackened. The song grew louder, and broke at short intervals into shouts and cries, punctuated with musket-shots. "They are coming, M'sieu." The head of the line, still stepping in the slow movement of the dance, appeared at some distance up the path. The Long Arrow was in front, in full war-paint, and wearing the collar of wampum beads. Beside him was the Beaver. The line advanced, two and two, steadily toward the lodge of the white men. Menard leaned against the door-post and watched them. His figure was relaxed, his face composed. "Here are the doctors, Father." A group of medicine men, wildly clad in skins of beasts and reptiles, with the heads of animals on their shoulders, came running along beside the line, leaping high in the air, and howling. Menard turned to the priest. "Father, which shall it be,--shall we fight?" "I do not know, M'sieu. We have no weapons, and it may be, yet, that the Big Throat--" "Yes, I know." "And there is the maid, M'sieu." For the first time since the sunrise the quiet expression left the Captain's face. He was silent for a moment. Then he said:-- "I will go, Father. You must protect her. If anything--if they should dare to touch her, you will--?" "I will fight them, M'sieu." "Thank you." Menard held out his hand. They gripped in silence, and turned again toward the Indians, who were now but a hundred yards away. "They will stop in a moment," said Menard, "and form for the gantlet. Yes,--see, the Long Arrow holds up his hands." He stood irresolute, looking at the fantastic picture; then he stepped back into the hut.