Crawford slept upon the matter, and in the morning found himself still perplexed. He looked at Perrot, found the latter sleeping easily and naturally. Black Kettle had been gone for an hour or more, seeking fresh meat, and Crawford now stole away to get a new stock of wood, which had to be chosen carefully if the fire were to be smokeless. In half an hour he returned with his burden. He dropped this by the fire, straightened up--and found Perrot on one elbow, staring at him. Those clear and penetrating eyes, looking out at him from the white-bearded face, were sane. Crawford poured out some hot broth, and knelt beside the invalid. “This first, then talk if you must,” he said. Perrot obeyed, then sank back and scrutinized him in frank wonder. Crawford lighted his pipe and sat down. “Where are the Mohegans?” demanded Perrot. Crawford puffed and considered this question, which contained many unuttered queries. His patient was weak, but well enough to talk, and would only fret if left unanswered. So Crawford began to speak, and went on to relate the most essential parts of his own tale. While he talked, the gaze of Perrot devoured him and mirrored the man’s inner mind; the Frenchman passed from amazement to incredulity, and then to a slow but still more amazed credence. In his younger days this man, who by dint of his personality alone had conquered whole tribes, who had walked unarmed into a council-lodge of hostile Ottawas and had taken captives from the very torture stake, had shown himself a very Odysseus in craft and guile; but he had also shown that he could be all things to all men in a most astonishing degree. So it was now. Once convinced of Crawford’s story, comprehending what manner of man this was, he attempted no dissimulation but met frankness with frankness. When the tale was done, he uttered a shaky laugh and asked to see the Star of Dreams. Crawford displayed the jewel, and Perrot nodded. “Thanks be to the saints!” he said slowly. “I perceive now why I came into this land. You see, my friend, I knew not the reason. Something urged me to the trip, something forced me despite myself. With men like you and me, men who obey the hidden voice of the spirit, some reason always discloses itself. Me, I am a religious man, as the good fathers at Green Bay have cause to know, yet I also have some belief in the manitou of the red men. I thought it was only a desire to see the Star Woman again which drew me, but in truth it was something greater and more definite. And the same with you.” Crawford smiled, not comprehending this very clearly. “Not in the least, Sieur Perrot. I am here only because of my whim.” “No, my friend.” Perrot spoke gravely. “We are agents of the unseen destiny which guards this empire of the wilderness--remember that! It is a stern taskmaster, this destiny; it demands much of one’s spirit and body. Me, I believe in this unseen destiny.” “I do not believe in the incredible,” said Crawford.