“Divil a bit of it,” said Phelim cheerfully, and then walked away and was gone. So the dream passed, and though others followed it, Crawford remembered only this one. Therefore, when he opened his eyes and found himself conscious, he lay for a long while in perturbed wonder. There above him was the same contorted, twisted pine tree with its wide boughs; there was that same blue outspread lake, far below; and he looked out afar upon that same green forest that climbed the distant leagues to the horizon. He was softly couched on furs and fragrant pine. As he turned his head, he saw Frontin sitting there, watching him. “Ah!” Frontin started to him, caught his hand. “Awake, eh? She said you’d wake this morning.” “Where’s Phelim Burke?” demanded Crawford. “I tell you, he was just here----” and he swiftly related that dream of his. Frontin stared, then abruptly crossed himself. “Dream? I’m not so sure. We’re with the Star Woman. Here, you’re to drain this cup, then I must tell her you’re awake.” Crawford found a birch pannikin held to his lips, and drank. He lay back and fell asleep once more, but no further dreams came to him. When he next wakened, it was in a glorious sunset that flooded the lake and outflung forest below with a mellow golden glow. Frontin was again with him, and gave him meat and corn, since his hunger was sharp and avid. Crawford sat up to eat; to his new astonishment he found himself, if not healed, at least able to move without pain. Frontin nodded curtly. “Ay, you’re well enough, cap’n. A week we’ve been here--carried you and the chief. She has tended you both with simples and herbs; a wise woman, and beautiful to boot. There below us is the lake of many stars. Here’s tobacco and your pipe.” “Give me your hand,” said Crawford. Frontin lent him a pull, and he gained his feet. Except for some weakness, and the sore stiffness of his hurt body, he was well enough. Something struck his breast; and, feeling beneath the leathern shirt that clothed him, he felt the Star of Dreams. A smile touched his lips. He leaned back against the hole of the twisted pine tree, took pipe and tobacco. “Good. Can we talk with her?” “Easily. She speaks French as good as my own--though devil take me if I understand how she came by it! She is but a girl.” “Why hasn’t she left here? Has Maclish been stopped? What has happened?” Frontin shrugged. “My faith, she is past my comprehension! She refused to run, and Maclish is upon us. She is like all saints and holy folk--a trifle blind in the material eye, and inclined to place more emphasis on the heavenly host than the occasion warrants. If you could see over the trees here, toward the west, you’d see the smoke of Maclish’s campfires. His whole force is drawing in. Well, I’d better let her know that you’re awake. She thinks that Perrot will bring the Dacotah hosts and prevent a fight. See if you can put any reason into her head.”