“I can’t do it, Iberville. I’ve promised to wait here until after midnight for some of the escaped Irish slaves who are coming to join me.” “What?” exclaimed Iberville. “Faith, you can’t expect to keep the three of us prisoners here until after midnight, without my _voyageurs_ hacking at the hinges of hell to find us! Unless, of course, you propose to use us as hostages----” “Not in the least,” said Crawford quickly. “It will give me great pleasure if you’ll take that Abnaki devil with you and keep him quiet until we get off. Bienville, of course, will know nothing of the entire matter; it remains between the two of us alone. If you will see to it that your men are off the bark, and that your Canadians do not interfere with us, we shall come down to the beach as soon as my Irish arrive, go aboard, and sail away. As you will perceive, it is all very simple.” Iberville stared at him for a moment. “Satan fly away with me! Are you in earnest?” “Eh? Why, of course! Do you find the proposal disagreeable?” A short laugh broke from the Canadian. “What assurance have you that I’ll not lay an ambush at the shore and cut you off to the last man?” “Every assurance in the world.” “What, then?” “The fact that you are Iberville.” The other was silent a moment, then spoke softly. “Monsieur Crawford, I offer you my most respectful homage. Shall we rejoin my brother?” They turned back together to the fire. There Bienville was laughing heartily and exchanging jests with the buccaneers who, weary and cursing the snowshoes that had left them almost unable to hobble, were rubbing sore tendons. The Abnaki chief, conscious, was glaring up at Sir Phelim Burke, who was seated grimly beside him. Crawford strode forward and cut the chief loose, and at a few words in Algonquin from Iberville, he stalked off into the darkness. Crawford checked his men with a gesture. “Come, Bienville,” said the tall Canadian, and swept off his hat. “Monsieur Crawford, I salute you. To our next meeting!” The two figures disappeared. Sir Phelim stared after them, then lifted wondering eyes to Crawford. “_Hanam-an-diaoul!_ Is it a wizard ye are, Harry? What’s happened, lad? What’s happened, that ye let those three go----” “Nothing’s happened, Phelim, except that the Star of Dreams is shining fair for us,” said Crawford. Yet he sighed a little as he turned to tell the men of the ship that lay awaiting them, and in his heart there was a wish that some day he might again meet that tall Canadian, for he felt strangely drawn to the man. Perhaps, for all his boasted quest of freedom, that offer of a commission under Iberville had been a sore temptation. And the name of the Star Woman lingered strangely in his memory. CHAPTER IV ONE GAINS GOLD, ANOTHER A FRIEND In the meanwhile, during three days the men left aboard the _Irondelle_ slaved, as Vanderberg put it, like dogs of Holland, yet never was slavery more richly rewarded.