At dawn! Alagwa’s heart stood still. She would have time neither to think nor to plan. Desperately she cast about for some respite, however brief. “At dawn!” she echoed. “Why need I go so soon? Why need I go at all. Will not Tecumseh and the redcoats come here? It is only the Pottawatomies who will attack the fort?” Metea paused a moment before replying. “The Pottawatomies are brave,” he said. “They will surround the fort, cutting off all help from the south. If a chance offers they will capture it. If not, they will wait. In one moon their redcoat brothers will come with the big guns to batter down the walls. But my sister may not wait for them. Tecumseh commands her presence now and she must go. She will have fitting escort. Twenty of my men wait to attend her.” Alagwa’s hope vanished. No way could she see out of the coil that bound her. “Did Tecumseh send no word about the young white chief?” she faltered, desperately. Metea shrugged his shoulders. “The young white chief?” he echoed. “He who slew the Shawnee braves at Defiance? No, Tecumseh sent no word! Let the young chief stay where he is. Soon we will test his courage at the stake and see if he is a brave man or a coward.” Metea threw his blanket about his shoulders and turned to the door. Then he looked back. “At dawn!” he repeated. “Let my sister be ready.” He strode through the opening and disappeared. Alagwa sprang to her feet. Her eyes flashed, her nostrils dilated, her lips curled back as they had curled when she faced Brito. “You shall not,” she shrieked to the empty door. “You shall not. Dog of a Pottawatomie, little do you know Alagwa. I will not leave him and he shall not die. I will save him yet.” Peter Bondie looked at the girl contemptuously. “So!” he sneered. “You will not leave him, hein? You will save him, hein? And how will you save him? Bah! It is squaw’s talk.” “Silence, cochon!” Fantine had risen swiftly to her feet. Her vast bulk quivered. “Fear not, ma bebée,” she cried. “We shall save him! He is a fool and blind, but some day le bon Dieu will open his eyes. Till then Fantine will protect and save him and you.” She caught the half-fainting girl in her arms, and turned upon her brother. “Scelerat!” she cried. “Know you to whom you speak? Know you that you address the daughter of M. Delaroche, the niece of the Count of Telfair, your liege lady? Down upon your knees, pig, and beg forgiveness.” Peter did not drop upon his knees--he had been in America too long--but he changed color and began to mutter hasty apologies.