But how could she get word to the runner? The camp was guarded. Dimly, she could descry Jack’s form against the limestone boulder on which she and he had sat and talked. Instinctively she knew that he would not sleep, and she knew, too, that the runner was not likely to appear unless she summoned him. And she saw no way to summon him without betraying herself and wrecking her mission without gain. Vainly her tired brain fluttered. At last, wearied out, she lay quiescent, determined to watch and wait. Perhaps a chance might come. For hours she forced herself to lie awake. But she had not counted on the weakness due to her loss of blood and on the insistent demand of her nature for sleep to replenish the drain. Fight against it as she might, sleep crept upon her, insistent, not to be denied. Heavier and heavier grew her eyelids, and though again and again she forced them back, in time nature would no longer be denied. When she waked darkness was about her. For an instant she thought she was back in the Indian lodge at Wapakoneta. Then the patch of moonlit sky that showed at the foot of the wagon caught her eyes and told her the truth. With an effort she sat up. The hours of sleep had strengthened her immensely. Young, pure-blooded, healthy, her system had already made up much of the blood she had lost. New life was coursing through her veins. Except for the soreness and stiffness in her leg she felt almost herself again. From where she lay she could see moonbeams on the trees south of the river. If she had been familiar with white man’s time she would have said that it was about four o’clock. Cautiously she sat up and looked out over the tail of the wagon. The camp was shrouded in darkness, but after a time she made out a blanketed form stretched beneath the great slanting tree. This was Williams, she knew. In the middle of the ground, close to where the campfire had burned, lay another form, almost invisible against the dark soil. To the north, toward the road, across the rock that had so lately served her both for chair and table, sprawled a third form, whose heavy breathing came distinctly to her ears. He was a mere blur in the darkness, but Alagwa knew that Jack had intended to take both the first and the last watches and to give the midwatch to Cato. She knew, therefore, that the sentinel must be Cato. And she knew that he was asleep. Sharply she drew her breath. Now was her chance to give the call of the whip-poor-will. Almost she had framed her lips to sound it. Then suddenly and silently a head rose at the tail of the wagon and two fierce eyes bored questioningly into hers. Even in the darkness she could make out the horribly painted features. No civilized woman would have met such a vision without screaming, but Alagwa had been well trained. A single heart-rending start she gave, then faced the warrior.