from him, I fear. All the tribes are preparing to join in
fighting our troops."

Menard paused to think.

"It looks bad, Father." He walked up and down the hut. "The Governor's
column must have followed up the river within a few days of us. Then
much time was lost in getting us down here." He turned almost fiercely
to the priest. "Why, the campaign may have opened already. Word may
come to-morrow from the Senecas calling out the Onondagas and Cayugas.
Do you know what that means? It means that I have failed,--for the
first time in my life, Father,--miserably failed. There must be some
way out. If I could only get word to the Big Throat. I'm certain I
could talk him over. I have done it before."

Father Claude had never before seen despair in Menard's eyes.

"You speak well, M'sieu. There must be some way. God is with us."

The Captain was again pacing the beaten floor. Finally he came to the
priest, and took his arm. "I don't know what it is that gives me
courage, Father, but at my age a man isn't ready to give up. They may
kill me, if they like, but not before I've carried out my orders. The
Onondagas must not join the Senecas."

"How"--began the priest.

Menard shook his head. "I don't know yet,--but we can do it." He went
out of doors, as if the sunlight could help him, and during the rest
of the day and evening he roamed about or lay motionless under the
trees. The maid watched him until dark, but kept silent; for Father
Claude had told her, and she, too, believed that he would find a way.

Late in the evening Father Claude began to feel disturbed. Menard was
still somewhere off among the trees. He had come in for his handful of
grain, at the supper hour, but with hardly a word. The Father had
never succeeded, save on that one occasion when Danton was the
subject, in carrying on a long conversation with the maid; and now
after a few sorry attempts he went out of doors. He thought of going
to the Captain, to cheer his soul and prepare his mind for whatever
fate awaited him, but his better judgment held him back.

The village had no surface excitement to suggest coming butchery and
war. The children were either asleep or playing in the open. Warriors
walked slowly about, wrapped closely in blankets, though the night was
warm. The gnats and mosquitoes were humming lazily, the trees barely
stirring, and the voices of gossiping squaws or merry youths blended
into a low drone. There was the smell in the air of w