"Step back, Mademoiselle, behind the wall. You must not stand here."

The warrior broke away from the hands that held him, staggering a rod
across the grass before he could recover his balance. The others went
after him, but he quickly rested the piece and fired. The ball went
over their heads through the doorway, striking with a low noise
against the rear wall. Menard rose, jerking away from the priest's
restraining hand.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "you are not hurt?"

"No, M'sieu."

"Thank God!" He stood glaring at the huddled band of warriors, who
were trying to reload the arquebuse; then he bounded forward, broke
into the group with a force that sent two to the ground, snatched the
weapon, and, with a quick motion, drew out the flint. He threw the gun
on the ground, and walked back to his seat.

Two of the guards came running forward. They had not been drinking,
and one of them ordered the loafers away. This did not strike them
amiss. They started off, trying to reload as they walked, evidently
not missing the flint.

The maid came again to the doorway, and asked timidly:--

"Is there danger for you, M'sieu? Will they come back?"

"No. It is merely a lot of drunken youths. They have probably
forgotten by now. Can you sleep, Mademoiselle?--have you tried?"

"No, I--I fear that I could not."

"It would be well to make the effort," he said gently, looking over
his shoulder at her as she leaned against the doorpost. "We do not
know what may happen. At any rate, even if you escape, you will need
all your strength on the morrow. A fallen captain may not command,
Mademoiselle, but--"

"If it is your command, M'sieu, I will try. Good night."

There was a long stillness, broken only by the distant noises of the
dance.

"You, too, will sleep, M'sieu?" said Father Claude. "I will watch."

"No, no, Father."

"I beg it of you. At the least you will let me divide the night with
you?"

"We shall see, we shall see. There is much to be said before either of
us closes his eyes. Hello, here is a runner."

An Indian was loping up the path. He turned in toward the hut.

"Quiet," said the priest. "It is Tegakwita."

The warrior had run a long way. He was breathing deeply, and the sweat
stood out on his face and caught the shine of the firelight.

"My brother has been far," said Menard, rising.

"The White Chief is not surprised? He heard the word of Tegakwita,
that he would return before another sun. He has ind