ses the end of the Long Lake." He raised his
head and looked at the stars, then pointed to the southwest. "The
nearest village lies there. If we go through the forest toward the
setting sun, we shall meet the trail."

"You think it will be wise to go to the Cayugas, M'sieu?" asked Father
Claude.

"I think so. The chiefs must have returned before this time, or at
least by the morrow." He dropped into the Iroquois tongue. "Is not
this so, Teganouan? Would the chiefs of the Cayugas linger among the
Onondagas after the close of the council?"

"The Cayuga warriors await the word of the Long House. They know that
their chiefs would hasten to bring it back to them."

"Yes. It must be so, Father. And we can trust them to aid us. Perhaps
they will give us a canoe. Teganouan must tell them he is our guide,
sent by the Big Throat and the chiefs of the Onondagas to take us
safely to Frontenac."

The maid was struggling to keep awake, but her lids were heavy. Menard
came to her and stood, hesitating. She knew that he was there; she
could hear the rustle of his wet clothes, and his heavy breathing, but
she did not look up.

"Come," he said, lightly touching her shoulder, "we cannot wait here.
We must go."

She did not reply, and he hesitated again. Then he stooped and lifted
her in his arms.

"You will go ahead, Teganouan," he said, "and you, too, if you will,
Father Claude. Choose an easy trail if you can, and be careful that no
twig flies back."

They set out slowly through the forest. The priest and the Indian
laboriously broke a way, and Menard followed, holding the maid
tenderly, and now and then, in some lighter spot where a beam of
moonlight fell through the foliage, looking down at her gentle, weary
face. She was sleeping; and he prayed that no sad dreams might come to
steal her rest. His arms ached and his knees gave under him, but he
had hardly a thought for himself. At last, after a long, silent march,
the priest stopped, and said, supporting himself with one thin hand
against a tree:--

"You are weary, M'sieu. You must let me take Mademoiselle."

"No, Father, no. I have been thinking. I am afraid it is not right
that she should sleep now. Even though she fail in the effort,
exercise of her muscles is all that will prevent sickness. And yet I
cannot,"--he looked again at her face as it rested against his
shoulder,--"I cannot awaken her now."

The Father saw the sorrow in the Captain's eyes, and understood.