yet made his demands in the stern voice
of a conqueror. He knew that these Indians cared not at all whether
the word of the council to him had been broken or kept, unless he
could so impress them with his authority that they would fear
punishment for the offence.

"The Big Buffalo is a mighty warrior," said the spokesman. "His hard
hands are greater than the muskets and hatchets of the Cayugas. He
fights with the strength of the winter wind; no man can stand where
his hand falls. He speaks wisely to the Cayugas. They are sorry that
their brothers, the Onondagas, have so soon forgotten the word of the
great council, Let the Big Buffalo rest his arms. The warriors of the
Cayugas shall be proud to offer him food."

They all rose, and after a few grunted words of friendship, filed away
to go over the matter in private council. Menard saw that they were
puzzled; perhaps they did not believe that he had killed the Long
Arrow. He turned to Teganouan, who had been sitting a few yards away.

"Teganouan, will you go among the braves of the village and tell them
that the Big Buffalo is a strong fighter, that he killed the Long
Arrow with his hands? It may be that they have not believed."

This was the kind of strategy Teganouan understood. He walked slowly
away, puffing at his pipe, to mingle among the people of the village
and boast in bold metaphors the prowess of his White Chief.

"They will give us a canoe," said Father Claude.

"Yes, they must. Now, let us sleep again."

They dropped to the ground, and Menard looked warningly at the circle
of young boys who came as close as they dared to see this strange
white man, and to hear him talk in the unpronounceable language.
Father Claude's eyes were first to close. The Captain was about to
join him in slumber when a low voice came from the door.

"M'sieu."

He started up and saw the maid holding the door ajar and leaning
against it, her pale face, framed in a tangle of soft hair, showing
traces of the wearing troubles of the days just passed.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, you must not waken. You must sleep long, and rest,
and grow bright and young again."

She smiled, and looked at him timidly.

"I have been dreaming, M'sieu," she said, and her eyes dropped, "such
an unpleasant dream. It was after we had crossed the lake--We did
cross it, M'sieu, did we not? That, too, was not a dream? No--see, my
hair is wet."

"No," he said, "that was not a dream."

"We were on the land,