e. The question in
her eyes remained unchanged.

"We have never heard of him at Fort o' God," she said.

Philip shoved the canoe more firmly upon the shore and stepped over the
side.

"This Fort o' God must be a wonderful place," he said, as he bent over
to help her. "You have aroused something in me I never thought I
possessed before--a tremendous curiosity."

"It is a wonderful place, M'sieur Philip," replied the girl, holding up
her hands to him. "But why should you guess it?"

"Because of you," laughed Philip. "I am half convinced that you take a
wicked delight in bewildering me."

He found Jeanne a comfortable spot on the bank, brought her one of the
bearskins, and began collecting a pile of dry reeds and wood.

"I am sure of it," he went on. He struck a match, and the reeds flared
into flame, lighting up his face.

Jeanne gave a startled cry.

"You are hurt!" she exclaimed. "Your face is red with blood."

Philip jumped back.

"I had forgotten that. I'll wash my face."

He waded into the edge of the water and began scrubbing himself. When
he returned, Jeanne looked at him closely. The fire illumined her pale
face. She had gathered her beautiful hair in a thick braid, which fell
over her shoulder. She appeared lovelier to him now than when he had
first seen her in the night-glow on the cliff. She was dressed the
same. He observed that the filmy bit of lace about her slender throat
was torn, and that one side of her short buckskin skirt was covered
with half-dried splashes of mud. His blood rose at these signs of the
rough treatment of those who had attacked her. It reached fever-heat
when, coming nearer, he saw a livid bruise on her forehead close up
under her hair.

"They struck you?" he demanded.

He stood with his hands clenched. She smiled up at him.

"It was my fault," she explained. "I'm afraid I gave them a good deal
of trouble on the cliff."

She laughed outright at the fierceness in Philip's face, and so sweet
was the sound of it to him that his hands relaxed and he laughed with
her.

"So help me, you're a brick!" he cried.

"There are pots and kettles and coffee and things to eat in the pack,
M'sieur Philip," reminded Jeanne, softly, as he still remained staring
down upon her.

Philip turned to the canoe, with a laugh that was like a boy's. He
threw the pack at Jeanne's feet and unstrapped it. Together they sorted
out the things they wanted, and Philip cut crotched sticks on which