ng his sword
down at the moment of victory?

The pelting of the rain softened to a leafy patter, the patter to a
drip, and a watery moon came glimmering through the clouds. With my
enemy's rapier in hand I began cutting a course through the thicket.
Radisson's fire no longer shone. Indeed, I became mighty uncertain
which direction to take, for the rush of the river merged with the
beating of the wind. The ground sloped precipitously; and I was
holding back by the underbrush lest the bank led to water when an
indistinct sound, a smothery murmur like the gurgle of a subterranean
pool, came from below.

The wind fell. The swirl of the flowing river sounded far from the
rear. I had become confused and was travelling away from the true
course. But what was that sound?

I threw a stick forward. It struck hard stone. At the same instant
was a sibilant, human--distinctly human--"Hss-h," and the sound had
ceased.

That was no laving of inland pond against pebbles. Make of it what you
will--there were voices, smothered but talking. "No-no-no" . . . then
the warning . . . "Hush!" . . . then the wind and the river and . . .
"No--no!" with words like oaths. . . . "No--I say, no! Having come so
far, no!--not if it were my own brother!" . . . then the low
"Hush!" . . . and pleadings . . . then--"Send Le Borgne!"

And an Indian had rushed past me in the dark with a pine fagot in his
hand.

Rising, I stole after him. 'Twas the fellow who had been at the fire
with that unknown assailant. He paused over the smouldering embers,
searching the ground, found the hilt of the broken sword, lifted the
severed blade, kicked leaves over all traces of conflict, and
extinguishing the fire, carried off the broken weapon. An Indian can
pick his way over known ground without a torch. What was this fellow
doing with a torch? Had he been sent for me? I drew back in shadow to
let him pass. Then I ran with all speed to the river.

Gray dawn came over the trees as I reached the swollen waters, and the
sun was high in mid-heaven when I came to the gravel patch where M. de
Radisson had camped. Round a sharp bend in the river a strange sight
unfolded.

A score of crested savages with painted bodies sat on the ground. In
the centre, clad like a king, with purple doublet and plumed hat and
velvet waistcoat ablaze with medals of honour--was M. Radisson. One
hand deftly held his scabbard forward so that the jewelled hilt shone
ag