osure; the
wagons were piled with all that could be loaded before morning, and
many of the wearied soldiers had flung themselves upon the ground to
snatch what rest they might before the early call to march. The women
and children had disappeared, to seek such comfort as was possible amid
the ruins of their former quarters; and only the sentries remained
alert, pacing their solemn rounds on the narrow walk overlooking the
palisades and the silent plain without.

Physically wearied as I was, my mind remained intensely active, and I
felt no desire for sleep. I do not recall that I gave much thought to
the perils of our situation. One grows careless and indifferent to
danger,--and in truth I looked forward to no serious trouble with the
Indians upon the morrow's march through the sand-dunes; not that I
greatly trusted to those reluctant pledges wrung from the chiefs, but
because I felt that if properly handled in that open country our force
was of sufficient fighting strength to repel any ordinary attack from
ill-armed savages, my long border experience rendering me a bit
disdainful of Indian courage and resourcefulness. So it was that my
restless mind dwelt rather upon other matters more directly personal.
I could not put away the thought of the half-seen girl flitting about
amid the dusk of the Pottawattomie camp, especially as Captain Heald
had declared her to be Elsa Matherson. I was surprised to discover
that she I sought, instead of being a mere child, was a woman grown;
for in this we were all deceived by the words of her father. What did
she there, passing with such apparent freedom from restraint among
those fierce warriors? and how was I ever to reach her with any hope of
rescue, even if she desired it? There was evidently a mystery here
which I could never solve through idle musing; and yet I could but ask
myself where lay my graver duty,--beside this single woman, who
seemingly needed no defender, or with the many helpless ones who must
march forth on the morrow on that long and dangerous passage through
the wilderness? Indeed, what hope could I cherish of aiding the young
girl, if I now deserted these others, and endeavored alone to penetrate
that Indian camp in search of her?

Then came another thought. It was of Mademoiselle.

It was this that effectually halted me. To whomsoever else she might
have given her heart, she was still the one for whom I was most glad
either to live or die; and in spi