to the spot. He no longer
appeared to occupy himself with the recovery of his rifle; he wore
neither pistol nor knife nor hatchet; indeed, in his belt I saw a roll
of paper, closely scribbled, and knew it to be a speech composed for
delivery at this fire, now burned out forever.

He placed his hands on his hips, pacing to and fro the distance between
the fire and the edge of the Dead Water, now looking thoughtfully up
into the blue sky, now lost in reverie. And every moment, I believed,
was a precious moment gained, separating him more and more hopelessly
from his favorite Senecas, whom he might even now summon by a shout.

Presently he halted, with an absent, upward glance, then his gaze
reverted to me; he drew out a handsome gold watch, examined it with
expressionless interest, and slowly returned it to the fob-pocket.

"Well, sir," he inquired, "do I take it that you desire to further
detain me here, or do you merely wish to steal my rifle?"

"I think, truly, that you no longer require your rifle, Mr. Butler," I
said quietly.

"A question--a matter of opinion, Mr. Renault." He waved his hand
gracefully. "Who are your red friends yonder?" pointing toward the two
distant forms at the edge of the willows.

"An Oneida and a quarter-breed."

"Oh--a squaw? By the head-gear I take the smaller one to be a Huron
squaw. Which reminds me, Mr. Renault," he added, with a dull stare,
"that the last time I had the pleasure of seeing your heels you were
headed for the nearest parson!"

That awful, soundless laugh distorted his mouth again:

"I could scarcely be expected to imagine," he added, "that it was as
far as this to Gretna Green. Is the Hon. Miss Grey with you here?"

"No, Mr. Butler, but your wife is with me."

"Oh!" he sneered; "so you have learned at last what she is?"

"You do not understand," I continued patiently. "I speak of your wife,
Mr. Butler. Shall I name her?"

He looked at me narrowly. Twice his lips parted as though to speak, but
no sound came.

"The woman yonder is Lyn Montour," I said in a low voice.

The yellow flare that lighted his black eyes appalled me.

"Listen to me," I went on. "That I do not slay you where you stand is
because _she_ is yonder, watching us. God help her, you shall do her
justice yet! You are my prisoner, Mr. Butler!" And I set my foot upon
his rifle.

He did not seem to hear me; his piercing gaze was concentrated on the
two distant figures standing beside the hor