d?"

"All is well."

"And we part no more?"

"No more."

Silence, then: "Why do they cheer so, Carus?"

"It is a lost soul they are speeding, child."

"His?"

"Yes."

She breathed feverishly, her little bandaged hands holding my face.
"Lift me a little, Carus; I can not move my legs. Did you know he
abandoned me to the Cayugas because I dared to ask his mercy for the
innocent? I think his reason was unseated when I came upon him there at
Johnson Hall--so much of blood and death lay on his soul. His own men
feared him; and, Carus, truly I do not think he knew me else he had
never struck me in that burst of rage, so that even the Cayugas
interposed--for his knife was in his hands." She sighed, nestling close
to me in the rustling straw, and closed her eyes as the torches flared
and the horses were backed along the pole.

In the ruddy light I saw Jack Mount approaching. He halted, touched his
cap, and smiled; then his blue eyes wandered to the straw where Lyn
Montour lay, sleeping the stunned sleep of exhaustion; and into his
face a tenderness came, softening his bold mouth and reckless visage.

"The Weasel drives, sir. Tim and Dave and I, we jog along to ease the
wheels--if it be your pleasure, sir. We go by the soft trail. A week
should see you and yours in Albany. The Massachusetts surgeon is here
to dress your sweet lady's hurts. Will you speak with him, Mr.
Renault?"

I bent and kissed the bandaged hands, the hot forehead under the
tangled hair, then whispering that all was well I went out into the
gray dawn where the surgeon stood unrolling lint.

"Those devils tied their prisoners mercilessly at night," he said, "and
the scars may show, Mr. Renault. But her flesh is wholesome, and the
torn feet will heal--are healing now. Your lady will be lame."

"For life?"

"Oh--perhaps the slightest limp--scarce to be noticed. And then again,
she is so sound, and her blood so pure--who knows? Even such tender
little feet as hers may bear her faultlessly once more. Patience, Mr.
Renault."

He parted the hanging blankets and went in, emerging after a little
while to beckon me.

"I have changed the dressing; the wounds are benign and healthy. She
has some fever. The shock is what I fear. Go to her; you may do more
than I could."

As the sun rose we started, the Weasel driving, I crouching at her
side, her torn hands in mine; and beside us, Lyn Montour, watching Jack
Mount as he strode along beside the wagon