d to climb many hills, and once to pick our way cautiously
through a sickly swamp, springing from hummock to hummock to keep from
sinking deep in slimy ooze.

De Artigny came back and aided me here, speaking words of encouragement,
and assuring me that the trail we sought was only a short distance
beyond. I laughed at his solicitude, claiming to be good for many a mile
yet, and he left me, never realizing that I already staggered from
weariness.

However we must have made excellent progress, for the sun had not
entirely disappeared when we emerged from the dark wood shadows into a
narrow, grassy valley, through which flowed a silvery stream, not
broad, but deep. Assured that this must be the water we sought, I sank
to the ground, eager for a moment's rest, but De Artigny, tireless
still, moved back and forward along the edge of the forest to assure
himself of the safety of our surroundings. Barbeau joined him, and
questioned.

"We have reached the trail?"

"Ay, beside the shore yonder; see you anything of Indian tepees across
the stream to the left?"

"Below, there are wigwams there just in the edge of the grove. You can
see the outlines from here; but I make out no moving figures."

"Deserted then; the cowards have run away. They could not have been
attacked, or the tepees would have been burned."

"An Algonquin village?"

"Miamis. I had hoped we might gain assistance there, but they have
either joined the whites in the fort, or are hiding in the woods. 'Tis
evident we must save ourselves."

"And how far is it?"

"To the fort? A league or two, and a rough climb at the farther end
through the dark. We will wait here until after dusk, eat such food as
we have without fire, and rest up for a bit of venture. The next trip
will test us all, and Madame is weary enough already."

"An hour will put me right," I said, smiling at him, yet making no
attempt to rise. "I have been in a boat so long I have lost all
strength in my limbs."

"We feel that, all of us," cheerily, "but come Barbeau, unpack, and
let us have what cheer we can."

I know not when food was ever more welcome, although it was simple
enough to be sure--a bit of hard cracker, and some jerked deer meat,
washed down by water from the stream--yet hunger served to make these
welcome. We were at the edge of the wood, already growing dark and
dreary with the shadows of approaching night. The wind, what there
was, was from the south, and, if there was a