awn till
starlight. We paddled and hunted and slept, well fed and fire-warmed.
It was more like junketing than business, and we were as amiable as
fat-bellied puppies. Even the Englishman looked content. We left him
in camp when we went to hunt, and on our return he had a boiling pot
and hot coals ready for our venison. I saw that he had won favor with
the men. Yet he kept aloof from all of us, as he had promised.

This had gone on for a week, when one day, after we had placed the
Englishman on guard and were tramping back into the timber to see what
our eyes and muskets could find, Pierre pointed to a bent tree. "It
looks like a cow's back," he ruminated. "Trees are queer. Today,
where we made camp, I saw a tree that looked like a Huron with his
topknot."

I stopped. "Where?"

"I told the master. Near the camp."

"You think it was a tree?"

Pierre shuffled. "There are no Hurons here. This is the Pottawatamie
country. But I have thought about it all day. It was a queer tree.
Shall I go back and see?"

I shook my head. I pointed to a stale bear print, and set the men upon
it. Then I turned and slipped back to camp.

I walked with uneasiness in my throat. Why did a Huron dog us in this
fashion? Was he alone? Did he mean mischief to the Englishman? Was
the Englishman in league with him? Too many questions for a slow man.
I felt entrapped and befogged. I must see for myself. And so I crept
to the camp to spy upon it.

I have never seen sweeter spot for an anchorage than we had found that
day. We had not camped on the open coast as had been our custom, but
in a sun-warmed meadow a few paces inland, where there were birds, and
tasseling grasses, and all kinds of glancing lights and odors to steal
into a man's blood. I parted the trees. The blur of gray ashes from
our fire was undisturbed; our canoes lay, bottom upwards, waiting to
have the seams newly pitched, and the cargo was piled, untouched,
against a tree. All was as we left it. And there, in the shade of a
maple, lay the Englishman, asleep on his scarlet blanket.

I went softly, and looked down at him. I ought to have waked him, and
rated him for sleeping at his post, but I could not. It was balm to
find him here safe. He was twisted like a kitten with his head in his
arm, and I noticed that his dark hair, which he kept roughly cut, was
curly. He must have been wandering in the woods, for he had a bunch of
pink blossoms, very