ough he could work to
that end through the Iroquois, he would find an English prisoner a
material aid. I could see how useful I had been to him in keeping the
Englishwoman away from Michillimackinac,--where he would have had ado
to hold his title of possession to her,--and I could not but respect
the skill with which he had timed his blow, and brought her to the
Iroquois camp at the right moment. Yes, I had served him well, from
the time when I had assisted him to hear Longuant's speech in the
Ottawa camp to the present hour. The accident that had strengthened
him still further by throwing Lord Starling into his hands he also owed
to me. But I looked up at the stars and did not lose courage. The
game was not over; the score was yet to be paid.

I had many plans to arrange. Day was coming, and I watched the horizon
breaking and felt that the morning would bring new opportunity.

And then, just as I needed all my wit and presence, I fell into a deep,
exhausted sleep.

CHAPTER XXII

THE PRICE OF SLEEP

I do not know that, after all, I can call that sleep which fell upon
me. Sleep is merely a blessed veiling of the faculties; this was
collapse, deadness. The Indian beside me must have been equally worn,
for he lay like a log. We were huddled close to a tree, so were
unnoticed, or at least undisturbed. The sun was hours high when I
opened my eyes.

I sprang to my feet, dragging the Indian to his knees. He grunted,
rubbed his eyes, and feeling sluggish and uncomfortable from the warmth
of the morning, found me an incubus. He grunted again, untied the
thongs that bound us, and went, stretching and yawning, to find his
breakfast.

I stood for a moment marshaling my wits. The bright day and the noise
confused me, for I had been deep sunk in unconsciousness, and grasped
the real world unsteadily. The camp was even larger than the night had
shown, and it took some looking to find the woman's lodge. It was
empty; the mat was pulled down from before the door.

I should have expected nothing else, for the morning was far advanced,
but I felt baffled, belated, like one whose long unconsciousness had
carried him hopelessly out of touch with his surroundings. Most of the
Indians were gathered at the shore, and I made my way toward them. I
went but slowly, for I had to feign indifference. I knew that every
step was watched. Perhaps the woman herself was watching. I burned
with shame to think she shoul