e crossed and
re-crossed by the braves silently gathering in their lost ones for
burial. My scalp would have been a joy to them who had as yet no human
trophy to gloat over. Surely a spade was never so valuable before. My
sense of direction is fair and to my great relief I found that precious
implement marvellously soon, but the creek lay between me and the
island. Just at its bank I was compelled to drop into a clump of weeds
as three forms crept near me and straightened themselves up in the
gloom. They were speaking in low tones, and as they stood upright I
caught their words.

"You made that bugle talk, anyhow, Dodd."

So Dodd was the renegade whom I had heard three times in the conflict.
My vision at the gorge was not the insanity of the Plains, after all. I
was listening ravenously now. The man who had spoken stood nearest me.
There was a certain softness of accent and a familiar tone in his
speech. As he turned toward the other two, even in the dim light, the
outline of his form and the set of his uncovered head I knew.

"That's Le Claire, as true as heaven, all but the voice," I said to
myself. "But I'll never believe that metallic ring is the priest's. It
is Le Claire turned renegade, too, or it's a man on a pattern so like
him, they couldn't tell themselves apart."

I recalled all the gentleness and manliness of the Father. Never an act
of his was cruel, or selfish, or deceptive. True to his principles, he
had warned us again and again not to trust Jean. And yet he had always
seemed to protect the boy, always knew his comings and goings, and the
two had grown yearly to resemble each other more and more in face and
form and gesture. Was Le Claire a villain in holy guise?

I did not meditate long, for the third man spoke. Oh, the "good Indian"!
Never could he conceal his voice from me.

"Now, what I want you to do is to tell them all which one he is. I've
just been clear around their hole in the sand. I could have hit my
choice of the lot. But he wasn't there."

No, I had just stepped out after the spade.

"If he had been, I'd have shot him right then, no matter what come next.
But I don't want him shot. He's mine. Now tell every brave to leave him
to me, the big one, nearly as big as Roman Nose, whiter than the others,
because he's not been out here long. But he's no coward. The one with
thick dark curly hair; it would make a beautiful scalp. But I want him."

"What will you do with him?" the man neare