walked by their sides along the bank of the Richelieu, and both
Amos and De Catinat knew that his presence there had a sinister meaning,
and that the place which Greysolon du Lhut had chosen was the place
where the danger threatened.

"What do you think of those fires over yonder, Du Lhut?" asked young De
la Noue.

The adventurer was stuffing his pipe with rank Indian tobacco, which he
pared from a plug with a scalping knife. He glanced over at the two
little plumes of smoke which stood straight up against the red evening
sky.

"I don't like them," said he.

"They are Iroquois then?"

"Yes."

"Well, at least it proves that they are on the other side of the river."

"It proves that they are on this side."

"What!"

Du Lhut lit his pipe from a tinder paper. "The Iroquois are on this
side," said he. "They crossed to the south of us."

"And you never told us. How do you know that they crossed, and why
did you not tell us?"

"I did not know until I saw the fires over yonder."

"And how did they tell you?"

"Tut, an Indian papoose could have told," said Du Lhut impatiently.
"Iroquois on the trail do nothing without an object. They have an
object then in showing that smoke. If their war-parties were over
yonder there would be no object. Therefore their braves must have
crossed the river. And they could not get over to the north without
being seen from the fort. They have got over on the south then."

Amos nodded with intense appreciation. "That's it!" said he, "that's
Injun ways. I'll lay that he is right."

"Then they may be in the woods round us. We may be in danger," cried De
la Noue.

Du Lhut nodded and sucked at his pipe.

De Catinat cast a glance round him at the grand tree trunks, the fading
foliage, the smooth sward underneath with the long evening shadows
barred across it. How difficult it was to realise that behind all this
beauty there lurked a danger so deadly and horrible that a man alone
might well shrink from it, far less one who had the woman whom he loved
walking within hand's touch of him. It was with a long heart-felt sigh
of relief that he saw a wall of stockade in the midst of a large
clearing in front of him, with the stone manor house rising above it.
In a line from the stockade were a dozen cottages with cedar-shingled
roofs turned up in the Norman fashion, in which dwelt the habitants
under the protection of the seigneur's chateau--a strange little graft
of the fe