"Monsieur, I shall never regret; I trust God, and you."

How he ever found his way along that dim trail I shall never know.

Some memory of its windings, together with the instinct of a woodsman, must have given guidance, while no doubt his feet, clad in soft Indian moccasins, enabled him to feel the faint track, imperceivable in the darkness. It led along a steep bank, through low, tangled bushes, and about great trees, with here and there a rock thrust across the path, compelling detour. The branches scratched my face, and tore my dress, confusing me so that had I not clung to his arm, I should have been instantly lost in the gloom. Our advance was slow and cautious, every step taken in silence. Snakes could not have moved with less noise, and the precaution was well taken. Suddenly De Artigny stopped, gripping me in warning. For a moment there was no sound, except the distant murmur of waters, and the chatter of some night bird. Yet some instinct of the woods held the man motionless, listening. A twig cracked to our left, and then a voice spoke, low and rumbling. It sounded so close at hand the fellow could scarcely have been five yards away. Another voice answered, and we were aware of bodies, stealing along through the wood; there was a faint rustling of dead leaves, and the occasional swish of a branch. We crouched low in the trail, fairly holding our breath, every nerve tense. There was no sound from below, but in the other direction one warrior--I could see the dim outline of his naked figure--passed within reach of my outstretched hand.

Assured that all had passed beyond hearing De Artigny rose to his feet, and assisted me to rise, his hand still grasping mine.

"Iroquois, by the look of that warrior," he whispered, "and enough of them to mean mischief. I would I knew their language."

"'Twas the tongue of the Tuscaroras," I answered. "My father taught me a little of it years ago. The first words spoken were a warning to be still; the other answered that the white men are all asleep."

"And I am not sure but that is true. If De Tonty was in command the walls would be well guarded, but De Baugis and Cassion know nothing of Indian war."

"You believe it to be an assault?"

"It hath the look; 'tis not Indian nature to gather thus at this night hour, without a purpose. But, _pouf_, there is little they can do against that stockade of logs for all their numbers. It is our duty to be well away by daylight."

The remaining distance to the water's edge was not far--a direct descent amid a litter of rocks, shadowed by great trees. Nothing opposed our passage, nor did we hear any sound from the savages concealed in the forest above. De Artigny led the way along the shore until we reached the log hut. Its door stood open; the canoe was gone.

CHAPTER XXXII

WE MEET SURPRISE

Not until we had felt carefully from wall to wall did we admit our disappointment. There were no overshadowing trees here, and what small glimmer of light came from the dull skies found reflection on river and rocks, so that we could perceive each other, and gain dim view of our surroundings.

Of the canoe there was absolutely no trace, and, if arms had been hidden there also, they had likewise disappeared. The very fact that the door stood wide open, its wooden lock broken, told the story clearly. I remained silent, staring about through the semi-darkness of the interior, rendered speechless by a feeling of utter helplessness.

De Artigny, after an utterance of disappointment, felt his way along the walls; as he came back to the open door our eyes met, and he must have read despair in mine, for he smiled encouragingly.

"Swept bare, little girl," he said. "Not so much as an ounce of powder left. The savages got here before us, it seems. Never mind; we shall have to travel a ways on woodcraft, and it will not be the first wilderness journey I have made without arms. Did De Tonty mention to you where he believed the Illini were in hiding?"

"No, Monsieur--are they Indians?"

"Yes; the river tribes, the most loyal of all to La Salle. It was one of their villages we saw on the bank of the stream as we approached the fort from the west, I told Boisrondet that it stood there deserted, but not destroyed, and it was our judgment the inhabitants were hiding among the river bluffs. Without canoes they could not travel far, and are probably concealed out yonder. If we can find them our greatest peril is past."

"They are friendly?"

"Ay, and have never shed white blood. I know them well, and with leadership they would be a match even for the Iroquois. De Tonty led them once against these same warriors, and they fought like fiends.

Come, we will follow the stream, and see if we cannot find trace of their covert."

It was but a cluster of rocks where the hut stood, and a few yards below we found the forest creeping down to the very bank of the river.

The sky had lightened above us, the obscuring clouds opening to let the silver gleam of stars through, and we paused a moment gazing back, and upward at the vast rock on which perched the beleaguered fort. We could dimly perceive the vague outline of it silhouetted against the lighter arch of sky. In massive gloom and silence it seemed to dominate the night, the grim forest sweeping up to its very walls. Not a gleam of light appeared; not a sound reached us. I felt De Artigny's arm about me.

"I would that I really knew what was going on yonder 'neath the screen of trees," he said gravely. "Some Indian trick, perchance, which it might be in my power to circumvent--at least bear to the lads fair warning."

"You would risk life for that?"

"Ay, my own readily. That is a lesson of the wilderness; the duty of a comrade. But for your presence I should be climbing the hill seeking to learn the purpose of those savages--else I was no true soldier of France."

"What think you their purpose is, Monsieur?"

"An attack in force at dawn. Those who passed us were heavily armed, and crept forward stealthily, stripped and painted for war. There were other parties, no doubt, creeping up through the woods from all sides.

'Tis my thought the hour has struck for them to make their great effort. They have scattered the friendly Indians, killed them, or driven them in terror down the river. Their villages have been destroyed. Now all the warriors who have been at that business have returned, filled with blood lust, and eager to strike at the French."

"But they cannot win? Surely they cannot capture the fort, Monsieur?

Why it is all rock?"

"On three sides--yes; but to the south there is ample space for attack in force. Those woods yonder would conceal a thousand savages within a few hundred yards of the fort gates. And what of the defense? Opposing them is one hundred and fifty feet of stockade, protected at best by fifty rifles. There are no more in the fort, officers, Indians, and all; and Boisrondet says scarcely a dozen rounds of powder and ball to a man. If the Iroquois know this--and why should they not?--'twill be no great feat of arms to batter their way in. I would do that which is right, Adele, if I saw clearly."

I clung to his hands, staring back still at the grim outline of the silent fort. I understood his thoughts, his desire to aid his comrades; but, for a moment, my mind was a blank. I could not let him go, alone, to almost certain death. No, nor would he abandon me on such a mission! Was there no other way by which we could serve?

Suddenly a thought crept into my mind.

"Monsieur," I asked breathlessly, "where do you suppose those Illini Indians to be?"

"Back from the river, in a glen of caves and rocks."

"How far from here?"

"Four or five miles; there is a trail from the mouth of the creek."

"And you know the way? and there might be many warriors there? they will remember you, and obey your orders?"

He straightened up, aroused as the full meaning of my questioning occurred to him.

"Ay, there is a chance there, if we find them in time, and in force enough to make foray. _Sacre!_ I know not why such thought has not come to me before. Could we but fall on those devils from the rear in surprise, even with a third their number, they would run like cats.

_Mon Dieu!_ I thank you for the thought."

We plunged into the forest, no longer endeavoring to advance silently, but inspired with a desire to achieve our goal as soon as possible. At the mouth of a stream entering the river, De Artigny picked me up in his arms, and waded across. On the opposite bank he sought eagerly on hands and knees for the old trace he dimly remembered. At last he stood erect.

"Ay, lass, it's here, and to be easily followed. What hour do you make it now?"

"About three."

"So I would have said; and 'tis not daylight until after five. We can scarce make it, yet we will try."

It was not as dark here away from the gloom of the Rock; the forest was open, and yet I will never know how De Artigny succeeded in following that dim trail at so rapid a gait. As for me I could see nothing of any path, and merely followed him blindly, not even certain of the nature of the ground under my feet. Again and again I tripped over some obstacles--a root, a tuft of grass--and continually unnoted branches flapped against my face. Once I fell prone, yet so noiselessly that Rene passed beyond view before he realized my misfortune, and returned to help me regain my feet. Not until then, I think, did he comprehend the rapidity of his movements.

"Your pardon, dear girl," and his lips brushed my hair, as he held me in his arms. "I forgot all but our comrades yonder. The night is dark to your eyes."

"I can see nothing," I confessed regretfully, "yet you have no difficulty."

"'Tis a woodsman's training. I have followed many a dim trail in dark forests, and this is so plain I could keep to it on a run if necessary. Ah! the fort is awake and vigilant--that was rifle fire."

I had not only heard the sharp reports, but seen the flash of fire cleaving the darkness.

"The discharges came from the woods yonder--they were Indian guns, Monsieur. See! those two last were from the stockade; I could perceive the logs in the flare."