On the night of this day, lying in bed, he found himself wide awake without being able to say what had awakened him. He lay listening, and presently heard the sound again--the fall of a little object on the floor.

The c.h.i.n.ks of the log walls were stopped with mud which had dried and loosened; nothing strange that bits of it should fall--still his heart beat fast.

He heard a cautious scratching and another piece dropped and broke on the floor. Now he knew a living agency was at work. Job growled. Ambrose clutched his muzzle.

Suddenly a whisper stole through the dark--in his amazement Ambrose could not have told from what quarter. "Angleysman! Angleysman!"

Awe of the supernatural shook Ambrose's breast. He had come straight from deep slumber. A fine perspiration broke out upon him. It was a woman's whisper, with a tender lift and fall in the sound.

Job struggled to release his head. Ambrose sternly bade him be quiet.

The dog desisted, but crouched trembling.

The whisper was repeated; "Angleysman!"

A man must answer his summons. "What do you want?" asked Ambrose softly.

"Come here."

"Where are you?"

"Here--at the corner. Come to the foot of your bed."

Ambrose obeyed. Reaching the spot he said: "Speak again."

"Here," the voice whispered. "I mak' a hole in the mud. Put your ear down and I spik sof'."

Ambrose identified the spot whence the sound issued. He put his lips to it. "Who are you?" he whispered.

"Nesis," came the softly breathed answer. "I your friend."

Friend was always a word to warm Ambrose's breast, and surely at this moment of all his life he needed a friend. "Thank you," he said from a full heart.

"I see you at the tea-dance," the voice went on.

Ambrose had an intuition. "Were you the girl--"

"Yes," she said. "I sit be'ind you. I think you pretty man. When we run out I squeeze your hand."

Ambrose grinned into the darkness. "I thought you were pretty, too," he returned.

"Oh, I wish I in there," she whispered.

He was a little nonplused by her nave warmth.

"The men say you strong as one bear," she went on. "They say you got gold in your teeth. Is that true?"

"Yes," said Ambrose laughing.

"I lak' to see that."

In spite of the best intent on both sides conversation languished. It is difficult to make acquaintance through a wall of logs. Finally Ambrose asked how it was she could speak English, and that unlocked her simple story.

"My fat'er teach me," she said. "He is half a white man. He come here long tam ago and marry Kakisa. He spik ver' good Angleys. When Watusk is make head man he mad at my fat'er because my fat'er spik Angleys.

"Watusk not want n.o.body spik Angleys but him around. Watusk fix it to mak' them kill my fat'er. It is the truth. Watusk not know I spik Angleys, too. My fat'er teach me quiet. If Watusk know that he cut out my tongue, I think. I lak spik Angleys--me. I spik by myself so not forget. I come spik Angleys with you."

"Your father is dead?" said Ambrose. "Who do you live with?"

"Watusk," came the surprising answer. "I Watusk's youngest wife. Got four wives."

"Good Lord!" murmured Ambrose.

"When my fat'er is kill, Watusk tak' me," she went on. "I hate him!"

"What a shame!" cried Ambrose, remembering the wistful face.

"I wish I in there!" she whispered again.

"Will you help me to get out?" Ambrose asked eagerly. "I can make it if you can slip me some food."

"I not want you go 'way," she said slowly.

"I can't live locked up like this!" he cried.

"Yes, I help you," she whispered.

"Could you get me a horse, too?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "But many men is watch the trail for police. Tak' a canoe and go down the river."

"Where does this river go?"

"They say to the Big Buffalo lake."

"Good! I can get back to Moultrie from there. Can you bring me a strong knife?"

"I bring him to-morrow night, Angleysman."

"I will cut a hole in the floor and dig out under the wall."

Nesis was not anxious to talk over the details of his escape. "Have you got a wife?" she asked. "Why not?" There was no end to her questions.

Finally she said with a sigh: "I got go now. I put my hand inside. You can touch it."

Ambrose felt for the little fingers that crept through the slit, and gratefully pressed his lips to them.

"Ah!" she breathed wonderingly. "Was that your mouth? It mak' me jomp!

Put your hand outside, Angleysman."