"Did you see them?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha. Sam see'm. White man no see Sam."

"Are they coming this way?"

"A-ha-ha."

"Will you shoot them?"

"Sam shoot bimeby, mebbe. White man no ketch babby."

Of this Jean had no doubt. What a tower of strength this Indian seemed to her just then. The day before she had given up all hope of earthly aid, yet here was one, and a native at that, who was ready to protect her. How wonderful it all appeared. And it was against men of her own race he would defend her. Of the savage Indian she had heard and read much. But here were two of the despised race putting white men to shame.

In the meantime the Indian woman had been very busy. She had gathered the few cooking utensils together, and was now rolling up the blankets and skins. Presently Sam a.s.sisted her, and in a remarkably short time they were ready for their journey.

Jean begged to be allowed to carry something, but Sam shook his head as he pointed to her shoulders and feet.

"No strong," he said. "Feet leetle. Bimeby Injun pack babby, mebbe, eh?"

"Oh, I hope not," the girl smilingly replied. "I must walk to-day."

With their packs strapped upon their backs, Sam picked up his musket, and Kitty the axe. With a final glance around to see that nothing was overlooked, Sam led the way among the trees, with Jean following, and Kitty bringing up in the rear.

All through the afternoon they pressed forward along the silent forest ways. Occasionally the Indians halted that the girl might rest. Their care of her was remarkable, and to them she seemed like a mere child.

It was quite evident that they had taken her to their hearts, and that nothing was too good for her.

Jean was surprised at herself for standing the journey so well.

Although very tired at times, she never once complained. She was not accustomed to moccasins, and the roots and stones bruised her feet. Up hill and down they moved, across valleys, swamps, and wild meadows.

There was no trail, but Sam led the way with an unerring instinct. He chose the smoothest spots, but even these were hard for the girl's tender feet. Very thankful was she when at length he halted by the side of a little forest lake, and unstrapped his pack.

"Camp here," he announced. "Plenty water."

Jean dropped upon the ground, weary almost to the point of exhaustion.

Her body ached, and her head throbbed with a dull pain. But after she had rested a while, and eaten the supper which Kitty speedily prepared, she felt better. Sam erected a cosy lean-to, and when the rugs and blankets had been spread out upon the fresh, fragrant spruce boughs, he insisted that Jean should occupy the choice place near the fire. So lying there, she watched her kind-hearted companions as they moved about making ready for the night.

It was a beautiful spot where their camp was built. The little lake, covered with a thin coating of ice, mirrored the great trees in its gla.s.sy surface. It was one of Nature's gems tucked away in the heart of the mighty forest, known only to the wandering Indians, and their feathered and furry kindred of the wild.

As day faded, and night cast its mantle over forest and lake, the stars appeared and twinkled down their welcome. As Jean watched them, she thought of the night she had been stolen from home, and how cold and cheerless those same stars had seemed. She also recalled the prayer she had uttered in her distress, and the sense of peace which had come upon her. In what a remarkable manner her prayer had been answered. A feeling of intense grat.i.tude welled up in her heart, and almost unconsciously she began to sing an old familiar hymn.

The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green; He leadeth me The quiet waters by.

Her voice was not strong, but exceptionally sweet. Her singing attracted the Indians, who left their work, and squatting near her side, listened with rapt attention. Jean, seeing their interest, paused at the end of the second verse, and smiled.

"Do you like singing?" she asked.

"A-ha-ha," Kitty replied. "More, eh?"

Yea, though I walk through death's dark vale, Yet will I fear no ill; For Thou art with me; and Thy rod And staff me comfort still.

When Jean had ended singing this verse there was a mistiness in her eyes. How wonderfully true were those words in her own case. The Shepherd had been with her through death's dark vale, He had comforted her, and led her to this quiet woodland lake.

"Babby seek?" Sam asked, noticing her emotion.

"No, not sick, but very thankful," was the quiet reply. "My Great Father in heaven has sent you to save me and to take me home. Do you know Him?"

"A-ha-ha, me know'm. White man tell Injun long tam ago."

"Missionary?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha. Long black robe. Cross, all sam' dis," and Sam made the form of the symbol of salvation with his forefinger.

Jean knew that he referred to some French missionary who had visited the country.

"And he taught you about the Great Father?"

"A-ha-ha. Long black robe come up Wu-las-tukw in canoe. Sam no forget. Sing more, eh?"

Jean did as she was requested, and sang several of the hymns she remembered. At times she glanced at her dusky companions. Their eyes shone with pleasure, mingled with admiration as they watched the reclining girl, and listened to the words of hope and comfort. They were but unlettered natives of the wild, yet their hearts responded readily to the concord of sweet sounds. Often the good lying in such hearts needs but a gentle fanning to burst forth in the beauty of love, service, and devotion. Little did Jean realise the influence she was exerting upon those two friendly Indians in that quiet lodge in the depths of the great forest.

CHAPTER XIX

THE SMOKE SIGNAL

When Jean awoke the next morning she was stiff and sore. She longed to stay there all day and rest. But Kitty informed her that they must move on at once, for not only were the slashers hot upon their trail, but that a storm was coming, and they would need better shelter than their rude brush lean-to could give. In a short time Sam returned and reported that their pursuers were floundering about in a valley several miles away. They had evidently lost the trail, and it would take them some time to find it again.

"Will they keep on following us?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha," Sam replied. "Stop bimeby, mebbe. See?" and he laid his hand upon his musket.

"Will you shoot them?"

"Mebbe. Bimeby."

"Oh, you mustn't!" and Jean shuddered. "That would be murder."

"White man kill Injun all sam' dog. Ugh!"

"Would they?"

"A-ha-ha. Sam know."

"You killed one white man, remember. But you must not kill any more.

Will you promise me?"

"Sam no say. See bimeby."