The maid leaned back and watched him,
wondering. He paused before the Captain and seemed about to speak.
Then abruptly he went into the hut, and they could hear him moving
within. Menard and the maid looked at each other, the soldier smiling
quietly. He understood.

Father Claude came out holding the portrait of Catharine, the Lily of
the Onondagas, in his hands.

"It may be that this could be used for the fourth present," he said.

Menard took it without a word, and laid it on the ground by the fur
coat. The maid looked at it curiously.

"Oh, it is a picture," she said.

"Yes, Mademoiselle," the Captain replied. "It is the portrait of an
Onondaga maiden who is to them, and to the French, almost a saint.
They will prize this above all else."

The maid raised it, and looked at the strangely clad figure. Father
Claude quietly walked away, but Menard went after and gripped his
hand.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BIG THROAT SPEAKS.

The light of the rising sun struggled through the mist that lay on the
Onondaga Valley. The trees came slowly out of the gray air, like ships
approaching through a fog. As the sun rose higher, each leaf glistened
with dew. The grass was wet and shining.

Menard had seized a few hours of sleep. He awoke with the first beam
of yellow light, and rose from his bed on the packed, beaten ground
before the door. Father Claude was sitting on a log, at a short
distance, with bowed head. The Captain stretched his stiff limbs, and
walked slowly about until the priest looked up.

"Good morning, Father."

"Good morning, M'sieu."

"It was a selfish thought that led me to choose the earlier watch.
These last hours are the best for sleeping."

"No, I have rested well."

"And Mademoiselle?"

"I have heard no sound. I think that she still sleeps."

"Softly, then. There has been no disturbance?"

"None. The singing has died down during the last hour. There, you can
hear it, M'sieu."

"Yes. But it is only a few voices. It must be that the others are
sleeping off the liquor. They will soon awaken."

"Listen."

A musket was fired, and another.

"That is the signal."

The song, which one group after another had taken up all through the
night, rose again and grew in volume as one at a time the sleepers
aroused and joined the dance. The only sign of the fire was a pillar
of thin smoke that rolled straight upward in the still air.

"Father," said Menard, "are the guards about?"

"I have n