to time in his sleep, but had not stirred for some
while. Forward the bowman's paddle still beat time like a clock, and
away in the darkness other paddles answered it.

A hand was groping with the bandages about John's chest and loosening
them gently until his wound felt the edge of the night wind. All his
muscles stiffened to meet the coming stroke. . . .

The Indian grunted and withdrew his hand. A moment, and John felt it
laid on the wound again, with a touch which charmed away pain and the
wind's chill together--a touch of smooth ointment.

Do what he would, a sob shook the lad from head to foot.

"Thanks, brother!" he whispered in French. The Indian did not
answer, but replaced and drew close the bandage with rapid hands, and
so with another grunt crawled forward, moving like a shadow, scarcely
touching the wounded men as he went.

For a while John lay awake, gazing up into the stars. His pain had
gone, and he felt infinitely restful. The vast heavens were a
protection now, a shield flung over his helplessness. He had found a
friend.

Why?

That he could not tell. But he had found a friend, and could sleep.

In his dreams he heard a splash. The young Highlander had died in
the night, and Sergeant Barboux and the Indian lifted and dropped the
body overboard.

But John a Cleeve slept on; and still northward through the night,
down the long reaches of the lake, the canoe held her way.

CHAPTER V.

CONTAINS THE APOLOGUE OF MANABOZHO'S TOE.

They had threaded their course through the many islets at the foot of
the lake, and were speeding down the headwaters of the Richelieu.
The forests had closed in upon them, shutting out the mountains.
The convoy--officered for the most part by Canadian militiamen with
but a sprinkling of regulars such as Sergeant Barboux--soon began to
straggle. The prisoners were to be delivered at Montreal. Montcalm
had dispatched them thither, on short rations, for the simple reason
that Fort Carillon held scarcely food enough to support his own army;
but he could detach very few of his efficients for escort, and, for
the rest, it did not certainly appear who was in command. Barboux,
for example, was frankly insubordinate, and declared a dozen times a
day that it did not become gentlemen of the Bearn and Royal Roussillon
to take their orders from any _coureur de bois_ who might choose to
call himself Major.

Consequently the convoy soon straggled at will, the b