his rapid traveler had
probably startled another sentinel. The man who had challenged him
laughed softly in the darkness. All the Sable Island ponies must be
loose upon the slope. D'Aulnay's men had taken possession of the stable
and cattle, and the wild and frightened ponies were scattered. As his
ear lay so near the ground the soldier heard other little hoofs startled
to action, and a snort or two from suspicious nostrils. He crept away
from the sentinel without further challenge. It was evident that
D'Aulnay had encompassed the fort with guards.

The young soldier crept slowly down the rocky hillock, avoided another
sentinel, and, after long caution and self-restraint and polishing the
earth with his buckskin, crawled into the empty trench. The Sable Island
ponies continually helped him. They were so nervous and so agile that
the sentinels ceased to watch moving shadows.

The soldier looked up at St. John and its tower, knowing that he must
enter in some manner before the moon rose. He dreaded the red brightness
of moon-dawn, when guards whom he could discern against the stony ascent
might detect his forehead above the breastwork. Behind him stretched an
alluvial flat to the river's sands. The tide was running swiftly out,
and under starlight its swirls and long muscular sweeps could be
followed by a practiced eye.

As the soldier glanced warily in every direction, two lights left
D'Aulnay's camp and approached him, jerking and flaring in the hands of
men who were evidently walking over irregular ground. They might be
coming directly to take possession of the trench. But why should they
proclaim their intention with torches to the batteries of Fort St. John?
He looked around for some refuge from the advancing circle of smoky
shine, and moved backwards along the bottom of the trench. The light
stretched over and bridged him, leaving him in a stream of deep shadow,
protected by the breastwork from sentinels above. He could therefore
lift a cautious eye at the back of the trench, and scan the group now
moving betwixt him and the river. There were seven persons, only one of
whom strode the stones with reckless feet. This man's hands were tied
behind his back, and a rope was noosed around his neck and held at the
other end by a soldier.

"It is Klussman, our Swiss!" flashed through the soldier in the trench,
with a mighty throb of rage and shame, and anxiety for the lady in the
fort. If Klussman had been taken prisone