each, and
were ready for the canoes. Then I missed the Englishman. He had been
aloof and moody during breakfast, and I searched for him with some
alarm.

I found him in the hollow where he slept at night; he would not sleep
near the rest of us, saying that we disturbed him with our snoring. He
was on his back, his gaze on the tree-tops, and he was frowning heavily.

I broke through the bushes. "You are ill!"

He jumped to his feet. "No, no, monsieur! Ill only in mind.
Monsieur, I have failed you."

I had never seen his aplomb so shaken. "Why were you lying on the
ground?"

"To find out whether I could see again what I saw last night. Do you
see that balsam,--the one with the forked top? Monsieur, I saw an
Indian's face in that tree last night."

I took his hands, which were cold. "Now tell me."

He drew his hands away. "I am often awake in the night. Last night
the moon was clear. All at once I saw an Indian's face looking out
from that tree."

"And you did not call me!"

"Monsieur, I thought it must be fancy. I have troubled dreams. I
often--since my capture--think I see an Indian, and it proves to be
nothing but a bush. So I distrust my eyes, especially at night. Then
Francois was on watch, and several times he walked this way. If it had
really been an Indian would not Francois have seen?"

I pointed him to the forest. "Do you see anything? We seem alone, yet
there are countless eyes watching us, from the squirrel over your head
to the Indian who may be listening now. When you lay on your back just
now did you see anything that looked like a face?"

He shook his head. "No, the space was open. But, monsieur, I have
been over the ground. I can find no track."

I went to the balsam and examined it. Then I called the Englishman and
pointed to a patch of rubbed lichen on the bark above our heads. "His
foot slipped. What was he like? How was his hair dressed?"

He gasped a little. "Monsieur, it could not have been a real Indian.
The rubbed moss,--why, an animal could have done that. As to his
appearance, it was strange. His head was shaved on one side, and he
had long braided hair on the other. Surely it was a dream."

I laughed. "Come, Starling, the canoes are waiting."

"Monsieur, did you ever see an Indian shaved in that way?"

I nodded. "Many times."

"Monsieur, monsieur! What kind of Indians?"

"It is a Huron mode."

"Then we have been followed?"

I shrugged