rose slowly to a sitting posture, then stepped deftly, lightly to the
floor. Standing motionless, he glanced keenly about in the dull red
gloom. All silence--no stir save the regular rise and fall of the
breathing of the slumbering Indians. Nevertheless, with his keen
perceptions all alert and tense, he felt an eye upon him. He looked back
warily over his shoulder through the lucid red gloom, like a palpable
medium, as one looks, through a veil or tinted glass.

It was the eye of the dog! The animal lay under the couch, his muzzle
flat on the clay floor. A serious yet doubtful vigilance was in his
aspect. Tscholens was already at the exit, which was a narrow winding
passage serving as a wind-break, and with a sudden turn leading to the
outer world. He heard the abrupt patter of the dog's feet on the clay
floor, and a drowsy voice calling to the animal in Cherokee, admonishing
him to be still. Tscholens waited without, and, as the dog issued and
with half-aroused suspicions sniffed dubiously around him, he stooped
down and patted the creature's head. It was well, after all, that he
should follow; the noise of the dog's exit and return would serve to
cover his own absence.

He sought craftily to make friends with the dog. "_Mon chou! Mon
cochon_!" he said, aping the endearments addressed to dog or horse which
he had heard from the French officers at Fort Chartres, where he had
recently been. Then suddenly in agitation: "_Tais toi! Sois sage_!"

For the animal was indeed no Cherokee. At the sound of his native
tongue, as it were, he demonstrated how little he cared to be in his
skin, for his joyous bounces almost took him out of that integument.
Luckily his gambols were noiseless,--for the ground was covered with
snow.

Tscholens stood for a moment motionless, his brain still afire with the
imminent emprise, but his hot heart turning cold, and failing; for the
snow--oh, treacherous cloud!--the snow would betray his steps and the
trail disclose the mystery.

"Oh, _Lowannachen_!" (Oh, north wind!) he moaned, holding up both hands
outstretched to the north. "Oh, _wischiksil! Witschemil_!" (Oh, be thou
vigilant! Help me!)

Then suddenly lowering his head, he sped like the wind itself through
the town, along the river bank and into the sacred precincts of the
"beloved square." Ah! here he had stood this evening with what different
hope and heart. Here in front of the eastern cabin he had sat beside the
wily Tsiskwa of