Wyandot and Shawnee, gathered from the talk
of those about him that they were at last drawing near to Detroit, the
great Northwestern fort of the British and Indians. They would arrive
there to-morrow, and they spent that last night by camp fires, the
Indians relaxing greatly from their usual taciturnity and caution, and
eating as if at a banquet.

Henry sat on a log in the middle of the camp. His arms were unbound and
he could eat with the others as much as he chose. Since they were not to
burn him or torture him otherwise, they would treat him well for the
present. But warriors, Shawnees, Miamis and Wyandots, were all about
him. They took good care that such a prisoner should not have a chance
to escape. He might overthrow two or three, even four or five, but a
score more would be on him at once. Henry knew this well and bore
himself more as if he were a member of the band than a captive. It was a
part of his policy to appear cheerful and contented. No Indian should
surpass him in careless and apparent indifference, but to-night he felt
gloomier than at any time since the moments that immediately followed
his capture. He had relied upon the faithful four, but days had passed
without a sign from them. There had been no chance, of course, for them
to rescue him. He had not expected that, but what he had expected was a
sign. They were skillful, masters of wilderness knowledge, but accidents
might happen--one had happened to him--and they might have fallen into
the hands of some other band.

Waiting is a hard test, and Henry's mind, despite his will, began to
imagine dire things. Suppose he should never see his comrades again. A
thousand mischances could befall, and the neighborhood of Detroit was
the most dangerous part of all the Indian country. Besides the villages
pitched near, bands were continually passing, either coming to the fort
for supplies, or going away, equipped for a fresh raid upon the
settlements.

The laughter and talk among the Indians went on for a long time, but
Henry, having eaten all that he wanted, sat in silence. Besides the
noise of the camp, he heard the usual murmur of the night wind among the
trees. He listened to it as one would to a soft low monotone that
called and soothed. He had an uncommonly acute ear and his power of
singleness and concentration enabled him to listen to the sound that he
wished to hear, to the exclusion of all others. The noises in the camp,
although they were as gre