day after
to-morrow."

They made camp beside the ford that Mary pointed out. Clare waved Stonor
out of sight with a smile. His mind was at ease about her, for he knew
of no dangers that could threaten her there, if her fears created none.

The side trail was little-used and rough, and he was forced to proceed
at a slow walk: the roughest trail, however, is infinitely better than
the untrodden bush. This part of the country had been burned over years
before, and the timber was poplar and fairly open. Long before dark he
came into the main trail between the two Indian villages. This was
well-travelled and hard, and he needed to take no further thought about
picking his way; the horse attended to that. For the most part the going
was so good he had to hold his beast in, to keep him from tiring too
quickly. He saw the river only at intervals on his right hand in its
wide sweeps back and forth through its shallow valley.

He spelled for his supper, and darkness came on. Stonor loved travelling
at night, and the unknown trail added a zest to this ride. The night
world was as quiet as a room. Where one can see less one feels more. The
scents of night hung heavy on the still air; the pungency of poplar, the
mellowness of balsam, the bland smell of river-water that makes the skin
tingle with desire to bathe, the delicate acidity of grass that caused
his horse to whicker. The trail alternated pretty regularly between
wooded ridges, where the stones caused him to slacken his pace, and long
traverses of the turfy river-bottoms, where he could give his horse his
head. Twice during the night he picketed his horse in the grass, and
took a short nap himself. At dawn, from the last ridge, he saw the pale
expanse of Swan Lake stretching to the horizon, and at sun-up he rode
among the tepees of the Kakisa village.

It was built on the edge of the firm ground bordering the lake, though
the lake itself was still half a mile distant across a wet meadow. Swan
Lake was not a true lake, but merely a widening of the river where it
filled a depression among its low hills. With its flat, reedy shores it
had more the characteristics of a prairie slough. As in the last
village, the tepees were raised in a double row alongside a small stream
which made its way across the meadow to the lake. In the middle of their
village the stream rippled over shallows, and here they had placed
stepping-stones for their convenience in crossing. Below it was slug