mise?"

Robert, standing in the entrance, took a long look at the heavens.

"Rain," he replied at last; "I can see clouds gathering in the west, and
a storm is likely to come with the night. I think I hear distant
thunder, but it is so low I'm not sure."

"Areskoui is good to us once more. The kindness of his heart is never
exhausted. Truly, O Dagaeoga, he has been a shield between us and our
enemies. Now the rain will come, it will pour hard, it will sweep along
the slopes, and wash away any faint trace of a trail that we may have
left, thus hiding our flight from the eyes of wandering warriors."

"All that's true, and now that you've explained it to your satisfaction,
you obey me, exercise your will and go to sleep. I've recovered my
rulership, and I mean to exercise it to the full for the little time
that it may last."

Tayoga obeyed, composing himself in the easiest attitude on his blanket
and bed of leaves, and he exerted his will to the utmost. He wished
sleep, and sleep must come, yet he knew that the fever was still rising
in his veins. The shock and loss of blood from the great musket ball
could not be dismissed by a mere effort of the mind, but the mind
nevertheless could fight against their effects and neutralize them.

As the fever rose steadily he exerted his will with increasing power. He
said to himself again and again how fortunate he was to be watched over
by such a brave and loyal friend, and to have a safe and dry refuge,
when other warriors of his nation, wounded, had lain in the forest to
die of exhaustion or to be devoured by wild beasts. He knew from the
feel of the air that a storm was coming, and again he was thankful to
his patron saint, Tododaho, and also to Areskoui, and to Manitou,
greatest of all, because a bed and a roof had been found for him in
this, the hour of his greatest need.

The mounting fever in his veins seemed to make his senses more vivid
and acute for the time. Although Robert could not yet hear in reality
the rumbling thunder far down in the southwest, the menace came very
plainly to the ears of Tayoga, but it was no menace to him. Instead, the
rumble was the voice of a friend, telling him that the deluge was at
hand to wash away all traces of their flight and to force their enemies
into shelter, while his fever burned itself out.

Tayoga on his blanket, with the thick couch of dry leaves beneath, could
still see the figure of Robert, rifle across his knees, crouched