He laughed. "Why not? I like women. Why scorn their garb? But I see your reasons, monsieur. They are better than mine. So get out the clothing,—though I shall look like an eel in a bear's skin."
But I had lost my haste. Mock woman that he was, he was yet somewhat pleasant to the eye. I had noticed more than once the picture that he made as he came and went among the trees. Yet I thought lightly of myself for enjoying the deceit of my eyesight. I rose.
"Wear your skirts, then, for a few days longer," I said coldly. "It is too dark to find what I want. Come now. We must sleep early, and be up betimes, for we shall take up our journey in the morning."
We were astir at daybreak. It was a red morning, and the birds were singing. The air was keen, but the fire snapped cheerfully, and the sky gave promise of a warm day. We carried the bales to the beach, 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."