Valbonais had gathered a sack of provisions and taken it down below the camp some distance, leaving it there with the gun. He had been very helpful all the morning, and his brief absence had not been noted.
At noon the rain ceased, though it was nearly an hour before the sun came out. Dinner was eaten, the boats were dragged up so as to be within sight, and two or three of the Indians were kept busy about their master. Two of the prisoners had been killed and one Indian. Black Feather ordered them buried.
Valbonais came to the door of the tent.
“Give me one of the blankets,” he said, “and send the child out to the back of the tent when you can do so unperceived. Then wrap yourself in the other and steal away. We will take the other side of the strip of woods. It is not wide.”
Renée ran out presently and seized his hand.
“Oh, are we going back to St. Louis?” she asked in a whisper, while her eyes were alight with joy.
“I hope so, little one. Come this way. Now you will not be afraid to stay here. Do not utter a cry or sound. Wrap the blanket about you—so.”
Then Valbonais waited and waited. He made one journey to Renée to comfort her. Then he saw Wawataysee struggling through an aperture she had made in the tent, and ran to her assistance.
“There were so many of them about,” she said breathlessly. “I pinned the tent flap down with a stout stick, so they may think I am asleep. Oh, let us hurry. I am so afraid,” and she trembled in her excitement, though she ran lightly along.
When they reached Renée he picked up the sack of food and slung it over his shoulder, took the gun and one blanket, while Wawataysee wrapped the other about herself, the gray making her more indistinct. Renée, wild with joy, danced and skipped, and could not repress soft gurgles of laughter as she kept on ahead of them.