“Oh, it is splendid!” in a grateful tone.
Renée ran to try.
Valbonais stirred out the coals, took a piece of dried fish from his bag and some corn cakes and toasted both. They were hungry enough to eat without any demur—in truth, enjoyed it in the perfect freedom from fear.
“Now,” he said, “you must settle yourself for the night. I do not think we shall be molested. The small band will be busy with their chief and repairing damages. Then I found some of them were very superstitious about a woman being in the party.”
“But I was held only for the money I would bring Black Feather. Otherwise I would have been looked upon as a useless burden. They dropped off poor Mère Lunde on the way, and yet she could have done them good service. Come, Renée.”
“I am not a bit sleepy,” returned Renée. “It seems almost like being at home with no fierce Indians about; only if Uncle Gaspard were here, and M’sieu Marchand,” she was about to add, but checked herself.
“We must be up betimes to-morrow and on our way,” Valbonais said. “It will not do to loiter.”
“What will you do meanwhile?” inquired Wawataysee.
“Sit here and tend the fire,” he said. “I shall only keep enough to see about in case I have to defend myself from any midnight prowler.”
He folded the blankets around the two, who certainly looked comfortable in their rocky bed. He pushed his way through the thicket and ran down a short distance, where he had command of the river. Nothing was going either way. How sweet and tranquil it all was, after the terrors of last night! He could have stayed there hours watching the stars come out brighter and brighter, and the soft wind weaving strange melodies, whispering of hope.