"You know that all received methods, all military usages, fail as applied to Indian warfare. You can be of the greatest service to us in this emergency. Will you volunteer?" There was a little smile at the corner of Stuart's lip as he looked at her steadily.
"No, no, I protest," cried Demeré. "Tell her first what she is to do."
"No," said Stuart, "when you agreed to the plan you expressly stipulated that you were to have no responsibility. Now if Mrs. MacLeod volunteers it is as a soldier and unquestioningly under orders."
"It is sudden," hesitated Odalie. "May I tell my husband?"
"Would he allow you to risk yourself?" asked Stuart. "And yet it is for yourself, your husband, your child, the garrison,—to save all our lives, God willing."
Odalie's color rose, her eyes grew bright. "I know I can trust you to make the risk as slight as it may be,—to place me in no useless danger. I volunteer."
The two men looked at her for one moment, their hearts in their eyes.
Then Captain Stuart broke out with his reassuring raillery. "I always knew it,—such a proclivity for the military life! In the king's service at last."
Odalie laughed, but Captain Demeré could not compass a smile.
Stuart's next question she thought a bit of his fun. "Have you here," he said, with deep gravity, "some stout gown, fashioned with plaits and fullness in the skirt, and a cape or fichu,—is that what you call it,—about the shoulders? And, yes,—that large red hood, calash, that you wore the first day you arrived at the fort,"—his ready smile flickered,—"on an understanding so little pleasing to your taste. Go get them on, and meet me at the northwestern bastion."