The result astonished me, for with one swift leap Radisson had sprung past me and was kicking the fire into embers over the snow. I was on my feet instantly, staring amazed at the tall figure of the chief.
"What is the matter? Surely our fire could not be seen from below?"
The Keeper grunted sarcastically. "Has my father lost his cunning? Has White Eagle been dreaming the dreams of women? From below the fire is hid, but the reflection of the fire was high on the cliffs."
Radisson, Indian-like, grunted disgustedly, and finished the last ember with his heel. But he said nothing, merely looking to the Mohawk inquiringly.
"There are two tens of men," reported the Keeper briefly. "The Pike is their chief. Their lodges are old. The Yellow Lily is there, also a woman of the Chippewas. One of their young men I met, gathering wood."
He touched his robes, as if beneath them lay something concealed. Radisson's words told me what that something was. The old man spoke quite as a matter of course.
"Then The Keeper will have another scalp to hang in the smoke of his lodge. Think you they saw the reflection of our fire?"
The Mohawk shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. The two might have been discussing the weather or the stars for all the emotion they displayed, instead of the vital danger which threatened us all. And now I began to feel that the disdain expressed by the two Mohawks was not groundless. They were of another race than the chattering Crees and Chippewas. They seemed to hold themselves aloof, as if theirs was the heritage of more than these other men might comprehend. And truly I think it was, for there was in the whole bearing of The Keeper a great grimness, like unto the grimness of Fate, and at times since I have wondered if he could have seen some hint of what his end was to be.
We were now in darkness, save for the rising gleam of the fires in the sky. It seemed that Radisson and the Mohawk intended to wait until later in the night before they stole down to rescue Ruth. The cold was now intense, but despite my shiverings I saw that both Radisson and the Indian were listening to something that I could not hear. From the trees below rose a long wolf-howl, answered faintly by the voices of the Chippewa dogs.
"That was a poor cry, Keeper," and Radisson rose to his feet noiselessly. Then the snow crunched and crackled, and I saw the two slipping into the long shoes. One by one the guns were examined and primed afresh, and Radisson turned to me.