After the tent was once more in place, Jack returned to René.
“Well, are you going to sleep in the tent or in the wagon?”
“In the tent. I won’t touch no ropes, nor nothin’ again, Jack,” promised the child, holding up his arms. “An’ I’m sorry ’bout making you and Dissy work when you’re all tired, ’n’ everything—”
“That’s a good boy,” replied his brother, carrying him off to bed for a second time.
“Goodnight, Desiré,” he said, returning to kiss her after René was disposed of. “If you’re timid, call me.”
“Yes, but, Jack dear, please don’t lie awake to take care of us. We’ll be safe.”
Soon the grove was quiet. The moon rose higher and higher, and throughout the night kept benevolent watch over the four children sleeping heavily among the protective trunks of the old balsam trees. Little creatures of the night moved noiselessly over the dried needles on the forest floor so as not to waken the strangers within their midst; and a gentle breeze stole quietly in from the Bay to waft its pungent coolness over the tired travelers.
A couple of hours passed, the moon had left the woods partly in shadow. A dark figure was stealing carefully among the tree trunks, stopping every few minutes to listen.
Beyond a band of moonlight stood the little tent from which could be heard Jack’s loud breathing. Nearby was the wagon where all was silent, and from a dark spot beyond it the horses stamped restlessly. Skirting the habitations of the human beings, the figure made its way silently toward the animals. Then Dapple’s loud whinny sounded through the quiet wood, answered immediately by that of his mate.
“Get away from our horses!” shrilled Priscilla’s voice from the back of the wagon.