Having fed my horse, I covered the fire, leaving a good store of fuel by the hearth, and rode away toward the Menominee and Winnebago lands.
The day was a hard one, and when I came back towards nightfall I was glad to stop with the officers of the stockade and share their mess.
"You looked fagged," said one of them.
"The horse paths are heavy," I answered, "and I have been as far as the Indian lands."
I had been as far as that remote time when Eagle was not a Cloud-Mother. To cross the river and see her smiling in meaningless happiness seemed more than I could do.
Yet she might notice my absence. We had been housed together ever since she had discovered me. Our walks and rides, our fireside talks and evening diversions were never separate. At Pierre Grignon's the family flocked in companies. When the padlocked book sent me out of the house I forgot that she was used to my presence and might be disturbed by an absence no one could explain.
"The first sailing vessel is in from the straits," said the lieutenant.
"Yes, I saw her come to anchor as I rode out this morning."
"She brought a passenger."
"Anybody of importance?"