"Something less than that distance."
"Then when we reach them, sir," she said imperiously, "you are to leave me with them at one of the villages above the falls."
"To leave you there!"
"Yes. You will tell them that I am the daughter of one of the paleface chiefs, of one whom the great white chief calls 'brother,' and then they will not dare to harm me or to detain me. They will send me down the river to the nearest post, and the men there will bring me on to Jamestown, and so home."
"And why may not I bring you on to Jamestown—and so home?" demanded Landless with a smile.
"Because—because—you know that you are lost if you return to the Settlements."
"And nevertheless I shall return," he said with another smile.
She struck her hands together. "You will be mad—mad! If you had not been their leader!—but as it is, there is no hope. Leave me with the friendly Indians, then go yourself to the northward. Make for New Amsterdam. God will carry you through the Indians as he has done so far. I will pray to him that he do so. Ah, promise me that you will go!"
Landless took her hand and kissed it. "Were you in absolute safety, madam," he said gently, "and if it were not for one other thing, I would go, because you wish it, and because I would save you any pang, however slight, that you might feel for the fate of one who was, who is, your servant—your slave. I would go from you, and because it else might grieve you, I would strive to keep my life through the forest, through the winter—"
"Ah, the winter!" she cried. "I had forgotten that winter will come."