“Fear not for me,” I answered, surprised at the steadiness of my voice. “It is the lonely silence which makes me shrink; as soon as we advance I shall have my nerve again. Have we not waited long enough?”
“Ay, come; but be careful where you place your feet.”
He led the way, walking with such slow caution, that, although I followed step by step, not a sound reached my ears. Dark as the night was, our eyes, accustomed to the gloom, were able to distinguish the marks of the trail, and follow its windings without much difficulty. Many a moccasined foot had passed that way before us, beating down a hard path through the sod, and pressing aside the low bushes which helped to conceal the passage. At first we followed rather closely the bank of the stream; then the narrow trail swerved to the right, entering a gap between two hills, ever tending to a higher altitude. We circled about large rocks, and up a ravine, through which we found barely room for passage, the walls rising steep and high on either side. It was intensely dark down there, yet impossible for us to escape the trail, and at the 281 end of that passage we emerged into an open space, enclosed with woods, and having a grit of sand under foot. Here the trail seemed to disappear, but Barbeau struck straight across, and in the forest shade beyond we found De Artigny waiting.
“Do not shoot,” he whispered. “I was afraid you might misjudge the way here, as the sand leaves no clear trace. The rest of the passage is through the woods, and up a steep hill. You are not greatly wearied, Madame?”
“Oh, no; I have made some false steps in the dark, but the pace has been slow. Do we approach the fort?”
“A half league beyond; a hundred yards more, and we begin the climb. There we will be in the zone of danger, although thus far I perceive no sign of Indian presence. Have you, Barbeau?”
“None except this feather of a war bonnet I picked up at the big rock below.”
“A feather! Is it Iroquois?”
“It is cut square, and no Algonquin ever does that.”
“Ay, let me see! You are right, Barbeau; ’twas dropped from a Tuscarora war bonnet. Then the wolves have been this way.”