“Could it not be possible,” I asked, “that the feather was spoil of war dropped by some Miami in flight?”
He shook his head.
“Possible perhaps, but not probable; some white man may have passed this way with trophy, but no Illinois Indian would dare such venture. I have seen them before in Iroquois foray. I like not the sign, Barbeau, yet there is naught for us to do now, but go on. We dare not be found without the fort at daybreak. Keep within thirty paces of me, and guard the lady well.”
It was a dense woods we entered, and how Barbeau kept to the trail will ever be to me a mystery. No doubt the instinct of a woodsman guided him somewhat, and then, with his moccasined feet, he could feel the slight depression in the earth, and thus cling to the narrow path. I would have been lost in a moment, had I not clung to him, and we moved forward like two snails, scarcely venturing to breathe, our motions as silent as a wild panther stalking its prey.
Except for a faint rustling of leaves overhead no sound was distinguishable, although once we were startled by some wild thing scurrying across our path, the sudden noise it made causing me to give utterance to a half-stifled cry. I could feel how tense was every muscle in the soldier’s body, as he advanced steadily step by step, his gun flung forward, each nerve strained to the utmost.
We crossed the wood, and began to climb among 283 loose stones, finally finding solid rock beneath our feet, the path skirting the edge of what seemed to be a deep gash in the earth, and winding about wherever it could find passage. The way grew steeper and steeper, and more difficult to traverse, although, as we thus rose above the tree limit, the shadows became less dense, and we were able dimly to perceive objects a yard or two in advance. I strained my eyes over Barbeau’s shoulder, but could gain no glimpse of De Artigny. Then we rounded a sharp edge of rock, and met him blocking the narrow way.
“The red devils are there,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Beyond the curve in the bank. ’Twas God’s mercy I had glimpse in time, or I would have walked straight into their midst. A stone dropping into the ravine warned me, and I crept on all fours to where I could see.”
“You counted them?”
“Hardly that in this darkness; yet ’tis no small party. ’Twould be my judgment there are twenty warriors there.”