have done for us."




CHAPTER XXIII

SIX CANDLES AND ONE

The short winter day was drawing to a close as Jean and her two Indian
companions moved down the western side of a long hill. They were
making for the valley below through which ran a small brook, where they
hoped to camp for the night. They had been abroad since morning, and
Jean was now very tired. Her strength was not so great as she had
imagined, and she recalled with amusement her proud boast the day
before. Sam had been right, and she was glad that he did not try to
reach the mast-cutters in "one sleep." She could not possibly do it,
although it would have been easy for the Indians. They had this day
regulated their speed to her feeble steps. But without her how they
would have sped through the forest. They were both wonderful
snow-shoers, and on several occasions she had watched them as they
bounded over the snow with great swinging, tireless strides. Her
admiration of these faithful, self-reliant people was unbounded.

They had almost reached the valley when the report of a gun rang
through the forest, followed in a few seconds by a cry of distress.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks, gripped hard his musket, and peered
keenly among the trees. The next instant he was bounding forward,
leaving Jean and Kitty staring after him.