"Then we have been followed?"

I shrugged. "Evidently. I do not understand their game, but they will
declare it soon enough. Come, Starling."

But he lingered. "Monsieur, I blundered. I should have waked you."

I stopped to lay a hand on his shoulder. "And you will blunder again
if you waste strength in regrets. Come, a hangdog look means a divided
mind, and I need your wits. Keep what watch you can, and we shall say
nothing of this."

The men had carried the canoes to the beach, and now sat beside them,
drumming their heels in idleness. This gave me excuse for rating them,
and I did it with force of lung. Thinking that there were Indians--or,
at least, an Indian--in hiding, I hoped to draw them from cover in this
fashion. But my brave periods rattled uselessly. The forest kept its
springtime peace, and all that I got out of my display of spirit was
the excitement of playing my part well to an unseen audience. We were
allowed to load our canoes in peace.

And more, we were allowed to depart. I was prepared for a flight of
arrows as a parting courtesy, but none came. Well, I could make
nothing of the situation. I stored the incident away as something to
remember, but not to distress myself about. The men sang as they
dipped their blades. I sang, too, when I could get the tune. It was a
fine morning, and my blood was astir. I saw the Englishman's color
rise under the whip of the quick motion and the keen air. He did not
speak unless I addressed him, but his look was almost happy. I could
not help liking it in him that he should enjoy the freedom of our