"Davy," he murmured, and, seizing my hand in his strong grip, pulled me
along with him. For it was not given to him to say what he felt; but as
I hurried to keep pace with his stride, Polly Ann's words rang in my
ears, "Davy, take care of my Tom," and I knew that he, too, was thinking
of her. A hail aroused me, the sound of a loud rapping, and I saw in
black relief a cabin ahead. The door opened, a man came out with a horde
of children cowering at his heels, a volley of frightened words pouring
from his mouth in a strange tongue. John Duff was plying him with
questions in French, and presently the man became calmer and lapsed into
broken English.

"Kaskaskia--yes, she is prepare. Many spy is gone out--cross la riviere.
But now they all sleep."

Even as he spoke a shout came faintly from the distant town.

"What is that?" demanded Clark, sharply.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Une fete des negres, peut-etre,--the
negro, he dance maybe."

"Are you the ferryman?" said Clark.

"Oui--I have some boat."

We crossed the hundred and fifty yards of sluggish water, squad by squad,
and in the silence of the night stood gathered, expectant, on the farther
bank. Midnight was at hand. Commands were passed about, and men ran
this way and that, jostling one another to find their places in a new