… It was probably not one thing but many that woke me at dawn the next morning—habit, perhaps; or uneasiness about Nathaniel, or hunger, or the stillness of the place, even. In my dreams I had been conscious of the incessant squalling of the Indians; but now I heard nothing but the metallic scream of a jay.

I went to the tent flap and looked out. Two swarthy sentries in buckskin eyed me morosely. The lake, through the trees, was a milky blue in the early morning light; and on it, close to the point, lay a flotilla of canoes, drifting—waiting, evidently, for a leader. They were full of Indians, and so far as I could see, there were no Indians left on the point, though two fires still smoked on the shore.

From the rear of the tent the view was even less encouraging—three other tents with no signs of life, and two more sentries, French Canadians—sullen-looking, pigtailed men. Of Lanaudiere there was no trace.

I woke Verrieul and Doc, and at Verrieul’s polite request, the sentries led us to the lake-shore and glowered at us while we shaved and scrubbed the grime of battle from ourselves as well as we could, considering that we had no soap. We had, in fact, next to nothing, barring the bundles to which Doc had clung through thick and thin. We had no blankets, no hats, no money. Frayed twigs, dipped in salt or ashes or gunpowder, whichever was handiest, served to clean our teeth. Except for the ragged clothes we stood in, and the razors, long knives, spoons and horn cups we carried in our pockets, we were as destitute as mendicants.

I was framing the words I intended to say to Lanaudiere, when Doc moaned. He had discovered Sponge-belly on the bank above us; and since Sponge-belly was joined immediately by his six companions of the day before, I suspected that they had kept watch on us through the night.

They came as close to us as they could; and although their faces were still smeared with black paint, there was no mistaking their expressions. They were benevolent, no doubt of that; and Sponge-belly’s smirk, as he gazed at Doc, was almost silly in its affability.

They had added shirts to their garb of the day before; and although the shirts had once been of different colors—some striped and some checked—they were so daubed front and back with grease, food remnants and traces of paint of every hue that they looked about alike.

When Doc, still groaning, went for his clothes, all seven red men pushed along beside him, grinning, nodding their crested heads, and bringing up guttural retching noises, clearly intended to indicate friendliness and admiration.