rising wind caused the foliage to rustle about them again. It made the
tree sway a little, too, and as Robert could not resist the temptation
to look downward once, the black surface of the river seemed to be
dancing back and forth beneath him. But, save the single glance, his
eyes all the while were for the Ojibway and the Frenchman.

Tandakora and De Courcelles came a little closer to the bank. Apparently
they were satisfied that no one was on the farther shore, and that they
were in no danger of a bullet, as presently they emerged fully into the
open, and stood there, their eyes questing. Then they looked at the
bridge, and, for a few instants, Robert was sure they would attempt the
crossing upon it. But in a minute or so they walked beyond it, and then
he concluded that the crisis had passed. After all, it would be their
plan to hold their own shore, and prevent the passage of the three.

Yet Tandakora and De Courcelles were cruelly deliberate and slow. They
walked not more than fifteen feet beyond the end of the tree, and then
stood a while talking. Half of the warriors remained near them, standing
stolidly in the background, and the others went on, searching among the
woods and thickets. The two glanced at the tree as they talked. Was it
possible that they would yet come back and attempt the crossing? Again
Robert quivered when he realized that in truth the crisis had not
passed, and that Tandakora and De Courcelles might reconsider. Once
more, he pressed his body hard against the tree, and held tightly to a
small bough which arched an abundant covering of leaves over his head.
The wind rustled among those leaves, and sang almost in words, but
whether they told him that Tandakora and De Courcelles would go on or
come upon the bridge he did not know.

Five minutes of such intense waiting that seemed nearer to an hour, and