made no sound of welcome. Bedizened and wolf-eyed, they stood in
formal ranks as attentive as children at a pantomime. In a moment the
canoes took clearer shape, and the shine of the paddles could be seen
as the flat of the blades slanted toward the light. The men at the
paddles were indistinguishable, crouching shapes, but their prisoner
was standing. He stood in the foremost canoe, and as his figure was
outlined against the sun I saw that he was rigid as a mummy. I turned
to Cadillac. To see a white man bound! I could feel the thongs eating
into my own flesh.

"They have bound the Englishman!" I protested. "Let us hope that they
are not daring enough--or crazed enough--to make him sing to grace
their triumph."

But he laughed at my tone. "What does it matter?" he shrugged. "These
wards of mine--my happy family--must have their fête in their own
fashion, or they will ask that I pay the piper. Well, whatever they
do, the prisoner is in our hands, and it will be long before he escapes
them. Yes, listen,--oh, the play-acting dogs!--they are making him
sing now."

He had a keen ear, for, even to my forest-trained sense, the sound came
but faintly. The crowd hushed its breathing, and the air was
unwholesomely still. A dog yelped, and an Indian silenced it with a
kick. Each paddle-stroke threw the canoes into sharper relief, and we
could distinguish lank arms, and streaming hair. The prisoner's voice
echoed as clear as if he were in some great playhouse, and were singing
to gain the plaudits of a friendly throng.

I felt my blood tingling in my fingers' ends. It was a brave song,