"No, no, monsieur! Ill only in mind.
Monsieur, I have failed you."
I had never seen his aplomb so shaken. "Why were you lying on the
ground?"
"To find out whether I could see again what I saw last night. Do you
see that balsam,--the one with the forked top? Monsieur, I saw an
Indian's face in that tree last night."
I took his hands, which were cold. "Now tell me."
He drew his hands away. "I am often awake in the night. Last night
the moon was clear. All at once I saw an Indian's face looking out
from that tree."
"And you did not call me!"
"Monsieur, I thought it must be fancy. I have troubled dreams. I
often--since my capture--think I see an Indian, and it proves to be
nothing but a bush. So I distrust my eyes, especially at night. Then
Francois was on watch, and several times he walked this way. If it had
really been an Indian would not Francois have seen?"
I pointed him to the forest. "Do you see anything? We seem alone, yet
there are countless eyes watching us, from the squirrel over your head
to the Indian who may be listening now. When you lay on your back just
now did you see anything that looked like a face?"
He shook his head. "No, the space was open.
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