“I see not well by night,” I admitted.

“You do see well by night — through my two eyes! Are we not one? How often must I repeat it that you and I are one! One! One! O Loskiel — stealer of hearts, if you could only know how often on my knees I am before you — how truly I adore, how humbly, scarcely daring to believe my heart that tells me such a tale of magic and enchantment — after these barren, loveless years. Mark! Yonder stands the Grey-Feather! Is that his post?”

“Wonder-eyes, I see him not! Wait — aye, you are right. And he is at his post. Pass to the left, little minx.”

And so we made the rounds, finding every Indian except the Sagamore at his post. He lay asleep.