“Aye — it is your nature, Sagamoreďż˝ . But tell me — what was it in the mention of my name that made you think of magic?”

“Loskiel, you came two hundred miles to ask of me the question that this maid had asked in every camp.”

“What question?”

“Where lay the trail to Catharines-town,” he said.

“Did she ask that?” I demanded in astonishment.

“It was ever the burden of her piping — this rosy-throated pigeon of the woods.”

“That is most strange,” said I.

“It is doubtless sorcery that she should ask of me an interview with you who came two hundred miles to ask of me the very question.”