two days were spent by the travellers at the seigneury of sainte marie, and they would very willingly have spent longer, for the quarters were comfortable and the welcome warm, but already the reds of autumn were turning to brown, and they knew how suddenly the ice and snow come in those northern lands, and how impossible it would be to finish their journey if winter were once fairly upon them. the old nobleman had sent his scouts by land and by water, but there were no signs of the iroquois upon the eastern banks, so that it was clear that de lhut had been mistaken. over on the other side, however, the high gray plumes of smoke still streamed up above the trees as a sign that their enemies were not very far off. all day from the manor-house windows and from the stockade they could see those danger signals which reminded them that a horrible death lurked ever at their elbow.

the refugees were rested now and refreshed, and of one mind about pushing on.

“if the snow comes, it will be a thousand times more dangerous,” said amos, “for we shall leave a track then that a papoose could follow.”

“and why should we fear?” urged old ephraim.

“truly this is a desert of salt, even though it lead to the vale of hinnom, but we shall be borne up against these sons of jeroboam. steer a straight course, lad, and jam your helm, for the pilot will see you safe.”

“and i am not frightened, amory, and i am quite rested now,” said adele. “we shall be so much more happy when we are in the english provinces, for even now, how do we know that that dreadful monk may not come with orders to drag us back to quebec and paris?”

it was indeed very possible that the vindictive franciscan, when satisfied that they had not ascended to montreal, or remained at three rivers, might seek them on the banks of the richelieu. when de catinat thought of how he passed them in his great canoe that morning, his eager face protruded, and his dark body swinging in time to the paddles, he felt that the danger which his wife suggested was not only possible but imminent. the seigneur was his friend, but the seigneur could not disobey the governor’s orders. a great hand, stretching all the way from versailles, seemed to hang over them, even here in the heart of the virgin forest, ready to snatch them up and carry them back into degradation and misery. better all the perils of the woods than that!

but the seigneur and his son, who knew nothing of their pressing reasons for haste, were strenuous in urging de catinat the other way, and in this they were supported by the silent du lhut, whose few muttered words were always more weighty than the longest speech, for he never spoke save about that of which he was a master.

“you have seen my little place,” said the old nobleman, with a wave of his beruffled ring-covered hand. “it is not what i should wish it, but such as it is, it is most heartily yours for the winter, if you and your comrades would honour me by remaining. as to madame, i doubt not that my own dame and she will find plenty to amuse and occupy them, which reminds me, de catinat, that you have not yet been presented. theuriet, go to your mistress and inform her that i request her to be so good as to come to us in the hall of the dais.”

de catinat was too seasoned to be easily startled, but he was somewhat taken aback when the lady, to whom the old nobleman always referred in terms of exaggerated respect, proved to be as like a full-blooded indian squaw as the hall of the dais was to a french barn. she was dressed, it was true, in a bodice of scarlet taffeta with a black skirt, silver-buckled shoes, and a scented pomander ball dangling by a silver chain from her girdle, but her face was of the colour of the bark of the scotch fir, while her strong nose and harsh mouth, with the two plaits of coarse black hair which dangled down her back, left no possible doubt as to her origin.

“allow me to present you, monsieur de catinat,” said the seigneur de sainte marie solemnly, “to my wife, onega de la noue de sainte marie, chatelaine by right of marriage to this seigneury, and also to the chateau d’andelys in normandy, and to the estate of varennes in provence, while retaining in her own right the hereditary chieftainship on the distaff side of the nation of the onondagas. my angel, i have been endeavouring to persuade our friends to remain with us at sainte marie instead of journeying on to lake champlain.”

“at least leave your white lily at sainte marie,” said the dusky princess, speaking in excellent french, and clasping with her ruddy fingers the ivory hand of adele. “we will hold her safe for you until the ice softens, and the leaves and the partridge berries come once more. i know my people, monsieur, and i tell you that the woods are full of murder, and that it is not for nothing that the leaves are the colour of blood, for death lurks behind every tree.”

de catinat was more moved by the impressive manner of his hostess than by any of the other warnings which he had received. surely she, if anyone, must be able to read the signs of the times.

“i know not what to do!” he cried in despair. “i must go on, and yet how can i expose her to these perils? i would fain stay the winter, but you must take my word for it, sir, that it is not possible.”

“du lhut, you know how things should be ordered,” said the seigneur. “what should you advise my friend to do, since he is so set upon getting to the english provinces before the winter comes?”

the dark silent pioneer stroked his beard with his hand as he pondered over the question.

“there is but one way,” said he at last, “though even in it there is danger. the woods are safer than the river, for the reeds are full of cached canoes. five leagues from here is the blockhouse of poitou, and fifteen miles beyond, that of auvergne. we will go tomorrow to poitou through the woods and see if all be safe. i will go with you, and i give you my word that if the iroquois are there, greysolon du lhut will know it. the lady we shall leave here, and if we find that all is safe we shall come back for her. then in the same fashion we shall advance to auvergne, and there you must wait until you hear where their war-parties are. it is in my mind that it will not be very long before we know.”

“what! you would part us!” cried adele aghast.

“it is best, my sister,” said onega, passing her arm caressingly round her. “you cannot know the danger, but we know it, and we will not let our white lily run into it. you will stay here to gladden us, while the great chief du lhut, and the french soldier, your husband, and the old warrior who seems so wary, and the other chief with limbs like the wild deer, go forward through the woods and see that all is well before you venture.”

and so it was at last agreed, and adele, still protesting, was consigned to the care of the lady of sainte marie, while de catinat swore that without a pause he would return from poitou to fetch her. the old nobleman and his son would fain have joined them in their adventure, but they had their own charge to watch and the lives of many in their keeping, while a small party were safer in the woods than a larger one would be. the seigneur provided them with a letter for de lannes, the governor of the poitou blockhouse, and so in the early dawn the four of them crept like shadows from the stockade-gate, amid the muttered good wishes of the guard within, and were lost in an instant in the blackness of the vast forest.

from la noue to poitou was but twelve miles down the river, but by the woodland route where creeks were to be crossed, reed-girt lakes to be avoided, and paths to be picked among swamps where the wild rice grew higher than their heads, and the alder bushes lay in dense clumps before them, the distance was more than doubled. they walked in single file, du lhut leading, with the swift silent tread of some wild creature, his body bent forward, his gun ready in the bend of his arm, and his keen dark eyes shooting little glances to right and left, observing everything from the tiniest mark upon the ground or tree trunk to the motion of every beast and bird of the brushwood. de catinat walked behind, then ephraim savage, and then amos, all with their weapons ready and with every sense upon the alert. by midday they were more than half-way, and halted in a thicket for a scanty meal of bread and cheese, for de lhut would not permit them to light a fire.

“they have not come as far as this,” he whispered, “and yet i am sure that they have crossed the river. ah, governor de la barre did not know what he did when he stirred these men up, and this good dragoon whom the king has sent us now knows even less.”

“i have seen them in peace,” remarked amos. “i have traded to onondaga and to the country of the senecas. i know them as fine hunters and brave men.”

“they are fine hunters, but the game that they hunt best are their fellow-men. i have myself led their scalping parties, and i have fought against them, and i tell you that when a general comes out from france who hardly knows enough to get the sun behind him in a fight, he will find that there is little credit to be gained from them. they talk of burning their villages! it would be as wise to kick over the wasps’ nest, and think that you have done with the wasps. you are from new england, monsieur?”

“my comrade is from new england; i am from new york.”

“ah, yes. i could see from your step and your eye that the woods were as a home to you. the new england man goes on the waters and he slays the cod with more pleasure than the caribou. perhaps that is why his face is so sad. i have been on the great water, and i remember that my face was sad also. there is little wind, and so i think that we may light our pipes without danger. with a good breeze i have known a burning pipe fetch up a scalping party from two miles’ distance, but the trees stop scent, and the iroquois noses are less keen than the sioux and the dacotah. god help you, monsieur, if you should ever have an indian war. it is bad for us, but it would be a thousand times worse for you.”

“and why?”

“because we have fought the indians from the first, and we have them always in our mind when we build. you see how along this river every house and every hamlet supports its neighbour? but you, by saint anne of beaupre, it made my scalp tingle when i came on your frontiers and saw the lonely farm-houses and little clearings out in the woods with no help for twenty leagues around. an indian war is a purgatory for canada, but it would be a hell for the english provinces!”

“we are good friends with the indians,” said amos. “we do not wish to conquer.”

“your people have a way of conquering although they say that they do not wish to do it,” remarked du lhut. “now, with us, we bang our drums, and wave our flags, and make a stir, but no very big thing has come of it yet. we have never had but two great men in canada. one was monsieur de la salle, who was shot last year by his own men down the great river, and the other, old frontenac, will have to come back again if new france is not to be turned into a desert by the five nations. it would surprise me little if by this time two years the white and gold flag flew only over the rock of quebec. but i see that you look at me impatiently, monsieur de catinat, and i know that you count the hours until we are back at sainte marie again. forward, then, and may the second part of our journey be as peaceful as the first.”

for an hour or more they picked their way through the woods, following in the steps of the old french pioneer. it was a lovely day with hardly a cloud in the heavens, and the sun streaming down through the thick foliage covered the shaded sward with a delicate network of gold. sometimes where the woods opened they came out into the pure sunlight, but only to pass into thick glades beyond, where a single ray, here and there, was all that could break its way through the vast leafy covering. it would have been beautiful, these sudden transitions from light to shade, but with the feeling of impending danger, and of a horror ever lurking in these shadows, the mind was tinged with awe rather than admiration. silently, lightly, the four men picked their steps among the great tree trunks.

suddenly du lhut dropped upon his knees and stooped his ear to the ground. he rose, shook his head, and walked on with a grave face, casting quick little glances into the shadows in every direction.

“did you hear something?” whispered amos.

du lhut put his finger to his lips, and then in an instant was down again upon his face with his ear fixed to the ground. he sprang up with the look of a man who has heard what he expected to hear.

“walk on,” said he quietly, “and behave exactly as you have done all day.”

“what is it, then?”

“indians.”

“in front of us?”

“no, behind us.”

“what are they doing?”

“they are following us.”

“how many of them?”

“two, i think.”

the friends glanced back involuntarily over their shoulders into the dense blackness of the forest. at one point a single broad shaft of light slid down between two pines and cast a golden blotch upon their track. save for this one vivid spot all was sombre and silent.

“do not look round,” whispered du lhut sharply. “walk on as before.”

“are they enemies?”

“they are iroquois.”

“and pursuing us?”

“no, we are now pursuing them.”

“shall we turn, then?”

“no, they would vanish like shadows,”

“how far off are they?”

“about two hundred paces, i think.”

“they cannot see us, then?”

“i think not, but i cannot be sure. they are following our trail, i think.”

“what shall we do, then?”

“let us make a circle and get behind them.”

turning sharp to the left he led them in a long curve through the woods, hurrying swiftly and yet silently under the darkest shadows of the trees. then he turned again, and presently halted.

“this is our own track,” said he.

“ay, and two redskins have passed over it,” cried amos, bending down, and pointing to marks which were entirely invisible to ephraim savage or de catinat.

“a full-grown warrior and a lad on his first warpath,” said du lhut. “they were moving fast, you see, for you can hardly see the heel marks of their moccasins. they walked one behind the other. now let us follow them as they followed us, and see if we have better luck.”

he sped swiftly along the trail with his musket cocked in his hand, the others following hard upon his heels, but there was no sound, and no sign of life from the shadowy woods in front of them. suddenly du lhut stopped and grounded his weapon.

“they are still behind us,” he said.

“still behind us?”

“yes. this is the point where we branched off. they have hesitated a moment, as you can see by their footmarks, and then they have followed on.”

“if we go round again and quicken our pace we may overtake them.”

“no, they are on their guard now. they must know that it could only be on their account that we went back on our tracks. lie here behind the fallen log and we shall see if we can catch a glimpse of them.”

a great rotten trunk, all green with mould and blotched with pink and purple fungi, lay to one side of where they stood. behind this the frenchman crouched, and his three companions followed his example, peering through the brushwood screen in front of them. still the one broad sheet of sunshine poured down between the two pines, but all else was as dim and as silent as a vast cathedral with pillars of wood and roof of leaf. not a branch that creaked, nor a twig that snapped, nor any sound at all save the sharp barking of a fox somewhere in the heart of the forest. a thrill of excitement ran through the nerves of de catinat. it was like one of those games of hide-and-seek which the court used to play, when louis was in a sportive mood, among the oaks and yew hedges of versailles. but the forfeit there was a carved fan, or a box of bonbons, and here it was death.

ten minutes passed and there was no sign of any living thing behind them.

“they are over in yonder thicket,” whispered du lhut, nodding his head towards a dense clump of brushwood, two hundred paces away.

“have you seen them?”

“no.”

“how do you know, then?”

“i saw a squirrel come from his hole in the great white beech-tree yonder. he scuttled back again as if something had scared him. from his hole he can see down into that brushwood.”

“do you think that they know that we are here?”

“they cannot see us. but they are suspicious. they fear a trap.”

“shall we rush for the brushwood?”

“they would pick two of us off, and be gone like shadows through the woods. no, we had best go on our way.”

“but they will follow us.”

“i hardly think that they will. we are four and they are only two, and they know now that we are on our guard and that we can pick up a trail as quickly as they can themselves. get behind these trunks where they cannot see us. so! now stoop until you are past the belt of alder bushes. we must push on fast now, for where there are two iroquois there are likely to be two hundred not very far off.”

“thank god that i did not bring adele!” cried de catinat.

“yes, monsieur, it is well for a man to make a comrade of his wife, but not on the borders of the iroquois country, nor of any other indian country either.”

“you do not take your own wife with you when you travel, then?” asked the soldier.

“yes, but i do not let her travel from village to village. she remains in the wigwam.”

“then you leave her behind?”

“on the contrary, she is always there to welcome me. by saint anne, i should be heavy-hearted if i came to any village between this and the bluffs of the illinois, and did not find my wife waiting to greet me.”

“then she must travel before you.”

du lhut laughed heartily, without, however, emitting a sound.

“a fresh village, a fresh wife,” said he. “but i never have more than one in each, for it is a shame for a frenchman to set an evil example when the good fathers are spending their lives so freely in preaching virtue to them. ah, here is the ajidaumo creek, where the indians set the sturgeon nets. it is still seven miles to poitou.”

“we shall be there before nightfall, then?”

“i think that we had best wait for nightfall before we make our way in. since the iroquois scouts are out as far as this, it is likely that they lie thick round poitou, and we may find the last step the worst unless we have a care, the more so if these two get in front of us to warn the others.” he paused a moment with slanting head and sidelong ear. “by saint anne,” he muttered, “we have not shaken them off. they are still upon our trail!”

“you hear them?”

“yes, they are no great way from us. they will find that they have followed us once too often this time. now, i will show you a little bit of woodcraft which may be new to you. slip off your moccasins, monsieur.”

de catinat pulled off his shoes as directed, and du lhut did the same.

“put them on as if they were gloves,” said the pioneer, and an instant later ephraim savage and amos had their comrades’ shoes upon their hands.

“you can sling your muskets over your back. so! now down on all fours, bending yourselves double, with your hands pressing hard upon the earth. that is excellent. two men can leave the trail of four! now come with me, monsieur.”

he flitted from tree to tree on a line which was parallel to, but a few yards distant from, that of their comrades. then suddenly he crouched behind a bush and pulled de catinat down beside him.

“they must pass us in a few minutes,” he whispered. “do not fire if you can help it.” something gleamed in du lhut’s hand, and his comrade, glancing down, saw that he had drawn a keen little tomahawk from his belt. again the mad wild thrill ran through the soldier’s blood, as he peered through the tangled branches and waited for whatever might come out of the dim silent aisles of tree-boles.

and suddenly he saw something move. it flitted like a shadow from one trunk to the other so swiftly that de catinat could not have told whether it were beast or human. and then again he saw it, and yet again, sometimes one shadow, sometimes two shadows, silent, furtive, like the loup-garou with which his nurse had scared him in his childhood. then for a few moments all was still once more, and then in an instant there crept out from among the bushes the most terrible-looking creature that ever walked the earth, an iroquois chief upon the war-trail.

he was a tall powerful man, and his bristle of scalp-locks and eagle feathers made him look a giant in the dim light, for a good eight feet lay between his beaded moccasin and the topmost plume of his headgear. one side of his face was painted in soot, ochre, and vermilion to resemble a dog, and the other half as a fowl, so that the front view was indescribably grotesque and strange. a belt of wampum was braced round his loin-cloth, and a dozen scalp-locks fluttered out as he moved from the fringe of his leggings. his head was sunk forward, his eyes gleamed with a sinister light, and his nostrils dilated and contracted like those of an excited animal. his gun was thrown forward, and he crept along with bended knees, peering, listening, pausing, hurrying on, a breathing image of caution. two paces behind him walked a lad of fourteen, clad and armed in the same fashion, but without the painted face and without the horrid dried trophies upon the leggings. it was his first campaign, and already his eyes shone and his nostrils twitched with the same lust for murder which burned within his elder. so they advanced, silent, terrible, creeping out of the shadows of the wood, as their race had come out of the shadows of history, with bodies of iron and tiger souls.

they were just abreast of the bush when something caught the eye of the younger warrior, some displaced twig or fluttering leaf, and he paused with suspicion in every feature. another instant and he had warned his companion, but du lhut sprang out and buried his little hatchet in the skull of the older warrior. de catinat heard a dull crash, as when an axe splinters its way into a rotten tree, and the man fell like a log, laughing horribly, and kicking and striking with his powerful limbs. the younger warrior sprang like a deer over his fallen comrade and dashed on into the wood, but an instant later there was a gunshot among the trees in front, followed by a faint wailing cry.

“that is his death-whoop,” said du lhut composedly. “it was a pity to fire, and yet it was better than letting him go.”

as he spoke the two others came back, ephraim ramming a fresh charge into his musket.

“who was laughing?” asked amos.

“it was he,” said du lhut, nodding towards the dying warrior, who lay with his head in a horrible puddle, and his grotesque features contorted into a fixed smile. “it’s a custom they have when they get their death-blow. i’ve known a seneca chief laugh for six hours on end at the torture-stake. ah, he’s gone!”

as he spoke the indian gave a last spasm with his hands and feet, and lay rigid, grinning up at the slit of blue sky above him.

“he’s a great chief,” said du lhut. “he is brown moose of the mohawks, and the other is his second son. we have drawn first blood, but i do not think that it will be the last, for the iroquois do not allow their war-chiefs to die unavenged. he was a mighty fighter, as you may see by looking at his neck.”

he wore a peculiar necklace which seemed to de catinat to consist of blackened bean pods set upon a string. as he stooped over it he saw to his horror that they were not bean pods, but withered human fingers.

“they are all right fore-fingers,” said du lhut, “so everyone represents a life. there are forty-two in all. eighteen are of men whom he has slain in battle, and the other twenty-four have been taken and tortured.”

“how do you know that?”

“because only eighteen have their nails on. if the prisoner of an iroquois be alive, he begins always by biting his nails off. you see that they are missing from four-and-twenty.”

de catinat shuddered. what demons were these amongst whom an evil fate had drifted him? and was it possible that his adele should fall into the hands of such fiends? no, no, surely the good god, for whose sake they had suffered so much, would not permit such an infamy! and yet as evil a fate had come upon other women as tender as adele—upon other men as loving as he. what hamlet was there in canada which had not such stories in their record? a vague horror seized him as he stood there. we know more of the future than we are willing to admit, away down in those dim recesses of the soul where there is no reason, but only instincts and impressions. now some impending terror cast its cloud over him. the trees around, with their great protruding limbs, were like shadowy demons thrusting out their gaunt arms to seize him. the sweat burst from his forehead, and he leaned heavily upon his musket.

“by saint eulalie,” said du lhut, “for an old soldier you turn very pale, monsieur, at a little bloodshed.”

“i am not well. i should be glad of a sup from your cognac bottle.”

“here it is, comrade, and welcome! well, i may as well have this fine scalp that we may have something to show for our walk.” he held the indian’s head between his knees, and in an instant, with a sweep of his knife, had torn off the hideous dripping trophy.

“let us go!” cried de catinat, turning away in disgust.

“yes, we shall go! but i shall also have this wampum belt marked with the totem of the bear. so! and the gun too. look at the ‘london’ printed upon the lock. ah, monsieur green, monsieur green, it is not hard to see where the enemies of france get their arms.”

so at last they turned away, du lhut bearing his spoils, leaving the red grinning figure stretched under the silent trees. as they passed on they caught a glimpse of the lad lying doubled up among the bushes where he had fallen. the pioneer walked very swiftly until he came to a little stream which prattled down to the big river. here he slipped off his boots and leggings, and waded down it with his companions for half a mile or so.

“they will follow our tracks when they find him,” said he, “but this will throw them off, for it is only on running water that an iroquois can find no trace. and now we shall lie in this clump until nightfall, for we are little over a mile from port poitou, and it is dangerous to go forward, for the ground becomes more open.”

and so they remained concealed among the alders whilst the shadows turned from short to long, and the white drifting clouds above them were tinged with the pink of the setting sun. du lhut coiled himself into a ball with his pipe between his teeth and dropped into a light sleep, pricking up his ears and starting at the slightest sound from the woods around them. the two americans whispered together for a long time, ephraim telling some long story about the cruise of the brig industry, bound to jamestown for sugar and molasses, but at last the soothing hum of a gentle breeze through the branches lulled them off also, and they slept. de catinat alone remained awake, his nerves still in a tingle from that strange sudden shadow which had fallen upon his soul. what could it mean? not surely that adele was in danger? he had heard of such warnings, but had he not left her in safety behind cannons and stockades? by the next evening at latest he would see her again. as he lay looking up through the tangle of copper leaves at the sky beyond, his mind drifted like the clouds above him, and he was back once more in the jutting window in the rue st. martin, sitting on the broad bancal, with its spanish leather covering, with the gilt wool-bale creaking outside, and his arm round shrinking, timid adele, she who had compared herself to a little mouse in an old house, and who yet had courage to stay by his side through all this wild journey. and then again he was back at versailles. once more he saw the brown eyes of the king, the fair bold face of de montespan, the serene features of de maintenon— once more he rode on his midnight mission, was driven by the demon coachman, and sprang with amos upon the scaffold to rescue the most beautiful woman in france. so clear it was and so vivid that it was with a start that he came suddenly to himself, and found that the night was creeping on in an american forest, and that du lhut had roused himself and was ready for a start.

“have you been awake?” asked the pioneer.

“yes.”

“have you heard anything?”

“nothing but the hooting of the owl.”

“it seemed to me that in my sleep i heard a gunshot in the distance.”

“in your sleep?”

“yes, i hear as well asleep as awake and remember what i hear. but now you must follow me close, and we shall be in the fort soon.”

“you have wonderful ears, indeed,” said de catinat, as they picked their way through the tangled wood. “how could you hear that these men were following us today? i could make out no sound when they were within hand-touch of us.”

“i did not hear them at first.”

“you saw them?”

“no, nor that either.”

“then how could you know that they were there?”

“i heard a frightened jay flutter among the trees after we were past it. then ten minutes later i heard the same thing. i knew then that there was some one on our trail, and i listened.”

“peste! you are a woodsman indeed!”

“i believe that these woods are swarming with iroquois, although we have had the good fortune to miss them. so great a chief as brown moose would not start on the path with a small following nor for a small object. they must mean mischief upon the richelieu. you are not sorry now that you did not bring madame?”

“i thank god for it!”

“the woods will not be safe, i fear, until the partridge berries are out once more. you must stay at sainte marie until then, unless the seigneur can spare men to guard you.”

“i had rather stay there forever than expose my wife to such devils.”

“ay, devils they are, if ever devils walked upon earth. you winced, monsieur, when i took brown moose’s scalp, but when you have seen as much of the indians as i have done your heart will be as hardened as mine. and now we are on the very borders of the clearing, and the blockhouse lies yonder among the clump of maples. they do not keep very good watch, for i have been expecting during these last ten minutes to hear the qui vive. you did not come as near to sainte marie unchallenged, and yet de lannes is as old a soldier as la noue. we can scarce see now, but yonder, near the river, is where he exercises his men.”

“he does so now,” said amos. “i see a dozen of them drawn up in a line at their drill.”

“no sentinels, and all the men at drill!” cried du lhut in contempt. “it is as you say, however, for i can see them myself with their ranks open, and each as stiff and straight as a pine stump. one would think to see them stand so still that there was not an indian nearer than orange. we shall go across to them, and by saint anne, i shall tell their commander what i think of his arrangements.”

du lhut advanced from the bushes as he spoke, and the four men crossed the open ground in the direction of the line of men who waited silently for them in the dim twilight. they were within fifty paces, and yet none of them had raised hand or voice to challenge their approach. there was something uncanny in the silence, and a change came over du lhut’s face as he peered in front of him. he craned his head round and looked up the river.

“my god!” he screamed. “look at the fort!” they had cleared the clump of trees, and the outline of the blockhouse should have shown up in front of them. there was no sign of it. it was gone!