"Stay here then. Out of the way, Monsieur." The vicomte was not
patient to-night, and he had not time for banter.
"I say that you shall!"
"Not to-night. Now, Pauquet."
"One of us dies, then!" D'Hérouville's sword was out.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed the vicomte, recoiling.
"Perhaps. Quick!" The sword took an ominous angle, and the point
touched the vicomte.
"Get in!" said the vicomte, controlling his wild rage. "I will kill
you the first opportunity. To-night there is not time." He seized his
paddle, which he handled with no small skill considering how recently
he had applied himself to this peculiar art of navigation.
Pauquet took his position in the stern, while D'Hérouville crouched
amidships, his bare sword across his knees. The vicomte's broad back
was toward him, proving his contempt of fear. They were both brave men.
"Follow the ripple, Monsieur," said Pauquet; "that is the way Monsieur
le Chevalier has gone."
It was all very foolhardy, this expedition of untried men against
Indian cunning; but it was also very gallant: the woman they loved was
in peril.
So the two canoes stole away upon the broad bosom of the river and
presently disappeared in the pearly moon-mists, the one always hugging
the wake of the other. The weird call of the loon sometimes sounded
close by. The air was heavy with the smell of water, of earth, and of
resin.
Three of these men had taken the way from which no man returns.