"Chaumonot!" exclaimed the Chevalier.

The kindly priest extended his hands, and the four white men

respectfully brushed them with their lips. It was a tribute less to

his office than to his appearance; for not one of them saw in his

coming aught else than a good presage and probable liberation.

Chaumonot was accompanied by Father Dablon, the Black Kettle,--now

famous among his Onondaga brothers as the one who had crossed the evil

waters, and two friendly Oneida chiefs. There ensued a prodigious

harangue; but at the close of it the smile on Chaumonot's face

signified that he had won his argument.

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"You are free, my sons," he said. "It took some time to find you, but

there is nothing like perseverance in a good cause. At dawn you will

return with me to Onondaga. Monsieur," addressing the Chevalier; "and

how is the health of Monsieur le Marquis, your kind father?"

The smile died from the Chevalier's face. "Monsieur le Marquis is at

Quebec; I can not say as regards his health."

"In Quebec?"

"Yes, Father," Victor interposed.

"How did you know that we were here ?" asked the vicomte.

"Pauquet, in his wanderings, finally arrived at Onondaga two weeks ago.

Upon hearing his story I at once began a search. We are virtually at

peace with the Senecas and the Oneidas."

"And . . . the women?" inquired Victor, his heart's blood gushing to

his throat.

The two Jesuits solemnly shook their heads.

Victor laid his head against the Chevalier's arm to hide the bitter

tears.

"No sign?" asked the Chevalier calmly. All the joy of the rescue was

gone.

"None. They were taken by a roving band of Senecas, of whom nothing

has been heard. They are not at the Senecas' chief village."

However great the vicomte's disappointment may have been, his face

remained without any discernible emotion. But he turned to

D'Hérouville, his tone free from banter and his dark eyes full of

menace: "Monsieur le Comte, you and I shall soon straighten out our accounts."

"For my part, I would it were to-morrow. Our swords will be given back

to us. Take heed, Vicomte," holding out a splendid arm, as if calling

the vicomte's attention to it.

The vicomte twisted his shoulder and made a grimace. "I will kill you

as certainly as we stand here. It is written. And after you . . ."

D'Hérouville could not piece together this broken sentence.

Four days later, the first of October, they came to the mission. The

lake of Onondaga lay glittering in the sunshine, surrounded by green

valleys, green hills, and crimsoning forests. As they arrived at the

palisade and fort, Du Puys, sighting them, fired a salute of welcome.

The echoes awoke, and hurried to the hills and back again with

thrilling sound. The deer lifted his lordly antlers and trembled; the

bear, his jaws dripping with purloined honey, flattened his ears

restlessly; the dozing panther opened his eyes, yellow and round as a

king's louis; and from the dead arms of what was once a kingly pine,

the eagle rose and described circles as he soared heavenward. The gaze

of the recent captives roved. Here were fruitful valley and hill;

pine, oak, beech, maple and birch; luscious grape and rosy apple; corn

and golden pumpkin. They saw where the beaver burrowed in his dams,

and in the golden shallows and emerald deeps of the lake caught

glimpses of trout, bass, salmon and pickerel. And what a picture met

their eyes as they entered the palisades: the black-robed priests, the

shabby uniforms of the soldiers and their quaint weapons and dented

helmets, the ragged garbs of the French gentlemen who had accompanied

the expedition, the painted Indian and his ever-inconsolable dog.




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