La Vierge threw his rifle between Glass and Langevin and braced himself against the middle thwart of the bâtard. “Let’s go!” Charbonneau slid to the front of the canoe, Dominique to the rear.
Langevin shouted, “On my count! Un, deux, trois!” They lifted the bâtard above their heads in a single motion and made for the water, ten yards away. They heard excited shouts and the firing again intensified. Arikara warriors began emerging from concealed positions.
Glass and Dominique aimed their shots. With the canoe gone, the only cover came from pressing flat against the ground. They were only about fifty yards from the willows. Glass could see clearly the boyish face of an Arikara, squinting as he drew a short bow. Glass fired and the boy pitched backward. He reached for Dominique’s rifle. Langevin’s gun exploded next to him as Glass pulled the hammer of Dominique’s to full cock. Glass found another target and squeezed the trigger. There was a spark in the pan, but the main charge failed to ignite. “Damn it!”
Langevin reached for Charbonneau’s rifle while Glass refilled the pan on Dominique’s. Langevin started to fire, but Glass put his hand on his shoulder. “Hold one shot!” They scooped up the rifles and paddles and broke for the river.
Ahead of Glass and Langevin, the three men with the bâtard covered the short distance to the river. In their haste to escape, they practically threw the canoe into the water. Charbonneau crashed into the river behind it and scrambled to climb in. “You’re tipping it!” yelled La Vierge. Charbonneau’s weight on the edge of the craft rocked it wildly—but it stayed upright. He flipped his legs over the lip and flattened himself on the floor of the boat, already taking on water from the seeping bullet holes. Charbonneau’s momentum pushed the bâtard away from the shoreline. The current caught the stern and spun the boat around, propelling the craft away from shore. The long cordelle trailed behind it like a snake. The brothers saw Charbonneau’s eyes, peering above the gunwale. Mini-geysers from bullets erupted in the water around them.
“Grab the rope!” shouted Dominique. Both brothers dove for the line, desperate to keep the canoe from floating away. La Vierge caught the cordelle in both hands, struggling to gain his feet in the thigh-deep water. He pulled back with all his strength as the slack disappeared from the line. Dominique slogged heavily through the water to come to his aid. His foot crashed hard into a submerged rock. He grunted in pain as the current swept his feet from beneath him. He found himself completely submerged. He recovered and stood up, two yards from La Vierge.
“I can’t hold it!” yelled La Vierge. Dominique started to reach for the taut line, when suddenly La Vierge let go. Dominique watched in horror as the cordelle skidded across the water, trailing after the drifting bâtard. He started to swim after it when he noticed the stunned look on La Vierge’s face.
“Dominique…” stammered La Vierge, “I think I’m shot.” Dominique sloshed to his brother’s side. Blood streamed into the river from a gaping hole in his upper back.
Glass and Langevin reached the river at the same moment that the bullet crashed into La Vierge. They watched in horror as he recoiled at the impact of the shot, dropping the cordelle. For a moment they thought that Dominique could grab the line, but he ignored it, turning instead to his brother.
“Get the boat!” barked Langevin.
Dominique paid no attention. In frustration Langevin screamed, “Charbonneau!”
“I can’t stop it!” yelled Charbonneau. In an instant the boat was fifty feet from shore. With no paddle, it was true that Charbonneau could do nothing to slow the boat. It was certainly true that he had no intention of trying.
Glass turned to Langevin. Langevin started to say something when a musket ball buried itself in the back of his head. He was dead before his body hit the water. Glass looked back at the willows. At least a dozen Arikara poured toward the shoreline. Gripping a rifle in each hand, Glass dove toward Dominique and La Vierge. They had to swim for it.
Dominique supported La Vierge, struggling to keep his brother’s head above the water. Looking at La Vierge, Glass could not tell for sure if he was alive or dead. Distraught and nearly hysterical, Dominique yelled something incomprehensible in French.
“Swim for it!” yelled Glass. He grabbed Dominique by the collar and pulled him deeper into the river, losing his grip on one of the rifles in the process. The current caught the three men and dragged them downstream. Bullets continued to rain into the water, and Glass looked back to see the Arikara lining the shoreline.
Glass struggled to keep one hand gripped on La Vierge and one hand gripped on the remaining rifle while kicking furiously to stay afloat. Dominique kicked too, and they managed to clear the jetty. La Vierge’s face kept bobbing beneath the water. Both men battled to keep the wounded man afloat. Dominique started to yell something, which was drowned out when a rapid swamped his own face. The same rapid nearly caused Glass to lose his grip on his rifle. Dominique began to kick toward the shoreline.
“Not yet!” Glass implored. “Further downstream!” Dominique ignored him. His feet brushed the bottom in chest-deep water, and he flailed toward the shallows. Glass looked behind them. The rocks of the jetty created a significant barrier on land. The shoreline below the jetty consisted of a high-cut bank. Still, it wouldn’t take the Arikara more than a few minutes to maneuver their way around it.
“We’re too close!” yelled Glass. Again Dominique ignored him. Glass contemplated swimming on alone, but instead helped Dominique drag La Vierge ashore. They lay him on his back, reclined against the steep curve of the bank. His eyes flickered open, but when he coughed, blood spit forth from his mouth. Glass rolled him to his side to inspect the wound.
The bullet had entered La Vierge’s back below his left shoulder blade.
Glass saw no way that it could have missed his heart. Dominique came silently to the same conclusion. Glass checked the rifle. For the moment, the wet charge rendered it useless. He looked at his belt. The hatchet still hung in its place, but his pistol was lost. Glass looked at Dominique. What do you want to do?
They heard a soft sound and turned to see La Vierge, the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. His lips began to move, and Dominique took his brother’s hand and held his ear close to understand. In a faint whisper, La Vierge was singing:
Tu es mon compagnon de voyage.…
Dominique recognized instantly the familiar song, though never before had it seemed so completely despondent. His eyes welled with tears, and he sang along in a gentle voice: