Back and forth, back and forth he walked the beat of the watcher and a
holy joy played over his soul like a light from the beyond. He turned
his mind to that hour in the woods, to the memory of the lips of Maren
Le Moyne, the warm sweetness of her beaded breast, the tender affection
of her embrace, and the present faded into that land of dreams wherein
walk those who love greatly.
Meanwhile Ridgar and De Courtenay pushed silently forward with the limp
body of McElroy swinging between, while the girl stepped softly in
their trail, straining her ears for sounds from the camp, and carrying
the only weapon among them, a rifle which Ridgar had taken from the
Indian he had killed.
"To the east," she whispered, "down the little defile to the river,
then south along the shore,--it is shingled and open,--to the canoe.
Walk fast as you can, M'sieu."
It was riskful going through the strip of woods, but when they entered
the little canon that cleft a ridge of cliffs, rising impudently out of
a level land, they mended their pace. Here was solid, dry rock beneath
them, walls of rock on either side, and a narrow strip of star-strewn
sky above.
"Thank God!" Ridgar was saying, under his breath, "the distance
widens!"
But no sooner were the words out of his mouth than a cold chill shot
through him, and Maren pushed forward with compelling hands on De
Courtrnay's shoulders.
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