"Not now,--when we are so far
toward the winning! Not now,--oh, Friend of my heart! why was that
price demanded? Holy Mary rest him, that young Marc Dupre--and send
deliverance for this--"
Ahead the river swept around a turn. Keeping close to the shore they
caught shallow water and cut round into a wider opening.
The cries behind veered and deadened, and suddenly Wilson in the prow
raised his blade.
Maren leaned behind him and looked into the shadows.
On every side dark shapes covered the face of the stream like water-
bugs, from every side there came the "whoo-sh-st-whoo-sh" of dipping
paddles, the little plank and rattle of their shafts against gunwales.
They had glided into the midst of a flotilla of canoes travelling at
night and in silence.
The maid from Grand Portage threw up her head.
"In among them," she whispered, "quick! Deep as we can!"
"But, Ma'amselle," whispered back Wilson, "they may be Indians."
"What matters? A chance is a chance, and who would not risk its
turning?"
Unconsciously she was quoting that kinsman whose dauntless courage and
love of venture had found its last thrill in covering her retreat in
the gorge.
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