In the silence that had fallen deep again, save for the lessening
tumult behind, her weeping sounded to the outermost canoe low and
awful, hard and terrible as the weeping of a man.
She did not even feel if the breath was still in McElroy.
Friendship was taking its toll of love.
CHAPTER XXVI SANCTUARY
"'Twas yer leader I meant, lassie, should rayport to me. Is it he I saw
yez rollin' out like a bag o' beans?"
"Nay, M'sieu," said Maren Le Moyne, standing before the tall man in the
flush of dawn at the morning camp, her eyes red-rimmed and the curling
corners of her mouth drooped and sad; "what poor leader there is among
us has been myself."
"Eh?"
All along the river bank were little fires, their blue smoke curling up
to the blue sky above, the bustle and fuss of preparation for the
morning meal. At one place in the centre of camp two women, their
appearance that of great fatigue, were languidly directing the work of
a couple of Indians. An abundance of truck was everywhere--utensils for
cooking, clothing, and blankets out of all reason to one used to the
trail.
These things had not escaped Maren as she came through them in search
of the leader.
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