"Old comrade—you were always generous," I began; but the words choked in my throat.
"I know not where they are, but I find them! I know not how soon—perhaps a year—but I bring them back! Go on with the boats," and he dropped my hand.
"I can't leave you here," I protested.
"You come back this way," he said. "May be you find me."
Poor Louis! His tongue tripped in its old evasive ways even at the moment of his penitence, which goes to prove—I suppose—that we are all the sum total of the thing called habit, that even spontaneous acts are evidences of the summed result of past years. I did not expect to find him when I came back, and I did not. He had vanished into the woods like the wild creature that he was; but I was placing a strange, reasonless reliance on his promise to find Miriam.
When I caught up with the boats, the river was widening so that attack would be impossible, and I did not ride far. Heading my horse about, I spurred back to Fort Douglas. Passing Seven Oaks, I saw some of the Hudson's Bay men, who had remained burying the dead—not removing them. That was impossible after the wolves and three days of a blistering sun.
I told Hamilton of neither Le Grand Diable's death, nor Louis Laplante's promise. He had suffered disappointments enough and could ill stand any sort of excitement. I found him walking about in the up-stairs hall, but his own grief had deadened him to the fortunes of the warring companies.
"Confound you, boy! Tell me the truth!" said Father Holland to me afterwards in the courtyard.
Le Grand Diable's death and Louis Laplante's promise seemed to make a great impression on the priest.
"I tell you the Lord delivered that evil one into the hands of the punisher; and of the innocent, the Lord, Himself, is the defender. Await His purpose! Await His time!"