"Pig-head! I no save your wife for back chin! Camp here, I say," and Louis' fitful temper began to show signs of sulking.
"For goodness' sake, Eric, do what you're told! We've made a bad enough business of it——"
"Give the Frenchman a chance! Do what you're told, I say, ye blunderers! Troth, the Lord Himself couldn't bring success to such blundering idiots," was Father Holland's comment.
"I'll take na orders frae meddlesome papists," began the Scotchman; but Little Fellow had forcibly turned the prow of the canoe shoreward. I gave them a shove with my paddle. Frances took the cue, and while her father was yet scolding raised her paddle and had them close to the river bank.
"Get your tent up here," I called to conciliate them. "Then come to the bank and watch for the Indians."
A bit of clean gravel ran out from the clay cliff.
"That's the ground," said I, as the other canoe bumped over the pebbles; and I stopped paddling and dangled my hand in the water.
Something in the dark drifted wet and soft against my fingers. Ordinarily such an incident would not have alarmed me; but instantly a shudder of apprehension ran through my frame. I scarce had courage to look into the river lest the white face of a woman should appear through the watery depths. Clutching the water-soaked tangle, I jerked it up. Something gave with a rip, and my hand was full of shawl fringe.
"What's that, Rufus?" asked Father Holland. "Don't know." I motioned him to be silent and held it up in the moonlight. Distinctly it was, or had been, red fringe.
"Do you think—" he began, then stopped. Our keel had rubbed bottom and Hamilton was springing out of the other canoe.