Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers passed from man to man.
"Hamilton's far ahead—above the falls now," answered the steersman.
"Then, as ye hope to save your soul," warned Father Holland not yet appeased, "deliver this young man's message!"
"Tell Hamilton," I cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by a band of Sioux on Lake Winnipeg and to make haste. Tell him that and he'll reward you well!"
"Vary by one word from the message," added the priest, "and my curses'll track your soul to the furnace."
Father Holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoe was lost in the darkness.
More than once I thought that a shadowy thing like an Indian's boat had hung on our rear and the craft seemed to be dogging us back to the flats. Father Holland raised his torch and could see nothing on the water but the glassy reflection of our own forms. He said it was a phantom boat I had seen; and, truly, visions of Le Grande Diable had haunted me so persistently of late, I could scarcely trust my senses. Frances Sutherland's torch suddenly appeared waving above the flats. I put muscle to the oar and before we had landed she called out—
"An Indian's canoe shot past a moment ago. Did you see it?"
"No," returned Father Holland.
"I think we did," said I.