"Who said that?"
"Outchipouac. He showed me a grass ring hanging on a pole by his lodge. He says that when you come again and hang a silver one in its place it will be time for him to listen."
I knew the Indians were watching, though covertly, so I could only bow. I went to the canoe and looked to its provisioning. There were two bags of rice, one of jerked meat, some ears of maize, and the dried rind of a squash; a knife and a hatchet lay with them. Our hosts had been generous. We were to be aided even if we were to be disciplined. I found my place, and Pierre took the paddle and pushed away.
It is one thing to be at enmity with savages, it is another to be an outcast among them. I knew that their attitude had excuse, and I was sick with myself. Then my Indian dress chafed my pride. I was sure that Pierre was laughing under his wrinkled red skin, and I was childish enough to be ready to rate him if he showed so much as a pucker of an eye. For I had always refused to let my men adopt the slightest particular of the savage dress. I had held—and I contend rightly—that a man must resist the wilderness most when he loves it most, and that he is in danger when he forgets the least point of his dress or manner. After that the downward plunge is swift. I had said this many times, and I knew Pierre must be recalling it.
And so I was sore with fate. Wounded, skin-clad, I was not heroic in look; it was hard to be heroic in mind. I had jeopardized the chance of an empire for a woman. But that proved nothing. The weakest could do that. It must be shown that I could justify my sacrifice.
These were irritations, yet they were but the surface of my suffering. Underneath was the grinding, never-ceasing ache of anxiety. What was happening at Michillimackinac? Would I reach there in time? I could do nothing but sit and think. Always, from dawn to dusk, my impatient spirit fretted and pushed at that canoe, but my hands were idle. I tried paddling with my left hand, but it dislocated my bandages, and I did not dare. I was in some pain, but exposed as I was, broiled by the sun and drenched by showers, I yet mended daily. I ate well and drank deep of the cold lake water and felt my strength come. My cut was healing wholesomely without fever, and Pierre washed and bandaged it twice a day. He told me with many a twist of his hanging lip that it was well for me that he was there.
But on the point of his being there I had new light. It came one day after long silence. The giant rested and wiped his forehead.
"There are plovers on the waters," he pointed. "They make good eating. Singing Arrow can cook them with bear's grease. I am going to marry the Indian when we get to Michillimackinac. Then when we reach Montreal you will give her a dowry. There is the grain field on the lower river that was planted by Martin. Martin has no wife. What does he need of grain? The king wishes his subjects to marry. And if the master gave us a house we could live, oh, very well. I thought of it when I went through the Malhominis land and saw all those squashes. The Indian sews her own dresses, and I shall tell her I do not like her in finery. We will send a capon to the master every Christmas."
I grinned despite myself. I had grown fatuous, for I had taken it without question that the oaf had followed from his loyalty to me. But I nodded at him and promised recklessly—house, pigs, and granary. The same star ruled master and man.
But the way was long, long, long. Nights came and days came, and still more nights and days. Yet it ended at last. Late one afternoon we saw the shore line that marked Michillimackinac. Once in sight it came fast, fast, fast,—faster than I could prepare my courage for what might meet me. What should I find?