"Gone! Where?"
"I don't know. To the Seneca camp, probably. His canoes have just left."
I tapped the ground. I was tired and angry. "You should have prevented such a possibility," I let myself say.
But he kept his temper. "What could I have done?" he asked quietly.
"I have no authority in my garrison."
I regretted my outburst. "You could not have done anything," I hastened. "And if Pemaou has indeed gone to the Senecas, it is good news for me. I am impatient for a meeting with him that I did not dare have here for fear of entangling myself and losing time. I shall hope for an encounter in the west. And now I am away, monsieur."
I wished to leave with as little stir as possible, so Pierre took the canoe around the point, and I joined him there. To reach the rendezvous I walked through the old maize field where I had met the English captive. It had been moonlight then. Now it was hot noon, and the waves of light made me faint. I had forgotten breakfast. I cursed myself at the omission, for I needed strength.
But I was not to leave quite unattended. When I reached the canoe, I found Father Carheil talking to Singing Arrow. I was glad to see him. There was something that propped my pride and courage in his irritable, tender greeting.
He pressed a vial into my hands. "It is confection of Jacinth. It has great virtue. Take it with you, my son."
I knelt. "I would rather take your blessing, father."
He gave it to me, and his old hands trembled. "Come back, my son.
Come back safely. You will return this way?"