He chose two trusty young fellows, after shutting his house securely, providing his party with ammunition, and provisions for a part of their journey, as much as they could carry. He found the Indians had boats in waiting on the Illinois River, and after proceeding some distance they had separated in two parties, going in different directions. Some of the prisoners had been left here, as they did not care to be bothered with them.
The one party kept on up the river. They learned there were some women with them, and were mostly Indians. It was not an easy trail to follow. There had been a quarrel and another separation, a drunken debauch, part stopping at an Indian village. And here Denys heard what caused him almost a heart-break.
They had fallen in with some Hurons who had bought two of the captives. An old woman was set free with two men and sent down the river. The others were going up north.
“It is as I feared, Jaques,” he said. “They will carry Madame Marchand to her old home as a great prize. Ah, if François were only well! But I shall go on for life or death. I will not ask you to share my perils. Wawataysee came from somewhere up by the straits. She ran away with Marchand. She was to be married to an old Indian against her will. And no doubt he will be wild with gratification at getting her back, and will treat her cruelly. The child is mine and I must save her from a like fate. But you and Pierre may return. I will not hold you bound by any promises.”
“I am in for the adventure,” and Pierre laughed, showing his white teeth. “I am not a coward nor a man to eat one’s words. I am fond of adventure. I will go on.”
“I, too,” responded Jaques briefly.
“You are good fellows, both of you. I shall pray for your safe return,” Denys said, much moved by their devotion.
“And we have no sweethearts,” subjoined Pierre with a touch of mirth. “But if I could find one as beautiful and sweet as Madame Marchand I should be paid for a journey up to Green Bay.”
“It might be dangerous,” said Denys sadly.
He wondered if it was really Mère Lunde they had set free. It would be against her will, he was sure, and it would leave the two quite defenceless. A thousand remembrances haunted him day and night. He could see Renée’s soft brown eyes in the dusk, he could hear her sweet voice in the gentle zephyrs, that changed and had no end of fascinating tones. All her arch, pretty moods came up before him, her little piquant jealousies, her pretty assumptions of dignity and power, her dainty, authoritative ways. Oh, he could not give her up, his little darling.