We were still a long way from shore, of course, and it required two hours of steady poling to work us through the sandbars to within wading distance of the river's edge; but we made it. We shouldered our muskets and staggered ashore to collapse upon the bank just above the water-level—all except Black Robe. Without a glance at us or the sodden remnants of the raft that had carried him here, without even a casual inspection of the country before him, he climbed the bank and strode westward. He had not slept through the night; he had eaten a bare handful of food since morning; he had labored as hard as we had.
I called after him, but he dismissed me with an impatient wave of the hand. The last I saw of him his black figure was outlined sparsely against a low wood. There was an uncompromising air to his back I did not like, but I could not have pursued him to save myself. Tawannears and Peter were stretched inert upon the bank beside me, their eyes closed in sleep. I hesitated—and sank beside them.
CHAPTER VII
THE COUNTRY OP THE DAKOTA
"Wake, brother, wake!"
The words rang faintly in my ears. Mingled with them was a peculiar underlying sound. "Pop! Pop! Pop!" it went, and rippled off into the noise a wood fire makes when it is burning merrily.
I was conscious of being shaken, resented it, tried to pull away—and reluctantly awoke. Tawannears was bending over me, clutching my shoulder. His face showed relief as I sat erect.
"Otetiani slept as though he were already in the Halls of the Honochenokeh," he said. "Hark!"
Stupefied as I was, I realized that the peculiar sound which had helped to rouse me from the slumber of exhaustion was the steady crackle of musketry.
"Black Robe!" I exclaimed.