I found for myself a driftwood log at the edge of the sea-marsh, and here for a time I sat down, moodily staring out across the bay, as unhappy, I fancy, as man gets to be in this world. I scarce know how long I sat here, in the wind which blew salt across the bay, and for some time, I paid no attention to the clamoring fowl which passed and repassed not far from my point.
At length, a long harrow of great Canadian geese passed so close to me that without much thought about it, I raised the gun and fired. I killed two birds, and as I picked them up I found they were not a brace, but a pair. The report of my gun started a clamoring of all manner of fowl beyond the edge of reeds which hid the reef. A cloud of ducks passed before me, and slipping in the shells once more, I fired right and left. Again I killed my brace, and again when I picked them up they were a pair. The head of one was green, the other brown. “Male and female made He them!” said I. “If I had not killed these birds, in the spring they would have gone northward, to the edge of the world in their own love-making, thousands of miles from here.” I looked at my quarry with remorse, and not caring to shoot more, at length picked up the birds and slowly started back to camp, not looking forward with any too great pleasure, it may be imagined, to further meetings with the woman whom, of all the world, I most cared to meet.
I found all the others of the party amiably engaged in camp affairs. The tent now was up, the fire was arranged in more practical fashion, and John was busy with his pans. Lafitte, ever resourceful and ever busy, was out with Willy after more oysters. L’Olonnois, his partner, seemed engaged in some sort of argument with his Auntie Helena.
“Jimmy, I can’t!” I heard her say. “There isn’t any sugar.”
“Aw!” said he, “there’s plenty of sugar, ain’t there, John?” And that worthy smiled as he pointed toward an open canister of that dainty.
“But I haven’t any pan.”
“Yes, you have, too, got a pan. Here’s one a-settin’ right here in front of you. Come on now, Auntie. We’re goin’ to have duck and terrapin and oysters and everything—all a fellow would want, besides that, is just fudges.”
Helena stood preoccupied and hesitant, hardly hearing what he said, as I fancy. At once L’Olonnois’ attitude changed. Folding his arms, he turned toward her sternly.
“Woman!” said he, “are you not a captive to our band? Then who gives orders here? Either you make fudges, or your life’s blood stains these sands!”
“Oh, all right, Jimmy,” she said listlessly. “I’ll make them, if you like.”