Ronald glanced at the boat. There was no mistaking it. The three had built it themselves, and knew every rib and seam. It was wet, too. It had not been out of the water more than a few minutes. Though Nangotook did not turn his head, but still kept running his eyes searchingly over every bush and rock that might offer concealment to an enemy, he heard what Jean said. There was no need for him to examine the canoe. Jean’s testimony was sufficient. The Ojibwa went on up the steep bit of beach, the two lads close behind him, with weapons ready.

Apparently the man who had landed from the canoe had given no thought to being followed, and had made no attempt to hide his trail. He had gone up over the rocks and into the bit of woods, and his track was plain to the Indian. The latter advanced cautiously, the boys equally noiseless, a short distance behind. They had taken but a few steps among the spruce trees, when they were arrested by the sound of voices. There was more than one man on the island then, although there had been but one in the boat The voices were speaking French, one with the guttural accent of the Indian, the other in flowing, mellow tones. Even if the three had not had good evidence that Le Forgeron Tordu was dead, they would never have taken that rich, deep pitched voice for his rough, cracked one. Silently but rapidly, Nangotook slipped forward again, the boys following until he turned and signaled them to halt. After taking a few more steps among the trees, he stopped also.

The mellow voice was speaking, and the boys could hear it plainly. It was a pleasing voice of refined accents, and it spoke excellent French, the French of a man of breeding and education. Even Jean Havard, who was well educated for a Canadian lad of his time and boasted of his pure French blood, did not speak like that. He could make out the unseen man’s words distinctly.

“God will surely bless you through all your days,” the voice said. “Moreover I will see to it, if you will take me safely to the Grande Portage, that you shall be well rewarded in material things as well. Flour, blankets, traps for your hunting, whatever you need or want of such things you shall have. But better than all will be the blessing of God upon you, for saving the life of His servant to carry on His glorious work, and to labor a little longer for the good of your own people.”

The speaker ceased, and for a moment there was silence. Then the other man answered, but his words, spoken in a hoarse voice and guttural accents, were not distinguishable. While the second man was speaking, Nangotook crept forward again. Carefully he slipped between two spruce trees and peeped out from among the branches. He saw before him a rude wigwam in a small natural rock opening. In front of the wigwam stood the tall, black-gowned form of a Jesuit priest in conversation with an Indian. The Indian’s back was towards Nangotook, but the Ojibwa did not fail to recognize him.

“Eh bien, I will be ready in a moment,” said the priest in his deep, mellow voice.

He turned to go into the shelter. Instantly the Cree’s whole aspect changed. He crouched, muscles tense, then leaped forward, like a forest cat, knife raised. But Nangotook was ready for him. His arrow was on his bowstring. Before the Windigo’s knife could reach his unsuspecting victim, the bowstring twanged, and the flying arrow pierced the murderer’s back a little to the left of the spinal column. He sprang back as if recoiling, then fell forward on his face.

[XXXII]
THE UPROOTED TREE

So instantaneous and noiseless were the Windigo’s spring and Nangotook’s arrow, that the priest suspected nothing until the thud of the body upon the ground startled him. He turned to find the Cree lying outstretched, the arrow sticking from his back, while the fierce face of the Ojibwa appeared among the spruce branches. Seizing the gold cross that hung on the breast of his black gown, the priest held it out towards the newcomer, and gazed at him for a moment with steady and fearless eyes. Then, without speaking, he knelt beside the fallen Cree. It took him but a moment to ascertain that the man was dead. His eye fell upon the outstretched hand clenching the knife. An expression of horror crossed his fine and sensitive face, and he glanced quickly up at Nangotook, with a look of doubt and questioning.