“Which way shall we go?” Hugh questioned.
“Back to our camp in the little inland lake, but not down the channel next the point. We will steer around these big rocks and up the other side of this island.”
The two paddled the bateau around the rocks and up along the southeastern side of the small island. High in the center and heavily wooded, it hid them completely. Their route led them into the open end of the narrow strait that cut into the other island where the furs were hidden. They passed the gap with its two tiny islets, where heretofore they had gone in and out, and were soon back in the little pond.
“I don’t know whether we are wise to stay here,” Hugh said thoughtfully, as they drew the boat up on the narrow beach. “We have tried to confuse our trail, yet if Ohrante tracks us across the high ridge and down to the water, he will surely search all these islands. This is almost too perfect a hiding place. If those Indians are familiar with this ‘Bay of Spirits’ they will think of this place at once. Then we shall be caught like rats in a trap.”
“You are right to call this the ‘Bay of Spirits,’” Blaise replied. “By that name Monga and Red Band spoke of it. But I think they have never been here but that one time. From what they said I think they have always made their camps on the part of Minong that lies the other side of the high ridge. And now both Monga and Red Band have great fear of this bay.”
Hugh chuckled. “So has the mighty chief Ohrante. I saw his fear in his face when I spoke of hearing strange noises. I am wondering, though, if he should track us here, if he will not suspect a trick.”
“Something more than the voices has frightened them,” Blaise went on. “The second time I listened to those two, Monga told Red Band of huge giants at the end of the point.”
“Giants? Did he mean those pillars of rock?”
“No, the giants were alive and moved.”
“Some old superstition, Blaise.”