"Then we will go. Pick up your traps, boys."
The party filed out of the wigwam, leaving their late home standing, and, with the Indian leading, strode off towards the edge of the cliff. Steve had been decked as a Huron, and he took his place third in the line. They reached the edge, and without the smallest hesitation the Indian chief scrambled over it.
"Be careful, brothers," he cautioned them. "The way is steep. A fall would end in death."
One by one in quick succession they lowered themselves over the edge, and gripping boulders and grass and the roots of bushes, finally reached the bank below. The canoe was there, and they stepped into it silently. Jim pushed off from the shore, and in a little while they were shooting down the centre of the river, hidden in the darkness, from which they watched a hundred and more twinkling lights which glimmered from the windows of the fairy city of Quebec.
Chapter XVII
Down the Mighty St. Lawrence
"We ain't out er the wood by no means," said Jim, when the canoe had shot past the city and had lost the lights behind a promontory of the Isle of Orleans, "cos there's the journey back. Judge thinks as we'd best make down stream for the sea, and cut out to Halifax or some other place, wherever our chaps may be. There's talk of an expedition to Louisbourg, and, of course, that's somewheres at the mouth of the river. Now, ef it was me alone——"
"You'd make up stream, or even enter the Richelieu," burst in Mr. Mainwaring, "and for the simple reason that you have never even seen the ocean, nor even a big ship. You are at home in the forest, and feel that you could more surely reach friends in that way."
"Thet's the case, Judge, in a nutshell."