Steve raised his head slowly, drew in his line, and threw it out from the other side of the canoe. The movement gave him the opportunity of looking in the direction Jim had indicated, where he saw a large ship's boat pulling out from the tail end of the island. She was manned by six sailors, and swept through the water at a rapid pace. In addition, the white coats of four passengers proclaimed that they were regulars from the French garrison, while an equal number of Indians crouched by the thwarts. In the stern sat a man who was huddled in a cloak, for the early morning was chilly.
"I should say that she is a patrol, probably ordered to search all vessels and boats which come south of the island. Perhaps her crew have directions to turn all back who come so far. I don't like the look of those fellows, but we must not appear to be alarmed. Go on fishing, all of you, and just see that your muskets are handy. Flying Bird, be ready to answer them."
He addressed the Indian in Mohawk, and then tossed his line again, pulling up a fish a moment or two later quite coolly and leisurely. Meanwhile his comrades went on with their fishing, without even turning their heads, for they were one and all trained men, who knew by experience that the simple turning of a head was sometimes sufficient to cause suspicion. They betrayed not the slightest curiosity, but pulled in their fish or rebaited their hooks with wonderful unconcern. Jim still steered the canoe languidly, glancing now and again at the strangers, while Steve was able to keep his eyes on them without appearing to do so.
"They are making direct for us," he said suddenly. "I will turn round for fear that they might recognise me. I was a prisoner so long, and quite free to move about that the majority of the troops in Quebec know me."
Suiting the action to the word, he swung round and dropped his line in on the far side. Presently a hail came over the water, while the splash of paddles could be heard.
"Ef they order us back, why, we've got to obey," said Jim. "Better to please 'em and put the critters off the scent than to run our heads against a wall. Let the beggars sing out again before you answer them."
Flying Bird nodded curtly, for he had picked up a deal of English, and could understand the drift of the conversation. He went on fishing calmly, without even turning his head, till they were hailed again, this time in the Indian language.
"Hi! Put about there and wait till we come up with you. Who are you, and where are you from?"
In a little while the boat came seething alongside, where she lay, held by an occasional stroke of the oars, while the man in the stern repeated his questions. Steve did not dare to steal so much as a look at him, while Jim suddenly ducked his head and turned, so that the Frenchman could not see his face. For once again Jules Lapon's voice was heard. Once again had this odious Frenchman come upon the scene when least desired, and at the most inopportune moment. It was he without a doubt, more sallow than of yore, his overbearing manners almost as openly displayed as on the last occasion when Steve had faced him.
"Where from, and who are you, Indians?" he demanded curtly, in the Huron tongue. "We have orders to search all who come this way, and to send them back if they have no good reason for coming."