"Covered," he growled, "and jest you watch it over thar. This here gun's got a way of its own of goin' off sudden. Jest watch it or you'll know why. It's shot many a varmint before, and it won't take long to treat a skunk like you to a bullet."
"Mac, and you, father, and Silver Fox cover the soldiers and the Indians. Now, messieurs, you know me perhaps. I am the prisoner, as this Jules Lapon tells you, I am about to escape, and I advise you to be satisfied with that statement. You,"—and he pointed to one of the men,—"will oblige by throwing your musket overboard. Good! Now your pouch and horn and your bayonet. That is excellent. Your comrades will follow suit."
Long before those in the boat had recovered from their astonishment every musket aboard the canoe was levelled at their heads. And one by one the muskets and bayonets aboard the French boat were tossed overboard, the Indians being compelled to follow the example set them. So far not a shot had been fired, for the band of supposed Hurons had been too quick for their enemies. But if eyes could have fired bullets, then every one of the occupants of the canoe, and in particular Steve and his father, would have been slain by Jules, for this curiously bitter Frenchman glared at them furiously, and finally turned his eyes on Jim. Up till then he had been too excited and too angry to take note of the tall Indian who covered him with his weapon. But now an uncomfortable feeling crept down Jules Lapon's spine. He swore under his breath, tried to stare back at the squinting eye of the man who levelled the sights, and then was suddenly overcome by that strange sensation. His knees shook and his legs doubled up beneath him. He crouched in the stern, his face hidden in his hands, tears, induced partly by sheer terror and partly by mortification, streaming down his cheeks and welling out between his fingers.
"Others has felt like that and weakened," growled Jim, lowering his piece. "There's better men nor you has looked into a gun and felt ill and sick. I've done it myself, and I knows that queer feelin' that you've got. But fer all that I ain't never played the coward like you. A leader's a man as should stand up to the worst, and face everything, so as to show his men he's worth his salt. You ain't. Reckon you're the biggest coward as I ever set eyes on."
The trapper spat derisively into the water, laid down his musket, and commenced to fill his pipe.
"What next, Cap'n?" he asked, a grin on his hard features. "Thar's work to be done. Beg pardon, Judge, but it seems natural like to turn to Steve after being away thar at the hollow with him."
"And you could not do better. Let the lad lead us. I have perfect confidence in him. Steve, what is the next move?"
For a little while there was no answer, for our hero was engaged in looking closely at the boat which they had decided to capture, and then over his shoulder at the river. There was not another boat in sight, while, though he looked very carefully, no one seemed to be stirring aboard the ship.
"We shall want men aboard that boat to manage the sails, for I know nothing of seamanship, and Pete and Mac and Jim are the same. But we are lucky. Here are the very hands we want."
He pointed to the sailors aboard the boat, at the stern of which the discomfited officer sat, and at once a smile broke over the faces of his friends. They saw his meaning in a flash, and the coolness of their old captain amused them.