“Et-chin-oo-e? [Where are you going?]” asked the man in the canoe. Le Pendu did not answer.
“Et-chin—” began the man again.
“Se-eith-lint-ai! [I hear you!]” Le Pendu answered savagely. “Qu-ar-a-koot cho-oe! [You are a fool. Come!]” he added.
The two canoes moved away silently and disappeared in the shadow gloom, following the timber edge. Jules breathed a sigh of relief and took his knife from his mouth.
“By diable, Ah t’ink dat taime bataille, sans doute!” he muttered, and sat still. The summer night passed on; the moon sank slowly and everything was dark; Verbaux pushed carefully out on the open water and listened, but nothing stirred. Then he moved off rapidly with scarce a ripple. Very soon the forest behind shrank to a black line, then that was gone and only the flat water stretched away on all sides. He paddled faster, heading to the south, his body swaying regularly to and fro, to and fro as he plied the ash blade.
“Ah mus’ arrive Rivière des Loups befor’ de sonne comme!” he said as he saw the faint lightening of the eastern skies. The one word “Marie” and the one thought to find her thrummed in his mind. “Marie!” on the forward stroke, “Marie!” on the back sway, he whispered continuously.
“Enfin!” and he felt relieved as the distant noise of running water came softly through space; a little while more and trees grew up before him, and then he reached them and stopped to eat—but only drew himself under some bushes, and did not leave the canoe. As he ate and scooped up handfuls of water, the heavens underwent their beautiful changes of sunrise; a loon laughed from the bottom of a cove, and the shrill cry echoed on the morning air.
A marsh bottom was near Jules’s resting-place, and something moving on it caught his eyes; he looked at it, and distinguished the black shape of a moose. The huge animal walked to the water’s edge and splashed noisily as it waded along, feeding on the pod roots and tender water-grasses. It came toward Verbaux, and as the light grew stronger he could see the sprouting antlers and the long ears flopping awkwardly. A gentle draft blew from him to the moose; suddenly the animal stopped, lifted its head, and stared in Verbaux’s direction. “Who-offf!” A few lumbering strides, then a crashing in the underbrush, and it was gone. Jules watched towards the blue far-away land that marked the place he had come from in the night, but no pursuing canoe appeared.
“By gar Jules get ’way good dat taime certainement!” he said to himself, and started on again.
He paddled on until the sun stood full high; a strong wind was blowing, and little foam crests raced after one another as far as his eyes could reach across the shining waters. Billowy clouds passed overhead, rolling on out of sight beyond the far mountains. Soon the lake waters narrowed and Jules pushed easily, hurried on by the wind. He looked ahead thoroughly; nothing moved. Then a sharp bend in the lake outlet, and he was in calm waters that flowed silently but strongly onward; he stopped working and watched the banks slide by as if by magic. Dull whirlpools and huge eddies appeared here and there as the current was headed by rocks on the bottom and recoiled to the surface. Birds fluttered to and fro over the stream, and gray and white moose-jays floated on the air with open wings, calling harshly. Silently Verbaux went on and down with the waters. Suddenly he thrust his paddle in the strong flow and brought the canoe to a standstill with a giant heave. Splashings went on round the next bend; they sounded plainly on the drafty air. Then qu-a-a-ack.