“Certainement Ah go, an’ den mus’ go back to la poste,” Le Grand answered, with a swift glance at the others.
“Au r’voir, Verbaux, Le Grand!” the crowd shouted as Jules and the other paddled away while the brigade went on toward the mouth of the stream and the falls above.
“Adieu!” shouted the two, set their faces to the south-east, and paddled fast.
They worked on for an hour, and neither spoke; then Jules stopped paddling and rested his long arms.
“Ve have to go fas’!” he said. “V’en dose oddaires dey comme to la poste—alors!” and he chuckled.
“Allons, den!” grunted his companion, and plied his paddle the faster.
They crossed Lac Terrible and sped on through the dead water of Les Cerfs. It took them two days to reach Les Rapides du Diable on Rivière de l’Échelle [River of Ladders]. When they came to the foaming rapids that lay treacherous before them, white and menacing, Le Grand spoke.
“Eef ve could onlee passé ça!”
“Dat be good!” Jules answered as he guided the canoe ashore.
They ate a light lunch. “Maintenant,” Jules said when they were ready to start on, “ve go par la rivière an’ les lacs, ou tak’ le canot an’ go ’cross de forêts an’ climb le Mont d’Ours [Bear Mountain]. Vat toi t’ink, Le Grand?”