It was a warm, bright day, and Verbaux ensconced himself in the sun’s heat while his clothes dried, spread on bushes. He alternately dozed and smoked for a long time, dreaming of her he was soon to see. Noon passed; he pulled on the dry apparel and walked to the mountain-top, but no Le Grand was in sight.
“Drôle! He should be back before dees taime!” he said to himself, and looked up at the sun; it was a quarter low and cast lengthening shadow behind him.
“T’irt’ mile f’om ici to Marie; Ah go dere, an’ Le Grand comme h’aftaire,” he thought aloud, and turned to go to the post where his wife awaited him thirty miles away; but as he moved a fear came to him hard. He stopped.
“Mabbe dat he hurrt; Jules mus’ fin’ h’out! Ah go fas’, no tak’ long taime,” he said, with anxiety in his voice, and he hurried away on yesterday’s up-trail. As he travelled along he kept a sharp watch for Le Grand, and expected to meet him at any moment; but the distance to the river lessened and he had seen no sign of his friend. Then in a little while he caught a glimpse of water flashing through the trees, and still no Le Grand.
He was about to call, when he smelled a fire, and heard a hateful voice; at once he became alert and his eyes snapped, because he recognised the tones as those of the renegade Annaotaha. He crept forward warily with noiseless speed, then stopped and looked.
A little blaze burned on the river-bank; tied hand and foot and lashed to a young birch was Le Grand; his feet were stripped. Before him crouched Annaotaha, stirring the fire; his rifle lay in a canoe that was half drawn on the shore. Verbaux almost sprang out, but the renegade began to speak, and he listened.
“V’ere ees dat traître Verbaux?” Etienne asked his helpless prisoner. “Lefèvrier he don’ tol’ moi dat Verbaux ees gone avec toi.”
Le Grand did not answer; his head was bent to one side and a little blood flowed from a cut on his cheek.
“V’ere ees dat femme Marie?” asked Annaotaha, savagely.
Again no answer.