“Ki-mi-na-hon an-ootch-kee-je-gak. Pen-du-u-u? [You kill to-day, Pendu?]”
Jules heard the words plainly, and they seemed magnified by the wet denseness.
“Ah-ha!” answered a voice from somewhere to the left. Nothing then but the regular sounds of paddles again, going on.
“Dees bon!” Verbaux thought, and kept on, paddling quietly and keeping within sound of those ahead. Two hours passed, and then the far-off roaring of rapids penetrated the gray atmosphere; Jules lost the canoes ahead and slowed up, drifting with the light wind that was coming from the north. Nearer and nearer sounded the quick water of the thoroughfare between Lac des Rochers and the dead water of Rivière du Renard.
“Ah go for dat an’ mabbe have bonne chance an’ passer dose hoddaires!” he decided, and paddled fast. In a few minutes he felt the strength of the current, and he stood up in the canoe as the turmoil of water rushing over rocks and bars sounded straight ahead. The north wind increased and the fog began to lift; he was on the edge of the rapids; white water gleamed here and there, but Verbaux guided his craft with powerful strokes of his blade, now to the right, then to the left, among the jutting reefs and shifting sand ledges. The crest of a furling water shoulder broke on the gunwales, half filling the little craft, but Jules laughed softly when he glided safe beyond the wet jaws of the rapids, into the flat calm of the next lake. He shoved ashore, drew his canoe under the thickets, and watched.
Gradually the thick mist rose and disappeared, and he could see everywhere. The falling sun shone warm over the blue-green expanse; beyond, the forests were gently moving and the tiny wind ripples hurried along, rolling to the shore, where they broke and lapped the pebbles with a monotonous tinkling.
Voices came to him sharply, and from the mouth of the thoroughfare came five canoes. They drifted out in front of him.
“By sacré-é-é-é! Ah hear somme t’ing go pas’ v’en ve vatch’ au commencement du rapide!” the single occupant of a canoe growled as he looked searchingly about the shores and out on the watery distance. The other men laughed, and Jules smiled. He waited motionless under his green protection, while the canoes sidled aimlessly along with the light wind. The birch leaves quivered and rubbed against one another; a little brown bird lighted on a twig at his feet, cocked its head on one side, and the black eyes peered merrily at him. Satisfied with its examination, the little inhabitant of the forest fluttered, cheeping, into a bush, and sat in its nest.
Jules heard voices again; he crouched at the water’s edge and looked out along the rippling surface: the canoes were coming back in single file, passing close along the bushes. He crept away from the water and lay flat behind a heap of last year’s leaves. He could see the lake fringe plainly; soon the bow of the first canoe came within range of his eyes; it moved evenly and steadily, then Le Pendu’s figure, kneeling in the stern and paddling silently, showed dark. Jules could see him watching, first the mouth of the stream, then the woods. Le Pendu passed and the other four, and they were gone noiselessly. Verbaux kept still for some time. The sun set rayonning in the west, while the purples and gold of its good-night intensified, then paled and melted away. The little wind, too, sank, and the summer twilight was soft and mysterious; the twinkling points of night appeared one by one, and the moon gleamed in its blue-white strength.
“Ah go, mabbe!” Jules whispered to himself, and cautiously worked his way to the canoe. He reached it and listened: the tiny noises of the night, the shrill bzzzing of mosquitoes, the distant murmur of the fast water, were all that broke the lonely silence. With a heave and a few quick steps Jules slid his little canoe in the black waters, sat himself quietly on its ribbed bottom, and started to push out from the shadows of the trees. A long black something appeared out in front of him, moving very slowly. A branch caught on the thwart of his canoe, it grated, creaked a little, then snapped back, swishing. Jules sat still, his paddle holding the bottom. The something beyond stopped its motion; then it swung inshore and came toward him without a sound.