Pierre Porteret crept out behind one of the bark lodges looking very miserable in the fog of early morning. His companion on many a long journey, never far out of his shadow, sat down to compare experiences.
"Did they rock thee all night, Pierre?"
"They rocked me all night, Jacques. I can well endure what most men can, but this is carrying politeness too far."
"I was not so favored. They would have saved you if they had killed the rest of us. And they would have saved the good father, no doubt, since the chief came and danced the calumet before him."
"Were these red cradle-rockers intending to make an end of us in the night?"
"So the chief says; but he broke up the council, and will set us safely on our journey up river to-day."
"I am glad of that," said Pierre. "Father Marquette hath not the strength of the Sieur Jolliet for such rude wanderings. These southern mists, and torturing insects, and clammy heats, and the bad food have worked a great change in him."
"We have been gone but two months from the Mission of St. Ignace," said Jacques. "They have the bigness of years."
"And many more months that have the bigness of years will pass before we see it again."