I sank down out of sight, yet my decision was made in an instant. It did not seem to me then as though any other course could be taken. That De Artigny was innocent I had no doubt. I loved him, this I no longer denied to myself; and I could not possibly betray the man to the mad vengeance of Cassion. I peered forth, across the ridge of earth concealing me from observation, at the distant canoe. It was too far away for me to be certain of its occupants, yet I assured myself that Indians were at the paddles, while three others, whose dress designated them as whites, occupied places in the boat. The craft kept close to the shore, evidently searching for any sign of the lost canoe, and the man in the stern stood up, pointing, and evidently giving orders. There was that about the fellow’s movements to convince me he must be Cassion, and the very sight of him strengthened my resolve.
I turned, and ran down the bank to where the fire yet glowed dully in the hollow, emitting a faint spiral of blue smoke, dug dirt up with my hands, and covered the coals, until they were completely extinguished. Then I crept back to the bluff summit, and lay down to watch.
The canoe rounded the curve in the shore, and headed straight across toward where I rested in concealment. 238 Their course would keep them too far away from the little strip of sand on which we had landed to observe the imprint of our feet, or the pile of wood De Artigny had flung down. I observed this with an intense feeling of relief, as I peered cautiously out from my covert.
I could see now clearly the faces of those in the canoe––the dark, expressionless countenances of the Indians, and the three white men, all gazing intently at the shore line, as they swept past, a soldier in the bow, and Père Allouez and Cassion at the stern, the latter standing, gripping the steering paddle. The sound of his rasping, disagreeable voice reached me first.
“This is the spot,” he exclaimed, pointing. “I saw that headland just before the storm struck. But there is no wreck here, no sign of landing. What is your judgment, Père?”
“That further search is useless, Monsieur,” answered the priest. “We have covered the entire coast, and found no sign of any survivor; no doubt they were all lost.”
“’Tis likely true, for there was small hope for any swimmer in such a sea.” Cassion’s eyes turned to the others in the boat. “And you, Descartes, you were in the canoe with the Sieur de Artigny, tell us again what happened, and if this be not the place.”
The soldier in the bow lifted his head.
“I know little of the place, Monsieur,” he answered gruffly, “though it would seem as if I recalled the forked tree yonder, showing through a rift in the fog. All I know is that one of the paddles broke in the sergeant’s canoe, and over they went into the water. ’Twas as quick as that,” and he snapped his fingers, “and then a head or two bobbed up, but the canoe swept over them, and down they went again. Sieur de Artigny held our steering paddle, and, in an instant, he swung us that way, and there was the lady struggling. I reached out and touched her, but lost hold, and then the Sieur de Artigny leaped overboard, and the storm whirled us off into the fog. I saw no more.”