“You do not know that he reached her?”
“No, Monsieur; the lady sank when I lost my grip; I do not even know if she came up again.”
Cassion stood motionless, staring intently at the bluff. I almost thought he must have seen me, but there was no outcry, and finally he seated himself.
“Go on, round the long point yonder, and if there is no sign there we will return,” he said grimly. “’Tis my thought they were all drowned, and there is no need of our seeking longer. Pull on boys, and let us finish the job.”
They rounded the point, the Père talking earnestly, but the canoe so far away I could not overhear his 240 words. Cassion paid small heed to what he urged, but, at last, angrily bade him be still, and, after a glance into the narrow basin beyond, swung the bow of the canoe about, and headed it southward, the return course further off shore. The Indians paddled with renewed energy, and, in a few moments, they were so far away their faces were indistinguishable, and I ventured to sit on the bank, my gaze still on the vanishing canoe.
So intent was I that I heard no sound of approaching footsteps, and knew nothing of De Artigny’s presence until he spoke.
“What is that yonder––a canoe?”
I started, shrinking back, suddenly realizing what I had done, and the construction he might place upon my action.
“Yes,” I answered faintly, “it––it is a canoe.”
“But it is headed south; it is going away,” he paused, gazing into my face. “Did it not come this far?”