“True, he has control, and men enough, with Cassion’s 251 party, to enforce his order. And he is a hothead, conceited, and holding himself a bit better than others, because he bears commission in the King’s Dragoons. ’Tis said that he and De Tonty have had many a stiff quarrel since he came; but he dare not go too far. There are good men there ready to draw sword if it ever come to blows––De Tonty, Boisrondet, L’Espirance, De Marle, and the Algonquins camped on the plain below. They would be tigers if the Italian spoke the word; while I doubt not M. de la Durantaye would throw his influence on the side of mercy; he has small love for the Captain of Dragoons.”
I spoke quickly, and before De Artigny could voice decision.
“We will accept your guidance, Monsieur. It is the best choice, and now the only one, for the time is past when we can expect the return of the canoes. Can we not at once begin the journey?”
It was an hour later, after we had eaten, that we left the bluff, and turned westward into the great woods. Barbeau led the way, moving along the bank of a small stream, and I followed, with De Artigny close behind. As we had nothing to carry, except the soldier’s rifle and blanket, we made rapid progress, and in less than half an hour, we came to the Indian trail, which led southward from Green Bay to the head waters of the Des Plaines. It was so faint and dim, a 252 mere trace through forest depths, that I would have passed it by unseen, but both my companions were woodsmen, and there was no sign their trained eyes overlooked.
Once in the trail, however, there was no difficulty in following it, although it twisted here and there, in the avoiding of obstacles, ever seeking the easier route. Barbeau had passed this way before, and recalled many a land-mark, occasionally turning, and pointing out to us certain peculiarities he had observed on his journey north. Once he held us motionless while he crept aside, through an intervening fringe of trees to the shore of a small lake, coming back with two fine ducks dangling from his shoulder.
Before dark we halted in a little opening, the grass green underfoot, and a bank of trees all about, and made night camp. There was water near at hand, and the fire quickly built gave cheer to the scene, as the men prepared supper. The adventures of the day had wearied me, and I was very content to lie on Barbeau’s blanket, and watch them work. While the soldier cooked, De Artigny swiftly erected a shelter of boughs, within which I was to pass the night. After we had eaten, I retired at once, yet for a long time could not sleep, but lay looking out at the two men seated before the fire smoking. I could hear their voices, and scraps of conversation––De Artigny telling the tale of the 253 exploration of the great river to its mouth in the salt sea, and Barbeau relating many a strange adventure in the wilderness. It was a scene long to be remembered––the black shadows all about, the silence of the great woods, the sense of loneliness, the red and yellow flames of the fire, and the two men telling tales of wild adventure amid the unknown.
At last they grew weary also, and lay down, pillowed their heads on their arms, and rested motionless. My own eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep.