"It would please us," replied Dunvegan, "but the Pontiac is a long way from here. There is little use in adding extra miles to our labor. And Keepawa Post cannot spare us for long. We will go back."
"Your plans are your own," the Nor'wester assented. "And I must paddle on. La Roche should see me by sunset."
They helped him launch his craft and load the duffle. Dunvegan addressed a last remark to him.
"You did not tell us," he observed carelessly, "how this lady takes your leader's haste. The story has interested me."
"She pleaded for a little time against his eagerness," answered the Nor'wester, "and she stalls him off thus. He has given her till the priest's arrival, which time she is lucky to get! Also she is lucky to have Father Marcin!" The man's chuckle implied much.
Dunvegan's jaw tightened. His pipe broken at his lips clattered on the flinty rocks.
"It was worn!" he exclaimed.
Brochet picked up the fallen portion. Showing no sign of wear, the amber was fresh and thick. Proof of the volcanic feeling rioting in him, Dunvegan's strong teeth had bitten clear through the stem.
As the Nor'wester slipped his canoe into the water, Bruce whispered to Brochet.
"Do what you can," he begged. "We shall not be far behind you."