NORTHWARD.
Weak and chilled from the long swim through the cold water they dragged themselves across the narrow beach to the bushes that hung over the bank. Menard and Father Claude supported the maid, who was trembling and clinging to them. At the bank she sank to the ground.
“It is hard, Mademoiselle, but we must not stop. It is better to be weary than to rest in this condition. It would mean sickness.”
“Yes,” she said; “I know. In a moment I can go on.” She looked up and tried to smile. “It is so cold, M’sieu.”
Menard turned to Teganouan.
“How far is it to the villages of the Cayugas?”
“Not far. Half a sleep.”
“Is there a trail?”
“The trail is far. It passes the end of the 338 Long Lake.” He raised his head and looked at the stars, then pointed to the southwest. “The nearest village lies there. If we go through the forest toward the setting sun, we shall meet the trail.”
“You think it will be wise to go to the Cayugas, M’sieu?” asked Father Claude.