“What is it?” asked Menard, sharply.
Perrot pointed across a spit of land. In the other channel they could see a bateau just disappearing behind a clump of trees. It was headed down-stream. Menard swung the canoe about, and they skirted the foot of the island. Instead of a single bateau there were some half dozen, drifting light down the river, with a score of coureurs de bois and voyageurs under the command of a bronzed lieutenant, Du Peron, a sergeant, and a corporal. The lieutenant recognized Menard, and both parties landed while the two officers exchanged news.
“Can you spare me a few men?” Menard asked, when they had drawn apart from the others. 111
The lieutenant’s eye roamed over the group on the beach, where the men of both parties were mingling.
“How many do you want? I’m running shorthanded. We have all we can manage with these bateaux.”
“There’s a war party of twenty on my trail,” said Menard. “If I had my own men with me I should feel safe, but I have my doubts about these fellows. I haven’t room for more than two.”
“What’s the trouble?––that La Grange affair?”
Menard nodded.
“I heard that they had a price on your head. There’s been a good deal of talk about it at Frontenac. A converted Mohawk has been scouting for us, and he says that the Onondagas blame you for that whole galley business.”
“I know,” said Menard, grimly. “You could hardly expect them to get the truth of it.”