“It was in my bundle. I have”––for the first time he saw the sternness in Menard’s face, and his voice faltered.
“You did not leave it at Montreal?”
Father Claude slowly lowered the canvas to the ground. The light had gone out of his eyes, and his face was white. Then suddenly his thin form straightened. “I had forgotten. It was M’sieu’s order. See,”––he suddenly lifted the picture over his head and whirled to the stump,––“it shall go no farther. We will 116 leave it here for the wolves and the crows and the pagan redmen.”
He dashed it down with all his strength, but Menard sprang forward, and caught it on his outstretched arm. “No, Father,” he said; “we will take it with us.”
The priest smiled wearily, and lowered the picture to the ground; but when Menard said, “You have broken it,” he raised it hastily, and examined it. One corner of the wooden frame was loosened, but the canvas was not injured.
“I can mend it,” he said.
Then they walked to the camp together, without talking; and Menard helped him repair the frame, and pack the picture carefully.
“How is it that it was not ruined in the capsize at Coteau des Cedres?” Menard asked.
“It was preserved by a miracle, M’sieu. This bundle did not leave the canoe.”
The voyageurs, still lounging in the clearing, were laughing and talking noisily. The Captain, after he had prepared the maid’s couch, and bade her good-night, called to them to be quiet. For a time the noise ceased, but a little later, as he was spreading his blanket on the ground, it began again, and one of the transport men sang the opening strain of a ribald 117 song. Menard strode over to the group so quickly that he took them by surprise. Colin was slipping something behind him, but he could not escape Menard’s eye. In a moment he was sprawling on his face, and a brandy flask was brought to light. Menard dashed it against a tree, and turned to the frightened men.