"No," I interrupted; "of course not, comrade. These Indians are never treacherous to those who have earned their gratitude. Savages though they be, they set civilization a shining example in that. There is nothing to fear here."
Landing just below us, the two Indians came straight toward our hiding-place. At the edge of the wood the tall warrior, whom I now knew for a certainty to be Big Etienne himself, stopped, and held out both his hands, palm upwards. I at once stepped forth to meet him, leaving my musket behind me. But Mizpah who followed me closely, clung to hers,—which might have convinced me, had I needed conviction, that hero though she was she was yet all woman.
"You my brother and my sister!" said the tall warrior at once, speaking with dignity, but with little of Xavier's fluency. He knew Mizpah.
"I am glad my brother's heart is turned towards us at last," said I. "My brother knows what injury has been done to us, and what we suffer at the hands of his people."
"Listen," said he, solemnly. "You give me back my son, my only son, my young brave," and he looked at Xavier with loving pride; "for that I can never pay you; but I give you back your son, too, see? And, now, always, I am your brother. But now, you go home. I find the child away north, by the Great River. I put him in your arms, safe, laughing,—so;" and he made as if to place a little one in Mizpah's arms. "Then you believe I love you, and Xavier love you. But now, come; not good to stay here more." And, turning abruptly, he led the way to the canoe, and himself taking the stern paddle, while Xavier took the bow, motioned us to get in. I hesitated; whereupon he cried:—
"Many of our people out this way. River not safe for you now. We take you to Grand Pré, Canard, Pereau,—where you want. Then go north. Better so."
Seeing the strong reason in his words, I accepted his offer thankfully, but insisted upon taking the bow myself, because Xavier was not yet well enough to paddle strongly.
Thus we set out, going swiftly with the tide. As we journeyed, Big Etienne was at great pains to make us understand that it would take him many weeks to find Philip and bring him back to us, because the way was long and difficult. He said we must not look to see the lad before the snow lay deep; but he bound himself to bring him back in safety, barring visitation of God. I saw that Mizpah now trusted the tall warrior even as I did. I felt that he would make good his pledge at any hazard. I urged, however, that he should take me with him; but on this point he was obstinate, saying that my presence would only make his task the more difficult, for reasons which occurred to me very readily. It cost me a struggle to give up my purpose of being myself the child's rescuer, and so winning the more credit in Mizpah's eyes. But this selfish prompting of my heart I speedily crushed (for which I thank Heaven) when I saw that Big Etienne's plan was the best that could be devised for Philip.
Some miles below the point where the river was already widening, we passed a group of Indians with their canoes drawn up on the shore, waiting to ascend with the returning tide. Recognizing Big Etienne in the stern, they paid us no attention beyond a friendly hail. Late in the evening we camped, well beyond the river mouth. Once on the following morning, when far out upon the bosom of the bay, we passed a canoe that was bound for the Shubenacadie, and again the presence and parting hail of our protector saved us from question. Our halts for meals were brief and far apart, but light headwinds baffled us much on the journey, so that it was not till toward evening of the second day out from the Shubenacadie mouth that we paddled into the Canard, and drew up at Giraud's little landing under the bank.