“And now we wait only for full darkness.”
“You must go, Ma'amselle?” said Alloybeau miserably. “Cannot another make the first scouting? Send me.”
“And me!” Frith pushed softly forward. “At the last, Ma'amselle, we are old women. We cannot let you go.”
“Cannot?” said Maren sharply. “Do Mr. Mowbray's men so soon forget his orders? I am good as a man, M'sieus. See!”
She held up her right arm, with the fringed sleeve falling loose. The muscle sprang up magnificently.
“Fear not for me,—and yet,—I thank you! Now we wait.”
One hour,—two,—passed and the last light crept, afraid, out of the forest to linger a trembling moment on the waters and be drawn up to the darkening sky.
At last the maid arose, tall and quiet, save for the excitement in her eyes, and one by one her chosen followers stepped noiselessly after.
Silent as the wood around, the forlorn hope crept forward.
“Here, Frith,” commanded Maren, when they had reached a vantage point of higher ground, “and here you, Alloybeau and McDonald, separate. If during this night the good God shall deliver into our hands Mr. McElroy and the venturer from Montreal, you will hear a panther's far-off call. Make for the canoe, for that will mean swift flight. If, on the other hand, aught should befall us ahead, a night-hawk will cry once. Hide and wait. Wait one day, two, three. There is always hope. So. We go now.”