“Belch, me darlin', if ye have th' belly-ache!” cried this tall man, and, without more warning, there was a tremendous flash and detonation, a mighty flying of the clear waters just under the bows of the foremost canoes of the Indians.
There was hiss and sputter of the torches, an upward leap of canoe and savage, capsize and panic and fear, and the night screamed with many voices.
“Formation again, lads!” called the sturdy voice of the leader. “We do be wastin' time wid these haythen!”
The canoe rounded, passed up between the others, which closed in behind, and the cannon-boat lumbered into place in the rear.
As he passed the strangers in their midst the tall man looked hard at Maren, the five men, and leaned out a bit to see what lay in the bottom.
“A close shave!” he said; “kape close in the middle an' shpake me at camp in the marnin'.”
The mass of dark objects, drawing out of the light, moved forward and, with a rush of intuition, the girl knew that all danger was past and that safety hovered over them like the luminous wings of an angel.
“Holy Master!” she cried within, “Thou didst answer my prayer,—but at what cost! Oh, Lord of Heaven, what cost!”
Then she dropped her blade and, under cover of the darkness, sat back upon her heels, covered her face with her hands, and wept.
In the silence that had fallen deep again, save for the lessening tumult behind, her weeping sounded to the outermost canoe low and awful, hard and terrible as the weeping of a man.