“They brought them so far,—they would have reached their own country but for a band of Bois-Brules, who joined them some suns back with that red liquor whose touch is hell to an Indian. They had gone wild, M'sieu; wild!”
She was very weary and she shuddered a bit at the word.
“And,—so,—that is all,—save that we had done that much toward escaping when you found us.”
She ceased and looked gravely into his face.
“Howly Moses! I see,—I see! But ye have left a wide rent in th' tale. Wherefore are yez here yerself, lassie?”
“I?” said Maren, swaying where she stood. “I followed, M'sieu.”
“Followed? From the Assiniboine? Alone?”
“Nay. There was one came with me,—a youth,—a trapper,—my comrade, my friend. He died yonder in that surging purgatory—”
The tears were welling to her weary eyes.
“The Nor'wester, Alfred de Courtenay, also—We only of that venture are escaped alive,—a sorry showing. The five men who man my boat belong to the brigade under Mr. Mowbray, which we met on Winnipeg. Such is our small history, M'sieu, and all we ask is your protection out of the reach of the Nakonkirhirinons. I take him back to De Seviere,—God knows if he will live to reach it. He lies so still. But I must get him back—”