The Road to Frontenac Part 38

"Yes."

"We must cross the lake. Is there a canoe here?"

The Indian shook his head. Menard stood thinking for an instant.

"If you are thinking of me, M'sieu, I think I can swim with you," said the maid, timidly.

"There is no other way, Mademoiselle. I am sorry. But we will make it as easy as we can."

He stepped to the rear wall, and with a blow of his fist would have broken an opening through the rotted bank, but the Indian caught his arm.

"It is not necessary. See." He set rapidly to work, and in a few silent moments he had unlaced the thread-like root that held the sheet of bark in place, and lowered it to the ground. He raised himself by the cross-pole that marked the top of the wall, and slipped through the opening. A few quick glances through the trees, and he turned and beckoned. Menard followed, with the knife of the Long Arrow between his teeth; and with Father Claude's help the maid got through to where he could catch her and lower her to the ground.

The Indian made a cautious gesture and crept slowly through the yielding bushes. One by one they followed, the Captain lingering until the maid was close to him and he could whisper to her to keep her courage. They paused at the bank of the lake. The water lay sparkling in the moonlight. Menard looked grimly out; this light added to the danger. He found a short log close at hand and carried it to the water.

"Come, Mademoiselle," he whispered, "and Father Claude. This will support you. Teganouan and I will swim. Keep low in the water, and do not splash or speak. The slightest noise will travel far across the lake."

Slowly they waded out, dropping into the water before it was waist deep. Teganouan's powder-horn and musket lay on the log, and the maid herself steadied it so that they should not be lost.

CHAPTER XVII.

NORTHWARD.

Weak and chilled from the long swim through the cold water they dragged themselves across the narrow beach to the bushes that hung over the bank. Menard and Father Claude supported the maid, who was trembling and clinging to them. At the bank she sank to the ground.

"It is hard, Mademoiselle, but we must not stop. It is better to be weary than to rest in this condition. It would mean sickness."

"Yes," she said; "I know. In a moment I can go on." She looked up and tried to smile. "It is so cold, M'sieu."

Menard turned to Teganouan.

"How far is it to the villages of the Cayugas?"

"Not far. Half a sleep."

"Is there a trail?"

"The trail is far. It pa.s.ses the end of the Long Lake." He raised his head and looked at the stars, then pointed to the southwest. "The nearest village lies there. If we go through the forest toward the setting sun, we shall meet the trail."

"You think it will be wise to go to the Cayugas, M'sieu?" asked Father Claude.

"I think so. The chiefs must have returned before this time, or at least by the morrow." He dropped into the Iroquois tongue. "Is not this so, Teganouan? Would the chiefs of the Cayugas linger among the Onondagas after the close of the council?"

"The Cayuga warriors await the word of the Long House. They know that their chiefs would hasten to bring it back to them."

"Yes. It must be so, Father. And we can trust them to aid us. Perhaps they will give us a canoe. Teganouan must tell them he is our guide, sent by the Big Throat and the chiefs of the Onondagas to take us safely to Frontenac."

The maid was struggling to keep awake, but her lids were heavy. Menard came to her and stood, hesitating. She knew that he was there; she could hear the rustle of his wet clothes, and his heavy breathing, but she did not look up.

"Come," he said, lightly touching her shoulder, "we cannot wait here.

We must go."

She did not reply, and he hesitated again. Then he stooped and lifted her in his arms.

"You will go ahead, Teganouan," he said, "and you, too, if you will, Father Claude. Choose an easy trail if you can, and be careful that no twig flies back."

They set out slowly through the forest. The priest and the Indian laboriously broke a way, and Menard followed, holding the maid tenderly, and now and then, in some lighter spot where a beam of moonlight fell through the foliage, looking down at her gentle, weary face. She was sleeping; and he prayed that no sad dreams might come to steal her rest. His arms ached and his knees gave under him, but he had hardly a thought for himself. At last, after a long, silent march, the priest stopped, and said, supporting himself with one thin hand against a tree:--

"You are weary, M'sieu. You must let me take Mademoiselle."

"No, Father, no. I have been thinking. I am afraid it is not right that she should sleep now. Even though she fail in the effort, exercise of her muscles is all that will prevent sickness. And yet I cannot,"--he looked again at her face as it rested against his shoulder,--"I cannot awaken her now."

The Father saw the sorrow in the Captain's eyes, and understood.

"I will take her, M'sieu."

Carefully Menard placed her in Father Claude's arms and turned away.

"Teganouan," he said, trying to recover his self-possession, "should we not be near the trail?"

"Yes, more than half the way."

"Can we reach it more quickly by heading a little to the north?"

"We would reach the trail, yes; but the way would be longer."

"Never mind; once on the trail it will be easier than in this forest.

Turn to the north, Teganouan."

He could hear the maid's voice, protesting sleepily, and Father Claude talking quietly to her. He looked around. The priest said in a low tone:--

"Come, M'sieu, it is hard to awaken her."

"We must frighten her, then."

He caught her shoulders and shook her roughly. Slowly her eyes opened, and then the two men dragged her forward. At first she thought herself back among the Onondagas, and she begged them not to take her away, hanging back and forcing them almost to carry her. It cut Menard to the heart, but he pushed steadily forward. Later she yielded, and with a dazed expression obeyed. Once or twice she stumbled, and would have fallen but for the strong hands that held her. Father Claude rested his hand on her forehead as they walked, and Menard gave him an anxious, questioning glance. The priest shook his head.

"No," he said, "there is no fever. I trust that it is nothing worse than exhaustion."

Menard went on with relief in his eyes.

In less than half an hour after reaching the trail, they came upon the outlying huts of the village. Over the hills to the east the dawn was breaking, and all the sleeping birds and beasts and creeping things of the forest were stirring into life and movement. Teganouan went ahead of the party and soon roused a member of the Cayuga branch of his clan, the family of the Bear. Through the yawning services of this warrior they were guided to an unused hut. Teganouan searched farther, and returned with a heap of blankets for the maid, who had dropped to the ground before the hut. Menard carried her within and made her as comfortable as possible, then withdrew and closed the door.

"Have the chiefs returned from the council at the village of the Onondagas?" he asked of the warrior, who stood at one side watching them with curiosity in his gaze.