These were irritations, yet they were but the surface of my suffering.  Underneath was the grinding, never-ceasing ache of anxiety.  What was happening at Michillimackinac?  Would I reach there in time?  I could do nothing but sit and think.  Always, from dawn to dusk, my impatient spirit fretted and pushed at that canoe, but my hands were idle.  I tried paddling with my left hand, but it dislocated my bandages, and I did not dare.  I was in some pain, but exposed as I was, broiled by the sun and drenched by showers, I yet mended daily.  I ate well and drank deep of the cold lake water and felt my strength come.  My cut was healing wholesomely without fever, and Pierre washed and bandaged it twice a day.  He told me with many a twist of his hanging lip that it was well for me that he was there.

But on the point of his being there I had new light.  It came one day after long silence.  The giant rested and wiped his forehead.

“There are plovers on the waters,” he pointed.  “They make good eating.  Singing Arrow can cook them with bear’s grease.  I am going to marry the Indian when we get to Michillimackinac.  Then when we reach Montreal you will give her a dowry.  There is the grain field on the lower river that was planted by Martin.  Martin has no wife.  What does he need of grain?  The king wishes his subjects to marry.  And if the master gave us a house we could live, oh, very well.  I thought of it when I went through the Malhominis land and saw all those squashes.  The Indian sews her own dresses, and I shall tell her I do not like her in finery.  We will send a capon to the master every Christmas.”

I grinned despite myself.  I had grown fatuous, for I had taken it without question that the oaf had followed from his loyalty to me.  But I nodded at him and promised recklessly—­house, pigs, and granary.  The same star ruled master and man.

But the way was long, long, long.  Nights came and days came, and still more nights and days.  Yet it ended at last.  Late one afternoon we saw the shore line that marked Michillimackinac.  Once in sight it came fast, fast, fast,—­faster than I could prepare my courage for what might meet me.  What should I find?

We reached the beach where I had tied Father Carheil.  We rounded the point.  The garrison, the board roofs of the Jesuit houses, the Indian camps,—­all were as usual.  They were peaceful, untouched.  I swallowed, for my throat and tongue were dry.

CHAPTER XXIV

I MEET VARIOUS WELCOMES

It was Father Carheil who first sighted us.  He sounded the cry of our arrival, and came skurrying like a sandpiper, his scant gown tripping him, his cap askew.

I leaped from the canoe and hurried to him.  The man must hate me, but he could not refuse me news.  I stretched out my hand.

“Is all well here, father?  Is all well?”