I rose and looked down at her.  “A strange woman of a strange race,” I said.  “No, you need not beg of me.  I have never had a captive in my life,—­not even a bird.  Mademoiselle, you shall bear my name, if you are willing, for your protection, but you shall go as my guest to Montreal.”  And I left her in her red blanket and went away.

CHAPTER XIII

WE REACH THE ISLANDS

The dawn came with an uprush of unclouded light showing burnished green leaves and dancing water.  I bowed my head to the woman’s hand to bid her good-morning, and I served her with meal cakes and sweet water from a maple tree.  I was reckless of Pierre’s eyes, though I knew them to be weasel sharp for certain sides of life.  The woman answered me but scantily, and when we were embarked sat quiet in the bottom of the canoe.  I forbore to look at her.

The men feared my mood that day, so paddled well.  I charged them not to speak nor sing, for I would have no wasted breath, and the sombre shore, pine and tamarack and savage rock, passed before us like pictures dropping from a roll.  Toward sunset I sighted a canoe full of warriors, and when we drew near I saw that they were Pottawatamies.

“Are we near your islands?” I hailed.

The men bowed toward the southwest.  “The space of the star rising, and you will reach them if you travel,” spoke the tallest.  “You ride fast.  I have seen you come like the white squall on the water.”

I called again.  “Does Father Nouvel tarry with you?” I cried.

I thought that they looked at the maid in the canoe.  “He tarries,” they answered.

I gave the signal and we slipped away.  “To the shore,” I commanded, and the two canoes took new vigor.  The men, like stall-fed beasts, spurred themselves by the prospect of eating and idleness, and we were soon at the beach.  I bent over the woman.

“Be prepared,” I whispered.  “I must tell the men.  If I play the clown it is but to impress them, mademoiselle.”

She met my glance with a look of entire understanding, and rising gave me her finger tips and stepped from the canoe.  I do not know how she turned all in one instant from a sun-burned stripling to a great lady, but that was what occurred.  The men, stretching themselves as they stepped to the shore, stopped and stared.  I saw that I must speak quickly.

“Let the canoes alone,” I said.  “We will stop here but a moment.  Go—­all of you—­and gather green twigs and young ferns, and flowers if you can find them.  Then bring them to me here.  Go.”

The men stood as jointless as tin images.  But I saw that they were not only dumfounded but afraid, so I laid my hand on my sword, to give them better cause for their stupefaction.  “Go!” I shouted again, and so perverse is my nature that, though I knew well I had no cause for merriment, I swallowed hard to keep back a smile.