"My hurt is nothing--nothing-M'sieur!" he gasped, understanding
the look in Philip's face. "It is Jeanne! They have gone--gone
with Jeanne!" The rapier slipped from his hand and he slid weakly
down against the rock. Philip dropped upon his knees, and with his
handkerchief began wiping the blood from the half-breed's face.
For a few moments Pierre's head hung limp against his shoulder.
"What is it, Pierre?" he urged. "Tell me--quick! They have gone
with Jeanne!"
Pierre's body grew rigid. With one great effort he seemed to
marshal all of his strength, and straightened himself.
"Listen, M'sieur," he said, speaking calmly. "They set upon us as
we were going to meet you at the rock. There were four. One of
them is dead--back there. The others--with Jeanne--have gone in
the canoe. It is death--worse than death--for her--"
His body writhed. In a passion he strove to rise to his feet. Then
with a groan he sank back, and for a moment Philip thought he was
dying.
"I will go, Pierre," he cried. "I will bring her back. I swear
it."
Pierre's hand detained him as he went to rise.
"You swear--"
"Yes."
"At the next break--there is a canoe. They have gone for the
Churchill--"
Pierre's voice was growing weaker.
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