Close to the stony
beach, where the light was a little better, he made out the canoe
which Pierre had drawn into the shadows.
Not until he had dragged it into the moonlight at the edge of the
water did he see that it was equipped as if for a long journey.
Close to the stern was a bulging pack, with a rifle strapped
across it. Two or three smaller caribou-skin bags lay in the
center of the canoe. In the bow was a thick nest of bearskin, and
he knew that this was for Jeanne.
Cautiously Philip launched himself, and with silent sweeps of the
paddle that made scarcely the sound of a ripple in the water set
out in the direction of Churchill. Jeanne's captors had a
considerable start of him, but he felt confident of his ability to
overtake them shortly if Pierre had spoken with truth when he said
that they would head for the Churchill River. He had observed the
caution with which Pierre's assailants had approached the cliff,
and he was sure that they would double that caution in their
return, especially as their attack had been interrupted at the
last moment. For this reason he paddled without great haste,
keeping well within the concealment of the precipitous shore, with
his ears and eyes keenly alive to discover a sign of those who
were ahead of him.
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