Opposite the rock where Pierre and Jeanne were to have met him he
stopped and stood up in the canoe. The wind had dispelled the
smoke shadow. Between him and the distant ship lay an unclouded
sea. Two-thirds of the distance to the vessel he made out the
larger canoe, rising and falling with the smooth undulations of
the tide. He sank upon his knees again and unstrapped Pierre's
rifle. There was a cartridge in the chamber. He made sure that the
magazine was loaded, and resumed his paddling.
His mind worked rapidly. Within half an hour, if he desired, he
could overtake the other canoe. And what then? There were three to
one, if it came to a fight--and how could he rescue Jeanne without
a fight? His blood was pounding eagerly, almost with pleasure at
the promise of what was ahead of him, and he laughed softly to
himself as he thought of the odds.
The ship loomed nearer; the canoe vanished behind it. A brief
stop, a dozen words of explanation, and Philip knew that he could
secure assistance from the vessel. After all, would that not be
the wisest course for him to pursue? For a moment he hesitated,
and paddled more slowly. If others joined with him in the rescue
of Jeanne what excuse could he offer for not bringing her back to
Churchill? What would happen if he returned with her? Why had
Pierre roused himself from something that was almost death to
entreat him to take Jeanne to Fort o' God?
At the thought of Fort o' God a new strength leaped into his arms
and body, urging him on to cope with the situation single-handed.
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