Not a whisper
passed between them as the canoe sped swiftly from the shore. A
hundred yards down the stream Philip headed straight across the
river and plunged into the shadows along the opposite bank.
Jeanne was close to him. He could hear her breathing. Suddenly he
felt the touch of her hand.
"M'sieur, I must ask--about Pierre!"
There was the thrill of fear in the low words. She leaned back,
her face a pale shadow in the deep gloom; and Philip bent over
until he felt her breath, and the sweetness of her hair filled his
nostrils. Quickly he whispered what had happened. He told her that
Pierre was hurt, but not badly, and that he had promised to take
her on to Fort o' God.
"It is up the Churchill?" he questioned.
"Yes," she whispered.
They heard voices now, and almost opposite them they saw shadowy
figures running out to the canoes upon the sand-bar.
"They will think that we are escaping toward Churchill," said
Philip, gloatingly. "It is the nearest refuge. See--"
One of the canoes was launched, and shot swiftly down the river. A
moment later the second followed. The dip of paddles died away,
and Philip laughed softly and joyously.
"They will hunt for us from now until morning between here and the
Bay.
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