"Monsieur, you have forced me into marriage; the law holds me as your wife. I know not how I may escape that fate, or avoid accompanying you. So far I submit, but no farther. I do not love you; I do not even feel friendship toward you. Let me pass."

He grasped my arm, turning me about until I faced him, his eyes glaring into mine.

"Not until I speak," he replied threateningly. "Do not mistake my temper, or imagine me blind. I know what has so suddenly changed you--it is that gay, simpering fool yonder. But be careful how far you go. I am your husband, and in authority here."

"Monsieur, your words are insult; release your hand."

"So you think to deceive! Bah! I am too old a bird for that, or to pay heed to such airs. I have seen girls before, and a mood does not frighten me. But listen now--keep away from De Artigny unless you seek trouble."

"What mean you by that threat?"

"You will learn to your sorrow; the way we travel is long, and I am woodsman as well as soldier. You will do well to heed my words."

I released my arm, but did not move. My only feeling toward him at that moment was one of disgust, defiance. The threat in his eyes, the cool insolence of his speech, set my blood on fire.

"Monsieur," I said coldly, although every nerve of my body throbbed, "you may know girls, but you deal now with a woman. Your speech, your insinuation is insult. I disliked you before; now I despise you, yet I will say this in answer to what you have intimated. Monsieur de Artigny is nothing to me, save that he hath shown himself friend. You wrong him, even as you wrong me, in thinking otherwise, and whatever the cause of misunderstanding between us, there is no excuse for you to pick quarrel with him."

"You appear greatly concerned over his safety."

"Not at all; so far as I have ever heard the Sieur de Artigny has heretofore proven himself quite capable of sustaining his own part.

'Tis more like I am concerned for you."

"For me? You fool! Why, I was a swordsman when that lad was at his mother's knee." He laughed, but with ugly gleam of teeth. "_Sacre!_ I hate such play acting. But enough of quarrel now; there is sufficient time ahead to bring you to your senses, and a knowledge of who is your master. Hugo Chevet, come here."

My uncle climbed the bank, his rifle in hand, with face still bloated, and red from the drink of the night before. Behind him appeared the slender black-robed figure of the Jesuit, his eyes eager with curiosity. It was sight of the latter which caused Cassion to moderate his tone of command.

"You will go with Chevet," he said, pointing to the fire among the trees, "until I can talk to you alone."

"A prisoner?"

"No; a guest," sarcastically, "but do not overstep the courtesy."

We left him in conversation with the _pere_, and I did not even glance back. Chevet breathed heavily, and I caught the mutter of his voice.

"What meaneth all this chatter?" he asked gruffly. "Must you two quarrel so soon?"

"Why not?" I retorted. "The man bears me no love; 'tis but gold he thinks about."

"Gold!" he stopped, and slapped his thighs. "'Tis precious little of that he will ever see then."

"And why not? Was not my father a land owner?"

"Ay! till the King took it."

"Then even you do not know the truth. I am glad to learn that, for I have dreamed that you sold me to this coxcomb for a share of the spoils."

"What? a share of the spoils! Bah! I am no angel, girl, nor pretend to a virtue more than I possess. There is truth in the thought that I might benefit by your marriage to Monsieur Cassion, and, by my faith, I see no wrong in that. Have you not cost me heavily in these years?

Why should I not seek for you a husband of worth in these colonies?

Wherefore is that a crime? Were you my own daughter I could do no less, and this man is not ill to look upon, a fair-spoken gallant, a friend of La Barre's, chosen by him for special service--"

"And with influence in the fur trade."

"All the better that," he continued obstinately. "Why should a girl object if her husband be rich?"

"But he is not rich," I said plainly, looking straight into his eyes.

"He is no more than a penniless adventurer; an actor playing a part assigned him by the Governor; while you and I do the same. Listen, Monsieur Chevet, the property at St. Thomas is mine by legal right, and it was to gain possession that this wretch sought my hand."

"Your legal right?"

"Ay, restored by the King in special order."

"It is not true; I had the records searched by a lawyer, Monsieur Gautier, of St. Anne."

I gave a gesture of indignation.

"A country advocate at whom those in authority would laugh. I tell you what I say is true; the land was restored, and the fact is known to La Barre and to Cassion. It is this fact which has caused all our troubles. I overheard talk last night between the Governor and his aide-de-camp, Colonel Delguard--you know him?"

Chevet nodded, his interest stirred.

"They thought themselves alone, and were laughing at the success of their trick. I was hidden behind the heavy curtains at the window, and every word they spoke reached my ears. Then they sent for Cassion."

"But where is the paper?"

"I did not learn; they have it hidden, no doubt, awaiting the proper time to produce it. But there is such a document: La Barre explained that clearly, and the reason why he wished Cassion to marry me. They were all three talking when an accident happened, which led to my discovery."

"Ah! and so that was what hurried the wedding, and sent me on this wild wilderness chase. They would bury me in the woods--_sacre!_--"

"Hush now--Cassion has left the canoe already, and we can talk of this later. Let us seem to suspect nothing."

This was the first meal of many eaten together along the river bank in the course of our long journey, yet the recollection of that scene rises before my memory now with peculiar vividness. It was a bright, glorious morning, the arching sky blue overhead, and the air soft with early autumn. Our temporary camp was at the edge of a grove, and below us swept the broad river, a gleaming highway of silvery water without speck upon its surface. Except for our little party of voyagers no evidence of life was visible, not even a distant curl of smoke obscuring the horizon.

Cassion had divided us into groups, and, from where I had found resting place, with a small flat rock for table, I was enabled to see the others scattered to the edge of the bank, and thus learned for the first time, the character of those with whom I was destined to companion on the long journey. There were but four of us in that first group, which included Pere Allouez, a silent man, fingering his cross, and barely touching food. His face under the black cowl was drawn, and creased by strange lines, and his eyes burned with fanaticism. If I had ever dreamed of him as one to whom I might turn for counsel, the thought instantly vanished as our glances met.

A soldier and two Indians served us, while their companions, divided into two groups, were gathered at the other extremity of the ridge, the soldiers under discipline of their own under officers, and the Indians watched over by Sieur De Artigny, who rested, however, slightly apart, his gaze on the broad river. Never once while I observed did he turn and glance my way. I counted the men, as I endeavored to eat, scarcely heeding the few words exchanged by those about me. The Indians numbered ten, including their chief, whom Cassion called Altudah. Chevet named them as Algonquins from the Ottawa, treacherous rascals enough, yet with expert knowledge of water craft.

Altudah was a tall savage, wrapped in gaudy blanket, his face rendered sinister and repulsive by a scar the full length of his cheek, yet he spoke French fairly well, and someone said that he had three times made journey to Mackinac, and knew the waterways. There were twenty-four soldiers, including a sergeant and corporal, of the Regiment of Picardy; active fellows enough, and accustomed to the frontier, although they gave small evidence of discipline, and their uniforms were in shocking condition. The sergeant was a heavily built, stocky man, but the others were rather undersized, and of little spirit. The same thought must have been in the minds of others, for the expression on Monsieur Cassion's face was not pleasant as he stared about.

"Chevet," he exclaimed disgustedly "did ever you see a worse selection for wilderness travel than La Barre has given us? Cast your eyes down the line yonder; by my faith! there is not a real man among them."

Chevet who had been growling to himself, with scarce a thought other than the food before him, lifted his eyes and looked.

"Not so bad," he answered finally, the words rumbling in his throat.

"Altudah is a good Indian, and has traveled with me before, and the sergeant yonder looks like a fighting man."

"Ay, but the others?"

"No worse than all the scum. De Baugis had no better with him, and La Salle led a gang of outcasts. With right leadership you can make them do men's work. 'Tis no kid-gloved job you have, Monsieur Cassion."

The insulting indifference of the old fur trader's tone surprised the Commissaire, and he exhibited resentment.