"Certainly not mine," and I laughed. "I trust, Monsieur, your powers of observation are better than that--'tis hardly a compliment."

"Nor is this time for any lightness of speech, my lady," he retorted, his anger fanned by my indifference. "Whose is it then, I ask you?

What man has been your companion here?"

"You jump at conclusions, Monsieur," I returned coldly. "The stray imprint of a man's boot on the turf is scarcely evidence that I have had a companion. Kindly stand aside, and permit me to descend."

"_Mon Dieu_! I will not!" and he blocked my passage. "I have stood enough of your tantrums already in the boat. Now we are alone, and I will have my say. You shall remain here until I learn the truth."

His rage rather amused me, and I felt not the slightest emotion of fear, although there was threat in his words, and in the gesture accompanying them. I do not think the smile even deserted my lips, as I sought a comfortable seat on a fallen tree trunk, fully conscious that nothing would so infuriate the man as studied indifference.

"Very well, Monsieur, I await your investigation with pleasure," I said sweetly. "No doubt it will prove interesting. You honor me with the suspicion that I had an appointment here with one of your men?"

"No matter what I suspicion."

"Of course not; you treat me with marked consideration. Perchance others have camped here, and explored these bluffs."

"The print is fresh, not ancient, and none of the men from my camp have come this way."

He strode forward, across the narrow open space, and disappeared into the fringe of trees bordering the edge of the bluff. It would have been easy for me to depart, to escape to the security of the tent below, but curiosity held me motionless. I knew what he would discover, and preferred to face the consequences where I was free to answer him face to face. I wished him to be suspicious, to feel that he had a rival; I would fan his jealousy to the very danger point. Nor had I long to wait. Forth from the shade of the trees he burst, and came toward me, his face white, his eyes blazing.

"Tis the fellow I thought," he burst forth, "and he went down the face of the bluff yonder. So you dared to have tryst with him?"

"With whom, Monsieur?"

"De Artigny, the young fool! Do you think me blind? Did I not know you were together in Quebec? What are you laughing at?"

"I was not laughing, Monsieur. Your ridiculous charge does not amuse me. I am a woman; you insult me; I am your wife; you charge me with indiscretion. If you think to win me with such cowardly insinuations you know little of my nature. I will not talk with you, nor discuss the matter. I return to the camp."

His hands clinched as though he had the throat of an enemy between them, but angry as he was, some vague doubt restrained him.

"_Mon Dieu_! I'll fight the dog!"

"De Artigny, you mean? Tis his trade, I hear, and he is good at it."

"Bah! a bungler of the woods. I doubt if he ever crossed blades with a swordsman. But mark you this, Madame, the lad feels my steel if ever you so much as speak to him again."

There was contempt in my eyes, nor did I strive to disguise it.

"Am I your wife, Monsieur, or your slave?"

"My wife, and I know how to hold you! _Mon Dieu_! but you shall learn that lesson. I was a fool to ever give the brat place in the boats. La Barre warned me that he would make trouble. Now I tell you what will occur if you play false with me."

"You may spare your threats--they weigh nothing. The Sieur de Artigny is my friend, and I shall address him when it pleases me. With whatever quarrel may arise between you I have no interest. Let that suffice, and now I bid you good night, Monsieur."

He made no effort to halt me, nor to follow, and I made my way down the darkening path, without so much as turning my head to observe his movements. It was almost like a play to me, and I was reckless of the consequences, intent only on my purpose.

I was awake a long time, lying alone on my blankets within the silent tent, and staring out at the darkness. I saw Cassion descend the deer path, perhaps an hour after I left him, and go on to the main camp below. He made no pause as he passed, yet walked slowly as though in thought. Where he went I could not determine in the gloom, yet was convinced he had no purpose then of seeking De Artigny or of putting his threat into immediate action. In all probability he believed that his words would render me cautious, in spite of my defiant response, and that I would avoid creating trouble by keeping away from the younger man. He was no brawler, except as he felt safe, and this young frontiersman was hardly the antagonist he would choose. It would be more apt to be a blow in the dark, or an overturned canoe.

I cannot recall now that I experienced any regret for what had occurred. Perhaps I might if I had known the end, yet I felt perfectly justified in all my actions. I had done no conscious wrong, and was only seeking that which was mine by every standard of justice. I knew I despised Cassion, while my feeling's toward De Artigny were so confused, and indefinite as to be a continual puzzle. I knew nothing of what love was--I was merely aware that the man interested me, and that I felt confidence in him. I recalled his words, the expression of his face, and felt the sharp sting of his rebuke, yet all was strangely softened by the message I had read in his eyes.

He had not approved of my course, yet in his heart had not blamed; he would not lend himself to my purpose, yet remained no less loyal to me. I could ask no more. Indeed, I had no wish to precipitate an open quarrel between the two men. However it ended, such an occurrence would serve me ill, and all that my plan contemplated was that they should distrust each other, and thus permit me to play the one against the other, until I won my game. I felt no fear of the result, no doubt of my ability to manipulate the strings adroitly enough to achieve the end sought.

The one point I ignored was the primitive passions of men. These were beyond my control; were already beyond, although I knew it not. Fires were smouldering in hearts which out yonder in the dark woods would burst into flame of destruction. Innocent as my purpose was, it had in it the germs of tragedy; but I was then too young, too inexperienced to know.

Nor had I reason to anticipate the result of my simple ruse, or occasion to note any serious change in my surroundings. The routine of our journey gave me no hint of the hidden passions seething below the outward appearance of things. In the early dawn we broke camp as usual, except that chosen boatmen guided the emptied canoes through the rapids, while the others of the party made portage along the rough shore. In the smooth water above we all embarked again, and won slow way against the current. The advance company had departed before our arrival, nor did I again obtain glimpse of De Artigny for many days.

I would not say that Cassion purposely kept us apart, for the arrangement might have been the same had I not been of the party, yet the only communication between the two divisions occurred when some messenger brought back warning of dangerous water ahead. Usually this messenger was an Indian, but once De Artigny himself came, and guided our canoes through a torrent of white, raging water, amid a maze of murderous rocks.

During these days and weeks Cassion treated me with consideration and outward respect. Not that he failed to talk freely, and to boast of his exploits and adventures, yet he refrained from laying hand on me, nor did he once refer to the incident of the bluff. I knew not what to make of the man in this new role of gallant, yet suspicioned that he but bided his time, and a better opportunity for exhibiting his true purpose.

There were times, when he thought I was not observing him, when the expression of his eyes brought me uneasiness, and I was soon aware that, in spite of his genial manner, and friendly expression, his surveillance was in no degree relaxed. Not for a moment was I alone.

When he was not beside me in the canoe, Pere Allouez became my companion, and at night a guard kept vigilant eye upon my tent. Twice I ventured to test this fact, only to be halted, and turned back within three yards of the entrance. Very polite the soldier was, with explanation of danger from prowling beasts, and the strictness of his order. At first such restraint angered me, but on second thought I did not greatly care, humiliating though it was; yet the protection thus afforded was not altogether unwelcome, and was in itself evidence of Cassion's determination to conquer me.

Nor was the journey lacking in interest or adventure. Never shall I forget the charm of those days and nights, amid which we made slow and toilsome passage through the desolate wilderness, ever gaining new leagues to the westward. Only twice in weeks did we encounter human beings--once a camp of Indians on the shore of a lake, and once a Capuchin monk, alone but for a single _voyageur_, as companion, passed us upon the river. He would have paused to exchange words, but at sight of Pere Allouez's black robe, he gave swift command to his _engage_, and the two disappeared as though fleeing from the devil.

But what visions of beauty, and sublimity, were those that swept constantly past us as we thus advanced into the wild depths of the woods. No two views were ever alike, and every curve in the river bank brought a fresh vista. I never tired of the vast, silent forests that seemed to shut us in, nor of the dancing silver of the swift water under our keel, nor of the great rocky bluffs under whose grim shadows we found passage. To me the hardships even were enjoyable: the clambering over rough portages, the occasional mishap, the coarse fare, the nights I was compelled to pass in the canoe, these only served to give added zest to the great adventure, to make real the unusual experiences I was passing through.

I was scarce more than a girl, young, strong, little accustomed to luxury, and my heart responded to the exhilaration of constant change, and the thrill of peril. And when, at last, we made the long portage, tramping through the dark forest aisles, bearing on our shoulders heavy loads, scarcely able to see the sun even at midday through the leafy screen of leaves, and came forth at twilight on the shores of the mighty lake, no words can express the raptures with which I stood and gazed across that expanse of heaving, restless water. The men launched their canoes upon the surface, and made camp in the edge of the forest, but I could not move, could not restrain my eyes, until darkness descended and left all before me a void.

Never had I gazed upon so vast a spectacle, so somber in the dull gray light, stretching afar to the horizon, its wild, desolate silence adding to its awful majesty. Even when darkness enshrouded it all, the memory haunted me, and I could but think and dream, frightened and awed in presence of that stupendous waste of waters. The soldiers sang about their fires, and Cassion sought me with what he meant to be courteous words, but I was in no spirit to be amused. For hours I lay alone, listening to the dull roar of waves along the shore, and the wind in the trees. De Artigny, and his party, camped just beyond us, across the mouth of a narrow stream, but I saw nothing of him, nor do I believe I gave his presence a thought.

It was scarcely more than daybreak when we broke camp, and headed our canoes out into the lake. With the dawn, and the glint of sunlight over the waters, much of my dread departed, and I could appreciate the wild song of delight with which our Indian paddlers bent to their work. The sharp-prowed canoes swept through the waters swiftly, no longer battling against a current, and the shore line ever in view was fascinating in its green foliage. We kept close to the northern shore, and soon found passage amid numerous islands, forest covered, but with high, rocky outlines.

Of life there was no sign, and the silence of the vast primeval wilderness surrounding us rested heavily upon me. Whether this same sense of loneliness and awe affected the others I cannot say--yet the savage song died away, and the soldiers sat motionless, while the Indians plied their paddles noiselessly. Cassion even restrained his garrulous tongue, and when I glanced at him in some surprise, he was intent on the shores of a passing island, forgetful of my presence.

For four days we coasted thus, never out of sight of shore, and usually with islands between us and the main body of water. In all that time we had no sign of man--not even a wisp of smoke, nor heard the crack of distant rifle. About us extended loneliness and desolation, great waters never still, vast forests grim and somber, tall, menacing rocks, bright-colored in the sun.

Once it rained, drenching us to the skin, and driving us to shelter in an island cove. Once a sudden storm swept the lake, and we barely made land in time to save us from wreck, Chevet's canoe smashing an ugly hole in its bow, and a soldier dislocating his shoulder in the struggle. The accident held us for some hours, and later, when once more afloat, retarded progress.

This misfortune served also to restore Monsieur Cassion to his natural ill temper, and led to a quarrel between himself and Chevet which might have ended seriously had I not intervened. The incident, however, left the Commissaire in ugly mood, and caused him to play the bully over his men. To me he was sullen, after an attempt at insolence, and sat glowering across the water, meditating revenge.

At last we left the chain of islands behind, and one morning struck out from the shore into the waste of waters, the prows of the canoes turned westward, the steersman guiding our course by the sun. For several hours we were beyond view of land, with naught to rest the eye upon save the gray sea, and then, when it was nearly night, we reached the shore, and beached our canoes at St. Ignace.

CHAPTER XIV

AT ST. IGNACE

So much had been said of St. Ignace, and so long had the name been familiar throughout New France, that my first view of the place brought me bitter disappointment. The faces of the others in our party pictured the same disillusion.

Hugo Chevet had been in these parts before on fur-trading expeditions, and 'twas probable that De Artigny had stopped there on one of his voyages with La Salle. But to all the others the place had been merely a name, and our imagination had invested it with an importance scarcely justified by what we saw as our canoes drew in toward the beach.

The miserable little village was upon a point of land, originally covered with heavy growth of forest. A bit of this had been rudely cut, the rotting stumps still standing, and from the timber a dozen rough log houses had been constructed facing the lake. A few rods back, on slightly higher land, was a log chapel, and a house, somewhat more pretentious than the others, in which the priests lodged. The whole aspect of the place was peculiarly desolate and depressing, facing that vast waste of water, the black forest shadows behind, and those rotting stumps in the foreground.

Nor was our welcome one to make the heart rejoice. Scarce a dozen persons gathered at the beach to aid us in making landing, rough _engages_ mostly, and not among them all a face familiar. It was only later, when two priests from the mission came hurrying forward, that we were greeted by cordial speech. These invited a few of us to become guests at the mission house, and assigned the remainder of our party to vacant huts.