"Sapristi!" said I, "do you call that the sun, lad? It is very much like a windmill."

How Marc might have retorted upon me, I know not; for at the moment, though it yet wanted much of noon, the fantastic figure of the madman--if he were a madman--sped into the Forge. He stopped abruptly before us and scrutinized us for some few seconds in utter silence, his eyes glittering and piercing like sword points. His long white hair and beard were disordered with haste, the flowers and feathers in his pointed cap were for the most part broken, even as when we had last seen him, and his gaudy mantle was somewhat befouled with river mud.

Yet such power was there in his look and in his gesture, that when he stretched out his little white staff toward me and said "Come," I had much ado to keep from obeying him without question. Yet this I would not permit myself, as was natural.

"Whither?" I questioned. "And for what purpose?"

By this time he was out at the door, but he stopped. Giving me a glance of scorn he turned to Marc, and stretched out his staff.

"Come," he said. And in a breath he was gone, springing with incredible swiftness and smoothness through the underbrush.

"We must follow, Father!" cried Marc; and in the same instant was away.

For my own part, it was sorely against me to be led by the nose, and thus blindly, by the madman--whom I now declared certainly to be mad.

But Marc had gone, so I had no choice, as I conceived it, but to stand by the lad. I went too. And seeing that I had to do it, I did it well, and presently overtook them.

"What is this folly?" I asked angrily, panting a little, I confess.

But Marc signed to me to be silent. I obeyed, though with ill enough grace, and ran on till my mouth was like a board, my tongue like wool.

Then the grim light of the forest whitened suddenly before us, and our guide stopped. Instinctively we imitated his motions, as he stole forward and peered through a screen of leaf.a.ge. We were on a bank overlooking the Canard. A little below, and paddling swiftly towards the river-mouth, were two canoes manned with the Abbe's Micmacs. In the bottom of one canoe lay a little fair-haired boy, bound.

"My G.o.d!" cried Marc, under his breath, "'tis the child! 'tis little Philip Hanford."

Grul turned his wild eyes upon us.

"The power of the dog!" he muttered, "the power of the dog!"

"We must get a canoe and follow them!" exclaimed Marc, in great agitation, turning to go, and looking at me with pa.s.sionate appeal.

But before I could speak, to a.s.sure him of my aid and support, Grul interfered.

"Wait!" he said, with meaning emphasis, thrusting his little staff almost in the lad's face. "Come!" and he started up along the river bank, going swiftly but with noiseless caution. I expected Marc to demur, but not so. He evidently had a childlike faith in this fantastic being. He followed without a protest. Needless to say, I followed also. But all this mystery, and this blind obedience, and this lordly lack of explanation, were little to my liking.

We had not gone above half a mile when Grul stopped, and bent his mad head to listen. Such an att.i.tude of listening I had never seen before.

The feathers and stalks in his cap seemed to lean forward like a horse's ears; his hair and beard took on a like inclination of intentness; even the grim little scarlet head upon his staff seemed to listen with its master. And Marc did as Grul did. Then came a sound as of a woman weeping, very close at hand. Grul motioned us to pa.s.s him, and creep forward. We did so, lying down and moving as softly as lizards. But I turned to see what our mysterious guide was doing--and lo, he was gone. He might have faded into a summer exhalation, so complete and silent was his exit.

This was too much. Only my experience as a woods-fighter, my instinctive caution, kept me from springing to my feet and calling him.

But my suspicions were all on fire. I laid a firm hand of detention on Marc's arm, and whispered:--

"He's gone; 'tis a trap."

Marc looked at me in some wonder, and more impatience.

"No trap, Father; that's Grul's way,"

"Well," I whispered, "we had better go another way, I'm thinking."

As I spoke, the woman's weeping came to us more distinctly. Something in the sound seemed to catch Marc's heart, and his face changed.

"'Tis all right, I tell you, Father!" came from between his teeth.

"Come! come! Oh, I know the voice!" And he crept forward resolutely.

And, of course, I followed.

Chapter X

A Bit of White Petticoat

We had not advanced above a score of paces when, peering stealthily between the stems of herbs and underbrush, we saw what Grul had desired us to see. Two more canoes were drawn up at the water's edge. Four savages were in sight, sprawling in indolent att.i.tudes under the shade of a wide water-maple. In their midst, at the foot of the tree, lay a woman bound securely. She was huddled together in a posture of hopeless despair; and a dishevelled glory of gold-red tresses fell over her face to hide it. She lay in a moveless silence. Yet the sound of weeping continued, and Marc, gripping my hand fiercely, set his mouth to my ear and gasped:--

"'Tis my own maid! 'Tis Prudence!"

Then I saw where she sat, a little apart, a slender maid with a lily face, and hair glowing dark red in the full sun that streamed upon her.

She was so tied to another tree that she might have no comfort or companionship of her sister,--for I needed now no telling to convey it to me that the lady with the hidden face and the unweeping anguish was Mistress Mizpah Hanford, mother of the child whom I had just seen carried away.

I grieved for Marc, whose eyes stared out upon the weeping maid from a face that had fallen to the hue of ashes. But I praised the saints for sending to our aid this madman Grul,--whom, in my heart, I now graciously absolved from the charge of madness. Seeing the Black Abbe's hand in the ravishment of these tender victims, I made no doubt to cross him yet again, and my heart rose exultantly to the enterprise.

"Cheer up, lad," I whispered to Marc. "Come away a little till we plot."

I showed my confidence in my face, and I could see that he straightway took heart thereat. Falling back softly for a s.p.a.ce of several rods, we paused in a thicket to take counsel. As soon as we could speak freely, Marc exclaimed, "They may go at any moment, Father. We must haste."

"No," said I, "they'll not go till the cool of the day. The others went because they have plainly been ordered to part the child from his mother. It is a most cunning and most cruel malice that could so order it."

"It is my enemy's thrust at me," said Marc. "How did he know that I loved the maid?"

"His eyes are in every corner of Acadie," said I; "but we will foil him in this as in other matters. Marc, my heart is stirred mightily by that poor mother's pain. I tell you, lad,"--and I looked diligently to the priming of my pistols as I spoke,--"I tell you I will not rest till I give the little one back into her arms."

But Marc, as was not unnatural, thought now rather of his lily maid sobbing under the tree.

"Yes, Father," said he, "but what is to be done now, to save Prudence and Mizpah?"

"Of course, dear lad," I answered, smilingly, "that is just what we are here for. But let me consider." And sitting down upon a fallen tree, I buried my face in my hands. Marc, the while, waited with what patience he could muster, relying wholly upon my conduct of the business, but fretting for instant action.

We were well armed (each with a brace of pistols and a broadsword, the forest being no place for rapiers), and I accounted that we were an overmatch for the four redskins. But there was much at stake, with always the chance of accident. And, moreover, these Indians were allies of France, wherefore I was most unwilling to attack them from the advantage of an ambush. These various considerations decided me.

"Marc, we'll fight them if needful," said I, lifting up my head. "But I'm going to try first the conclusions of peace. I will endeavour to ransom the prisoners. These Micmacs are mightily avaricious, and may yield. It goes against me to attack them from an ambush, seeing that they are of our party and servants of King Louis."

At this speech Marc looked very ill content.

"But, Father," he objected, "shall we forego the advantage of a surprise? We are but two to their four, and we put the whole issue at hazard. And as for their being of our party, they bring shame upon our party, and greatly dishonour the service of King Louis."

"Nevertheless, dear lad," said I, "they have their claim upon us,--not lightly to be overlooked, in my view of it. But hear my plan. You will go back to where we lay a moment ago, and there be ready with your pistols. I will approach openly by the water side and enter into parley with them. If I can buy the captives, well and good. If they deny me, we quarrel. You will know when to play your part. I am satisfied of that. I shall feel safe under cover of your pistols, and shall depend upon you to account for two of the four. Only, do not be too hasty!"

"Oh, I'm cool as steel now, Father," said Marc. "But I like not this plan. The danger is all yours. And the quarrel is mine. Let us go into it side by side!"

"Chut, lad!" said I. "Your quarrel's my quarrel, and the danger is not more for me than for you, as you won't be long away from me when the fight begins,--if it comes to a fight. And further, my plan is both an honest one and like to succeed. Come, let us be doing!"