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"I left them at La Gallette," he said. "I haven't seen them oh, killed?" Menard nodded. "Come down the beach and tell me about it. What condition are you in? Have you anybody with you?" Before Menard could answer, he said to one of the soldiers: "Go back and tell the sergeant to bring up the canoes." They walked down the beach, and the other soldiers set about building a new fire.
That afternoon he passed the last rapid, and beached the canoe at La Gallette, thankful that nothing intervened between them and Fort Frontenac but a reach of still water and the twining channels of the Thousand Islands, where it would call for the sharpest eyes ever set in an Iroquois head to follow his movements. They ate an early supper, and immediately afterward Father Claude slipped away.
"Thank God! But how did you do it? How did you get her here, and yourself?" Menard rose and paced up and down the room. As he walked, he told the story of the capture at La Gallette, of the days in the Onondaga village, of the council and the escape. When he had finished, there was a long silence, while the Major sat with contracted brows.
If this goes on, we shall not get to Frontenac in time, that is all. And I cannot afford to take such a chance." The priest looked grave. The long struggle against the rapids from Montreal to La Gallette had tried the hardihood of more than one strong man. "It is probable, my son, that the sense of your responsibility makes you a little over-cautious. She is a strong enough child, I should say.
Menard crushed down the two remaining Indians as he would have crushed wild beasts, without a glance toward the mob that was running at him, without a thought for the gash in his arm, made first by an arrow at La Gallette and now reopened by a knife thrust. The Father, too, was wounded, but still he could fight. There was but a second more.
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