But Du Lhut waved aside the seaman’s suggestions.  “We must have a care now,” said he, “or we shall lose our own scalps, and be the cause of those at Sainte Marie losing theirs as well.”

“Sainte Marie!” cried De Catinat.  “Is there then danger at Sainte Marie?”

“Ay, they are in the wolf’s mouth now.  This business was done last night.  The place was stormed by a war-party of a hundred and fifty men.  This morning they left and went north upon foot.  They have been cached among the woods all day between Poitou and Sainte Marie.”

“Then we have come through them?”

“Yes, we have come through them.  They would keep their camp to-day and send out scouts.  Brown Moose and his son were among them and struck our trail.  To-night—­”

“To-night they will attack Sainte Marie?”

“It is possible.  And yet with so small a party I should scarce have thought that they would have dared.  Well, we can but hasten back as quickly as we can, and give them warning of what is hanging over them.”

And so they turned for their weary backward journey, though their minds were too full to spare a thought upon the leagues which lay behind them or those which were before.  Old Ephraim, less accustomed to walking than his younger comrades, was already limping and footsore, but, for all his age, he was as tough as hickory, and full of endurance.  Du Lhut took the lead again and they turned their faces once more towards the north.

The moon was shining brightly in the sky, but it was little aid to the travellers in the depths of the forest.  Where it had been shadowy in the daytime it was now so absolutely dark that De Catinat could not see the tree-trunks against which he brushed.  Here and there they came upon an open glade bathed in the moonshine, or perhaps a thin shaft of silver light broke through between the branches, and cast a great white patch upon the ground, but Du Lhut preferred to avoid these more open spaces, and to skirt the glades rather than to cross them.  The breeze had freshened a little, and the whole air was filled with the rustle and sough of the leaves.  Save for this dull never-ceasing sound all would have been silent had not the owl hooted sometimes from among the tree-tops, and the night-jar whirred above their heads.

Dark as it was, Du Lhut walked as swiftly as during the sunlight, and never hesitated about the track.  His comrades could see, however, that he was taking them a different way to that which they had gone in the morning, for twice they caught a sight of the glimmer of the broad river upon their left, while before they had only seen the streams which flowed into it.  On the second occasion he pointed to where, on the farther side, they could see dark shadows flitting over the water.

“Iroquois canoes,” he whispered.  “There are ten of them with eight men in each.  They are another party, and they are also going north.”