The Iroquois had not treated De Catinat harshly when they dragged him from the water into their canoe.  So incomprehensible was it to them why any man should voluntarily leave a place of safety in order to put himself in their power that they could only set it down to madness, a malady which inspires awe and respect among the Indians.  They did not even tie his wrists, for why should he attempt to escape when he had come of his own free will?  Two warriors passed their hands over him, to be sure that he was unarmed, and he was then thrust down between the two women, while the canoe darted in towards the bank to tell the others that the St. Louis garrison was coming up the stream.  Then it steered out again, and made its way swiftly up the centre of the river.  Adele was deadly pale and her hand, as her husband laid his upon it, was as cold as marble.

“My darling,” he whispered, “tell me that all is well with you—­that you are unhurt!”

“Oh, Amory, why did you come?  Why did you come, Amory?  Oh, I think I could have borne anything, but if they hurt you I could not bear that.”

“How could I stay behind when I knew that you were in their hands?  I should have gone mad!”

“Ah, it was my one consolation to think that you were safe.”

“No, no, we have gone through so much together that we cannot part now.  What is death, Adele?  Why should we be afraid of it?”

“I am not afraid of it.”

“And I am not afraid of it.  Things will come about as God wills it, and what He wills must in the end be the best.  If we live, then we have this memory in common.  If we die, then we go hand-in-hand into another life.  Courage, my own, all will be well with us.”

“Tell me, monsieur,” said Onega, “is my lord still living?”

“Yes, he is alive and well.”

“It is good.  He is a great chief, and I have never been sorry, not even now, that I have wedded with one who was not of my own people.  But ah, my son!  Who shall give my son back to me?  He was like the young sapling, so straight and so strong!  Who could run with him, or leap with him, or swim with him?  Ere that sun shines again we shall all be dead, and my heart is glad, for I shall see my boy once more.”

The Iroquois paddles had bent to their work until a good ten miles lay between them and Sainte Marie.  Then they ran the canoe into a little creek upon their own side of the river, and sprang out of her, dragging the prisoners after them.  The canoe was carried on the shoulders of eight men some distance into the wood, where they concealed it between two fallen trees, heaping a litter of branches over it to screen it from view.  Then, after a short council, they started through the forest, walking in single file, with their three prisoners in the middle.  There were fifteen warriors in all, eight in front and seven behind, all armed with muskets and as swift-footed as deer, so that escape was out of the question.  They could but follow on, and wait in patience for whatever might befall them.