Gabriel and his men, with their faces set north, hardly glanced aside to see the river shining along its distant bed.  But one of them thought of saying,—­

“Paul and Jacques will have a long wait with the boat.”

The sun passed over their heads, and sunk hour by hour, and set.  The western sky was red; and night began to close in, and still they urged their tired horses on.  There would be a moon a little past its full, and they counted on its light when it should rise.

The trail of the Puants descended to the Bottom again at the head of the Grand Marais.  There was heavy timber here.  The night shadow of trees and rocks covered them, and they began to move more cautiously, for all signs pointed to a camp.  And sure enough, when they had passed an abutment of the ridge, far off through the woods they saw a fire.

My son (mon Oncle Mathieu would say at this point of the story), will you do me the favor to bring me a coal for my pipe?

(The coal being brought in haste, he put it into the bowl with his finger and thumb, and seemed to doze while he drew at the stem.  The smoke puffed deliberately from his lips, while all the time that mysterious fire was burning in the woods for my impatience to dance upon with hot feet, above the Grand Marais!)

Oh, yes, Gabriel and his men were getting very close to the Puants.  They dismounted, and tied their horses in a crabapple thicket and crept forward on foot.  He halted them, and crawled alone toward the light to reconnoitre, careful not to crack a twig or make the least noise.  The nearer he crawled the more his throat seemed to choke up and his ears to fill with buzzing sounds.  The camp fire showed him Celeste tied to a tree.  She looked pale and dejected, and her head rested against the tree stem, but her eyes kept roving the darkness in every direction as if she expected rescue.  Her bridal finery had been torn by the bushes and her hair was loose, but Gabriel had never seen Celeste when she looked so beautiful.

Thirteen big Puants were sitting around the camp fire eating their supper of half-raw meat.  Their horses were hobbled a little beyond, munching such picking as could be found among the fern.  Gabriel went back as still as a snake and whispered his orders to his men.

Every Frenchman must pick the Puant directly in front of him, and be sure to hit that Puant.  If the attack was half-hearted and the Indians gained time to rally, Celeste would suffer the consequences; they could kill her or escape with her.  If you wish to gain an Indian’s respect you must make a neat job of shooting him down.  He never forgives a bungler.

“And then,” said Gabriel, “we will rush in with our knives and hatchets.  It must be all done in a moment.”