“Why, easily.  You do not yet understand the ways of the wilderness, where news travels as fast as in the cities.  You were hardly below the foot of Michiganon before runners from the Illini had spread the news along the Chicaqua, where I was then in camp.  For the rest, the runners brought also news of the Big Peace.  I reasoned that the Iroquois would not dare to destroy their captives, that in time the agents of the Government would receive the captives of the Iroquois—­that these captives would naturally come to the settlements on the St. Lawrence, since it was the French against whom the Iroquois had been at war; that having come to Montreal, you would naturally remain here for a time.  The rest was easy.  I fared on to the Straits this spring, and then on down the Lakes.  I have sold our furs, and am now ready to account to you with a sum quite as much as we should have expected.

“Now, Monsieur,” and Du Mesne stretched out his arm again, pointing to the down-coming flood of the St. Lawrence, “Monsieur, will you come?  I see not the St. Lawrence, but the Messasebe.  I can hear the voices calling!”

Law dashed his hand across his eyes and turned his head away.  “Not yet, Du Mesne,” said he.  “I do not know.  Not yet.  I must first go across the waters.  Perhaps sometime—­I can not tell.  But this, my comrades, my brothers, I do know; that never, until the last sod lies on my grave, will I forget the Messasebe, or forget you.  Go back, if you will, my brothers; but at night, when you sit by your fireside, think of me, as I shall think of you, there in the great valley.  My friends, it is the heart of the world!”

“But, Monsieur—­”

“There, Du Mesne—­I would not talk to-day.  At another time.  Brothers, adieu!”

“Adieu, my brother,” said the coureur, his own emotion showing in his eyes; and their hands met again.

“Monsieur is cast down,” said Du Mesne to Pierre Noir later, as they reached the beach.  “Now, what think you?

“Usually, as you know, Pierre, it is a question of some woman.  It reminds me, Wabana was remiss enough when I left her among the Illini with you.  Now, God bless my heart, I find her—­how think you?  With her crucifix lost, cooking for a dirty Ojibway!”

“Mary Mother!” said Pierre Noir, “if it be a matter of a woman—­well, God help us all!  At least ’tis something that will take Monsieur L’as over seas again.”

“’Tis mostly a woman,” mused Du Mesne; “but this passeth my wit.”

“True, they pass the wit of all.  Now, did I ever tell thee about the mission girl at Michilimackinac—­but stay!  That for another time.  They tell me that our comrade, Greysolon du L’hut, is expected in to-morrow with a party from the far end of Superior.  Come, let us have the news.”

    “Tous les printemps,
     Tant des nouvelles,”

hummed Du Mesne, as he flung his arm above the shoulder of the other; and the two so disappeared adown the beach.