Lapierre nodded.  “Yes,” he answered sadly, “and he will kill more of them.  It seems that this time they got beyond even his control.  For the destruction of his buildings and his goods, he will take his toll in lives and in the sufferings of his Indians.”

While the canoe shot southward through the darkness, Chloe sat huddled upon her blankets.  And as she watched the dull-red glow fade from the sky above MacNair’s burning fort, her heart cried out for vengeance against this brute of the North.

One hour, two hours, the canoe plowed the black waters of the lake, and then, because men must rest, Lapierre reluctantly gave the order to camp, and the tired canoemen turned the bow shoreward.

Hardly had they taken a dozen strokes when the canoe ground sharply against the thin, shore ice.  There was the sound of ripping bark, where the knifelike edge of the ice tore through the side of the frail craft.  Water gushed in, and Lapierre, stifling a curse that rose to his lips, seized a paddle, and leaning over the bow began to chop frantically at the ice.  Two of the canoemen with their paddles held her head on, while the other two, with the help of Chloe and Big Lena endeavoured to stay the inrush of water with blankets and fragments of clothing.

Progress was slow.  The ice thickened as they neared the shore, and Lapierre’s paddle-blade, battered upon its point and edges to a soft, fibrous pulp, thudded softly upon the ice without breaking it.  He threw the paddle overboard and seized another.  A few more yards were won, but the shore loomed black and forbidding, and many yards away.  Despite the utmost efforts of the women and the two canoemen, the water gained rapidly.  Lapierre redoubled his exertion, chopping and stabbing at the ever thickening shore-ice.  And then suddenly his paddle crashed through, and with a short cry of relief he rose to his feet, and leaped into the black water, where he sank only to his middle.  The canoemen followed.  And the canoe, relieved of the bulk of its burden, floated more easily.

Slowly they pushed shoreward through the shallow water, the men breaking the ice before them.  And a few minutes later, wet and chilled to the bone, they stepped onto the gravel.

Within the shelter of a small thicket a fire was built, and while the men returned to examine the damaged canoe, the two women wrung out their dripping garments and, returning them wet, huddled close to the tiny blaze.  The men returned to the fire, where a meal was prepared and eaten in silence.  As he ate, Chloe noticed that Lapierre seemed ill at ease.

“Did you repair the canoe?” she asked.  The man shook his head.

“No.  It is damaged beyond any thought of repair.  We removed the food and such of its contents as are necessary, and, loading it with rocks, sank it in the lake.”

“Sank it in the lake!” cried the girl in amazement.

“Yes,” answered Lapierre.  “For even if it were not damaged, it would be of no further use to us.  Tonight the lake will freeze.”