The forests were now painted in all the glories of autumn.  All the creatures of the woodlands shook off the drowsy laziness of summer and came down from the uplands seeking haunts for winter retreat.  Moose and deer were on the move.  Beaver came splashing down-stream to plaster up their wattled homes before frost.  Bear and lynx and marten, all were restless as the autumn winds instinct with coming storm.  This is the season when the Indian sets out to hunt and fight.  Furnished with clothing, food, and firearms, Radisson left the Mohawk Valley with three hunters.  By the middle of August, the rind of the birch is in perfect condition for peeling.  The first thing the hunters did was to slit off the bark of a thick-girthed birch and with cedar linings make themselves a skiff.  Then they prepared to lay up a store of meat for the winter’s war-raids.  Before ice forms a skim across the still pools, nibbled chips betray where a beaver colony is at work; so the hunters began setting beaver traps.  One night as they were returning to their wigwam, there came through the leafy darkness the weird sound of a man singing.  It was a solitary Algonquin captive, who called out that he had been on the track of a bear since daybreak.  He probably belonged to some well-known Iroquois, for he was welcomed to the camp-fire.  The sight of a face from Three Rivers roused the Algonquin’s memories of his northern home.  In the noise of the crackling fire, he succeeded in telling Radisson, without being overheard by the Iroquois, that he had been a captive for two years and longed to escape.

“Do you love the French?” the Algonquin asked Radisson.

“Do you love the Algonquin?” returned Radisson, knowing they were watched.

“As I do my own nation.”  Then leaning across to Radisson, “Brother—­white man!—­Let us escape!  The Three Rivers—­it is not far off!  Will you live like a Huron in bondage, or have your liberty with the French?” Then, lowering his voice, “Let us kill all three this night when they are asleep!”

From such a way of escape, the French youth held back.  The Algonquin continued to urge him.  By this time, Radisson must have heard from returning Iroquois warriors that they had slain the governor of Three Rivers, Duplessis-Kerbodot, and eleven other Frenchmen, among whom was the husband of Radisson’s eldest sister, Marguerite.[9]

While Radisson was still hesitating, the suspicious Iroquois demanded what so much whispering was about; but the alert Algonquin promptly quieted their fears by trumping up some hunting story.  Wearied from their day’s hunt, the three Mohawks slept heavily round the camp-fire.  They had not the least suspicion of danger, for they had stacked their arms carelessly against the trees of the forest.  Terrified lest the Algonquin should attempt to carry out his threat, Radisson pretended to be asleep.  Rising noiselessly, the Algonquin sat down by the fire.  The Mohawks