And then suddenly the end of it came.  A flood of sunlight burst in at the windows, and all at once voices came from ahead, a laugh, a shout, and a yell of rejoicing from the bateau, and Joe Clamart started again the everlasting song of the allouette bird that was plucked of everything it had.  Carrigan found himself grinning.  They were a queer people, these bred-in-the-blood northerners—­ still moved by the superstitions of children.  Yet he conceded that the awesome deadness of the forest passage had put strange thoughts into his own heart.

Before nightfall Bateese and Joe Clamart came in and tied his arms behind him, and he was taken ashore with the rumble of a waterfall in his ears.  For two hours he watched the labors of the men as they beached the bateau on long rollers of smooth birch and rolled it foot by foot over a cleared trail until it was launched again above the waterfall.  Then he was led back into the cabin and his arms freed.  That night he went to sleep with the music of the waterfall in his ears.

The second day the Yellowknife seemed to be no longer a river, but a narrow lake, and the third day the rowers came into the Nine Lake country at noon, and until another dusk the bateau threaded its way through twisting channels and impenetrable forests, and beached at last at the edge of a great open where the timber had been cut.  There was more excitement here, but it was too dark for David to understand the meaning of it.  There were many voices; dogs barked.  Then voices were at his door, a key rattled in the lock, and it opened.  David saw Bateese and Joe Clamart first.  And then, to his amazement, Black Roger Audemard stood there, smiling at him and nodding good-evening.

It was impossible for David to repress his astonishment.

“Welcome to Chateau Boulain,” greeted Black Roger.  “You are surprised?  Well, I beat you out by half a dozen hours—­in a canoe, m’sieu.  It is only courtesy that I should be here to give you welcome!”

Behind him Bateese and Joe Clamart were grinning widely, and then both came in, and Joe Clamart picked up his dunnage-sack and threw it over his shoulder.

“If you will come with us, m’sieu—­”

David followed, and when he stepped ashore there were Bateese, and Joe Clamart and one other behind him, and three or four shadowy figures ahead, with Black Roger walking at his side.  There were no more voices, and the dog had ceased barking.  Ahead was a wall of darkness, which was the deep black forest beyond the clearing, and into it led a trail which they followed.  It was a path worn smooth by the travel of many feet, and for a mile not a star broke through the tree-tops overhead, nor did a flash of light break the utter chaos of the way but once, when Joe Clamart lighted his pipe.  No one spoke.  Even Black Roger was silent, and David found no word to say.