Quick as thought Steve gave the answer in French, and at once the figure which had stood dimly silhouetted against the clear sky and the stars above disappeared. "Paddle back a little," whispered Steve, when the man had gone. "Now lie off the bank for a while, dipping your paddles gently. In a few minutes we will drop down again." They took their frail craft some two hundred yards up stream again, making out into the river as they did so. Then, having allowed some minutes to pass, they struck for the bank again, floated down without using a paddle, and grounded noiselessly. There was no need now for talking. Steve stepped softly ashore, and was followed by his comrades. Together they lifted the canoe, and laid it on the bank some yards from the brink. Then they turned their faces to the cliff, crept over the grass, and between bushes and brambles till they were at its foot, and then separated. Five minutes later they had gathered again at the same spot. "Struck it, Cap'n," whispered Jim, a thrill of excitement in his usually even voice. "I jest hit nicely on it. Come." On hands and knees now the four crept along at the foot of the cliff till Jim stopped them. They turned to the left abruptly, and as Steve felt the ground his fingers detected the hollow track which he had used on former occasions when a prisoner at Quebec. They were on it now, Jim leading still, and Mac in rear, clambering through the darkness. "H-u-u-u-sh! What in thunder air thet?" Jim spoke in a whisper, and Steve, who followed closely after him, squeezed up to his side. There was a mass of wood and earth clinging to the face of the cliff, and entirely blocking a portion of the zig-zag Anse du Foulon. "Get round it," whispered Steve, when he had run his fingers over the obstruction. "Quietly! I think I heard someone moving up above." Creeping to the right, and making use of every possible stump and rock, Jim clambered round the obstruction, and reached the path again. Another minute and he had gained the summit of the cliff, here some two hundred feet in height, and was stretched on the grass which clad the edge. And there the four lay listening for some few minutes. "There's a sentry or two 'way over thar," whispered Jim, after a little while. "I can hear the tap of his boots, and what's thet?" "A song. He is doing what many a sentry does to pass the hours of darkness. Humming a little tune all to himself. It's company to a man posted on such a lonely beat. Well, Jim, we'll go. Keep a bright look-out."