But she turned upon me with the question which I had looked for. "If that is the Black Abbe's river," said she, with great eyes fixing mine, "and the Indians have gone that way, why do we pass by?" "I owe you an explanation, comrade," said I. "I think in all likelihood, that way leads straight to your child; but if we went that way, we would be the Abbe's prisoners within the next hour,--and how would we help the child then? Oh, no; I am bound for the Black Abbe's back door. A few leagues beyond this lies the River des Saumons, and on its banks is a settlement of our Acadian folk. Many of them are of the Abbe's following, and all fear him; but I have there two faithful men who are in the counsels of the Forge. One of these dwells some two miles back from the river, half a league this side of the village. I will go to him secretly, and send him on to the Shubenacadie for information. Then we will act not blindly." To this of course she acquiesced at once, as being the only wise way; but for all that, with each canoe-length that we left the Shubenacadie behind, the more did her paddle lag. The impulse seemed all gone out of her. Soon therefore I bade her lay down the blade and rest. In a little, when she had lain a while with her face upon her arms,--whether waking or not I could not tell, for she kept her face turned away from me,--she became herself again. No long while after noon, we ran into the mouth of the des Saumons. I was highly elated with the success that had so far attended us,--the speed we had made, our immunity from hindrance and question. We landed to eat our hasty meal, but paused not long to rest, being urged now by the keen spur of imagined nearness to our goal. Some two hours more of brisk paddling brought us to a narrow and winding creek, up which I turned. For some furlongs it ran through a wide marsh, but at length one bank grew high and copsy. Here I put the canoe to land, and stepped ashore, bidding Mizpah keep her place. Finding the spot to my liking, I pulled the canoe further up on the soft mud, and astonished Mizpah by telling her that I must carry her up the bank. "But why?" she cried. "I can walk, Monsieur, as well as I could this morning--though I _am_ a little stiff," she added naively. "The good soldier asks not why," said I, with affected severity. "But I will tell you. In case any one _should_ come in my absence, there must be but one track visible, and that track mine, leading up and away toward the settlement. You must lie hidden in that thicket, and keep guard. Do you understand, Madame?" "Yes," said she,--"but how can you?--I am awfully heavy." I laughed softly, picked her up as I would a child, and carried her to the edge of the woods, where I let her down on one end of a fallen tree.