going to
look after you now."

"And where are we going?"

"Ah! there you have me. It is this way or none, for we can't get down
to the sea. We must make our way over land as best we can, and we must
leave a good stretch between Quebec citadel and us before the day
breaks, for from what I hear they would rather have a Huguenot prisoner
than an Iroquois sagamore. By the eternal, I cannot see why they should
make such a fuss over how a man chooses to save his own soul, though
here is old Ephraim just as fierce upon the other side, so all the folly
is not one way."

"What are you saying about me?" asked the seaman, pricking up his ears
at the mention of his own name.

"Only that you are a good stiff old Protestant."

"Yes, thank God. My motto is freedom to conscience, d'ye see, except
just for Quakers, and Papists, and--and I wouldn't stand Anne
Hutchinsons and women testifying, and suchlike foolishness."

Amos Green laughed. "The Almighty seems to pass it over, so why should
you take it to heart?" said he.

"Ah, you're young and callow yet. You'll live to know better. Why, I
shall hear you saying a good word soon even for such unclean spawn as
this," prodding the prostrate friar with the handle of his paddle.

"I daresay he's a good man, accordin' to his lights."

"And I daresay a shark is a good fish accordin' to its lights. No, lad,
you won't mix up light and dark for me in that sort of fashion. You may
talk until you unship your jaw, d'ye see, but you will never talk a foul
wind into a fair one. Pass over the pouch and the tinder-box, and maybe
our friend here will take a turn at my paddle."

All night they toiled up the great river, straining every nerve to place
themselves beyond the reach of pursuit. By keeping well into the
southern bank, and so avoiding the force of the current, they sped
swiftly along, for both Amos and De Catinat were practised hands with
the paddle, and the two Indians worked as though they were wire and
whipcord instead of flesh and blood. An utter silence reigned over all
the broad stream, broken only by the lap-lap of the water against their
curving bow, the whirring of the night hawk above them, and the sharp
high barking of foxes away in the woods. When at last morning broke,
and the black shaded imperceptibly into gray, they were far out of sight
of the citadel and of all trace of man's handiwork. Virgin woods in
their wonderful many-coloured autumn dress flowed r