and hoped aright. Iberville, supporting the now senseless
boy, swung down the mad torrent, his eyes blinded with blood so that
he could not see. But he heard De Casson's voice, and with a splendid
effort threw himself and the lad towards it. The priest also fought
upwards to them and caught them as they came, having reserved his great
strength until now. Throwing his left arm over the lad he relieved
Iberville of his burden, but called to him to hold on. The blood was
flowing into Iberville's eyes and he could do nothing else. But now came
the fight between the priest and the mad waters. Once--twice--thrice
they went beneath, but neither Iberville nor himself let go, and to the
apprehensive cries of their friends there succeeded calls of delight,
for De Casson had seized the jutting bole and held on. It did not give,
and they were safe for a moment.

A quarter of a mile below there was smoother water, and soon the canoes
were ashore, and Perrot, Sainte-Helene, and others were running to the
rescue. They arrived just in time. Ropes were let down, and the lad was
drawn up insensible. Then came the priest, for Iberville, battered as
he was, would not stir until the abbe had gone up--a stout strain on
the rope. Fortunately there were clefts and fissures in the wall,
which could be used in the ascent. De Casson had consented to go
first, chiefly because he wished to gratify the still youthful pride of
Iberville, who thought the soldier should see the priest into safety.
Iberville himself came up slowly, for he was stiff and his limbs were
shaking. His clothes were in tatters, and his fine face was like that of
a warrior defaced by swords.

But he refused to be carried, and his first care was for the boy, who
had received no mortal injury.

"You have saved the boy, Pierre," said the priest, in a low voice.

"Self-abasing always, dear abbe; you saved us both. By heaven, but the
king lost a great man in you!"

"Hush! Mere brawn, Pierre.... By the blessing of God," he added quickly.

CHAPTER XI

WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE

After this came varying days of hardship by land and water, and then
another danger. One day they were, crossing a great northern lake. The
land was moist with the sweat of quick-springing verdure; flocks of wild
fowl rose at all points, and herds of caribou came drinking and feeding
at the shore. The cries of herons, loons, and river-hens rose with
strange distinctness, so delicate was the atmosph