at matter is decided," I announced, a ring of confidence in my
voice. "We will break bread once more, and then commence our journey."

"_Sacre_!" ejaculated the Captain, yet lolling upon his back, "if it be
like that same biscuit I had an hour since, breaking it will prove no
small matter."

The blazing sun stood an hour low in the west when we divided our small
stock of necessaries so as to transport them, and, with merely a last
regretful glance at the damaged boat which had been our home so long,
turned our faces hopefully toward those northern hills, commencing a
journey destined to prove for more than one a trip unto death. God's
way is best, and there is a noble purpose in it all; for had we that
day been enabled to view the future, not a single step would we have
taken, nor should I have had in my memory a tale worthy of being
written down.

I led the little company, bearing rifle in hand, keeping vigilant
outlook for game; De Noyan followed, where he might easily afford aid
to his wife if she required the strength of his arm along the rough
path; while the old Puritan, grumbling ever to himself, lumbered along
well in the rear, although we were careful to keep within speaking
distance of each other. We traversed a gently rising slope of grass
land, with numerous rocks scattered over its surface, keeping as close
as possible along the bank of the brawling stream, that we might make
use of its narrow valley through the rocky bluffs, which threatened to
bar our passage. These were no great distance away, so a steady
gait--I set the pace slow not to distress Madame, who was cramped from
long sitting within the boat--brought us in an hour to where our
narrowing path was overhung and darkened by the closing in of gloomy
mountain heights upon either side. It had an awesome look, like the
yawning mouth of a cave, opening to intense darkness and mysterious
danger. I saw a look almost of terror in Madame's eyes as she gazed,
yet her lips uttered no protest, and I flung aside a desire to shrink
back, with a muttered curse at my own folly. Saint Andrew! it is odd
how superstition grips the best of us. Those rock walls, binding us
within their scant confines as in a prison, were not particularly
precipitous or high, yet our way was sufficiently perilous, leading
along a contracted defile, the merest chasm, indeed, steep cliffs
rising sheer on either side, merely the raging stream and a ribbonlike
path between. Th