"Yo' kin find her, Mistah Dane, an' bring her back to me. I pray fo'
her ebbery night an' all tro de day. I know yo' will come agin, an'
bring my los' lamb wif yo'."

The next day Dane and Pete left the settlement and headed up river.
They started early and travelled hard. They were well aware that a
storm was not far off, so Dane wished to be well up the Washademoak
before the tempest burst. He knew of the band of Indians far inland,
and there he hoped to find Jean. It was the most likely place where
she would be taken, so he reasoned. But if he could not find her
there, he would no doubt learn something of her whereabouts.

He parted with Pete at the entrance to this stream early that
afternoon, as he wished to send the Indian to Oromocto with a message
to Davidson. As for himself he could not take the time to go as every
hour was precious. With feverish haste he pressed on alone, planning
to travel all night, if possible. It was a dreary and desolate region
through which he moved, with not a sign of life anywhere. His
snow-shoes bent and creaked beneath his great strides, tossing the snow
aside like spray from a ship's bow. The weight of his musket, and the
pack of food upon his back impeded him not in the slightest degree. He
was a giant of the trail, sturdy of body, sound in wind, and possessed
of remarkable endurance. He had to be all these to be chief of the
royal rangers in the service of William Davidson. He knew what it was
to travel day and night, bearing some message of importance, so the
journey ahead was nothing out of the ordinary. But he had a greater
mission now than ever before, and this inspired him to more strenuous
efforts. The vision of a fair face was constantly with him, and the
thought that Jean needed his help drove him forward like the wind.