Pierre's portions were always ample, and the western red was dulling by
the time we were again afloat. I did not paddle, but seated myself
beside the woman on the crushed leaves and watched in inactivity and
silence while the starlight came. As the dusk deepened we slipped by
strange islands, but I held the canoes straight in advance till a
limestone headland rose white out of the blurred, violet water. The
star shine showed a deep bay and wavering lights among the trees. I
touched the woman's shoulder.

"The largest of the Pottawatamie Islands," I explained. "I have had
maps. Pray God we may find what we seek."

The canoes bumped and slid upward on the sand, and I left the men on
guard, and taking the woman's hand led her toward the lights. A rabble
of dogs trooped upon us and gave tongue, and black shapes, arrow-laden,
clustered out of the wigwams.

"Peca," I cried, in greeting, and again, "Where is your chief? Where
is Onanguissé?"

A French voice answered, "Who calls?" The mat that hung before the
entrance of the nearest lodge was pulled aside, and smoke and red light
flared out of the opening. I saw the black robe of a priest!

"Father Nouvel, Father Nouvel!" I cried like a schoolboy. "You are
indeed here!"

The priest stooped to pass through the skin-draped opening, and came
peering into the starlight.