Hastening
up the river course we met Governor Brigdar sledding the ice with a
dog-team of huskies.
"The compliments of the season to Your Excellency!" shouted Radisson
across the snow.
"The same to the representative of France," returned Governor Brigdar,
trying to get away before questions could be asked.
"I don't see your ship," called Radisson.
"Four leagues down the river," explained the governor.
"_Under_ the river," retorted Radisson, affecting not to hear.
"No--down the river," and the governor whisked round a bluff out of
call.
The gray night shadows gathered against the woods. Stars seeded the
sky overhead till the whole heavens were aglow. And the northern
lights shot their arrowy jets of fire above the pole, rippled in
billows of flame, scintillated with the faint rustling of a flag in a
gale, or swung midway between heaven and earth like censers to the
invisible God of that cold, far, northern world.
Then the bastions of Ben Gillam's fort loomed above the wastes like the
peak of a ship at sea, and M. Radisson issued his last commands.
Godefroy and I were to approach the main gate. M. Radisson and his
five men would make a detour to attack from the rear.
A black flag waved above the ship to signal those inland pirates whom
Ben Gillam was ever cursing, and the main gates stood wide ajar.
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