In the food Le Borgne brought was always a flavour of simples or drugs.
One night--at least I supposed it was night from the chill of the air
blowing past the bearskin--just as Le Borgne stooped to serve me, his
torch flickered out. Before he could relight, I had poured the broth
out and handed back an empty bowl.
Then I lay with eyes tight shut and senses wide awake. The Indian sat
on the log-end watching. I did not stir. Neither did I fall asleep as
usual. The Indian cautiously passed a candle across my face. I lay
motionless as I had been drugged. At that he stalked off. Voices
began in the other apartment. Two or three forms went tip-toeing about
the cave. Shadows passed athwart the flame. A gust of cold; and with
half-closed eyes I saw three men vanish through the outer doorway over
fields no longer snow-clad.
Had spring come? How long had I lain in the cave? Before I gained
strength to escape, would M. Radisson have left for Quebec? Then came
a black wave of memory--thought of Jack Battle, the sailor lad,
awaiting our return to rescue him. From the first Jack and I had held
together as aliens in Boston Town. Should I lie like a stranded hull
while he perished? Risking spies on the watch, I struggled up and
staggered across the cave to that blue flame quivering so mysteriously.
Pages:
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216