Iberville himself came up slowly, for he was stiff and his limbs were
shaking. His clothes were in tatters, and his fine face was like that of
a warrior defaced by swords.
But he refused to be carried, and his first care was for the boy, who had
received no mortal injury.
"You have saved the boy, Pierre," said the priest, in a low voice.
"Self-abasing always, dear abbe; you saved us both. By heaven, but the
king lost a great man in you!"
"Hush! Mere brawn, Pierre. . . . By the blessing of God," he added
quickly.
CHAPTER XI
WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE
After this came varying days of hardship by land and water, and then
another danger. One day they were, crossing a great northern lake. The
land was moist with the sweat of quick-springing verdure; flocks of wild
fowl rose at all points, and herds of caribou came drinking and feeding
at the shore. The cries of herons, loons, and river-hens rose with
strange distinctness, so delicate was the atmosphere, and the blue of the
sky was exquisite.
As they paddled slowly along this lake, keeping time to their songs with
the paddles, there suddenly grew out of the distance a great flotilla of
canoes with tall prows, and behind them a range of islands which they had
not before seen.
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