His head was erect, and
he was waving a hand in the direction of the raft. A figure had
come from the cabin on the huge mass of floating timber. David
caught the shimmer of a woman's dress, something white fluttering
over her head, waving back at St. Pierre. It was Marie-Anne, and
he moved away from the window.
He wondered what was passing between St. Pierre and his wife in
the hour that followed. The bateau kept abreast of the raft,
moving neither faster nor slower than it did, and twice he
surrendered to the desire to scan the deck of the floating timbers
through his binoculars. But the cabin held St. Pierre and Marie-
Anne, and he saw neither of them again until the sun was setting.
Then St. Pierre came out--alone.
Even at that distance over the broad river he heard the booming
voice of the chief of the Boulains. Life sprang up where there had
been the drowse of inactivity aboard the raft. A dozen more of the
great sweeps were swiftly manned by men who appeared suddenly from
the shaded places of canvas shelters and striped tents. A murmur
of voices rose over the water, and then the murmur was broken by
howls and shouts as the rivermen ran to their places at the
command of St.
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