I don't care where."

"You did not bring your musket. It would hardly be safe."

"Safe!" There was weary contempt in the boy's voice. He sat up, and
made an effort to steady himself, leaning back upon his hands. "I
should not say this. It was what I thought at first. I am past it now;
I can think better. It was only your coming,--when I first saw you, it
came rushing back, and I wanted to--oh, what is the use? You do not
know. You cannot understand."

"And now?"

"Now, Captain, I ask for a release. Let me go back to Montreal."

"How would you go? You have no canoe."

"I will walk."

Menard shook his head.

"I am sorry," he said, "but it is too late. In the first place, you
would never reach the city. There are scouting bands of Iroquois all
along the river."

"So much the better, M'sieu, so--"

"Wait. That is only one reason. I cannot spare you. I have realized
within the last day that I should have brought more men. The Iroquois
know of our campaign; they are watching us. A small party like this is
to their liking. I will tell you, Danton, we may have a close rub
before we get to Frontenac. I wish I could help you, but I cannot.
What reason could I give for sending you alone down the river to
Montreal? You forget, boy, that we are not on our own pleasure; we are
on the King's errand. For you to go now would be to take away one of
our six fighting men,--to imperil Mademoiselle. And that, I think," he
looked keenly at Danton, "is not what you would wish to do."

The boy's face was by turns set and working. He looked at Menard as if
to speak, but got nothing out. At last he sprang to his feet, and
paced back and forth between the trees.

"What can I do?" he said half to himself. "I can't stay! I can't see
her every day, and hear her voice, and sit with her at every meal. Why
do you call yourself my friend, Menard? Why don't you help? Why don't
you say something--?"

"There are some things, Danton, that a man must fight out alone."

Danton turned away, and stood looking over the river. Menard sat on
the log and waited. The moments slipped by, and still they said
nothing. They could hear the stirring of Colin, back at the camp, and
the rustle of the low night breeze. They could almost hear the great
silent rush of the river.

"Danton."

The boy half turned his head.

"You will stay here and play the man. You will go on with your duties;
though, if the old arrangement be too hard, I will be your maste