Radisson braced back to lighten the bow; the prow rose, a sweep of the
paddles, and on we sped!

"Hard luck to pull and not gain a boat length," observed Jean.

"Harder luck not to pull, and to be swept back," corrected M. de
Radisson.

We left the main river to thread a labyrinthine chain of waterways,
where were portages over brambly shores and slippery rocks, with the
pace set at a run by M. de Radisson. Jean and I followed with the pack
straps across our foreheads and the provisions on our backs. Godefroy
brought up the rear with the bark canoe above his head.

At one place, where we disembarked, M. de Radisson traced the sand with
the muzzle of his musket.

"A boot-mark," said he, drawing the faint outlines of a footprint, "and
egad, it's not a man's foot either!"

"Impossible!" cried Jean. "We are a thousand miles from any white-man."

"There's nothing impossible on this earth," retorted Radisson
impatiently. "But pardieu, there are neither white women in this
wilderness, nor ghosts wearing women's boots! I'd give my right hand
to know what left that mark!"

After that his haste grew feverish. We snatched our meals by turns
between paddles. He seemed to grudge the waste of each night, camping
late and launching early; and it was Godefroy's complaint that each