presently declared that he had had enough--he was going back. With
that daring which was to prove both the lodestar and the curse of his
life, young Radisson laughed to scorn the sudden change of mind.
Thereupon the first hunter was joined by the second, and the two went
off in high dudgeon. With a laugh, Pierre Radisson marched along
alone, foreshadowing his after life,--a type of every pathfinder facing
the dangers of the unknown with dauntless scorn, an immortal type of
the world-hero.

Shooting at every pace and hilarious over his luck, Radisson had
wandered some nine miles from the fort, when he came to a stream too
deep to ford and realized that he already had more game than he could
possibly carry. Hiding in hollow trees what he could not bring back,
he began trudging toward Three Rivers with a string of geese, ducks,
and odd teal over his shoulders, Wading swollen brooks and scrambling
over windfalls, he retraced his way without pause till he caught sight
of the town chapel glimmering in the sunlight against the darkening
horizon above the river. He was almost back where his comrades had
left him; so he sat down to rest. The cowherd had driven his cattle
back to Three Rivers.[4] The river came lapping through the rushes.
There was a clacking of wild-fowl flocking down to their marsh nests;
perhaps a crane flopped through the reeds; but Radisson, who had
laughed the nervous fears of the others to scorn, suddenly gave a start
at the lonely sounds of twilight. Then he noticed that his pistols
were water-soaked. Emptying the charges, he at once reloaded, and with
characteristic daring crept softly back to reconnoitre the woods.
Dodging from tree to tree, he peered up and down the river. Great
flocks of ducks were swimming on the water. That reassured him, for
the bird is more alert to alarm than man. The fort was almost within
call. Radisson determined to have a shot at such easy quarry; but as