"I still got my better stories to tell," he said. "So keep your wits about you." And he pushed them gently off.

The canoe slid down the lake and past the village in just thirty silent strokes of the paddles. She counted, holding her breath. There was nothing to do, no other way to help. Right then, every nerve in her body alive and jumping, Elizabeth had believed that sleep would never again be possible. But an hour later, she settled enough to allow her to rest her weight against the pelts that separated her from Runs-from-Bears.

Blinking sleepily, Elizabeth watched the riverbank, the looming shapes of trees, the wide expanse of grassy marshes which stretched sometimes as far as she could see on both sides of the river in a forest of gray—silver grasses rippling in the wind. The only constants were the running river and the tightly controlled swing of Nathaniel's arms as he paddled. Behind her she could hear, if she tried hard, the slice of the paddle as Runs-from-Bears matched his rhythm to Nathaniel's lead. In the end, the sounds of the night and the river and her own exhaustion conspired to lull her away.

The river curved and turned on itself again and again, sometimes smooth, more often rushing white; she dreamt of it as a great snake beckoning into the woods, its ancient scaled back glimmering in deep greens, sapphire—blues, golds and tarnished silvers. Then she woke, still full dark, to find that they had pulled up to the bank. Nathaniel had to raise his voice over the steady trill of crickets to be heard.

He had warned her, while they were still up at Lake in the Clouds, about the portages. There were three, he had explained to her while he filled his powder horn to the brim and did the same for his bullet pouch. The first would be the easiest. She would need to help carry the provisions and gear. He didn't ask if she could or would, he simply told her what needed to be done. It was not a situation either of them had anticipated, and there was no discussion necessary.

The sky was filled with stars so bright it was hard to look at them. In this light, Nathaniel's face seemed stern, almost angry. He helped her out from her spot between the bundles, letting her go as soon as she stood on the bank.

At her feet a fat frog glistened in the moonlight. It let out a deep croak, and leapt into the river with a splash. Elizabeth felt the spongy give of sphagnum moss through the soft soles of the moccasins she had put on in such haste, along with a doeskin overdress and leggings which Many-Doves had offered. She had let the women dress her as if she were a child, so distressed had she been at the necessity of this deception. Now she was glad of it; the air cured leather felt strange against her skin, but it was comfortable and warm in the night chill, and she could move in it freely. Elizabeth patted her chest to feel the crackle of the papers she had secured there.

She accepted the shoulder pack Runs-from-Bears gave her, and stood patiently while he adjusted it. It was a considerable weight, but slung as it was at that spot on her back where she could best bear it, she felt as if she could walk for as long as necessary.

"Sata'karite ken?" he asked her. Are you well, do you manage? She pivoted, surprised, to see him smiling at her in a kindly way.

She nodded. "Wakata'karite."

"Many-Doves said you are a good student," he said, and turned back to his work.

Nathaniel unloaded the canoe and strapped on a considerable shoulder pack of his own while Runs-from-Bears stacked the bundled furs in a tower as high as his ear. Elizabeth watched as he slung a line around it and then placed one broad leather loop around his chest and a narrower one against his forehead. When he stood up, the long pack of furs stretched down the full length of his back.

Then, in a movement so fast that she could barely follow it, Nathaniel simply leaned over the canoe, gripped it on either side, and flipped it up to hang suspended above his head like a long and absurd hat.

That was the beginning of the first portage. They walked through the near dark for an hour until they found the river again, and the process reversed itself. By that time Elizabeth's knees were wobbling so that she was glad just to crawl into her spot. Before the canoe was back in the pull of the river, she was asleep.

* * *

She woke gradually the next time, aware of the awkward way she slept with her head hard to one side. The sun was coming up, and it was raining, but she was too sleepy to find the oiled buckskin and pull it over herself. And the noise. She swatted feebly around her head as if to shoo it away. Then she felt Nathaniel's hand on her cheek and she started and sat up suddenly, dislodging bundles from her lap.

The falls were someplace ahead of them, not in sight. Elizabeth wondered at how loud they could be at what must be a considerable distance. It wasn't rain that caused her hair to curl, but the fact that the air was dense with mist. This was the one he had warned her about, the portage to circumvent the waterfalls and rapids the Kahnyen’keháka called Hard—to—Get—Around. They had four miles to walk through the bush, with a full load of furs and provisions and the canoe. As tired as she was, as much as she feared what lay ahead, Elizabeth welcomed the challenge. She was determined not to disappoint him.

But then, she wondered if she had done that already; displeased him somehow. He was so quiet. Since they had been on the water he hadn't said a word to her, hadn't once smiled, hadn't touched her except when she needed his help.

They went through the routine once again and then they set off on a well—trodden path. The river quickly dropped away, and the sound of the falls lessened. Elizabeth breathed deeply, glad of the exercise and the feeling that she was doing her part. They had moved fast on the water and this was slow, but she was expending her own energy now and that felt right. Every step took her farther away from her father and Richard Todd. She thought of the unread letter next to her heart and set her jaw a little harder.