At the main camp on that fatal 19th of March, La Salle had left Joutel with four others—the Abbé, young Cavelier, Pierre Talon, and another young boy called Barthelemy. From time to time during the day Joutel had lighted fires on rising ground near the camp so that La Salle, if he lost his way, could return easily. He was alone on one of these little hills toward evening, looking down upon the horses grazing in the field near by, when some one came running up to him in great excitement. It was L’Archevêque, a man who had always been kindly disposed toward Joutel. There was very bad news to tell, he said, confused and almost beside himself.

“What is it?” asked Joutel in quick alarm.

“La Salle is dead,” he replied, “and also Moranget, his nephew, and two others.” He added that they had been murdered and that the assassins had sworn to come on and kill Joutel as well.

Joutel stood dazed, scarcely knowing what to say or do. Should he fly to the woods and trust to Providence to guide him to civilization? Having come away from camp without his gun, life was scarcely more secure in the wilds than in the camp with the murderers. But, added L’Archevêque, the conspirators had decided on the way home not to kill Joutel unless he offered resistance. After all, perhaps it was better to risk death in the company of white men than in the wilderness alone; and so the two men turned back to the camp.

There they found the Abbé Cavelier in a corner praying, and Father Douay still overwhelmed and not daring to speak to Joutel for fear of the murderers. The murderers had come wildly into camp and had seized the belongings of La Salle. Duhaut had assumed the place of leader.

“You may kill me if you wish,” said the Abbé, “but give me a half-hour to prepare for the end.”

But the white savages had had enough of killing. If all would yield to the new leaders they might keep their lives. There was nothing else to do. Those who were not in the plot stood guard that night; and in the long hours Joutel and the Abbé, young Cavelier and Douay, made a solemn agreement to stand by each other until death—which now seemed very near to them.

The next morning, under Duhaut’s direction, the forlorn band of thirteen packed up their camp supplies and continued their journey toward the Cenis village. A common tie—the need of escape from the wilderness—held them together. Yet even that tie was honeycombed with fears and hates and distrusts. Joutel, his soul rising in rebellion, wanted to kill the murderers in their sleep, but the Abbé dissuaded him.

With the guidance of Indians they soon crossed the Trinity River, and as they drew near to the town of the Cenis, four of the number—Joutel, Liotot, Hiens, and Teissier—were sent in advance to buy food. They camped at night outside the village; and the next morning they were met and escorted into the town by chiefs and elders dressed in great pomp with painted goatskins over their shoulders, crowns of feathers on their heads, and streaks of black and red paint on their faces.

The Cenis lived in round huts, shaped like old-fashioned beehives and made of a circle of poles bent over and lashed together at the top. The poles were interlaced with willow rods, and covered over with a thick thatch of grass. In the middle of the floor the Indians built their lodge-fire, which the several families living in the hut used in common.

Joutel’s three companions soon left him to trade with the villagers while they went back to camp. Alone in the village of people whom his experiences on the shores of the Gulf had taught him to fear, Joutel drove his little bargains and listened and nodded his head to the chiefs as they told him of the war they were getting ready to make upon their enemies.

Fearful lest they should steal his merchandise, Joutel did not sleep well one night. He was tossing upon his robes about one o’clock when he heard some one move near him. Looking up, he saw, by the light of the fire in the center of the lodge, a man who was naked except for the tattoo marks upon his body. This stranger came and sat down by him, without saying a word. In his hands were a bow and two arrows. Joutel watched him a moment, then spoke. The man did not answer. Joutel reached for his pistol; whereupon the man rose, walked over to the fire, and again sat down.

Utterly puzzled, Joutel rose from his bed and followed the man, studying him intently all the while. The man returned his gaze, then threw his arms about Joutel, embraced him, and spoke to him with French words. He was Ruter............