But that signified little, for there were many of the missing who had not been found between the last of September and these days of May.

What he did find, with deadly regularity, was the fact that Father John had escaped--and that he had traveled to safety ALONE.
And Father Augustine told him that when Father John stopped to rest for a few days at the Mission he was heading north, for somewhere on Pashkokogon Lake near the river Albany.
There was little rest for Peter and his master at Fort William town.
That Breault must be close on their trail, and following it with the merciless determination of the ferret from which he had been named, there was no shadow of doubt in the mind of Jolly Roger McKay.

So after outfitting his pack at a little corner shop, where Breault would be slow to enquire about him, he struck north through the bush toward Dog Lake and the river of the same name.

Five or six days, he thought, would bring him to Father John and the truth which he dreaded more and more to hear.
The despondency of his master had sunk, in some mysterious way, into the soul of Peter.

Without the understanding of language he sensed the oppressive gloom of tragedy behind and about him and there was a wolfish slinking in the manner of his travel now, and his confidence was going as he caught the disease of despair of the man who traveled with him.
But constantly and vigilantly his eyes and scent were questing about them, suspicious of the very winds that whispered in the treetops.