lagging wits that would not furnish a retort. "Never too old to sit at your feet," I assured him, and I went away knowing that I had been slow, and that the honors were with him, but knowing, also, that somehow I liked the man, and that I should drink his health when I opened my next tierce of canary.

I went to find my men, and it was time that I bestirred myself. License was in order, and the revel assaulted eyes, ears, and nose, till a white man was wise if he forsook his dignity, and ran like a fox to cover. The air was surfeiting with the steam of food. Dog-meat bubbled in great caldrons, and maize cakes crackled on hot stones. A bear had been brought in, and was being hacked in pieces to add to the broth. The women did this, and as I passed them they stopped, with their hands dripping red, and shook their wampum necklaces at me, and pointed meaningly toward a neighboring hut, where I had been told that rum could be bought if you were discreet in choosing your occasion. I tossed them a handful of small coins, and warned them in Huron that if they molested my men I should report them to the commandant. I felt yet more haste to see my canoes under way.

I was plunging on in this fashion when Father Carheil plucked at my sleeve. "Do you think you are running from the Iroquois?" he grumbled, and he pushed his irritable, brilliant face close to mine. It was an old face, lined and withered, and the hair above it was scanty and gray, but never have I met a look that showed more fire and unconquerable will. "The commandant wishes you," he went on. "He asked me to fetch you. I should not have complied—it is I who should ask services of him—but I wished to speak to you on my own account. Monsieur, do you know these men that you have in your employ?"

I nodded. "As well as I know my own heart. They are my habitants."

"Your habitants! Then you have a seigniory? Why do you not stay there as the king wishes?"

I shook my head at him. "We use large words in this new land, father. Yes, I have a seigniory. That is, I own some barren acres near Montreal that I can occupy only at risk of my scalp. As to the king, I think he wishes me to trade,—at least I carry his license to that effect. But what are my men doing?"

The Jesuit's thin old hands clutched each other. "They are turning this place into a Sodom," he said passionately. "They are drinking and carousing with the Indian women. You traders are our ruin. But we will shut you out of the country yet. Mark my words. Those twenty-five licenses will be revoked before the season ends, and you will have to find other excuses to bring your rabble here to debauch our missions."

In view of what I had just seen, I felt impatient. "You do my handful of stolid peasants too much honor," I said dryly. "They would need more wit and ingenuity than I have ever seen in them to be able to teach outlawry to anything that they find here. But I am looking for them now. You will pardon me if I hasten."

But his hand pulled at me. "Is one of your men lipped like a bull-moose and red as Rufus?"

"Pierre Boudin to the life," I chuckled. "What deviltry is he at now?"

The priest's face lost its flame. He looked suddenly the old man worn out in the service of a savage people. "He is with an Ottawa girl," he said sadly; "a girl the Indians call Singing Arrow for her wit and her laughter. She is not a convert, but she is a good girl. I wish you would get your man away."

I felt shame for my man and myself. "I will go at once," I promised soberly. "I will be westward bound by afternoon."

The old priest looked at me with friendly eyes. "There will be trouble before sundown," he said gravely. "If you wish to get away, go quickly, or you may not go at all. Now you must report to the commandant."

But I had turned my face the other way. "Not till I have found
Pierre," I returned.

I had no summer stroll before me. Pierre, Anak that he was, was as lost as a leaf in a whirlpool, and though I had quick eyes, and shoulders that could force a passage for me in a crowd, I could see no sign of his oriole crest of red head in all the bobbing multitude of blackbirds. Instead I stumbled upon Cadillac.

He linked his arm in mine. "Do you know," he said abruptly, "the prisoner has spirit and to spare. He may be a man of importance after all."

I answered like a fool. "I think not. He is dressed like a yeoman."

Cadillac put me at arm's length, and puffed his cheeks with silent laughter. "Plumage, eh? Are you willing to be judged by your own?" He stopped to let his glance rest on my shabby gear. "Truly it must be a long year since you fronted a mirror, or you would not be so complacent. No, monsieur, the prisoner is a gentleman. No yeoman ever carried his head with such a poise. But who is he? I would give all the pistoles in my pocket—though, in faith, they're few enough—if I could understand English. But you may be able to help me. Go speak to the prisoner in Huron. He must have picked up something of the Indian speech in his trip here."

This was my opportunity. "Monsieur," I said, "I should like an understanding. Remember how little all this can mean to me,—a trader,—and do not think me churlish if I try to keep myself free from this intrigue. I will go to the prisoner now, if you wish; but, that done, I beg you to hold me excused of any further service in this matter."

Cadillac looked me over, and now his glance went, not to my doublet, but to the man within. "A trader!" he said curtly. "A trader carrying contraband brandy. A good commandant would send you back where you belong. No, no, monsieur, wait! I am not threatening you. Though you know as well as I that the thumb-screws are rather convenient to my hand should I care to use them. But there should be no necessity for that. Montlivet, I hardly understand your reluctance in the matter of this Englishman. We should be one in this affair, whatever our private concerns. Even Black Gown and I—and the world says we are not lovers—are working together. Why do you draw back?"

I could not meet him with less than the truth. "You have stated the reason, monsieur. My private concerns,—they seem large to me, and I fear to jeopard them by becoming entangled here. I regret this. You have shown me great clemency in the matter of the brandy,—though if you had confiscated it I should still have pushed on,—and for that, and for your own sake, monsieur, I should be glad to serve you."

He looked at my outstretched palm, and laid his own upon it. "'T is fairly spoken," he said slowly, "and I think you mean it." Then he grew peevish. "A pest on this country!" he cried. "We are all kings in disguise, and have a monarchy hidden in our hats. And what does it amount to? No bread, no wine, no thanks; a dog's life and a jackal's death,—and all to hold some leagues of barren land for his petticoat-ridden majesty at Versailles. Oh, why not say it? We can tell the truth here without losing our heads."

"The king's arm"—I began.

"Is long," he interrupted. "Yet, in truth, your face is longer. Are you so eager to be gone? Well, get you to the prisoner, and, my hand on it, I shall ask for nothing more."

CHAPTER III

BEHIND THE COMMANDANT'S DOOR

The commandant's door had come to be the portal through which I stepped from safety into meddling. Yet I opened it now with laughter peeping from my sleeve. To bait the Englishman in Huron seemed a good-natured enough jest, and full of possibilities.

But one look at the prisoner