"You infer correctly," replied Robert, "and we shall be glad indeed to share your fire and food with you."

De Courcelles and Jumonville led the way to a large camp fire around which at least fifty French, Canadians and Indians were seated. All the French and Canadians were in uniform, and the Canadians, although living in a colder climate, had become much darker than the parent stock. In truth, many of them were quite as dark as the Indians.

These Canadians of the French stock were, for the present, silent men, and Robert regarded them with the deepest interest. Those who were not in uniform wore long frock coats of dark gray or dark brown, belted at the waist with a woolen sash of bright colors, decorated heavily with beads. Trousers and waistcoats were of the same material as the coats, but their feet were inclosed in Indian moccasins, also adorned profusely with beads. They wore long hair in a queue, incased in an eel-skin, and with their swarthy complexions and high cheek bones they looked like wild sons of the forest to Robert. Tayoga, the Onondaga, was to him a more civilized being. All the Canadians were smoking short pipes, and, while they did not speak, their black eyes, restless with eager curiosity, inspected the strangers.

The Indians in de Courcelles' party were of two types, the converted Indians of Canada, partly in white man's costume, and utterly savage Indians of the far west, in very little costume at all, one or two of them wearing only the breech cloth. The looks they bestowed upon Robert and his comrades were far from friendly, and he wondered if any Ojibway, a warrior who perhaps owned Tandakora as a chief, was among them. They were sitting about the fire and none of them spoke.

"We cannot offer you a banquet," said de Courcelles, "but we can give you variety, none the less. This portion of His Majesty's territory is a wilderness, but it provides an abundance of fish and game."

Robert believed that he had alluded purposely to the territory as "His Majesty's," and, his mind challenging it instantly, he was about to reply that in reality it was the northern part of the Province of New York, but his second and wiser thought caused him to refrain. He would enter upon no controversy with the older man, especially when he saw that the latter wished to draw him into one. De Courcelles, seeing that his lead was not followed, devoted himself to hospitality.

"We have venison, beaver tail, quail, good light bread and some thin red wine," he said. "You Americans or English—which shall I call you?"

"Either," replied Robert, "because we are both."

"Then English it shall be for the present, because you are under that flag. I was going to say that you are somewhat hostile to wine, which we French love, and which we know how to drink in moderation. In some respects we are a people of more restraint than you are. The slow, cold English mind starts with an effort, but when it is started it is stopped with equal difficulty. You either do too little or too much. You lack the logic and precision of the Frenchman."

Robert smiled and replied lightly. Having avoided controversy upon one point, he was of no mind to enter it upon another, and de Courcelles, not pressing a third attack, entered with Jumonville upon his duties as host. Both were graceful, easy, assured, and they fulfilled Robert's conception of French officers, as men of the world who knew courts and manners. It was a time when courts were more important than they are today, and they were recognized universally as the chief fountains from which flowed honor and advancement.

Robert did not like them as well as St. Luc, but he found a certain charm in their company. They could talk of things that interested him, and they exerted themselves, telling indirectly of the glories of Quebec and alluding now and then to the greater splendors of Paris and Versailles. It was a time when the French monarchy loomed as the greatest power in the world. The hollowness and decay of the House of Bourbon were not yet disclosed, even to the shrewdest observers, and a spell was cast upon all the civilized nations by the gorgeous and glittering world of fashion and the world of arms. The influence reached even into the depths of the vast North American wilderness and was felt by Robert as he sat beside the camp fire in the savage woods with the Frenchmen.

He drank a little of the red wine, but only a very little, and Tayoga would not touch it at all. Willet took a small leather cup of it, but declined a second. The food was good, better cooked than it usually was among the English colonists, where the table was regarded as a necessity, and in no particular as a rite. Robert, despite his habitual caution, found his heart warming toward his French hosts. It could not be possible that the Indians had been set upon his comrades and himself by the French! The warmth of his heart increased when one of the Canadians took a violin from a cloth cover and began to play wailing old airs. Like so many others, Robert was not made melancholy by melancholy music. Instead, he saw through a pleasing glow and the world grew poetic and tender. The fire sank and Americans, French, Canadians and Indians listened with the same silent interest. Presently the violinist played a livelier tune and the habitants sang to the music:

"Malbrouck, s'en va t-en guerre Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; Malbrouck s'en va t-en guerre Ne sait quand reviendra."

Then he left Malbrouck, and it was:

"Hier sur le pont d'Avignon J'ai oui chanter la belle Lon, la, J'ai oui chanter la belle Elle chantait d'un ton si doux Comme une demoiselle Lon, la, Comme une demoiselle."

The Canadians sang well, particularly in "The Bridge of Avignon," and the dying fire, the black woods around them and the sighing wind created an effect that no stage scenery could ever have given it. When the last note melted with the wind de Courcelles sighed a little and stared into the sinking fire.

"It is a fair country, sweet France," he said; "I myself have stood upon the bridge of Avignon, and I have watched the pretty girls. It may be that I have had a kiss or two, but all that is far away now. This is a bolder country than France, Mr. Lennox, larger, more majestic, but it is wild and savage, and will be so for many years to come. Nor can the rules that apply to old and civilized Europe apply here, where the deeds of men, like the land, are wilder, too."

Robert was conscious of some meaning in his words, perhaps a trace of apology for a deed that he had done or would do, but in the mind of young Lennox men's standards should be the same, whether in the wilderness of New York and Canada or in the open fields of France and England. De Courcelles, thoughtful for a moment, turned suddenly to the man with the violin and cried:

"Play! Play again!"

The man played quaint old airs, folk songs that had been brought from Normandy and Brittany, and the habitants sang them in low voices or rather hummed them in the subdued manner that seemed fitting to the night, since the black shadows were creeping up closer, leaving only the fire, as a core of light with the dusky figures around it. During all the talk the Indians had been silent. They had eaten their food and remained now, sitting in Turkish fashion, the flickering flames that played across their faces giving to them a look sinister and menacing to the last degree.

The Frenchmen, too, fell silent, as if their courtesy was exhausted and conversation had become an effort. The last of the old French airs was finished, and the player put his violin away. Jumonville, who had spoken but little, threw a fresh stick on the fire and looked at the black wall of circling forest.

"I can never get quite used to it," he said. "The wilderness is so immense, so menacing that when I am in it at night a little shiver will come now and then. I suppose our remote ancestors who lived in caves must have had fear at their elbows all their lives."

"Very likely," said de Courcelles, thoughtfully, staring into the coals. "It isn't strange that many people have worshiped fire as God. Why shouldn't they when it brings light in the dark, and lifts up our souls, when it warms us and makes us feel strong, when it cooks our food and when in the earlier day it drove away the great wild animals, with which man was not able to fight on equal terms?"

"I am not one to undervalue fire," said Robert.

"Few of us do in the forest. The night grows chill, but two of our good Canadians will keep the coals alive until morning. And now I suppose you are weary with your day's travels and wish sleep. I see that you have blankets of your own or I should offer you some of ours."

Tayoga had been sitting before the fire, as silent as the Canadian Indians, his rifle across his knees, his eyes turned toward the blaze. The glow of the flames fell upon him, disclosing his lofty countenance, his splendidly molded figure, and his superiority to the other Indians, who were not of the Hodenosaunee and who to him were, therefore, as much barbarians as all people who were not Greeks were barbarians to the ancient Greeks. Not a word of kinship or friendship had passed between him and them. For him, haughty and uncompromising, they did not exist. For a long time his deep unfathomable eyes had never turned from the fire, but now he rose suddenly and said:

"Someone comes in the forest!"

De Courcelles looked up in surprise.

"I hear nothing," he said.

"Someone comes in the forest!" repeated Tayoga with emphasis.

De Courcelles glanced at his own Indians. They had not yet moved, but in a moment or two they too rose to their feet, and then he knew that the Onondaga was right. Now Robert also heard a moccasined and light footstep approaching. A darker shadow appeared against the darkness, and the figure of an Indian, gigantic and sinister, stepped within the circle of the firelight.

It was Tandakora, the Ojibway.



CHAPTER VII

NEW FRANCE

The huge and savage warrior had never looked more malignant. His face and his bare chest were painted with the most hideous devices, and his eyes, in the single glance that he cast upon Robert and his comrades, showed full of black and evil passions. Then, as if they were no longer present, he stalked to the fire, took up some cooked deer meat that lay beside it, and, sitting down Turkish fashion like the other Indians, began to eat, not saying a word to the Frenchmen.

It was the action of a savage of the savages, but Robert, startled at first by the unexpected appearance of such an enemy, called to his aid the forest stoicism that he had learned and sat down, calm, outwardly at least. The initiative was not his now, nor that of his comrades, and he glanced anxiously at de Courcelles to see how he would take this rude invasion of his camp. The French colonel looked at Tandakora, then at Jumonville, and Jumonville looked at him. The two shrugged their shoulders, and in a flash of intuition he was convinced that they knew the Ojibway well.

Whatever anger de Courcelles may have felt at the manners of the savage he showed none at all. All the tact and forbearance which the French used with such wonderful effect in their dealings with the North American Indians were summoned to his aid. He spoke courteously to Tandakora, but, as his words were in the Ojibway dialect, Robert did not understand them. The Indian made a guttural reply and continued to gnaw fiercely at the bone of the deer. De Courcelles still took no offense, and spoke again, his words smooth and his face smiling. Then Tandakora, in his deep guttural, spoke rapidly and with heat. When he had finished de Courcelles turned to his guests, and with a deprecatory gesture, said:

"Tandakora's heart burns with wrath. He says that you attacked him and his party in the forest and have slain some of his warriors."

"Tandakora lies!"

It was the Onondaga who spoke. His voice was not raised, but every syllable was articulated clearly, and the statement came with the impact of a bullet. The tan of de Courcelles' face could not keep a momentary flush from breaking through, but he kept his presence of mind.

"It is easy enough to call a man a liar," he said, "but it is another thing to prove it."

"Since when," said Tayoga, haughtily, "has the word of an Ojibway, a barbarian who knows not the law, been worth more than that of one who is a member of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee?"

He spoke in English, which Robert knew the Ojibway understood and which both Frenchmen spoke fluently. The great hand of Tandakora drifted down toward the handle of his tomahawk, but Tayoga apparently did not see him, his fathomless eyes again staring into the fire. Robert looked at Willet, and he saw the hunter's eye also fall upon the handle of his tomahawk, a weapon which he knew the Great Bear could hurl with a swiftness and precision equal to those of any Indian. He understood at once that Tayoga was protected by the hunter from any sudden movement by the Ojibway and his great strain relaxed.

De Courcelles frowned, but his face cleared in an instant. Robert, watching him now, believed he was not at all averse to a quarrel between the Onondaga and the Ojibway.

"It is not a question for me to decide," he replied. "The differences of the Hodenosaunee and the western tribes are not mine, though His Majesty, King Louis of France, wishes all his red brethren to dwell together in peace. Yet I but tell to you, Tayoga, what Tandakora has told to me. He says that you three attacked him and peaceful warriors back there in a gorge of the river, and slew some of his comrades."

"Tandakora lies," repeated Tayoga in calm and measured tones. "It is true that warriors who were with them fell beneath our bullets, but they came swimming in the night, seeking to murder us while we slept, and while there is yet no war between us. An Onondaga or a Mohawk or any warrior of the Hodenosaunee hates and despises a snake."

The words, quiet though they were, were fairly filled with concentrated loathing. The eyes of the huge Ojibway flashed and his clutch on the handle of his tomahawk tightened convulsively, but the fixed gaze of the hunter seemed to draw him at that moment. He saw that Willet's eyes were upon him, that every muscle was attuned and that the tomahawk would leap from his belt like a flash of lightning, and seeing, Tandakora paused.

The two Frenchmen looked at Tayoga, at Tandakora and at Willet. Then they looked at each other, and being acute men with a full experience of forest life, they understood the silent drama.

"I don't undertake to pass any judgment here," said de Courcelles, after a pause. "It is the word of one warrior against another, and I cannot say which is the better. But since you are going to the Marquis Duquesne at Quebec, Mr. Lennox, the matter may be laid before him, and it is for those who make charges to bring proof."

The words were silky, but Robert saw that they were intended to weave a net.

"We are on an official mission from the Governor of the Province of New York to the Governor General of Canada," he said. "We cannot be tried at Quebec for an offense that we have never committed, and for our commission of which you have only the word of a barbarian who twice tried to murder us."

The hand of Tandakora on the handle of his tomahawk again made a convulsive movement, but the gaze of the hunter was fixed upon him with deadly menace, and another hand equally as powerful and perhaps quicker than his own was clutched around the handle of another tomahawk. Again the Ojibway paused and chose the way of peace.

"Patience, Tandakora," said Jumonville, taking the initiative for the first time. "If you have suffered wrongs Onontio will avenge them. His eye sees everything, and he does not forget his children of the western forests."

"When we first saw him," said Robert, "he was with the Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc, who was going with belts from the Marquis Duquesne to the council of the fifty chiefs in the vale of Onondaga. Now he has come on another course, and is here far from the vale of Onondaga."

"We will dismiss the matter," said de Courcelles, who evidently was for peace also. "Since you and your friends are our guests, Mr. Lennox, we cannot treat you except as such. Take to your blankets and you rest as safely with us as if you were sleeping in your own town of Albany."

Willet removed his hand from the handle of his tomahawk, and, rising to his full height, stretched himself and yawned.

"We accept your pledge in the spirit in which it is given, Colonel de Courcelles," he said, "and being worn from a long day and long toil I, for one, shall find sweet slumber here on the leaves with a kindly sky above me."

"Then, sir, I bid you a happy good night," said Colonel de Courcelles.

Without further ado the three folded their blankets them and fell asleep on the leaves.

Robert, before closing his eyes, had felt assured that no harm would befall them while they were in the camp of de Courcelles, knowing that the French colonel could not permit any attack in his own camp upon those who bore an important message from the Governor of New York to the Governor General of Canada. Hence his heart was light as he was wafted away to the land of slumber, and it was light again when he awoke the next morning at the first rays of dawn.

Tayoga and Willet still slept, and he knew that they shared his confidence, else these wary rovers of the woods would have been watching rather than sleeping. Jumonville also was still rolled in his blankets, but de Courcelles was up, fully dressed, and alert. Several of the Canadians and Indians were building a fire. Robert's questing eye sought at once for the Ojibway, but he was gone, and the youth was not surprised. His departure in the night was a relief to everybody, even to the French, and Robert felt that an evil influence was removed. The air that for a space the night before had been poisonous to the lungs was now pure and bracing. He took deep breaths, and his eyes sparkled as he looked at the vast green forest curving about them. Once more he felt to the full the beauty and majesty of the wilderness. Habit and use could never dull it for him.

De Courcelles turned upon him a frank and appreciative eye. Robert saw that he intended to be pleasant, even genial that morning, having no reason for not showing his better side, and the lad, who was learning not only to fence and parry with words, but also to take an intellectual pleasure in their use, was willing to meet him half way.

"I see, Mr. Lennox," said de Courcelles gayly, "that you are in a fine humor this morning. Your experience with the Ojibway has left no ill results. He departed in the night. One can never tell what strange ideas these savages will take into their heads."

"I have forgotten it," said Robert lightly. "I knew that a French gentleman could not take the word of a wild Ojibway against ours."

De Courcelles gave him a sharp glance, but the youth's face was a mask.

"At least," he said, "the matter is not one of which I could dispose. Nor can any government take note of everything that passes in a vast wilderness. I, too, shall forget it. Nor is it likely that it will ever be taken before the Marquis Duquesne. Come, our breakfast will soon be ready and your comrades are awakening."

Robert walked down to a small brook, bathed his face, and returned to find the food ready. He did not wholly trust either de Courcelles or Jumonville, but their manners were good, and it was quite evident that they no longer wished to interfere with the progress of the mission. Tayoga and Willet also seemed to have forgotten the episode of the night before, and asked no questions about Tandakora. After breakfast, the three put their canoe back in the river, and thanking their hosts for the courtesy of a night in their camp, shot out into the stream. De Courcelles and Jumonville, standing on the bank, waved them farewell, and they held their paddles aloft a moment or two in salute. Then a bend shut them from view.

"I don't trust them," said Robert, after a long silence. "This is our soil, but they march over it and calmly assume that it's their own."

"King George claims it, and King Louis claims it, too," said Willet in a whimsical tone, "but I'm thinking it belongs to neither. The ownership, I dare say, will not be decided for many a year. Now, Tayoga, what do you think has become of that demon, Tandakora?"

The Onondaga looked at the walls of foliage on either side of the stream before answering.

"One cannot tell," he said in his precise language of the schools. "The mind of the Ojibway is a fitful thing, but always it is wild and lawless. He longs, night and day, for scalps, and he covets ours most. It is because we have defeated the attempts he has made already."

"Do you think he has gone ahead with the intention of ambushing us? Would he dare?"

"Yes, he would dare. If he were to succeed he would have little to fear. A bullet in one of our hearts, fired from cover on the bank, and then the wilderness would swallow him up and hide him from pursuit. He could go to the country around the last and greatest of the lakes, where only the white trapper or explorer has been."

"It gives me a tremendously uncomfortable feeling, Tayoga, to think that bloodthirsty wretch may be waiting for a shot at us. How are we to guard against him?"

"We must go fast and watch as we go. Our eyes are keen, and we may see him moving among the trees. The Ojibway is no marksman, and unless we sit still it is not likely that he can hit us."

Tayoga spoke very calmly, but his words set Robert's heart to beating, understanding what an advantage Tandakora had if he sought to lie in ambush. He knew that the soul of the Ojibway was full of malice and that his craving for scalps was as strong as the Onondaga had said it was. Had it been anyone else he would not follow them, but Robert foresaw in Tandakora a bitter and persistent enemy. Both he and Willet, feeling the wisdom of Tayoga's advice, began to paddle faster. But the hunter presently slowed down a little.

"No use to take so much out of ourselves now that we'll just creep along later on," he said.

"The temptation to go fast is very strong," said Robert. "You feel then that you're really dodging bullets."

Tayoga was looking far ahead toward a point where the stream became much narrower and both banks were densely wooded, as usual.

"If Tandakora really means to ambush us," he said, "he will be there, because it offers the best opportunity, and it is a place that the heart of a murderer would love. Suppose that Dagaeoga and I paddle, and that the Great Bear rests with his rifle across his knees ready to fire at the first flash. We know what a wonderful marksman the Great Bear is, and it may be Tandakora who will fall."

"The plan, like most of yours, is good, Tayoga," said Willet. "The Lord has given me some skill with the rifle, and I have improved it with diligent practice. I think I can watch both sides of the stream pretty well, and if the Ojibway fires I can fire back at the flash. We'll rely upon our speed to make his bullet miss, and anyway we must take the chance. You lads needn't exert yourselves until we come to the narrow part of the stream. Then use the paddles for your lives."

Robert found it hard to be slow, but his will took command of his muscles and he imitated the long easy strokes of Tayoga. As the current helped much, their speed was considerable, nevertheless. The river flowed, a silver torrent, in the clear light of the morning, a fish leaping up now and then in the waters so seldom stirred by any strange presence. The whole scene was saturated with the beauty and the majesty of the wilderness, and to the eye that did not know it suggested only peace. But Robert often lifted his gaze from the paddle and the river to search the green thickets on either side. They were only casual glances, Willet being at once their sentinel and guard.

The great hunter was never more keenly alert. His thick, powerful figure was poised evenly in the canoe, and the long-barreled rifle lay in the hollow of his arm, his hand on the lock and his finger on the trigger. Eyes, trained by many years in the forest, searched continually among the trees for a figure that did not belong there, and, at the same time, he listened for the sound of any movement not natural to the wilderness. He felt his full responsibility as the rifleman of the fleet of one canoe, and he accepted it.

"Lads," he said, "we're approaching the narrowest part of the river. It runs straight, I can see a full mile ahead, and for all that distance it's not more than thirty yards from shore to shore. Now use the strength that you've been saving, and send the canoe forward like an arrow. Those are grand strokes, Tayoga! And yours too, Robert! Now, our speed is increasing! We fairly fly! Good lads! I knew you were both wonderful with the paddle, but I did not know you were such marvels! Never mind the woods, Robert, I'm watching 'em! Faster! A little faster, if you can! I think I see something moving in a thicket on our right! Bang, there goes his rifle! Just as I expected, his bullet hit the water twenty feet from us! And bang goes my own rifle! How do you like that, my good friend Tandakora?"

"Did you make an end of him?" asked Robert breathlessly.

"No," replied the hunter, although his tone was one of satisfaction. "I had to shoot when I saw the flash of his rifle, and I had only a glimpse of him. But I saw enough to know that my bullet took him in the shoulder. His rifle fell from his hand, and then he dropped down in the underbrush, thinking one of you might snatch up a weapon and fire. No, I didn't make an end of him, Robert, but I did make an end of his warfare upon us for a while. That bullet must have gone clean through his shoulder, and for the present at least he'll have to quit scalp hunting. But how he must hate us!"

"Let him hate," said Robert. "I don't care how much his hate increases, so long as he can't lie in ambush for us. It's pretty oppressive to have an invisible death lurking around you, unable to fend it off, and never knowing when or where it will strike."

"But we did fend it off," said the big hunter, as he reloaded the rifle of which he had made such good use. "And now I can see the stream widening ahead of us, with natural meadows on either side, where no enemy can lay an ambush. Easy now, lads! The danger has passed. That fiend is lying in the thicket binding up his wounded shoulder as best he can, and tomorrow we'll be in Canada. Draw in your paddles, and I'll take mine. You're entitled to a rest. You couldn't have done better if you had been in a race, and, after all, it was a race for life."

Robert lifted his paddle and watched the silver bubbles fall from it into the stream. Then he sank back in his seat, relaxing after his great effort, his breath coming at first in painful gasps, but gradually becoming long and easy.

"I'm glad we'll be in Canada tomorrow, Dave," he said, "because the journey has surely been most difficult."

"Pretty thick with dangers, that's true," laughed the hunter, "but we've run past most of 'em. The rest of the day will be easy, safe and pleasant."

His prediction came true, their journey on the river continuing without interruption. Two or three times they saw distant smoke rising above the forest, but they judged that it came from the camp fires of hunters, and they paid no further attention to it. That night they took the canoe from the river once more, carrying it into the woods and sleeping beside it, and the next day they entered the mighty St. Lawrence.

"This is Canada," said Willet. "Farther west we claim that our territory comes to the river and that we have a share in it. But here it's surely French by right of long occupation. We can reach Montreal by night, where we'll get a bigger boat, and then we'll go on to Quebec. It's a fine river, isn't it, Robert?"

"So it is," replied Robert, looking at the vast sheet of water, blue then under a perfectly blue sky, flowing in a mighty mass toward the sea. Tayoga's eyes sparkled also. The young warrior could feel to the full the splendors of the great forests, rivers and lakes of his native land.

"I too shall be glad to see Stadacona," he said, "the mighty rock that once belonged to a nation of the Hodenosaunee, the Mohawks, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate."

"It is the French who have pressed upon you and who have driven you from some of your old homes, but it is the English who have respected all your rights," said Robert, not wishing Tayoga to forget who were the friends of the Hodenosaunee.

"It is so," said the Onondaga.

Taking full advantage of the current, and sparing the paddles as much as they could, they went down the stream, which was not bare of life. They saw two great canoes, each containing a dozen Indians, who looked curiously at them, but who showed no hostility.

"It's likely they take us for French," said Willet. "Of what tribe are these men, Tayoga?"

"I cannot tell precisely," replied the Onondaga, "but they belong to the wild tribes that live in the regions north of the Great Lakes. They bring furs either to Montreal or Quebec, and they will carry back blankets and beads and guns and ammunition. Above the Great Lakes and running on, no man knows how far, are many other vast lakes. It is said that some in the distant north are as large as Erie or Ontario or larger, but I cannot vouch for it, as we warriors of the Hodenosaunee have never been there, hearing the tales from warriors of other tribes that have come down to trade."

"It's true, Tayoga," said Willet. "I've roamed north of the Great Lakes myself, and I've met Indians of the tribes called Cree and Assiniboine, and they've told me about those lakes, worlds and worlds of 'em, and some of 'em so big that you can paddle days without reaching the end. I suppose there are chains and chains of lakes running up and down a hollow in the middle of this continent of ours, though it's only a guess of mine about the middle. Nobody knows how far it is across from sea to sea."

"We better go in closer to the shore," said Tayoga. "A wind is coming and on so big a river big waves will rise."

"That's so, Tayoga," said Willet. "A little bark canoe like ours wasn't made to fight with billows."

They paddled near to the southern shore, and, being protected by the high banks, the chief force of the wind passed over their heads. In the center of the stream the water rose in long combers like those of the sea, and a distant boat with oarsmen rocked violently.

"Hugging the land will be good for us until the wind passes," said Willet. "Suppose we draw in among those bushes growing in the edge of the water and stop entirely."

"A good idea," said Robert, who did not relish a swamping of the canoe in the cold St. Lawrence.

A few strokes of the paddle and they were in the haven, but the three still watched the distant boat, which seemed to be of large size, and which still kept in the middle of the stream.

"It has a mast and can carry a sail when it wishes," said Willet, after a long examination.

"French officers are in it," said Tayoga.

"I believe you are right, boy. I think I caught the glitter of a uniform."

"And the boat has steered about and is coming this way, Great Bear. The French officers no doubt have the glasses that magnify, and, having seen us, are coming to discover what we are."

"Correct again, Tayoga. They've turned their prow toward us, and, as we don't want to have even the appearance of hiding, I think we'd better paddle out of the bushes and make way slowly again close to the shore."

A few sweeps of the paddle and the canoe was proceeding once more down the St. Lawrence, keeping in comparatively quiet waters near the southern side. The large boat was approaching them fast, but they pretended not to have seen it.

"Probably it comes from Hochelaga," said Tayoga.

"And your Hochelaga, which is the French Montreal, was Iroquois once, also," said Robert.

"Our fathers and grandfathers are not sure," replied Tayoga. "Cartier found there a great village surrounded by a palisade, and many of our people think that a nation of the Hodenosaunee, perhaps the Mohawks, lived in it, but other of our old men say it was a Huron town. It is certain though that the Hodenosaunee lived at Stadacona."

"In any event, most of this country was yours or races kindred to yours owned it. So, Tayoga, you are traveling on lands and waters that once belonged to your people. But we're right in believing that boat has come to spy us out. I can see an officer standing up and watching us with glasses."

"Let 'em come," said Willet. "There's no war—at least, not yet—and there's plenty of water in the St. Lawrence for all the canoes, boats and ships that England and France have."

"If they hail us," said Robert, "and demand, as they probably will, what we're about, I shall tell them that we're going to the Marquis Duquesne at Quebec and show our credentials."

The large boat rapidly came nearer, and as men on board furled the sail others at the oars drew it alongside the little canoe, which seemed a mere cork on the waves of the mighty St. Lawrence. But Robert, Tayoga and Willet paddled calmly on, as if boats, barges and ships were everyday matters to them, and were not to be noticed unduly. A tall young man standing up in the boat hailed them in French and then in English. Robert, watching out of the corner of his eye, saw that he was fair, like so many of the northern French, that he was dressed in a uniform of white with violet facings, and that his hat was black and three-cornered. He learned afterward that it was the uniform of a battalion of Languedoc. He saw also that the boat carried sixteen men, all except the oarsmen being in uniform.

"Who are you?" demanded the officer imperiously.

Robert, to whom the others conceded the position of spokesman, had decided already that his course should be one of apparent indifference.

"Travelers," he replied briefly, and the three bent to their paddles.

"What travelers are you and where are you going?" demanded the officer, in the same imperious manner.

The wash of the heavy boat made the frail canoe rock perilously, but its three occupants appeared not to notice it. Using wonderful skill, they always brought it back to the true level and maintained a steady course ahead. On board the larger boat the oarsmen, rowing hard, kept near, and for the third time the officer demanded:

"Who are you? I represent the authority of His Majesty, King Louis of France, upon this river, and unless you answer explicitly I shall order my men to run you down."

"But we are messengers," said Robert calmly. "We bear letters of great importance to the Marquis Duquesne at Quebec. If you sink us it's likely the letters will go down with us."

"It's another matter if you are on such a mission, but I must demand once more your names."

"The highest in rank among us is the young chief, or coming chief, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee. Next comes David Willet, a famous hunter and scout, well known throughout the provinces of New York and Massachusetts and even in Canada, and often called by his friends, the Iroquois, the Great Bear. As for me, I am Robert Lennox, of Albany and sometimes of New York, without rank or office."

The officer abated his haughty manner. The answer seemed to please him.

"That surely is explicit enough," he said. "I am Louis de Galisonniere, a captain of the battalion Languedoc, stationed for the present at Montreal and charged with the duty of watching the river for all doubtful characters, in which class I was compelled to put the three of you, if you gave no explanations."

"Galisonniere! That is a distinguished name. Was there not a Governor General of Canada who bore it?"

"A predecessor of the present Governor General, the Marquis Duquesne. It gives me pride to say that the Count de Galisonniere was my uncle."

Robert saw that he had found the way to young Galisonniere's good graces through his family and he added with the utmost sincerity, too:

"New France has had many a great Governor General, as we of the English colonies ought to know, from the Sieur de Roberval, through Champlain, Frontenac, de Beauharnais and on to your uncle, the Count de Galisonniere."

Willet and the Onondaga gave Robert approving looks, and the young Frenchman flushed with pleasure.

"You have more courtesy and appreciation for us than most of the Bostonnais," he said. "I would talk further with you, but conversation is carried on with difficulty under such circumstances. Suppose we run into the first cove, lift your canoe aboard, and we'll take you to Montreal, since that's our own port of destination."

Robert agreed promptly. He wished to make a good impression upon de Galisonniere, and, since the big boat was now far safer and more comfortable than the canoe, two ends would be served at the same time. Willet and the Onondaga also nodded in acquiescence, and a mile or two farther on they and the canoe too went aboard de Galisonniere's stout craft. Then the sail was set again, they steered to the center of the stream and made speed for Montreal.



CHAPTER VIII

GUESTS OF THE ENEMY

Captain Louis de Galisonniere proved to be a genial host, pleased with his guests, pleased with himself, and pleased with the situation. Brave and alert, he had also a certain amount of vanity which Robert had tickled. It was not for nothing that he was a nephew of Count de Galisonniere, once Governor General of Canada, rank and birth counting for so much then with the French nation, and it was not for nothing, either, that he had won his captaincy by valiant and diligent service of his own. So it afforded him great satisfaction to be hospitable now, and also to patronize slightly these men from the south, with whom in all probability New France would be at war before another year had passed. It was well also to impress the Onondaga, whom his vigilant mind recognized at once as a youth of station. None knew better than de Galisonniere the power and importance of the Iroquois, and how they might tip the scale in a great war between the French and British colonies.

His boat, which he proudly called the Frontenac, after the early and great Governor General of Canada, was equipped with supplies needed on trips between ports on the St. Lawrence. After providing stools for his guests, he offered them the light wine of France, even as de Courcelles had done, but Robert and Tayoga declined, although Willet accepted a glass.

"We appreciate your courtesy," said Robert, "but we descendants of the English in America do not take much to wine. I find that my head is much better without it."

"The intoxicating drinks of the white men are not good for the red race," said Tayoga gravely. "The warriors of the Hodenosaunee are able to fight anything else, but strong liquors take away their brains and make them like little children who fly into passions over trifles."

De Galisonniere looked with great interest at the young Onondaga, being impressed by the dignity of his manner and the soberness of his speech.

"You speak perfect English," he observed.

"I learned it in a white man's school at Albany," said Tayoga. "Lennox was my comrade there, just as he has been in the woods."

"You will see a much greater town than Albany when you arrive at Quebec. You will see a noble city, on a noble site, an impregnable fortress, guarded by the most valiant troops in the world. For its like you would have to cross the sea to our old land of France."

"I have heard much of Stadacona, which you call Quebec," said Tayoga, without any alteration of tone. "Our old men speak often of it, when it belonged to our brethren, the Ganeagaono, known to you as the Mohawks, who never sold or ceded it to anybody."

De Galisonniere's face fell a little, but he recovered himself quickly.

"That was generations ago," he said, "and time makes many shifts and changes. There is a flux and efflux of all people, including the white, like the ceaseless movement of sand upon a beach."

The Onondaga was silent, but Robert saw that he did not unbend, and de Galisonniere, feeling that it was unwise to pursue the topic, turned his attention to the mighty river and its lofty wooded banks.

"I don't believe there's another river in the world the equal of this giant French stream of ours," he said.

"Our noble British river, the Hudson, has much to say for itself," said Robert.

"A grand river, in truth. I have seen it, but large and splendid as it is it lacks the length and size of the St. Lawrence."

"It is beyond question a noble stream to travel on. One makes greater speed here and suffers less hardship than in the forest."

"I am glad that I can take you to Montreal."

"Your hospitality to us, Captain de Galisonniere, is appreciated. I have found French officers courteous and ready to share with us all they had. You are not the first whom we have met on this journey. We encountered far down in our province of New York the Chevalier Raymond de St. Luc."

"St. Luc! St. Luc! The very flower of French chivalry! He is a relative of the famous La Corne de St. Luc, of whom you have doubtless heard, and at Quebec he is considered a model of all the qualities that make a soldier and a gentleman."

"He made a like impression upon me. Farther north we were so fortunate as to meet more of your countrymen, Colonel de Courcelles and Captain de Jumonville."

"I know them both! Brave officers!" said de Galisonniere.

But he turned away the conversation from the Frenchmen who had gone down into territory that Robert considered a portion of the Province of New York, and the lad surmised that, knowing a good deal about the nature of their errands, he feared lest he might reveal something through chance allusions. Instead, he talked of the St. Lawrence, Montreal, and the glories of Quebec to which he hoped he might return soon. He addressed most of his talk to Robert, but he spoke at times to Willet and Tayoga, both of whom responded briefly. The wind meanwhile remained strong, and it was not necessary to use the oars, the large sail carrying them swiftly toward Montreal. Robert, while talking with de Galisonniere, watched eagerly the two shores, seeing the smoke rise from the stout log houses of the Canadians, and once the tall steeple of a church dominating a little village, and seeming out of all proportion to the congregation that surrounded it.

"Yes, the church is very powerful with us," said de Galisonniere, following his eyes and noting his expression. "It suits our people, particularly our good Canadian French. Our priests are patriotic, brave, self-sacrificing, and are a power in our dealings with the Indians."

"I know it," said Robert.

At night they reached Montreal, then much inferior in size and importance to Quebec, the canoe was lifted from the Frontenac, and after many exchanges of courtesies, the three went to an inn.

"If chance offers," said Robert, "we shall be glad to help you as you have helped us."

"One never knows," said de Galisonniere. "You and I need not conceal from each other that there is much talk of war between England and France, which, of course, would mean war also between the English and French colonies. If it comes, and come it will, I think, I trust that no ill luck will befall you upon the battlefield."

"And I wish you as well," said Robert, sincerely.

The canoe was left in trustworthy hands, it being their purpose to sell it on the morrow and buy a larger boat, and they walked through the streets of this town of Hochelaga toward their inn. There were other Indians on the street—French Indians they were called to distinguish them from those who formed a British alliance—but none could be compared with Tayoga, arrayed in the full splendor of a coming chief of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the League of the Hodenosaunee. Never had he borne himself more haughtily, never had his height appeared greater or his presence grander. Robert, looking at him, felt that if St. Luc was the very flower of French chivalry, this young comrade of his was to an even greater degree the very spirit and essence of all that was best in the great League of the Hodenosaunee.

The Indians—Hurons, Abenakis, St. Regis, Ottawas, and warriors from farther west—watched Tayoga with fascinated eyes. They knew perfectly well who the tall youth was, that he belonged to the great Iroquois league, and they knew, too, in their secret hearts that he had the superiority which Onondaga, Mohawk and their allied nations claimed. Hence, while their looks sometimes expressed an unwilling admiration, they were also charged always with hostility and hate. But Tayoga apparently took no notice. Once more he was the Greek to whom all outer peoples were barbarians.

"I don't think the French can make much progress with him," whispered Willet to Robert. "As the Indian has no written language, his memory is long. When we reach Quebec he'll never forget for an instant that it was once Stadacona, a village of the Mohawks, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate, and one of the great nations of the Hodenosaunee."

"No, he will not," said Robert, "and look who is waiting to meet us!"

Standing before a low house, which was crowded with the goods of a fur trader, were a half-dozen Indians, wild and savage in looks to the last degree, and in the center was one whose shoulder was bound tightly with a great roll of deerskin. In stature he rose far above the other warriors, and he had a thickness in proportion. The hate that the rest had shown when they looked upon Tayoga was nothing to his, which was the very concentrated essence of all malice.

"Our good friend, Tandakora, despite his wound seems to have arrived ahead of us," said Willet to Robert.

"Yes, and he shows very clearly that he would like to give Tayoga to the torture with himself as torturer, and yet he must know that it was you who put the bullet through his shoulder."

"Quite true, Robert, but he resents the Onondaga more than he does us. We are strangers, aliens to him, and he makes no comparisons with us, but Tayoga is an Indian like himself, whom he has fought against, and against whom he has failed. Watch us pass. For Tayoga, Tandakora will not exist, and it will instill more poison into the heart of the Ojibway."

Willet was a good prophet. The Onondaga walked within five feet of the Ojibway, but he did not show by the slightest sign that he was aware of the existence of Tandakora. The entire little drama, played by the children of the forest, was perfectly clear. Tandakora was dirt under the feet of Tayoga, and Tandakora felt that it was so. His heart burned within him and a twinge through his shoulder added to his anger. Yet he was powerless there in Montreal with the French troops about, and he could merely glare impotently while the three walked by ignoring his existence. But they did not forget him, and each in his heart resolved to be on watch against treacherous attack.

They found on the slope of a high hill the inn to which de Galisonniere had recommended them, and obtained quarters for the night. Monsieur Jolivet, the proprietor, had lodged Indians before, great chiefs treating with the French Government, and he did not think it strange that Tayoga should come there. In truth, Monsieur Jolivet was a thrifty man who despised no patronage for which the pay was assured, and since peace still existed between France and Great Britain he was quite willing to entertain any number of Bostonnais at his most excellent inn on the slope of a high hill overlooking the St. Lawrence. Willet had shown him the color of gold, and from natural ability and long experience as an innkeeper being a shrewd reader of faces he was sure that his three unusual guests could be trusted.

Willet knew Canada better than Robert, and now he acted as spokesman.

"We will sleep here only one night," he said, "because early tomorrow morning we take boat for Quebec. We three will occupy one large room. You have such a room with three beds, have you not?"

"I have the room," responded Monsieur Jolivet promptly, "and the beds can be put in it at once. Then all will be arranged quickly by Lizette and Marie, the maids. Will you permit my man, Francois, to carry your weapons to the chamber now?"

"I think not," replied Willet, giving his rifle an affectionate look. "I've lived so long with this good old rifle of mine that we hate to be parted even for an hour. Tayoga and Mr. Lennox are younger than I am, but they're beginning to feel the same way about their arms. If you don't mind, Monsieur Jolivet, we'll keep our weapons with us."

"Ah, I see, sir, that you're a man of sentiment," said Monsieur Jolivet, laughing and rubbing his hands. "It is well that one can feel it in this rough world of ours. But will Monsieur see a young officer who has come from the commandant? Merely a little inquiry about your identity and an examination of your papers, if you have any. It's according to our custom, and it's just a formality, nothing more."

Robert knew that it was far from being a formality, but his comrades and he had nothing to fear, as their mission was duly accredited and they carried the letters to the Marquis Duquesne. The young officer, a Frenchman of Canadian birth, entered presently, and with the courtesy characteristic of the French race, a trait that Robert liked, asked for an account of themselves, which was given readily. As usual the effect of the letters addressed to the Marquis Duquesne was magical, and, as the officer withdrew, he tendered them all the help he could give for a speedy and pleasant voyage to Quebec.

Monsieur Jolivet gave them a supper in his best style. Although a native of New France he was of Provencal blood, and he had a poetic strain. He offered to his guests not an excellent inn alone, but a magnificent view also, of which he made full use. The evening being warm with a soft and soothing wind, Marie and Lizette set the table in a little garden, in which early flowers were blooming already, offering delicate colors of pink and rose and pale blue. The table was spread with a white cloth, and silver and china were not lacking. The eyes of Robert, who had a fastidious taste, glistened.

"Monsieur Jolivet may be our enemy or not," he said, "but I like him. It is not often that one can dine at such an inn, with such a view of mountain, forest and magnificent river. In truth, the French do some things well."

"They surpass us in the matter of inns," said Willet. "They think more about it—and take more trouble. I'm sorry we have to quarrel with the French. They're good people, though they haven't been oversqueamish in the use of savages against us, and they're really responsible for the cruelties done by the painted demons."

He spoke freely of red "savages" before Tayoga, knowing that the young Onondaga would never think of applying the word to himself. Willet had shown too often that he considered the people of the Hodenosaunee the equals of anybody. Then he took their three rifles, laid them together on the grass by the side of a graveled walk and, looking at the vast expanse of mountain, forest and river, drew a deep breath.

"It's not much like fighting for our lives back there in the gorge, is it, Robert?" he asked. "It's a strange world here in America. We're lying in a rocky hollow one day, shooting at people who are shooting at us, and both sides shooting to kill, and two or three days later we're sitting at an inn in a town, eating off silver and china."

"It's a quick and pleasant transformation," said Robert, appreciatively.

He would have called it supper, but in Montreal it was dinner, and it was served by Lizette and Marie. There was fish from the St. Lawrence, chicken, beef, many vegetables, good white bread and coffee, all prepared in the excellent manner characteristic of Monsieur Jolivet's famous inn. Tayoga ate abundantly but delicately. He had learned the use of knife and fork at the school in Albany, and, like Robert, he was fastidious at the table.

Monsieur Jolivet, after his manner, gave them much of his own presence. One must be polite to the Bostonnais at such a time. He discoursed quite freely of Montreal, and of its advantages as a great trading post with the Indians, who already brought there vast quantities of furs. It would become one of the greatest and most brilliant jewels in the French crown, second perhaps only to Paris. But for the present, the chief glory of New France could be seen only at Quebec Ah, when the Bostonnais arrived there they would behold great lords and great ladies!

The three listened, each interested in his own way. Robert's fancy saw the silken splendor of a vice-regal court, and, anxious to know the larger world, he was more glad than ever that he had come upon this errand, dangerous though it had proved to be.

They sat a while after the dinner was over, looking down at the town and the great view beyond, a clear moon and brilliant stars casting a silver light which illuminated almost like the day. They saw lights gleaming in houses, and now and then shadowy figures passing. Out in the river a boat with a mast rocked in the current, and Robert believed it was the Frontenac of Louis de Galisonniere.

As the dusk thickened over the great river, the island, the hills and the forest, Hochelaga seemed very small, and the inn of the excellent Monsieur Jolivet was just a tiny point of light in all that vast darkness. It shone, nevertheless, by contrast, and was a little island of warmth and comfort in the sea of the wilderness. Monsieur Jolivet, who was deeply interested in the Bostonnais and the proud young Iroquois, talked freely. Under his light and chattering manner lay great powers of perception, and he saw that he had guests of quality, each in his own way. The hunter even was not an ordinary hunter, but, as Monsieur Jolivet judged, a man of uncommon intellectual power, and also of education. He would discover as much about them as he could, for his own personal gratification, because he might give valuable information to the commandant at Montreal, who was his friend, and because later on he might speak a useful word or two in the ear of Louis de Galisonniere, whom he knew well and whose good opinion he valued.

Robert, who was in a cheerful mood and who wished to exercise his gift of golden speech, met him half way, and enlarged upon the splendor and power of Britain, the great kingdom that bestrode the Atlantic, seated immovable in Europe, and yet spreading through her colonies in America, increasing and growing mightier all the time. It was soon a test of eloquence between him and Monsieur Jolivet, in which each was seeking to obtain from the other an expression of the opinion that swayed his country. The Onondaga was silent, and the hunter spoke only a word or two, but each listened intently to the dialogue, which, however earnest it might be, never went beyond the bounds of good humor.

"I cannot make you see the truth," said Monsieur Jolivet, at last, smiling and spreading his hands. "I cannot convince you that France is the first of nations, the nation of light and learning and humanity, and yet it is so. And seated here upon the St. Lawrence we shall build up another France, the New France of America, which will shed light upon you English or Bostonnais down below, and teach you the grace and beauty of civilization."

"We should be willing to learn from any who can teach us," said Robert, "and such a willingness I claim is a chief merit of us English who are born in America, or Bostonnais, as you would call us."

Monsieur Jolivet once more spread out his hands in deprecation.

"We argue in vain," he said. "But now Lizette comes with the coffee, which is one of the most glorious triumphs of my inn. Does the young chief drink coffee?"

"Yes," replied Robert, "he learned at Albany all the white man's habits."

After the coffee they rose from the table and mine host prepared to show them to their room. The darkness had thickened meanwhile and glimpses of the river and the hills were faint. The little garden was enclosed by three walls of darkness, being lighted on the side where it joined the inn. Yet Robert thought he saw a shifting figure blacker than the shadows in which it moved.

Marie and Lizette took away the silver and china and Monsieur Jolivet went ahead to show them to their room. Then something whistled in the darkness, and an arrow buried to the head of the barb stood out in the rear wall of the inn. The three seized their rifles, but the darker shadow in the shadows was gone. Tayoga broke off the arrow level with the wall, and threw the shaft into the garden.

"It was Tandakora," he said, "seeking revenge. But since the arrow has sped wrong he will not loose another shaft tonight. If it had not been for his wounded shoulder the arrow might have gone true. It was a treacherous deed, worthy of the savage Ojibway."

"I hope the time will come," said Willet, "when I shall send a bullet not through Tandakora's shoulder, but through his heart. I don't love the shedding of blood, but the forest will be a better forest without him. Meanwhile, say nothing, lads. Monsieur Jolivet is coming back, but don't mention the arrow to him. He may find the head of it later on in the wall, and then he can wonder about it as much as he pleases."

Mine host bustled back. The foul and treacherous attempt, the breaking off of the arrow, and the comment upon it had taken less than a minute, and, good observer though he was, he noticed nothing unusual in the appearance of his guests. They carried their rifles in their hands, but many visitors to Montreal did the same, and as they were beautiful weapons they might well guard against their loss.

"Follow me, my Bostonnais," he said lightly. "I have the great room with three beds for you, and I trust that you have enjoyed the dinner."

"We have enjoyed it greatly, all of it, Monsieur Jolivet, and especially the dessert," replied Robert with meaning.

"Ah, the pastry," said Monsieur Jolivet, clasping his hands. "It is Marie who made it. It is the gift that she has, and I shall tell her of your praise."

But Robert was not thinking of the pastry. It was of the arrow that he spoke as dessert, although the excellent Monsieur Jolivet was destined never to know the hidden significance of his words. The room which he showed them with so much pride was a large apartment worthy of their praise, having a polished, shining floor of oak, with furs spread here and there upon it, and a low ceiling crossed with mighty beams also of oak. Robert looked at the windows, three in number, and he saw with satisfaction that they had heavy shutters. Monsieur Jolivet's glance followed his own, and he said:

"The shutters are for use in the winter, when the great colds come, and the fierce winds rage. But you, messieurs, who live so much in the forest, will, of course, prefer to keep them wide open tonight."

Robert murmured assent, but when Monsieur Jolivet departed, wishing them a polite good night, he looked at his comrades.

"We are used to air," said Willet, "and lots of it, but those shutters will be closed until morning. As Tayoga truly said, he will hardly dare another arrow, but we mustn't take any risk, however small."

Tayoga nodded approval, and drawing the shutters close, they fastened them. Then they undressed and lay down upon their beds, but each prepared to sleep with his rifle beside him.

"The catches on those shutters are good and strong," said Willet, "and Tandakora, even if he should come again, won't try to break them. It wouldn't suit the purposes of the French for a warrior of a tribe allied with them to be caught trying to murder English visitors, and, that being the case, I expect to go to sleep soon and sleep well."

He was as good as his word. Robert, who blew out the candle, soon heard his regular breathing. Tayoga, who was used to rooms, the Iroquois themselves having strong log houses, quickly followed him in slumber, but young Lennox was not able to compose his nerves for a little while. He was perhaps more sensitive and imaginative than his comrades, or the close air may have kept him awake. He could not help feeling that Tandakora was outside trying the fastenings of the shutters, and at last rising, he walked on tiptoe and listened at every window in turn. He heard nothing without but the breathing of the gentle wind, and then, knowing that it had been only his vivid fancy, he went back to bed and slept soundly.

"Wake up, Robert, and breathe this air! After our having been sealed up in a room all night the breeze is heavenly."

The shutters were thrown back, and the hunter and Tayoga, fully dressed, stood by the windows. The air, fresh, life-giving, coming over the great forests and the mighty river, was pouring into the room in streams, and Tayoga and Willet were facing it, in order that they might receive it straight upon their foreheads. Robert joined them, and soon felt as if he had been created anew and stronger.

"I'll never again sleep in a room closed tight and hard," said Willet, "not even to protect my life. I've roamed the free woods for so many years that I think another such experience would make me choke to death."

"I'm not in love with it myself," said Robert, "but it makes the world outside look all the grander and all the more beautiful."

At their wish breakfast was served for them by Monsieur Jolivet in the garden, Willet insisting that for the present he could not stay any longer in a house. Robert from his seat could see the end of the broken barb embedded in the wall, but neither mine host nor any of his assistants had yet noticed it.

Monsieur Jolivet was pleased that they should have such a brilliant day to begin their journey to Quebec, and he was telling them where they could sell their canoe and buy a good boat when Louis de Galisonniere appeared in the garden and presented them the compliments of the morning. He looked so trim and so gay that he brought with him a cheerful breeze, and the three felt the effect of it, although they wondered at the nature of his errand there. Robert invited him to join them at breakfast and he accepted their invitation, taking a roll and butter and a cup of coffee after the French custom which even then prevailed.

"I see that you've slept well," he said, "and that the inn of Monsieur Jolivet is as kind to the Bostonnais as it is to the French and the Canadians."

"Its hospitality to us could be no finer if we came from Paris itself, instead of the Province of New York," said Robert. "Our stay in Canada has been short, but most interesting."

Monsieur Jolivet had gone into the inn, and de Galisonniere said:

"Montreal is a fine town and I would not depreciate it in the presence of our host, but as I have told you before, our Quebec to which you are going is the true glory of New France. My knowledge that you're going there is the reason why I've come here this morning."

"How is that?" asked Robert

"Because I received orders last night to depart in the Frontenac for Quebec, a journey that I undertake with great willingness, since it takes me where I wish to go. I have also the authority of the commandant to ask your presence as guests for the voyage on board my vessel. Until we French and you English actually go to war we might as well be friends."

Robert glanced at Tayoga and Willet and they nodded slightly. Then he replied warmly that they accepted the invitation and would go with much pleasure in the Frontenac. After breakfast they sold the canoe and embarked presently, having first said goodby to Monsieur Jolivet, who with his best napkin, waved them farewell.

Robert was more than pleased at their good luck. The Frontenac offered them a better passage than any boat they could buy and have to row perhaps with their own strength. Moreover, they were already on excellent terms with de Galisonniere, and it would be a good thing for them to arrive at Quebec in his company.

A strong wind was blowing, and the Frontenac moved swiftly over the surface of the great stream which was like liquid green glass that morning. The three had put their weapons, including Tayoga's bow and arrows, in the cabin, and they sat on deck with de Galisonniere, who looked with pride at the magnificent river which was the very artery of life in the New France of the chevaliers. Robert's own heart throbbed as he knew that this last stage of their journey would take them to famous Quebec.

"If the St. Lawrence didn't freeze over for such a long period," said de Galisonniere, "this region would become in time the greatest empire in the world."

"But isn't that a huge 'if'?" asked Robert, laughing.

De Galisonniere smiled.

"It is," he said, "but New France is the chief jewel in the French crown, nevertheless. In time the vice-regal court at Quebec will rule an empire greater than that of France itself. Think of the huge lakes, the great rivers, the illimitable forests, beyond them the plains over which the buffalo herds roam in millions, and beyond them, so they say, range on range of mountains and forests without end."

"I have been thinking of them," said Robert, "but I've been thinking of them in a British way."

De Galisonniere laughed again and then grew serious.

"It's natural," he said, "that you should think of them in a British way, while I think of them in a French way. I suppose we shall have war, Mr. Lennox, but doesn't it seem strange that England and France should fight about American territory, when there's so much of it? Here's a continent that civilized man cannot occupy for many generations. Both England and France could be hidden away in its forests, and it would take explorers to find them, and yet we must fight over a claim to regions that we cannot occupy."

Robert decided then that he liked young de Galisonniere very much. Some such thoughts had been passing through his own mind, and he was glad that he could talk frankly about the coming war with one who would be on the other side, one who would be an official but not a personal enemy. As the Frontenac slid on through the tumbling green current they talked earnestly. Willet, sitting near, glanced at them occasionally, but he too had plenty of thoughts of his own, while Tayoga, saying nothing, gazed at the high green southern shore. This, so the old men said, had once been the land of the Mohawks, one of the great nations of the Hodenosaunee, and now the children of Onontio, who had come with firearms against bows and arrows, spoke of it as theirs since Manitou first made the land rise from the deep. Tayoga was silent but he had many thoughts, and they were thoughts that came to him often and stayed long.

"De Courcelles and Jumonville, whom you met in the forest," said de Galisonniere, at length, "arrived in Montreal early last night, and after a stay of only two or three hours sailed in a schooner for Quebec."

"Did you see them at all while they were in Montreal?" asked Robert, who seemed to detect significance in the young Frenchman's tone.

"Only for a few moments," replied de Galisonniere, and Robert, judging that he wished to avoid more talk on the subject, made no further reference to de Courcelles. But the knowledge that he had gone on ahead to Quebec troubled him. De Courcelles was not so young and frank as de Galisonniere, nor did he seem to have the fine soul and chivalric spirit of St. Luc. Robert felt the three had cause to fear him.

But the journey down the St. Lawrence continued without serious delay, although the wind failed now and then and they took to the oars. It was a voyage full of variety and interest to Robert. He slept that night with his comrades on the deck of the Frontenac, and the next morning he found a strong wind again blowing.

In time they approached Quebec, and saw the increasing signs of population that betokened proximity to what was then in the eyes of North Americans a great capital. On either shore they saw the manor houses of the seigneurs, solid stone structures, low, steep of roof and gabled, with clustering outhouses, and often a stone mill near by. The churches also increased in numbers, and at one point the Frontenac stopped and took on a priest, a tall strongly built man of middle years, with a firm face. De Galisonniere introduced him as Father Philibert Drouillard, and Robert felt his penetrating gaze upon his face. Then it shifted to Willet and Tayoga, resting long upon the Onondaga.

Robert, knowing the great power of the church in Canada, was curious about Father Drouillard, whom he knew at once to be no ordinary man. His lean ascetic face seemed to show the spirit that had marked Jogues and Goupil and those other early priests whom no danger nor Indian torture could daunt. But he was too polite to ask questions, feeling that time would bring him all the information he wanted, in which he was right, as de Galisonniere said later in the day when Father Drouillard was sitting in the little cabin out of hearing:

"A man of influence at Quebec. He has no parish, nor seems to wish any, but he is deep in the councils of the Church. It is known, too, that he corresponds with Rome, with the Holy Father himself, 'tis said, and there are men high in office at Quebec who wish that he might be called from New France back to the old land. Francois Bigot, the Intendant, does not love him, nor does anyone of the group about Bigot, neither his commissary general, Cadet, nor Pean, the Town Mayor of Quebec, nor Descheneaux, nor the others of that group. It's a gorgeous life that our own court circle leads at Quebec, and at the great Chateau Bigot, in the midst of its walks and flowers and gardens. I don't know why I'm telling you these things, Mr. Lennox! It seems they should be the very last to say to one's official enemy, but I can't feel that I'm doing anything wrong when I do tell them to you."

His bright face was in gloom for a few moments, and Robert, quick in perception, had a sudden feeling that this brilliant Quebec, enveloped in so much color and glamour, might not be so sound within as the English towns to the south, despite their wrangling. But it merely increased his anxiety to see Quebec. Life would be all the more complex there.

The great river spread before them, blue now under a dazzling blue sky, and the stout Frontenac left a long white trailing wake. A stone house, larger than usual, showed through the green foliage on the south bank. Father Drouillard gazed at it, and his face darkened. Presently he arose and shook his hand towards the house, as if he were delivering a curse.

"The chateau that you see belongs to the young Count Jean de Mezy, a friend of the Intendant, Bigot. Sometimes they come from their revels at Beaumanoir to the Chateau de Mezy, and continue them there. Now you can see why Father Drouillard, who sympathizes with our honnetes gens, delivers his malediction."

The priest returned to his seat, and averted his face. An hour later the mighty rock of Quebec rose before them.



CHAPTER IX

AT THE INN

When Quebec came into view Robert stood up and looked long at the great rock and the town that crowned it, hung on its slopes and nestled at the foot of the cliffs below. Brilliant sunshine gilded its buildings of stone and gray wood, and played like burnished gold on the steeples of its many churches. In the distance the streets leading up the steep cliffs looked like mere threads, but in the upper town the great public buildings, the Intendant's Palace, the Cathedral, Notre Dame de la Victoire, the convents of the Ursuline Nuns and the Recollet Friars, the Bishop's Palace, and others raised for the glory and might of France, were plainly visible.

In more than one place he saw the Bourbon lilies floating and from the little boat on which he stood in the stream it looked like a grim and impregnable fortress of the Old World. The wonderful glow of the air, and the vast river flowing at its feet, magnified and colored everything. It was a city ten times its real size and the distance turned gray wood to gray stone. Everything was solid, immovable, and it seemed fit to defy the world.

Robert felt a catch in his breath. He had often seen Quebec, great and beautiful, in his dreams, but the reality was equal to it and more. To the American of that day Quebec was one of the vital facts of life. From that fortress issued the daring young French soldiers of fortune who led the forays against New York and New England. It was the seat of the power that threatened them continually. Many of the Bostonnais, seized in their fields, had been brought here as prisoners to be returned home only after years, or never. From this citadel, too, poured the stream of arms and presents for the Indians who were to lie in ambush along the English border, or to make murderous incursions upon the villages. From it flowed the countless dangers that had threatened the northern provinces almost continually for a century and a half. The Bostonnais themselves, mark of the initiative and energy that were to distinguish them so greatly later on, made a mighty effort against it, and doubtless would have succeeded, had they been allowed to carry the fight to a finish.

No man from New York or New England could look upon it without a mingling of powerful emotions. It was the Carthage to their Rome. He admired and yet he wished to conquer. He felt that permanent safety could never come to the northern border until the Bourbon lilies ceased to float over the great fortress that looked down on the St. Lawrence. Robert was not the only one who felt strong emotion. Tayoga stood beside him, his nostrils expanding and his gaze fierce:

"Stadacona!" he said under his breath, "Stadacona of the Ganeagaono, our great brother nation!"

But the emotion of de Galisonniere was of pleasure only. His eyes sparkled with joy and admiration. He was delighted to come back to Quebec, the gay city that he beheld through the eyes of youth and glowing recollections. He knew the corruption and wickedness of Bigot and of Cadet and of Pean and of the whole reckless circle about the Intendant, but Quebec, with its gallant men and its beautiful women; its manners of an Old World aristocracy and its air of a royal court, had many pleasures, and why should youth look too far into the future?

And yet another stood up and looked at Quebec, with emotions all his own, and unlike those of the three who were so young. Father Drouillard, tall in his black robe, gazed fixedly at the rock, and raised his hand in a gesture much like that with which he had cursed the chateau of Count Jean de Mezy. His eyes were set and stern, but, as the sun fell in floods of burnished gold on the cathedral and the convents, his accusing look softened, became sad, then pitying, then hopeful.

"A wonderful sight, Father Drouillard," said Willet, who stood at his elbow and who also gazed at Quebec with feelings quite his own. "I've seen it before, but I can never see it too often."

"Mr. Willet," said the priest, "you and I are greater in years than these youths, and perhaps for that reason we can look farther into the future. Youth fears nothing, but age fears everything. You come to Quebec now in peace, and I trust that you may never come in war. I can feel, nay I can see the clouds gathering over our two lands. Why should we fight? On a continent so vast is there not room enough for all?"

"Room and to spare," replied the hunter, "but as you say, Father Drouillard, you and I have lived longer than these youths, and age has to think. If left to themselves I've no doubt that New France and the English colonies could make a lasting peace, but the intrigues, the jealousies and the hates of the courts at London and Paris keep our forests, four thousand miles away, astir. When the Huron buries his arrow in the heart of a foe the motive that sent him to the deed may have had its start in Europe, but the poor savage never knows it."

The priest sighed, and looked at Willet with an awakened curiosity.

"I see that you're a man of education," he said, "and that you think. What you say is true, but the time will come when other minds than those of vain and jealous courtiers will sway the fortunes of all these vast regions. I have asked you nothing of your mission in Quebec, Mr. Willet, but I hope that I will see you again before you return."

"I hope so too," said the hunter sincerely.

The Frontenac now drew in to a wharf between the Royal Battery and the Dauphin's Battery, and Robert was still all eyes for the picturesque sights that awaited him in the greatest French town of the New World. De Galisonniere was hailed joyously by young officers and he made joyous replies. Robert, as they landed, saw anew and in greater detail the immense strength of Quebec.

He beheld the line of huge earthworks that Frontenac had built from the river St. Charles to Cape Diamond, and he saw the massive redoubts lined with heavy cannon. Now, he wondered at the boldness of the New Englanders who had assailed the town with so much vigor, and who might have taken it.

"I recommend to you," said de Galisonniere, "that you go to the Inn of the Eagle in the Upper Town. It is kept by Monsieur Berryer, who as a host is fully equal to Monsieur Jolivet of Montreal, and the merits of Monsieur Jolivet are not unknown to you."

"They are not," said Robert heartily, "and we may thank you, Captain de Galisonniere, for your great courtesy in bringing us from Montreal. We can only hope for a time in which we shall be able to repay your kindness."

After they had slipped some silver pieces to the boatmen and had said farewell to Captain de Galisonniere, they took their way up a steep street, a swarthy French-Canadian porter carrying their baggage. Here, as at Montreal, the most attention was attracted by Tayoga, and, if possible, the young Onondaga grew more haughty in appearance and manner. His moccasined feet spurned the ground, and he gazed about with a fierce and defiant eye.

Robert knew well what was stirring the spirit of the Onondaga. This was not the Quebec of the French, it was the Stadacona of the Mohawks, the great brother nation of the Onondagas, and the French here were but interlopers and robbers.

But Robert soon lost thought of Tayoga as he looked at the crowded city, and its mingling of the splendid and the squalid, its French and French-Canadians, its soldiers and priests and civilians and Indians, its great stone houses, and its wooden huts, its young officers in fine white uniforms and its swarthy habitants in brown homespun. Albany had its Dutch, and New York had its Dutch, too, and people from many parts of Europe, but Quebec was different, something altogether new, without a trace of English or Dutch about it, and, for that reason, it made a great appeal to his curiosity.

A light open carriage drawn by two stout ponies passed them at an amazing pace considering the steepness of the street, and they saw in it a florid young man in a splendid costume, his powdered hair tied in a queue.

"De Mezy," said the priest, who was just behind them.

Then they knew that it was the young man, the companion of Bigot in his revels, against whose chateau Father Drouillard had raised his threatening hands. Now the priest spoke the name with the most intense scorn and contempt, and Robert, feeling that he might encounter de Mezy again in this pent-up Quebec, gazed at his vanishing figure with curiosity. They had their gay blades in New York and Albany and even a few in Boston of the Puritans, but he had not seen anybody like de Mezy.

"It is such as he who are pulling down New France," murmured Father Drouillard.

A moment or two later the priest said farewell and departed in the direction of the cathedral.

"There goes a man," said Willet, as he looked after the tall figure in the black robe. "I don't share in the feeling of church against church. I don't see any reason why Protestant should hate Catholic and Catholic should hate Protestant. I've lived long enough and seen enough to know that each church holds good men, and unless I make a big mistake, and I don't think I make any mistake at all, Father Drouillard is not only a good man, but he has a head full of sense and he's as brave as a lion, too."

"Lots of priests are," said Robert. "Nobody ever endured the Indian tortures better than they. And what's the figure over the doorway, Dave?"

"That, Robert, is Le Chien d'Or, The Golden Dog. It's the sign put up by Nicholas Jaquin, whom they often called Philibert. This is his warehouse and he was one of the honnetes gens that we've been talking about. He fought the corrupt officials, he tried to make lower prices for the people, and beneath his Golden Dog he wrote:"

"Je suis un chien qui ronge l'os, En le rongeant je prends mon repos; Un jour viendra qui n'est pas venu, Que je mordrai qui m'aura mordu."

"That is, some day the dog will bite those who have bitten him?"

"That's about it, Robert, and I suppose it generally comes true. If you keep on striking people some of them in time will strike you and strike you pretty hard."

"And does Philibert still run his warehouse beneath his sign of the Golden Dog?"

"No, Robert. He was too brave, or not cautious enough, and they assassinated him, but there are plenty of others like him. The French are a brave and honest people, none braver or more honest. I tell you so, because I know them, but their government is corrupt through and through. The House of Bourbon is dying of its own poison. It may seem strange to you, hearing me say it here in the Western world, so far from Versailles, but I'm not the only one who says so."

"But I like Quebec," said Robert. "I haven't seen another city that speaks to the eye so much."

They were now well into the Upper Town, and the porter guided them to the Inn of the Eagle, where Monsieur Paul Berryer, the host, gave them a welcome, and from whom they learned that the Governor General, the Marquis Duquesne, was absent in the east, but would return in two or three days. Robert was not sorry for the delay, as it would give them a chance to see the city, and perhaps, through de Galisonniere, make acquaintances among the French officers.

They were able to secure a large room with three beds, and both Robert and Willet drew from their small store of baggage suits quite in the fashion, three-cornered hats, fine coats and waistcoats, knee breeches, stockings and buckled shoes, and as a last and crowning triumph they produced handsome small swords or rapiers that they buckled to their belts.

"That canoe of ours wasn't large, but it brought a lot in it," said the hunter.

Robert surveyed himself in a small glass, and his clothes brought great pride. A chord in his nature responded to splendor of raiment, and the surroundings of the great world. Quebec might be corrupt but he could not hide from himself his immense interest in it. He noticed, too, that Willet wore his fine costume naturally.

"It's not the first time that you've been in such clothes, Dave," he said, "and it's not the first time that you've been in a society like that which makes its home in Quebec."

"No, it is not," replied Willet, "and some time, Robert, I'll tell you about those days, but not now."

Tayoga remained in his dress of a young Indian chief. Even if he had had any other he would not have put it on, and the fine deerskin and the lofty headdress became him and stamped him for what he was, a prince of the forest. He held in his heart, too, a deeper feeling against the French than any that animated either Robert or Willet. He could not forget that this was not Quebec, but Stadacona of the Ganeagaono, whose rights were also the rights of the other nations of the Hodenosaunee, and it was here that Frontenac, who had slaughtered the Iroquois, had made his home and fortress. The heart of Tayoga of the clan of the Bear of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, burned within him and the blood in his veins would not grow cool.

"I suppose, Dave," said Robert, "since we have to wait two days for the Marquis Duquesne, that we might go forth at once and begin seeing the town."

"Food first," said the hunter. "We've come a long journey on the river and we'll test the quality of the, inn."

It was too cool for the little terrace that adjoined the Inn of the Eagle, and Monsieur Berryer had a table set for them in the great dining-room, which had an oaken floor, oaken beams and much china and glass on shelves about the walls, the whole forming an apartment in which the host took a just pride. It was gayer and brighter than the inns of Albany and New York, and again Robert found his spirit responding to it.

A fire of light wood that blazed and sparkled merrily burned in a huge stone fireplace at the end of the room, and its grateful warmth entered into Robert's blood. He suddenly felt a great exaltation. He was glad to be there. He was glad that Tayoga and Willet were with him. He was glad that they had encountered dangers on their journey because they had won a triumph in overcoming them, and by the very act of victory they had increased their own strength and confidence. His sensitive, imaginative nature, easily kindled to supreme efforts, thrilled with the thoughts of the great deeds they might do.

His pleasure in the company and the atmosphere increased. Everything about him made a strong appeal to good taste. At the end of the room, opposite the fireplace, stood a vast sideboard, upon which china and glass, arranged in harmonious groups, shone and glittered. The broad shelves or niches in the walls held much cut glass, which now and then threw back from many facets the ruddy light of the fire. Before sitting down, they had dipped their hands in a basin of white china filled with water, and standing beside the door, and that too had pleased Robert's fastidious taste.

At their table each of the three found an immaculate white napkin, a large white china plate and goblet, knife, fork and spoon, all of silver, polished to the last degree. Again Robert's nature responded and he looked at himself in his fine dress in the glittering silver of the goblet. Then his right hand stole down and caressed the hilt of his rapier. He felt himself very much of a gentleman, very much of a chevalier, fit to talk on equal terms with St. Luc, de Galisonniere or the best French officer of them all. And Willet, wearing his costly costume with ease, was very much of a gentleman too, and Tayoga, dressed as the forest prince, was in his own way, and quite as good a way, as much of a gentleman as either.

At least a dozen others were in the great room, and many curious eyes were upon the three visitors from the south. It was likely that the presence of such marked figures as theirs would become known quickly in Quebec. They had shown the papers bearing their names at the gate by which they had entered, and doubtless the news of their arrival had been spread at once by the officer in command there. Well, they would prove to the proud chevaliers of Quebec how the Bostonnais could bear themselves, and Robert's pulses leaped.

They were served by an attentive and quiet waiter, and the three, each in his own way, watched everything that was going on. They were aware that not all would be as friendly as de Galisonniere or Father Drouillard, but they were fully prepared to meet a challenge of any kind and uphold the honor of their own people. Robert was hoping that de Galisonniere might come, as he had recommended the inn to them. He did not appear, but the others who did so lingered and young Lennox knew that it was because of the three, who received many hostile glances, although most were intended for the Onondaga. Robert was aware, too, that if the Iroquois had lost this Stadacona of the Mohawks and had been ravaged by Frontenac, they had taken a terrible revenge upon the French and their chief allies, the Hurons. For generations the Hodenosaunee had swept the villages along the St. Lawrence with fire and tomahawk, slaying and capturing their hundreds. But to Tayoga it was and always would be the French who had struck first, and the vital fact remained that they lived upon land upon which the Iroquois themselves had once lived, no man knew how long.

Robert saw that the looks were growing more menacing, although the good Monsieur Berryer glided among his guests, and counseled caution.

"Take no notice," said Willet in a low tone. "The French are polite, and although they may not like us they will not molest us."

Robert followed his advice. Apparently he had no thought except for his food, which was delicate, but his ears did not miss any sound that could reach them. He understood French well, and he caught several whispers that made the red come to his cheeks. Doubtless they thought he could not speak their language or they would have been more careful.

Half way through the dinner and the door was thrown open, admitting a gorgeous figure and a great gust of words. It was a young man in a brilliant uniform, his hair long, perfumed, powdered and curled, and his face flushed. Robert recognized him at once as that same Count Jean de Mezy who had passed them in the flying carriage. Behind came two officers of about the same age, but of lower rank, seeking his favor and giving him adulation.

His roving eye traveled around the room, and, resting upon the three guests, became inflamed.

"Ah, Nemours, and you, Le Moyne," he said, "look there and behold the two Bostonnais and the Iroquois of whom we have heard, sitting here in our own Inn of the Eagle!"

"But there is no war, not as yet," said Nemours, although he spoke in an obsequious tone.

"But it will come," said de Mezy loudly, "and then, gentlemen, this lordly Quebec of ours, which has known many English captives, will hold multitudes of them."

There were cries of "Silence!" "Not so loud!"

"Don't insult guests!" but de Mezy merely laughed and said: "They don't understand! The slow-witted English never know any tongue but their own."

The red flush in Robert's face deepened and he moved angrily.

"Quiet, boy! Quiet!" whispered the hunter. "He wants a quarrel, and he is surrounded by his friends, while we're strangers in a strange land and a hostile city. Take a trifle of the light white wine that Monsieur Berryer is pouring for you. It won't hurt you."

Robert steadied himself and sipped a little. De Mezy and his satellites, Nemours and Le Moyne, sat down noisily at a table and ordered claret. De Mezy gave the cue. They talked of the Bostonnais, not only of the two Bostonnais who were present, but of the Bostonnais in all the English colonies, applying the word to them whether they came from Massachusetts or New York or Virginia. Robert felt his pulses leaping and the hunter whispered his warning once more.

De Mezy evidently was sincere in his belief that the three understood no French, as he continued to talk freely about the English colonies, the prospect of war, and the superiority of French troops to British or American. Meanwhile he and his two satellites drank freely of the claret and their faces grew more flushed. Robert could stand it no longer.

"Tayoga," he said clearly and in perfect French, "it seems that in Quebec there are people of loose speech, even as there are in Albany and New York."

"Our sachems tell us that such is the way of man," said the Onondaga, also in pure French. "Vain boasters dwell too in our own villages. For reasons that I do not know, Manitou has put the foolish as well as the wise into the world."

"To travel, Tayoga, is to find wisdom. We learn what other people know, and we learn to value also the good that we have at home."

"It is so, my friend Lennox. It is only when we go into strange countries and listen to the tongues of the idle and the foolish that we learn the full worth of our own."

"It is not wise, Tayoga, to give a full rein to a loose tongue in a public place."

"Our mothers teach us so, Lennox, as soon as we leave our birch bark cradles."

Willet had raised his hand in warning, but he saw that it was too late. The young blood in the veins of both Tayoga and Robert was hot, and the Iroquois was stirred not less deeply than the white man.

"The sachems tell us," he said, "that sometimes a man speaks foolish words because he is born foolish, again he says them at times because his temper or drink makes him foolish, or he may say them because it is his wish to be foolish and he has cultivated foolish ways all his life. This last class is the worst of all, Lennox, my friend, but there is a certain number of them in all lands, as one finds when one travels."

The Onondaga spoke with great clearness and precision in his measured school French and a moment of dead silence followed. Then Robert said:

"It is true, Tayoga. The chiefs of the Hodenosaunee are great and wise men. They have lived and seen much, and seeing they have remembered. They know that speech was given to man in order that he might convey his thoughts to another, and not that he might make a fool of himself."

An angry exclamation came from the table at which de Mezy sat, and his satellites, Nemours and Le Moyne, swept the three with looks meant to be contemptuous. Monsieur Berryer raised deprecating hands and was about to speak, but, probably seeing that both hands and words would be of no avail, moved quietly to one side. He did not like to have quarrels in his excellent Inn of the Eagle, but they were no new thing there, for the gilded youth of Quebec was hot and intemperate.

"But when a man is foolish in our village," resumed Tayoga, "and the words issue from his mouth in a stream like the cackling of a jay bird, the chiefs do not send warriors to punish him, but give him into the hands of the old women, who bind him and beat him with sticks until they can beat sense back into him."

"A good way, Tayoga, a most excellent way," said Robert. "People who have reached the years of maturity pay no attention to the vaporings and madness of the foolish."

He did not look around, but he heard a gusty exclamation, the scrape of a chair on the floor, and a hasty step. Then he felt a hot breath, and, although he did not look up, he knew that de Mezy, flushed with drink and anger, was standing over him. The temperament that nature had given to him, the full strength of which he was only discovering, asserted itself. He too felt wrath inside, but he retained all the presence of mind for which he afterward became famous.

"Shall we go out and see more of the city, Tayoga?" he asked.

"Not until I have had a word with you, young sprig of a Bostonnais," said de Mezy, his florid face now almost a flaming red.

"Your pardon, sir," said Robert, with his uncommon fluency of speech, "I have not the advantage of your acquaintance, which, no doubt, is my loss, as I admit that there are many good and brave men whom I do not know."

"I am Jean de Mezy, a count of France, a captain in the army of King Louis, and one of the most valued friends of our able Intendant, Francois Bigot."

"I have heard of France, of course, I have heard, equally of course, of His Majesty, King Louis, I have even heard of the Intendant, Francois Bigot, but, and sorry I am to say it, I have never heard of the Count Jean de Mezy."

A low laugh came from a distant corner of the room, and the red of de Mezy's face turned to purple. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, but Le Moyne whispered to him and he became more collected.

"In Quebec," he said, throwing back his shoulders and raising his chin, "an officer of His Majesty, King Louis, does not accept an insult. We preserve our honor with the edge of our swords, and for that reason I intend to let a good quantity of the hot blood out of you with mine. There is a good place near the St. Louis gate, and the hour may be as early as you wish."

"He is but a boy," interposed Willet.

"But I know the sword," said Robert, who had made up his mind, and who was measuring his antagonist. "I will meet you tomorrow morning just after sunrise with the small sword, and my seconds will confer with yours tonight."

He stood up that they might see his size. Although only a boy in years, he was as large and strong as de Mezy, and his eyes were clearer and his muscles much firmer. A hum of approval came from the spectators, who now numbered more than a score, but the approval was given for different reasons. Some, and they belonged to the honnetes gens, were glad to see de Mezy rebuked and hoped that he would be punished; others, the following of Bigot, Cadet, Pean and their corrupt crowd, were eager to see the Bostonnais suffer for his insolence to one of their number. But most of them, both the French of old France and the French of Canada, chivalric of heart, were resolved to see fair play.

Monsieur Berryer shrugged his shoulders, but made no protest. The affair to his mind managed itself very well. There had been none of the violence that he had apprehended. The quarrel evidently was one of gentlemen, carried out in due fashion, and the shedding of blood would occur in the proper place and not in his inn. And yet it would be an advertisement. Men would come to point out where de Mezy had sat, and where the young Bostonnais had sat, and to recount the words that each had said. And then the red wine and the white wine would flow freely. Oh, yes, the affair was managing itself very well indeed, and the thrifty Monsieur Berryer rubbed his hands together with satisfaction.

"We have beds here at the Inn of the Eagle," said Robert coolly—he was growing more and more the master of speech; "you can send your seconds this evening to see mine, and they will arrange everything, although I tell you now that I choose small swords. I hope my choice suits you."