Indian."

"But it may be that Captain la Grange is in favour at Quebec. What
then?"

"You do not seem to understand me yet, Father." Menard spoke slowly
and calmly. "This is not my quarrel. I can take what my life brings,
and thank your God, the while, that I have life at all. But if by one
foolish act the Iroquois are to be lost to France, while I have the
word on my tongue that will set all right, am I,--well, would you have
me such a soldier?"

The priest was looking through the leaves at the firelight. For once
he seemed to have nothing to offer.

"It will not be easy, Father; but when was a soldier's work easy?
First I must make these Indians believe me,--and you know how hard
that will be. Then I must convince Governor Denonville that this is
his only course; and that will be still harder. Or, if they will not
release me, you will be my messenger, Father, and take the word. I
will stay here until La Grange has got his dues."

"Let us suppose," said the priest,--"let us suppose that you did not
do this, that you did not take this course against Captain la Grange
which will leave him a marked man to the Iroquois, even if the
Governor should do nothing."

"Then," said Menard, "the rear-guard at La Famine will be butchered,
and the army of New France will be cut to pieces. That is all."

"You are sure of this?"

"It points that way, Father."

"Then let us take another case. Suppose that you succeed at the
council, that you are released. Then if the Governor should disclaim
responsibility, should--"

"Then, Father, I will go to La Grange and make him fight me. I mean to
pledge my word to these chiefs. You know what that means."

"Yes," replied the priest, "yes." He seemed puzzled and unsettled by
some thought that held his mind. He walked slowly about, looking at
the ground. Menard, too, was restless. He rose from the stone and
tossed away the pebbles that had supported the cup, one at a time.

"They are singing again," he said, listening to the droning chant that
came indistinctly through the dark. "One would think they would long
ago have been too drunk to stand. How some of these recruits the King
sends over to us would envy them their stomachs."

The priest made no reply. He did not understand the impulse that led
the Captain to speak irrelevantly at such a moment.

"I suppose the doctors are dancing now," Menard continued. "It may be
that they will come here. If they do, we shall have a night of