ng his lips over the liquor.

Menard smiled. "I'm afraid I shall have to play at composure for an
hour," he said. "I must see Father Claude. Settle yourself here, if
you like."

Menard hurried away, for it was growing late. He found the Jesuit
meditating in his cell.

"Ah, Captain Menard, I am glad to see you so soon again."

Menard sat on the narrow bed and stretched out his legs as far as he
could in the cramped space.

"How soon will your duties be over here, Father?"

"There seems to be no reason for me to stay. I have delivered the
relations, and no further work has come to hand."

"Then it may be that you can help me, Father."

"You know, my son, that I will."

"Very well. I have been ordered to Fort Frontenac in advance of the
troops. I am to bear orders to d'Orvilliers and to Du Luth and La
Durantaye. It is possible that there may be some delicate work to be
done among the Indians. You know the Iroquois, Father, and our two
heads together should be stronger than mine alone. I want you to go
with me."

The priest's eyes lighted.

"It may be that I can get permission at Montreal."

"You will go, then?"

"Gladly. It is to be no one else--we two--"

"We shall have canoemen. To my mind, the fewer the better."

"Still, Captain, you cannot depend on the canoemen. Would it not be
well to have one other man? You might need a messenger."

Menard thought for a moment.

"True, Father. And if I am to have a man, he had best be an officer;
yes, a man who could execute orders. I'll take Danton. You will be
ready for a start, Father, probably to-morrow?"

"At any time, my son."

"Good night."

There was little work to be done in preparing for the journey (Major
Provost would attend to the supplies and to engaging the canoemen),
and Menard still was in the lazy mood. He stood for a while at the
edge of the cliff and looked down at the wharf. It was dark, and he
could not see whether the body of the Indian had been removed. The
incident of the afternoon had been gathering importance to his mind
the longer he thought of it. Five years earlier Menard had been
captured by the Onondagas during a fight near Fort Frontenac. They had
taken him to one of their villages, south of Lake Ontario, and for
days had tortured him and starved him. They had drawn out cords from
his arms and legs and thrust sticks between them and the flesh. His
back was still covered with scars from the burning slivers which they
had st