with a little knot of soldiers close on
their heels. One of the soldiers, leaping forward, brought the stock
of his musket down on the head of the nearer Indian. The fugitive went
down, dragging with him his companion, who tugged desperately at the
chain. A soldier drew his knife, and cut off the dead Indian's arm
close to the iron wristlet, breaking the bone with his foot. Then they
led back the captive and tumbled him into the boat, with the hand of
his comrade dangling at the end of the chain. The incident had excited
the soldiers, and they kicked and pounded the prisoners. A crowd
gathered about the body on the wharf, the bolder ones snatching at his
beads and wampum belt.

Menard raised his eyes to the lands across the river and to the white
cloud-puffs above. After months of camp and canoe, sleeping in snow
and rain, and by day paddling, poling, and wading,--never a new face
among the grumbling soldiers or the stolid prisoners,--after this,
Quebec stood for luxury and the pleasant demoralization of good
living. He liked the noise of passing feet, the hail of goodwill from
door to door, the plodding shopkeepers and artisans, the comfortable
priests in brown and gray.

The sound of oars brought his eyes again to the river. The two boats
with their loads of redskins were passing the merchantmen that lay
between the men-of-war and the city. On the wharf, awaiting a second
trip, was a huddled group of prisoners. Menard's face clouded as he
watched them. Men of his experience were wondering what effect this
new plan of the Governor's would have upon the Iroquois. Capturing a
hunting party by treachery and shipping them off to the King's galleys
was a bold stroke,--too bold, perhaps. Governor Frontenac would never
have done this; he knew the Iroquois temper too well. Governor la
Barre, for all his bluster, would not have dared. It was certain that
this new governor, Denonville, was not a coward; but as Menard
reflected, going back over his own fifteen years of frontier life, he
knew that this policy of brute force would be sorely tested by the
tact and intrigue of the Five Nations. His own part in the capture
little disturbed him. He had obeyed orders. He had brought the band to
the citadel at Quebec without losing a man (saving the poor devil who
had strangled himself with his own thongs at La Gallette).

To such men as Menard, whose lives were woven closely into the fabric
of New France, the present condition was cl