of natural leadership, his bonhommie. He thought, "It was a shame for
that lawyer to trick such a fine fellow with the story that he was
the heir of the family." Jean, for his part, was impressed by Pierre's
simplicity and firmness of conviction. He thought, "What a mean thing
for that lawyer to fool such an innocent as this into supposing himself
the inheritor of the title." What never occurred to either of them was
the idea that the lawyer had deceived them both. That was not to be
dreamed of. To admit such a thought would have seemed to them like
throwing away something of great value which they had just found. The
family name, the papers, the links of the genealogy which had been
so convincingly set forth,--all this had made an impression on their
imagination, stronger than any logical argument. But which was the
marquis? That was the question.

"Look here," said Jean at last, "of what value is it that we fight? We
are cousins. You think I am wrong. I think you are wrong. But one of us
must be right. Who can tell? There will certainly be something for both
of us. Blood is stronger than currant juice. Let us work together and
help each other. You come home with me when this job is done. The
lawyer returns to St. Gedeon in the spring. He will know. We can see
him together. If he has fooled you, you can do what you like to him.
When--PARDON, I mean if--I get the title, I will do the fair thing by
you. You shall do the same by me. Is it a bargain?"

On this basis the compact was made. The camp was much amazed, not to say
disgusted, because there was no fight. Well-meaning efforts were made at
intervals through the winter to bring on a crisis. But nothing came of
it. The rival claimants had pooled their stock. They acknowledged the
tie of blood, and ignored the clash of interests. Together they
faced the fire of jokes and stood off the crowd; Pierre frowning and
belligerent, Jean smiling and scornful. Practically, they bossed the
camp. They were the only men who always shaved on Sunday morning. This
was regarded as foppish.

The popular disappointment deepened into a general sense of injury. In
March, when the cut of timber was finished and the logs were all hauled
to the edge of the river, to lie there until the ice should break and
the "drive" begin, the time arrived for the camp to close. The last
night, under the inspiration drawn from sundry bottles which had been
smuggled in to celebrate the occasion, a plan was