otts Bluffs they saw the mountains, and stood,
a way-worn company, looking at those faint and formidable shapes that
blocked their path to the Promised Land. It was a sight to daunt the
most high-hearted, and they stared, dropping ejaculations that told of
the first decline of spirit. Only the sick woman said nothing. Her
languid eye swept the prospect indifferently, her spark of life burning
too feebly to permit of any useless expenditure. It was the strange
man who encouraged them. They would pass the mountains without effort,
the ascent was gradual, South Pass a plain.

The strange man had stayed with them, and all being well, would go on
to Fort Bridger, probably to California, in their company. It was good
news. He was what they needed, versed in the lore of the wilderness,
conversant with an environment of which they were ignorant. The train
had not passed Ash Hollow when he fell into command, chose the camping
grounds, went ahead in search of springs, and hunted with Daddy John,
bringing back enough game to keep them supplied with fresh meat. They
began to rely upon him, to defer to him, to feel a new security when
they saw his light, lean-flanked figure at the head of the caravan.

One morning, as the doctor rode silently beside him, he broke into a
low-toned singing. His voice was a mellow baritone, and the words he
sung, each verse ending with a plaintive burden, were French:

"Il y a longtemps que je t'ai aime jamais je ne t'oublierai."

Long ago the doctor had heard his wife sing the same words, and he
turned with a start:

"Where did you learn that song?"

"From some voyageur over yonder," nodding toward the mountains. "It's
one of their songs."

"You have an excellent accent, better than the Canadians."

The stranger laughed and addressed his companion in pure and fluent
French.

"Then you're a Frenchman?" said the elder man, surprised.

"Not I, but my people were. They came from New Orleans and went up the
river and settled in St. Louis. My grandfather couldn't speak a
sentence in English when he first went there."

When the doctor told his daughter this he was a little triumphant.
They had talked over Courant and his antecedents, and had some argument
about them, the doctor maintaining that the strange man was a
gentleman, Susan quite sure that he was not. Dr. Gillespie used the
word in its old-fashioned sense, as a term having reference as much to
birth and breeding as to mann