ome away they cried--them real ladies--about me, old Tommy Dye,
that ain't even a heretic."

"You are kind, my friend; you have a good heart, and you are generous,"
said Father Orin; "but I wish you could earn your money in another and a
better way. Somehow it grates--"

"Now, look here!" cried Tommy Dye, bristling at once, and jamming his
hat back on his red head. He was always cowed at the very sight of the
gentle Sisters; but as man to man--even though one be a priest--he was
up again at once, and quite ready to hold his own. "Every man to his own
notion," he blustered and swaggered. "I've got mine and you've got
yours. That's my way of making a living, and I dare anybody to say it
ain't honest. Just let any man come out flat foot and tell me so, face
to face. I play fair, and I bet as square as the next one. I take my
chances the same as the other man. I may fight rough and tumble, but I
always give warning, and I never gouge. If any man's got anything to say
against my honesty or fairness, he's only got to come on and say it."

"Come, come!" said Father Orin, too sad to be amused at the outburst, as
he might have been at another time. "I beg your pardon if I have
offended you. I had no thought of doing that. But I wish I could induce
you to think before you go into danger. All who go over yonder will not
come back. The Shawnees have been getting ready for this test of
strength for a long time. There is great danger. I beg you, my friend,
to think. Will you come back with me to the chapel? Just for a little
while. There is no one there, and we can have a quiet talk."

"Now, what's the use of raking all that up again? We've gone over all
that--and more than once--haven't we? You thought one way and I another,
when we had it out the other day. And we've both got the same right now
that we had then, to think as we like about something that neither of us
knows the first blamed thing about, haven't we? Well, I think just the
same now that I did then, and I reckon you do, too. I haven't seen any
reason to change, have you? I haven't had any fresh news from up
yonder"--pointing heavenward--"and I don't suppose you have either. So
you see one of us is bound to be most damnable mistaken--"

"Shut up," shouted Father Orin, "you unmannerly rascal! I have a great
mind to jump down and pull you off that horse and give you a thrashing
to teach you some respect for religion, and how to keep a civil tongue
in your head. And you