, and in the hush that followed we heard
them calling wildly the names of Father Gibault and Clark and of Vigo
himself. Cowan thrust me past the clerk into the store, where I stood
listening to the little man on the roof, scratching and clutching at the
shingles, and coughing still.

But there was no fight. Shouts of "Monsieur Vigo! Voici Monsieur Vigo!"
were heard, the crowd parted respectfully, and Monsieur Vigo in his
snuff-colored suit stood glancing from Cowan to his pallid clerk. He was
not in the least excited.

"Come in, my frens," he said; "it is too hot in the sun." And he set
the example by stepping over the sill on to the hard-baked earth of the
floor within. Then he spied me. "Ah," he said, "the boy of Monsieur le
Colonel! And how are you called, my son?" he added, patting me kindly.

"Davy, sir," I answered.

"Ha," he said, "and a brave soldier, no doubt."

I was flattered as well as astonished by this attention. But Monsieur
Vigo knew men, and he had given them time to turn around. By this time
Bill Cowan and some of my friends had stooped through the doorway,
followed by a prying Kaskaskian brave and as many Creoles as could crowd
behind them. Monsieur Vigo was surprisingly calm.

"It make hot weather, my frens," said he. "How can I serve you,
messieurs?"

"Hain't the Congress got authority here?" said one.

"I am happy to say," answered Monsieur Vigo, rubbing his hands, "for I
think much of your principle."

"Then," said the man, "we come here to trade with Congress money. Hain't
that money good in Kaskasky?"

There was an anxious pause. Then Monsieur Vigo's eyes twinkled, and he
looked at me.

"And what you say, Davy?" he asked.

"The money would be good if you took it, sir," I said, not knowing what
else to answer.

"Sapristi!" exclaimed Monsieur Vigo, looking hard at me. "Who teach you
that?"

"No one, sir," said I, staring in my turn.

"And if Congress lose, and not pay, where am I, mon petit maitre de
la haute finance?" demanded Monsieur Vigo, with the palms of his hands
outward.

"You will be in good company, sir," said I.

At that he threw back his head and laughed, and Bill Cowan and my
friends laughed with him.

"Good company--c'est la plupart de la vie," said Monsieur Vigo. "Et quel
garcon--what a boy it is!"

"I never seed his beat fer wisdom, Mister Vigo," said Bill Cowan, now in
good humor once more at the prospect of rum and tobacco. And I found out
later that he