any
one knew what happened, he flung him on to the hot roof of the store (the
eaves were but two feet above his head), and there the man stuck,
clinging to a loose shingle, purpling and coughing and spitting with
rage. There was a loud gust of guffaws from the woodsmen, and oaths like
whip-cracks from the circle around us, menacing growls as it surged
inward and our men turned to face it. A few citizens pushed through the
outskirts of it and ran away, 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 Mon