or no man living
could keep them.

"Hi," said one, as I passed, "here's Davy with his drum. He'll be
leadin' us back to Kaintuck in the morning."

"Ay, ay," cried another man in the group, "I reckon he's had his full of
tyranny, too."

I stopped, my face blazing red.

"Shame on you for those words!" I shouted shrilly. "Shame on you, you
fools, to desert the man who would save your wives and children. How are
the redskins to be beaten if they are not cowed in their own country?"
For I had learned much at headquarters.

They stood silent, astonished, no doubt, at the sight of my small figure
a-tremble with anger. I heard Bill Cowan's voice behind me.

"There's truth for ye," he said, "that will slink home when a thing's
half done."

"Ye needn't talk, Bill Cowan; it's well enough for ye. I reckon your
wife'd scare any redskin off her clearin'."

"Many the time she scart me," said Bill Cowan.

And so the matter went by with a laugh. But the grumbling continued, and
the danger was that the French would learn of it. The day passed, yet
the embers blazed not into the flame of open mutiny. But he who has seen
service knows how ominous is the gathering of men here and there, the low
humming talk, the silence when a dissenter passes. There were fights,
too, that had to be quelled by company captains, and no man knew when the
loud quarrel between the two races at Vigo's store would grow into an
ugly battle.

What did Clark intend to do? This was the question that hung in the
minds of mutineer and faithful alike. They knew the desperation of his
case. Without money, save that which the generous Creoles had advanced
upon his personal credit; without apparent resources; without authority,
save that which the weight of his character exerted,--how could he
prevent desertion? They eyed him as he went from place to place about
his business,--erect, thoughtful, undisturbed. Few men dare to set their
will against a multitude when there are no fruits to be won. Columbus
persisted, and found a new world; Clark persisted, and won an empire for
thoughtless generations to enjoy.

That night he slept not at all, but sat, while the candles flickered in
their sockets, poring over maps and papers. I dared not disturb him, but
lay the darkness through with staring eyes. And when the windows on the
orchard side showed a gray square of light, he flung down the parchment
he was reading on the table. It rolled up of itself, and he pushed