summer blew up from the south and wrapped the wilderness country in a misty languor. our arms lagged at the paddling. we were prone to idling back against the thwarts and watching the vast flocks of birds that flew northward, and especially the incalculable myriads of the pigeons, flights of such monstrous proportions that they darkened the sky. ay, they shut out the light of the sun, for an hour at a time, the whirring of their wings and their sharp cries like the faint echoes of fairy drums and fifes.

the forest trees hung heavy with foliage, vividly green, and the occasional meadows and savannahs were gemmed with wild-flowers, white and red and yellow and blue and pink and purple. the scent of the growing things was borne to us by the gusty breeze that puffed and died and puffed again, heavy as the humid air, uncertain, indeterminate. at intervals storm-clouds tore down upon us, black, towering galleons of wrath; there would be thunder in the heavens; lightning-bolts streaked earthward to devastate the forest monarchs; and the rain would spill upon us like the torrents of the thunder waters at jagara.*

* niagara.

for two weeks we traversed this paradise without evidence of other men. alone we surveyed the area of a kingdom. all france, i say, might have been rooted up and transplanted to this neglected wonderland to which her king laid inconsequential claim. here were timber, ready for the axe; splendid grazing grounds where only the deer wandered; endless fields of rich black loam, awaiting the husbandman. and the very savages seemed to have abandoned it. if any watched us pass, they contrived to remain unseen. from horizon to horizon there was not a curl of smoke to show a human habitation.

but there were others besides ourselves on the bosom of the ohio, as we soon discovered. we had slipped by the mouth of the ouabache in the night, thinking thus to elude the observation of a possible picket thrown out from the french post of vincennes, although, to say truth, we saw no trace of such an outpost. after a few hours' sleep we were paddling on, encouraged by tawannears' assertion that two or three days more should bring us to the mississippi, which we regard as the barrier of that ulterior wilderness where our real search began, when we rounded one of the river's frequent bends to face at short range a fleet of canoes that thronged the stream from shore to shore.

hard luck could not have dealt us a shrewder stroke. in my first glance i spied the trappings of the french marine infantry, the regular troops of the canadian garrisons, the glitter of an officer's gorget, and worst of all, the flutter of the black robe of a priest. interspersed with these were habitants in buckskin and painted ouabaches, miamis and potawatomis to man the paddles. there were fifteen or twenty canoes, varying from slender craft smaller than ours to larger ones that accommodated six or eight men.

we all three backed water instinctively as we appreciated the situation, but tawannears redipped his paddle and drove forward again almost without a check.

"it is useless to flee, brothers," he murmured. "we must stand firm."

there were several shouts from the fleet ahead, and two of the smaller craft sped out from their irregular formation. tawannears ceased paddling for an instant and raised his right arm, palm out, in the signal for peace. a french officer, in laced coat and cocked hat, in one of the large canoes answered him in kind, and the indians who occupied the two small canoes sheered off as soon as they descried the wolf's head on his chest. no ordinary wood-ranging savages cared to encounter a chief of the long house in peace time, even with the backing of french troops. they knew their betters, had learned to know them through many a bloody foray.

the french flotilla drifted idly, awaiting us as we paddled slowly between the leading canoes toward the one in which was seated the officer who had acknowledged tawannears' greeting.

"who is he?" i asked, when we came close enough to identify his corpulent form and massive face.

"charles le moyne."

"the chevalier de longueuil?" i exclaimed.

"yes, brother."

i stared at the man with increased interest. he was one of the four greatest men in canada, the eldest son and heir of that baron de longueuil who was lieutenant governor. he ranked next after the governor-general, himself, the intendant and his father. 'twas no slight mission had brought him so far from home.

i was about to speak again when i noticed a certain tense rigidity in the muscles that lay in beautiful coils and ridges along tawannears' spine. simultaneously came a gasp from corlaer, behind me in the stern of the canoe.

"'black robe!'"

i craned my neck to peer over the seneca's head. ay, 'twas so. behind le moyne, sitting as motionless as an image upon the hard, narrow thwart, his death's-head of a face turned full upon us was the famous jesuit, père hyacinthe. his gnarled tortured fingers were telling the beads of the rosary that lay across his bony knees. his black soutane fell in straight, severe lines to his sandaled feet. i knew, though i could not see, the terrible scars that the torture-stake had left upon his body for once in the past he had shown them to me. i knew, too, the man's indomitable hatred of all things english, his overweening ambition, fortified by iron will and intense religious conviction, to win the whole continent for louis of france and the church of rome.

of all those who labored with tireless devotion to substitute latin civilization for anglo-saxon in the new world, there was none whose aims were more ardently or unselfishly served. up and down the wilderness country he went, always toiling, reckless of hunger, of thirst, of cold, of physical peril. and the savages, with their instinct for the appropriate, had named him black robe. by it he was known to many thousands who had never seen him.

a strange man! a man whose mentality had been a little warped by suffering and hardship and over-much concentration upon ecstatic devotion. fasting and contemplation, loneliness and self-flagellation, abnegation of all things physical, fire torment and knife torment—these had left their mark upon him. if he did harm, he also did good. he was of those fearless ones who carried the christian faith to recesses of the wilderness which will not be known to others until our sons' sons push the frontier a thousand leagues nearer to the sunset. he believed that he had no occasion to bother unduly for food, because god would feed him at need, and certes 'tis true he never died of starvation. a strange man! one to be judged without thought to creed or politics.

his face betrayed no emotion as our canoe drew alongside le moyne's, and a marine corporal clutched the gunwale, but his eyes blazed with fanatical intelligence in the deep recesses of their bony sockets. he leaned forward and tapped le moyne's shoulder.

"anti-christ is come among us," he announced in sepulchral tones. "here are sons of the english harlot."

le moyne frowned slightly. he was a plain soldier-statesman, and no doubt he found it sometimes difficult to accept the priest's high ways. yet it speaks for black robe's influence that he dared not show resentment.

"what mean you, my father?" he asked curtly.

the jesuit pointed an accusing finger at us.

"do you not know them, my son?"

"ay, tawannears i know. 'tis the warden of the western door of the long house. and corlaer, too, i know. but not the other."

"'tis henry ormerod, of the council of the governor of new york, one of the wiliest minions of the english. he is a renegade from the service of his rightful sovereign king james, and through him hath held commission from the regent orleans."

of our party i was the only one who could understand this conversation, for tawannears and corlaer had no french. it came glibly enough to my tongue, however, after five years service under the duke of berwick on the frontiers of the low countries and italy and in spain. i struck back, therefore, without waiting to consult my comrades.

"'tis true, chevalier," i said, "that my name is ormerod and governor burnet hath honored me with membership of his council. true, too, that in my youth i was mistaken enough to espouse the cause of the exiled stuarts, and thus passed some time in france. but that is a page long turned. whilst i served james i was faithful, and i left him because i came to know that he would never be more than a puppet to serve the ends of a foreign court. since then i have striven to serve my country as you serve yours. is there dishonor and hostility in that?"

le moyne started to answer me, but black robe took the words from his mouth.

"never heed the englishman," exclaimed the priest. "he is a servant of evil, a foresworn heretic, an enemy of france."

"there is peace betwixt france and england," i answered boldly. "what talk is this of enemies?"

the priest tossed his arms aloft.

"they talk of peace, peace," he cried. "and there is no peace! can there ever be peace betwixt anti-christ and god? nay, my son. but ask the englishman what he does, journeying secretly through the territories of france hundreds of leagues from english soil. why does he travel with the iroquois chief who is known as the principal friend of the english? why do we see with him corlaer, who is the emissary of the english in seducing the savages from trading at our posts? what is his mission here? has he a passport from quebec?"

le moyne nodded his head.

"there you are correct, father. monsieur ormerod, these questions i must have you answer. where is your passport?"

"i have none," i returned. "nor do i admit i should have one. i have not traveled territory under the control of france. since we left deonundagaa more than a month ago we have not seen a single frenchman or a sign of french occupation. more, it is not my purpose to enter french territory. i am bound to the farther wilderness country, beyond the great river."

"that, too, is french territory," proclaimed black robe. "all this region god hath set aside for the sons of france. no englishman hath put foot beyond the great river."

"for that reason, i propose to," i said. "surely, there is no harm in seeking to know what it is like."

le moyne squared his jaw.

"i am not so certain of that, monsieur ormerod. but 'tis useless to debate the point here. i fear i must ask you to accompany us to our camping place. there we will discuss your case more fully, and endeavor to arrive at a composition of our differences. at the worst, i must send you back to new york under escort. no harm shall be done you."

there was nothing else for it. our plight was hopeless. we were three against near an hundred frenchmen and indians, and resistance was as unthinkable as flight.

so much i reasoned for myself, and tawannears and corlaer agreed with me when i repeated the substance of the conversation as we fell into line behind the french commander's canoe, and wearily retraced our course. we were too disheartened to say much, for we reckoned it probable we should have to do over again what we had already accomplished, and that would mean losing the summer—and very likely, having to wait over the next winter. ahead, i could see black robe leaning forward now and then to speak to le moyne. a bad omen!

at dusk the flotilla drew inshore to the northern bank a few miles below the mouth of the ouabache, and we beached our canoe with the others. a file of the regular infantry busied themselves to help us collect wood, and although they did not touch our arms they made us feel that we were prisoners. i tried to draw out the corporal, but gleaned little for my pains. yes, they had left le detroit whilst the snow was still on the ground. they had been to the mouth of the great river or very near it, to the french post at new orleans, where the sieur de bienville, the chevalier de longueuil's brother, was stationed. now, they were returning by way of vincennes, le detroit, jagara and fort cadaraqui* to montreal.

* afterward fort frontenac.

it had been a trip of inspection, i gathered typical of the nervous energy of the french government, not content, as were the rulers of the english colonies, to rest satisfied with a strip of seacoast or the valley of a tidal river, but forever reaching out for new lands to develop and acquire and hold in fee as a heritage for the future—a trip of thousands of leagues by river and forest, under all extremes of heat and cold. and if the humble corporal knew nothing of such high policies, nonetheless i was sure that one of le moyne's objects must have been the selection of suitable points for a chain of trading stations and military posts along the line of the ohio and the mississippi to link up the new orleans settlement with canada, and so bar england once for all from the untapped resources of the far west beyond the great river.

somewhat of these reflections i communicated to my comrades as we ate our evening meal, and we were still discussing the significance of our chance encounter when an ensign came to summon us to le moyne. the french commander was sitting by a fire in a deep glade that ran back from the river's brink toward the forest. black robe was standing beside him when we arrived, hot eyes shining uncannily in the glare of the leaping flames, distorted fingers twitching his rosary beads.

"be seated," said le moyne briefly. and then falteringly, in the seneca dialect: "tawannears, and you, corlaer, pardon me if i speak in french to your friend. my tongue has not the knack of the iroquois speech."

tawannears bowed with the gracious assent of a prince. corlaer squeaked "ja."

le moyne turned to me, his manner hostile, his accent crisp.

"i have been hearing bad things about you, monsieur ormerod. the reverend father tells me you are a secret envoy of the english, a spy, in other words, one they send abroad to sow trouble betwixt us and the savages. he charges that you are the favorite emissary of monsieur burnet and that it is largely due to you the six nations have latterly turned against us."

"but, chevalier——"

"i will have no buts, monsieur ormerod. it is beyond reason that i should permit such a person as you to travel undisturbed in french territory."

"but is it french territory?" i demanded.

"if the peace of utrecht means aught."

"i have heard it said that no two minds were alike on that point," i commented dryly.

he laughed.

"there you are right," he agreed. "yet it is beside the point. you are a trouble-maker, monsieur. i must expel you. wherever i found you i should expel you."

"are the french at war with the english?" i asked hotly.

"not that i have heard. you are later from civilization than i, monsieur."

"then why——"

he brushed the objection aside.

"we deal with realities, monsieur ormerod. 'tis not a question of war but of peace—for france. as i have said, you are a trouble-maker. if i let you wander free, the next time i came this way you might have all the tribes by the ears, united by alliances with the english crown. heed me now when i say that france came first into this country, and france shall stay first here."

"but i say i have no interest in this country. i——"

black robe bent forward sternly.

"do not relent, my son," he said to le moyne. "the man is dangerous—his companions, too."

"you have heard my decision, father," answered the officer.

i regarded the priest curiously.

"why do you dislike me?" i asked. "we are on opposite sides, 'tis true, but i have always fought you fair—and once i saved your life."

this was no less than truth, for on a certain occasion, which has nothing to do with this story, the iroquois would cheerfully have burned père hyacinthe but for my strenuous objection. he was in no ways grateful at the time, i am bound to admit, and he did not exhibit gratitude now, as he towered over the camp-fire.

"poor worm that squirms itself into the path of destiny!" he said harshly. "there is no question of fair fighting or foul fighting betwixt us, nor of gratitude or ingratitude. you serve anti-christ. i serve the heavenly father. at no place do we touch. we have no interests in common. if you did well, doubt not holy peter has recorded the deed for you in his record book. but who are you to prate of good deeds when your soul is steeped in the darkness of heresy, and your eyes are clouded by english lies? think, rather, on your sins, and it may be you will see light before it is too late."

he turned to le moyne.

"my son, i am leaving you now. there is a village of the ouabaches some miles hence where i have preached the word. i visit them and will rejoin you at vincennes."

he turned on his heel and strode off.

"hold, father," called the officer. "will you not rest and eat? an escort, surely——"

the answer came from the shadows.

"i do not need an escort when i go upon my father's business. i have rested all day and i have broken my fast."

"peste!" ejaculated le moyne. "'tis an uncomfortably holy person, monsieur ormerod."

"do i not know it!" i retorted. "this is not the first time, either."

the frenchman chuckled.

"so i gathered. but come, now, tell me truthfully what is your object; 'twill do you no good to deceive. my hands are bound, as you must know. this wood-ranging is a tedious business, and i have heard naught of politics since i left new orleans. what bee is buzzing in burnet's hat?"

i gave him a desperate look. he was a man of good countenance, kindly in reason, iron-willed, pugnacious, intelligent. so i read him. he lounged by the fire obviously bored. there were no others close by save tawannears and corlaer, and they were smoking and exchanging small-talk on their own account.

"the truth?" i said. "you shall have it—although 'tis not a story for general telling. you, chevalier, i can see, are a gentleman."

he bowed courteously.

"and for that reason," i went on, "i give you my confidence. 'tis true, of course, that in my travels i am keeping my eyes open for information useful to my people. if, for instance, you sent me back to new york i should have to tell at once of meeting this expedition and the deductions i had drawn from it."

"hah!" said le moyne. "i don't know that i shall! i hadn't thought of that."

"then i should not like to be in your dilemma," i replied. "after all, as père hyacinthe told you, i am a member of the provincial council. you can't very well incarcerate me without trial in time of peace."

"get on with your story, monsieur," he adjured impatiently.

"i am hoping," i pursued, "to learn much of value. no englishman that i know of hath traversed the wilderness country across the mississippi. i would learn to what extent our people and the french are known to its tribes, and what is their disposition to the english, as also, the value of the land and its geographic condition."

"my faith, monsieur, but you are frank!" protested the frenchman.

"i am trying to be," i said. "but you may believe me or not, chevalier. i should not be here for that reason alone, nor would my comrades yonder."

and i described to him as simply as possible the combination of circumstances which had brought tawannears, corlaer and myself upon this venture. 'twas not a story easily to be compressed, and again and again he drove me off the main trail into byways, for bits of it had come to him in the past—as, for instance, the matter of gahano's death and the grief of tawannears—so it was very late when i finished. my comrades were asleep, and over the brow of the shallow glen i could see the groups of sleepers around the dying fires. by the shore where the canoes were beached and at intervals along the edge of the encampment stood the sentinels. except ourselves, they were the only souls awake.

i looked at them because my eyes were wet. in repeating my story i had resurrected painful memories that the recent weeks had buried. the old wound had reopened. i did not like to think of the house in pearl street. at that moment i thought i never wanted to enter it again. i loathed the idea of returning to new york. and i did not want the frenchman to see my grief.

i was brought back to the present by a crash of sparks as he withdrew a heavy log from the fire, and the flames flared lower.

"monsieur ormerod," he said abruptly, "you were good enough to call me a gentleman."

i met his eyes fully—and scarcely dared to believe what i read there.

"i am also," he continued, "a soldier of france. i trust i place my country's interests above my personal vanity, above friendship, above all. but i should not be a frenchman if i did not recognize courage and the love which spans the worlds. i have learned a lesson from you and your comrades to-night, monsieur. i thank you for it. you have made me a better frenchman, a better soldier, a better christian."

he made a wry face at this last word.

"although i shall have trouble convincing père hyacinthe on that count," he admitted.

"you mean, chevalier?" i queried breathlessly.

"i mean, monsieur ormerod, that i am unable to see how an adventure such as yours can do anything save good. it is an inspiration for brave men of all races. has it not made me a better frenchman to hear of it? that sleeping savage there, he is a better frenchman than i, even so, he, who doubtless hates my race."

he rose.

"but i am not a sufficiently better frenchman to dare to seem to flout père hyacinthe. oh no! therefore, monsieur ormerod, i am going for a walk to inspect the sentries. i shall draw their attention to something by the shore of the river over to the left. in the meantime, the fire dies. this glen leads into the forest. your friends are here. i see you have your arms with you. monsieur, i have the honor to tell you it has been a pleasure to meet you. adieu!"

he was gone whilst i was still mumbling my thanks, i heard his hearty voice blustering at the nearest sentries, a running chain of comment along the outskirts of the camp; and i was recalled to my senses. a hand over the mouth of each, and my comrades awoke. another minute, and crouched double, we were stealing up the glen into the welcome depths of the forest. five minutes later, and our feet were spurning the leaf-mold as we ran between the trunks, left arms outstretched before our faces to ward off hanging boughs or vines.