effect. But what are my men doing?"

The Jesuit's thin old hands clutched each other. "They are turning
this place into a Sodom," he said passionately. "They are drinking and
carousing with the Indian women. You traders are our ruin. But we
will shut you out of the country yet. Mark my words. Those
twenty-five licenses will be revoked before the season ends, and you
will have to find other excuses to bring your rabble here to debauch
our missions."

In view of what I had just seen, I felt impatient. "You do my handful
of stolid peasants too much honor," I said dryly. "They would need
more wit and ingenuity than I have ever seen in them to be able to
teach outlawry to anything that they find here. But I am looking for
them now. You will pardon me if I hasten."

But his hand pulled at me. "Is one of your men lipped like a
bull-moose and red as Rufus?"

"Pierre Boudin to the life," I chuckled. "What deviltry is he at now?"

The priest's face lost its flame. He looked suddenly the old man worn
out in the service of a savage people. "He is with an Ottawa girl," he
said sadly; "a girl the Indians call Singing Arrow for her wit and her
laughter. She is not a convert, but she is a good girl. I wish you
would get your man away."

I felt shame for my man and myself. "I will go at once," I promised
soberly. "I will be westward bound by afternoon."