e and there in his talk a few words were distinguishable as he
stood lurching before them. He reached out in a maudlin effort to
touch the maid's white face. She drew in her breath quickly and
stepped back; then Menard had sprung forward, and she covered her eyes
with her hands.

There was a light scuffle, but no other sound. A strong smell of
brandy filled the hut. Slowly she lifted her head, and let her hands
drop to her sides. The Long Arrow lay sprawling at her feet, his head
gashed and bleeding, and covered with broken glass and dripping
liquor. The priest had kneeled beside him, and over his bowed head she
saw Teganouan, startled, defiant, his musket halfway to his shoulder,
his eyes fixed on the door. Her eyes followed his gaze. There stood
the Captain, his back to the door, the broken neck of the bottle
firmly gripped in his hand.

She stepped forward, too struck with horror to remain silent.

"Oh, M'sieu!" she said brokenly, stretching out her hands.

He motioned to her to be quiet, and she sank down on the bench.

"Father," he said.

The priest looked up questioningly. There was a long moment of
silence, and the shouts and calls of the half-drunken revellers
without sounded strangely loud. Then, as the priest gazed at the set,
hard face of the Captain, and at the motionless Indian, he understood
of a sudden all the wild plan that was forming in the Captain's mind.
He rose slowly to his feet, and stood facing Teganouan, with the light
streaming down upon his gentle face.

"The sun has gone to sleep many times, Teganouan, since you left the
great white house of the church at St. Francis. You have heard the
counsel of evil men, who think only of the knife and the hatchet and
the musket, who have no dream but to slay their brothers." He was
speaking slowly and in a kindly voice, as a father might speak to a
son who has wandered from the right. "Have you forgotten the talk of
the holy Fathers, when they told you the words of the Book of the
Great Spirit, who is to all your Manitous and Okis as the sun is to
the stars. Have you forgotten the many moons that passed while you
lived in the great white house,--when you gave your promise, the
promise of an Onondaga, that you would be a friend to the white man,
that you would believe the words of the Great Spirit and live a
peaceful life? Have you forgotten, Teganouan, the evil days when your
enemy, the fire-water, took possession of your heart and led you away
f