him
who had brought such wealth on the Happy Return; and the reason was not
far to seek. The post-chaise had arrived with Pierre Radisson's
detractors, and allied with them were the Gillams and Governor Brigdar.

Pierre Radisson advanced undaunted and sat down. Black looks greeted
his coming, and the deputy-governor, who was taking the Duke of York's
place, rose to suggest that "Mr. Brigdar, wrongfully dispossessed of
the fort on the bay by one Frenchman known as Radisson, be restored as
governor of those parts."

A grim smile went from face to face at Pierre Radisson's expense.

"Better withdraw, man, better withdraw," whispers Sir John Kirke, his
father-in-law.

But Radisson only laughs.

Then one rises to ask by what authority the Frenchman, Radisson, had
gone to report matters to the king instead of leaving that to the
shareholders.

M. de Radisson utters another loud laugh.

Comes a knocking, and there appears at the door Colonel Blood, father
of the young lieutenant, with a message from the king.

"Gentlemen," announces the freebooter, "His Majesty hath bespoke dinner
for the Fur Company at the Lion. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York,
hath ordered Madeira for the councillors' refreshment, and now awaits
your coming!"

For the third time M. Radisson laughs aloud with a triumph of insolence.

"Come, gentlemen," says he, "I've countered. Let us be going. His
Royal Highness awaits us across the way."

Blood stood twirling his mustaches and tapping his sword-handle
impatiently. He was as swarth and straight and dauntless as Pierre
Radisson, with a sinister daring in his eyes that might have put the
seal to any act.

"Egad's life!" he exclaimed, "do fur-traders keep royalty awaiting?"

And our irate gentleman must needs haste across to the Lion, where
awaited the Company Governor, the Duke of York, with all the merry
young blades of the court. King Charles's reign was a time of license,
you have been told. What that meant you would have known if you had
seen the Fur Company at dinner. Blood, Senior, I mind, had a
drinking-match against Sir George Jeffreys, the judge; and I risk not
my word on how much those two rascals put away. The judge it was who
went under mahogany first, though Colonel Blood scarce had wit enough
left to count the winnings of his wager. Young Lieutenant Blood stood
up on his chair and bawled out some monstrous bad-writ verse to "a
fair-dark lady"--whatever that meant