ility which raised them above their fellows.

"I have salt," admitted the colonel, speaking English to men who did not
understand French, "but I have not enough to make brine of de Okaw
river. I bet you ten dollaire you have not money in your pockets to pay
for it."

More than half the pockets owned this fact. One man promised to pay when
he killed his hogs. Another was sure he could settle by election day.
But the colonel cut these promises short.

"I will settle this matter. De goats that have no money will stand on
this side, and de sheep that have money will stand on that."

The hopeless majority budged to his right hand, and the confident ones
to his left. He knew well what comfort or misery hung on his answer, and
said with decision which no one could turn:--

"Now, messieurs, I am going to lend all my salt to these poor men who
cannot get it any other way. You fellows who have money in your pockets,
you may go to Sa' Loui', by gar, and buy yourselves some."

The peninsula of Kaskaskia was glorified by sunset, and even having its
emerald stretches purpled by the evening shadows of the hills, before
Rice Jones could go home to his sister. The hundreds thronging him all
day and hurrahing at his merciless wit saw none of his trouble in his
face.

He had sat by Maria day after day, wiping the cold dampness from her
forehead and watching her self-restraining pride. They did not talk
much, and when they spoke it was to make amusement for each other. This
young sister growing up over the sea had been a precious image to his
early manhood. But it was easier to see her die now that the cause of
Dr. Dunlap's enmity was growing distinct to him.

"No wonder he wanted me shot," thought Rice. "No wonder he took all her
family as his natural foes at sight."

Sometimes the lawyer dropped his papers and walked his office,
determining to go out and shoot Dr. Dunlap. The most judicial mind has
its revolts against concise statement. In these boiling moods Rice did
not want evidence; he knew enough. But cooler counsel checked him. There
were plenty of grounds and plenty of days yet to come for a political
duel, in which no names and no family honor need be mixed.

Rice turned back from the gallery steps with a start at hearing a voice
behind him. It was only young Pierre Menard at his father's gate. The
veins on the child's temples were distended by their embarrassed
throbbing, and his cheeks shone darkly red.

"I want, i