well-built, and remarkably
straight, but his shaven face was thin and ascetic, and the look in his
eyes was one of extraordinary benevolence. Moreover, it had the peculiar
quality of seeming to gaze far into the future, as it were, at something
glorious and beautiful. His dress was a strange mixture. He wore deerskin
leggins and moccasins, but his body was clothed in a long, loose garment
of black cloth and on his head was a square cap of black felt. A small
white crucifix suspended by a thin chain from his neck lay upon his breast
and gleamed upon the black cloth.

Every one of the five instantly felt veneration and respect for the
stranger and Paul murmured, "A priest." The others heard him and
understood. They were all Protestants, but in the deep wilderness
religious hatred and jealousy had little hold; upon them none at all.

"Bless you, my sons," repeated the man in his deep, benevolent voice, and
then he continued in a lighter tone, speaking almost perfect English, "I
do believe that if you had not appeared when you did I and my canoe should
have both gone to the bottom of this very deep river. I am a fair swimmer,
but I doubt if I could have gained the land."

"We are glad, father," said Paul respectfully, "that we had the privilege
to be present and help at such a time."

The priest looked at Paul and smiled. He liked his refined and sensitive
face and his correct language and accent.

"I should fancy, my young friend," he said, still smiling, "that the debt
of gratitude is wholly mine. I am Pierre Montigny, and, as you perhaps
surmise, a Frenchman and priest of the Holy Church, sent to the New World
to convert and save the heathen. I belong to the mission at New Orleans,
but I have been on a trip, to a tribe called the Osage, west of the Great
River. Last night my canoe was damaged by the fierce storm and I started
forth rather rashly this morning, not realizing the extent to which the
canoe had suffered. You have seen and taken a part in the rest."

"You were going back to New Orleans alone, and in a little canoe?" said
Paul.

"Oh, yes," replied Father Montigny, as if he were speaking of trifles. "I
always go alone, and my canoe isn't so very little, as you see. I carry in
it a change or clothing, provisions, and gifts for the Indians."

"But no arms," said Henry who had been looking into the canoe.

"No arms, of course," replied Father Montigny.

"You are a brave man! About the bravest I ever saw!