rdom among some cruel
tribe, and he knows it."

While Father Montigny, like others of his kind, expected martyrdom and
willingly risked it, his spirits were darkened by no shadow now. Not one
of the five was more cheerful than he, and he gave them all the news at
his command.

"And I am glad," he continued, "that you are going to New Orleans. You are
really messengers of peace and, unofficial heralds though you are, you may
save more than one nation from great trouble."

The five were deeply gratified by his words. If they had needed any
encouragement in their self-chosen task they would have received it now.

"Since you are returning to New Orleans, Father Montigny," said Paul,
"why don't you go with us in our big boat? It is far safer and more
comfortable than a canoe."

Father Montigny shook his head.

"It is a kind offer," he replied, "but I cannot accept it. I leave you
to-morrow at the mouth of a river on our right as we descend. There is a
small village of peaceful Indians several miles up that stream and I wish
to stay with them a day or two. I and my canoe have traveled many
thousands of miles together and we will continue."

They would have repeated the offer, but they saw that he was not to be
moved and they talked of other things. The rest was, in truth, welcome to
all, as the labors and dangers of the night had been a severe strain upon
their nerves and strength, and they luxuriated before the fire while the
peaceful day passed. Henry noticed that the water was still rising, and
that the mass of floating debris was also increasing.

"It's been a tremendous rain," he said, "and it's extended far up. It must
have been raining on all the great rivers that run into the Mississippi on
either side, away off there in the north. It's going to be a mighty big
flood, and this hill itself will go under."

"You're right," said Shif'less Sol. "It's a mighty big river any time but
is shorely gittin' to be like a sea now."

They walked back to the little party by the fire. The day had considerable
coolness in it after the rain, and the warmth was still welcome. Little
was left for them to do and they still luxuriated in rest. Like all
woodsmen in those times who were compelled to endure long and most
strenuous periods of toil and danger, they knew how to do nothing when the
time came, and let Nature recuperate the tired faculties.

The brilliant sun shone on the river, the muddy waters were gilded with
gold.