. Man Gurdon, I havena
had any sport with these wild lads since the boats came in."

But the combatants he hoped to see worked steadily until afternoon
without coming to the grip. They had no brute Anglo-Saxon antagonism,
and being occupied with different bales, did not face each other.

The triple row of Indian lodges basked on the incurved beach, where a
thousand Indians had gathered to celebrate that vivid month. Night and
day the thump of their drums and the monotonous chant of their dances
could be heard above the rush and whisper of blue water breaking on
pebbles.

Lake Michigan was a deep sapphire color, and from where she stood below
the sally-port 'Tite Laboise could see the mainland's rim of beach and
slopes of forest near and distinct in transparent light. And she could
hear the farthest shaking of echoes from island to island like a throb
of some sublime wind instrument. The whitewashed blockhouse at the west
angle of the fort shone a marble turret. There was a low meadow between
the Fur Company's yard and pine heights. Though no salt tang came in the
wind, it blew sweet, refreshing the men at their dog-day labor. And
all the spell of that island, which since it rose from the water it has
held, lay around them.

Etienne St. Martin picked up a beaver-skin, and in the sight of 'Tite
Laboise her husband laid hold of it.

"Release that, Mange'-du-lard," he said.

"Eh bien!" responded Etienne, knowing that he was challenged and the
eyes of the whole yard were on him. "This fine crow he claims all
Mackinac because he carries a black feather in his cap. There are black
feathers in other brigades."

"But you never wore one in any brigade."

They dropped the skin and faced each other, feeling the fastenings of
their belts. Old Robert Stuart slipped up a window in the office and
grinned slyly out at the men surging towards that side of the yard. He
would not usually permit a breach of discipline. But the winter had been
so long!

"Myself I have no need of black feathers."

Etienne gave an insolent cast of the eye to the height where 'Tite
Laboise stood.

Charle', magnificent of inches, scorned his less-developed antagonist.

"Eh, man Gurdon," softly called old Robert Stuart from his window, "set
them to it, will ye? The lads will be jawing till the morn's morn."

This equivocal order had little effect on the ordained course of a
voyageur's quarrel.

"These St. Martins without stomachs, how is a man t