were gathered at the other extremity of the ridge,
the soldiers under discipline of their own under officers, and the
Indians watched over by Sieur De Artigny, who rested, however,
slightly apart, his gaze on the broad river. Never once while I
observed did he turn and glance my way. I counted the men, as I
endeavored to eat, scarcely heeding the few words exchanged by those
about me. The Indians numbered ten, including their chief, whom
Cassion called Altudah. Chevet named them as Algonquins from the
Ottawa, treacherous rascals enough, yet with expert knowledge of water
craft.

Altudah was a tall savage, wrapped in gaudy blanket, his face rendered
sinister and repulsive by a scar the full length of his cheek, yet he
spoke French fairly well, and someone said that he had three times
made journey to Mackinac, and knew the waterways. There were
twenty-four soldiers, including a sergeant and corporal, of the
Regiment of Picardy; active fellows enough, and accustomed to the
frontier, although they gave small evidence of discipline, and their
uniforms were in shocking condition. The sergeant was a heavily built,
stocky man, but the others were rather undersized, and of little
spirit. The same thought must have been in the minds of others, for
the expression on Monsieur Cassion's face was not pleasant as he
stared about.

"Chevet," he exclaimed disgustedly "did ever you see a worse selection
for wilderness travel than La Barre has given us? Cast your eyes down
the line yonder; by my faith! there is not a real man among them."

Chevet who had been growling to himself, with scarce a thought other
than the food before him, lifted his eyes and looked.

"Not so bad," he answered finally, the words rumbling in his throat.
"Altudah is a good Indian, and has traveled with me before, and the
sergeant yonder looks like a fighting man."

"Ay, but the others?"

"No worse than all the scum. De Baugis had no better with him, and La
Salle led a gang of outcasts. With right leadership you can make them
do men's work. 'Tis no kid-gloved job you have, Monsieur Cassion."

The insulting indifference of the old fur trader's tone surprised the
Commissaire, and he exhibited resentment.

"You are overly free with your comments, Hugo Chevet. When I wish
advice I will ask it."

"And in the woods I do not always wait to be asked," returned the
older man, lighting his pipe, and calmly puffing out the blue smoke.
"Though it is likely enough y