o my feet, hesitating and uncertain. It was evident enough
that the court intended to convict the prisoner. All the hatred and
dislike engendered by years of controversy with La Salle, all the
quarrels and misunderstandings of the past few months between the two
rival commanders at the fort, was now finding natural outlet in this
trial of Rene de Artigny. He was officer of La Salle, friend of De
Tonty, and through his conviction they could strike at the men they
both hated and feared. More, they realized also that such action would
please La Barre. Whatever else had been accomplished by my exhibit of
the governor's letter, it had clearly shown De Baugis that his master
desired the overthrow of the young explorer. And while he felt slight
friendship for Cassion, he was still La Barre's man, and would obey
his orders. He wished me out of the way for a purpose. What purpose?
That I might not hear the lying testimony of those soldiers and
Indians, who would swear as they were told.

Tears misted my eyes, so the faces about me were blurred, but, before
I could find words in which to voice my indignation, De Tonty stood
beside me, and grasped my arm.

"There is no use, Madame," he said coldly enough, although his voice
shook. "You only invite insult when you deal with such curs. They
represent their master, and have made verdict already--let us go."

De Baugis, Cassion, De la Durantaye were upon their feet, but the
dragoon first found voice.

"Were those words addressed to me, M. de Tonty?"

"Ay, and why not! You are no more than La Barre's dog. Listen to me,
all three of you. 'Twas Sieur de la Salle's orders that I open the
gates of this fort to your entrance, and that I treat you courteously.
I have done so, although you took my kindness to be sign of weakness,
and have lorded it mightily since you came. But this is the end; from
now it is war between us, Messieurs, and we will fight in the open.
Convict Rene de Artigny from the lies of these hirelings, and you pay
the reckoning at the point of my sword. I make no threat, but this is
the pledged word of Henri de Tonty. Make passage there! Come,
Madame."

No one stopped us; no voice answered him. Almost before I realized the
action, we were outside in the sunlight, and he was smiling into my
face, his dark eyes full of cheer.

"It will make them pause and think--what I said," he exclaimed, "yet
will not change the result."

"They will convict?"

"Beyond doubt, Ma