crowd cheered for Felix Marchand, he
made his way up towards the bar slowly. He must have been tall when he
was young; now he was stooped, yet there was still something very sinewy
about him.

"Who's for Lebanon?" cried the big river-driver with an oath. "Who's for
giving Lebanon hell, and ducking Ingolby in the river?"

"I am--I am--I am--all of us!" shouted the crowd. "It's no good waiting
for to-morrow. Let's get the Lebs by the scruff to-night. Let's break
Ingolby's windows and soak him in the Sagalac. Allons--allons gai!"

Uproar and broken sentences, threats, oaths, and objurgations sounded
through the room. There was a sudden movement towards the door, but
the exit of the crowd was stopped by a slow but clear voice speaking in
French.

"Wait a minute, my friends!" it cried. "Wait a minute. Let's ask a few
questions first."

"Who's he?" asked a dozen voices. "What's he going to say?" The mob
moved again towards the bar.

The big river-driver turned on the grizzled old man beside the
bar-counter with bent shoulders and lazy, drawling speech.

"What've you got to say about it, son?" he asked threateningly.

"Well, to ask a few questions first--that's all," the old man replied.

"You don't belong here, old cock," the other said roughly.

"A good many of us don't belong here," the old man replied quietly. "It
always is so. This isn't the first time I've been to Manitou. You're a
river-driver, and you don't live here either," he continued.

"What've you got to say about it? I've been coming and going here for
ten years. I belong--bagosh, what do you want to ask? Hurry up. We've
got work to do. We're going to raise hell in Lebanon."

"And give hell to Ingolby," shouted some one in the crowd.

"Suppose Ingolby isn't there?" questioned the old man.

"Oh, that's one of your questions, is it?" sneered the big river-driver.
"Well, if you knew him as we do, you'd know that it's at night-time he
sits studyin' how he'll cut Lebanon's throat. He's home, all right. He's
in Lebanon anyhow, and we'll find him."

"Well, but wait a minute--be quiet a bit," said the old man, his eyes
blinking slowly at the big riverdriver. "I've been 'round a good deal,
and I've had some experience in the world. Did you ever give that
Ingolby a chance to tell you what his plans were? Did you ever get close
to him and try to figure what he was driving at? There's no chance of
getting at the truth if you don't let a man state his case-