answer for," Tell Mapleson hissed in
rage. "If the Church can make a holy man out of such a villain, I'm glad
I'm a heretic."

"I'm answering for it," the priest said meekly. Only my father sat with
face impassive and calm.

"This half-section of land in question is the property of Thomas
O'Meara, son and heir to Patrick O'Meara, as the records show. These
stolen records I found where Amos Judson had hastily concealed them, as
Judge Baronet has said. I put them in the dark loft for safer keeping,
for I felt sure they were valuable. When I came to look for them, they
had been moved again. I supposed the one who first took them had
recovered them, and I let the matter go. Meanwhile I was called home.
When I came here last Fall I found matters still unsettled, and O'mie
still without his own. I spent several days in the stone cabin searching
for the lost papers. The weather was bad, and you know of my severe
attack of pneumonia. But I found the box. In the illness that followed I
was kept from Springvale longer than I wished. When I came again O'mie
had gone."

The priest paused and sat with eyes downcast, and a sorrowful face.

"Is this your story?" Tell queried. "Your proof of O'mie's claim you
consider incontestable, but how about these affidavits from the Rev. Mr.
Dodd who married you to the Kiowa squaw? How--"

But Le Claire lifted his hand in commanding gesture. A sudden sternness
of face and attitude of authority seemed to clothe him like a garment.

"Gentlemen, there is another story. A bitter, painful story. I have
never told it, although it has sometimes almost driven me from the holy
sanctuary because of my silence."

It was a deeply impressive moment, for all three of the men realized the
importance of the occasion.

"My name," said the priest, "is Pierre Rousseau Le Claire. I am of a
titled house of France. We have only the blood of the nobility in our
veins. My father had two sons, twins--Pierre the priest, and Jean the
renegade, outlawed even among the savages; for his scalp will hang from
Satanta's tepee pole if the chance ever comes. Mapleson, here, has told
you the truth about his being married to a sister of Chief Satanta. He
also is the father of Jean Pahusca. You have noticed the boy's likeness
to me. If he, being half Indian, has such a strong resemblance to his
family, you can imagine how much alike we are, my brother and myself. In
form and gesture, everything--except--well, I have told you