such a
persuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priest
almost breathless with surprise.

"Queen of courage!" I answered back.

"Queen of hearts, too, I'm thinking. Arrah! Me hearty, to be young!"

She must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among the
reeds when I looked back. We crossed the river slowly, listening between
oar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. There was no
sound but the lashing of water against the pebbled shore and we lay in
a little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boats
should come abreast.

We had not long to wait. A canoe nose cautiously rounded the headland
coming close to our boat. Instantly I shot our skiff straight across its
path and Father Holland waved the torches overhead.

"Hist! Hold back there--have a care!" I called.

"Clear the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "Clear--or we fire!"

"Fire if you dare, you fools!" I retorted, knowing well they would not
alarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat.

"Where's Eric Hamilton?" I demanded.

"A curse on you! None of your business! Get out of the way! Who are
you?" growled the voice.

"Answer--quick!" I urged Father Holland, thinking they would respect
holy orders; and I succeeded in bumping my craft against their canoe.

"Strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyond
reach.

"Give 'im a bullet!" called another.

"For shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torch
aloft and displaying his garb. "Shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot a
missionary! Ye'd be much better showin' respect to the Church. Whur's
Eric Hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and he
caught the edge of their craft in his right hand.

"Let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shone
steel-shod.

"Let go--is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in a
towering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "Howld y'r
imp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "Be civil this minute,
or I'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! Faith an'
ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! Foine answers ye give polite
questions! How d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? For
shame to ye. Whur's Eric Hamilton, I say?"

Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers passed
from man to man.

"Hamilton's far ahead--above the falls now," answered the stee