in the forest. It was not until
we reached the road and had begun to climb out of the valley that the
silence was broken between us.

"Monsieur," said Colonel Chouteau, slyly, "do you have many such
escapes?"

"It might have been closer," said Nick.

"Closer?" ejaculated the Colonel.

"Assuredly," said Nick, "to the extent of abducting Monsieur le cure.
As for you, Davy," he added, between his teeth, "I mean to get even with
you."

It was well for us that the Colonel and Monsieur Gratiot took the
escapade with such good nature. And so we walked along through the
summer night, talking gayly, until at length the lights of the village
twinkled ahead of us, and in the streets we met many parties making
merry on their homeward way. We came to Monsieur Gratiot's, bade our
farewells to Madame, picked up our saddle-bags, the two gentlemen
escorting us down to the river bank where the keel boat was tugging at
the ropes that held her, impatient to be off. Her captain, a picturesque
Canadian by the name of Xavier Paret, was presented to us; we bade our
friends farewell, and stepped across the plank to the deck. As we were
casting off, Monsieur Gratiot called to us that he would take the first
occasion to send our horses back to Kentucky. The oars were manned, the
heavy hulk moved, and we were shot out into the mighty current of the
river on our way to New Orleans.

Nick and I stood for a long time on the deck, and the windows of the
little village gleamed like stars among the trees. We passed the last of
its houses that nestled against the hill, and below that the forest lay
like velvet under the moon. The song of our boatmen broke the silence of
the night:--

"Voici le temps et la saison,
Voici le temps et la saison,
Ah! vrai, que les journees sont longues,
Ah! vrai, que les journees sont longues!"

CHAPTER X. THE KEEL BOAT

We were embarked on a strange river, in a strange boat, and bound for
a strange city. To us Westerners a halo of romance, of unreality, hung
over New Orleans. To us it had an Old World, almost Oriental flavor
of mystery and luxury and pleasure, and we imagined it swathed in the
moisture of the Delta, built of quaint houses, with courts of shining
orange trees and magnolias, and surrounded by flowering plantations of
unimagined beauty. It was most fitting that such a place should be the
seat of dark intrigues against material progress, and this notion lent
added