zest to my errand thither. As for Nick, it took no great sagacity
on my part to predict that he would forget Suzanne and begin to look
forward to the Creole beauties of the Mysterious City.

First, there was the fur-laden keel boat in which we travelled, gone
forever now from Western navigation. It had its rude square sail to take
advantage of the river winds, its mast strongly braced to hold the long
tow-ropes. But tow-ropes were for the endless up-river journey, when
a numerous crew strained day after day along the bank, chanting the
voyageurs' songs. Now we were light-manned, two half-breeds and two
Canadians to handle the oars in time of peril, and Captain Xavier, who
stood aft on the cabin roof, leaning against the heavy beam of the long,
curved tiller, watching hawklike for snag and eddy and bar. Within the
cabin was a great fireplace of stones, where our cooking was done, and
bunks set round for the men in cold weather and rainy. But in these fair
nights we chose to sleep on deck.

Far into the night we sat, Nick and I, our feet dangling over the
forward edge of the cabin, looking at the glory of the moon on the vast
river, at the endless forest crown, at the haze which hung like silver
dust under the high bluffs on the American side. We slept. We awoke
again as the moon was shrinking abashed before the light that glowed
above these cliffs, and the river was turned from brown to gold and then
to burnished copper, the forest to a thousand shades of green from crest
to the banks where the river was licking the twisted roots to nakedness.
The south wind wafted the sharp wood-smoke from the chimney across our
faces. In the stern Xavier stood immovable against the tiller, his short
pipe clutched between his teeth, the colors of his new worsted belt made
gorgeous by the rising sun.

"B'jour, Michie," he said, and added in the English he had picked up
from the British traders, "the breakfas' he is ready, and Jean make him
good. Will you have the grace to descen'?"

We went down the ladder into the cabin, where the odor of the furs
mingled with the smell of the cooking. There was a fricassee steaming
on the crane, some of Zeron's bread, brought from St. Louis, and coffee
that Monsieur Gratiot had provided for our use. We took our bowls and
cups on deck and sat on the edge of the cabin.

"By gad," cried Nick, "it lacks but the one element to make it a
paradise."

"And what is that?" I demanded.

"A woman," said h