ce?"

"David," said Mr. Marshall, sharply, "what the devil is this I hear of
your carrying a torch in a Jacobin procession?"

"You may put it down to liquor, Mr. Marshall," I answered.

"Then you must have had a cask, egad," said Mr. Marshall, "for I never
saw you drunk."

I laughed.

"I shall not attempt to explain it, sir," I answered.

"You must not allow your drum to drag you into bad company again," said
he, and resumed his conversation. As I suspected, it was a vigorous
condemnation of General Clark and his new expedition. I expressed my
belief that the government did not regard it seriously, and would forbid
the enterprise at the proper time.

"You are right, sir," said Mr. Marshall, bringing down his fist on the
table. "I have private advices from Philadelphia that the President's
consideration for Governor Shelby is worn out, and that he will issue
a proclamation within the next few days warning all citizens at their
peril from any connection with the pirates."

I laughed.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Marshall," said I, "Citizen Genet has been
liberal with nothing except commissions, and they have neither money nor
men."

"The rascals have all left town," said Mr. Marshall. "Citizen
Quartermaster Depeau, their local financier, has gone back to his store
at Knob Licks. The Sieur de St. Gre and a Mr. Temple, as doubtless you
know, have gone to New Orleans. And the most mysterious and therefore
the most dangerous of the lot, Citizen Gignoux, has vanished like an
evil spirit. It is commonly supposed that he, too, has gone down the
river. You may see him, Vigo," said Mr. Marshall, turning to the trader;
"he is a little man with a big nose and grizzled chestnut eyebrows."

"Ah, I know a lil 'bout him," said Monsieur Vigo; "he was on my boat two
days ago, asking me questions."

"The devil he was!" said Mr. Marshall.

I had another disquieting night, and by the morning I had made up my
mind. The sun was glinting on the placid waters of the river when I made
my way down to the bank, to a great ten-oared keel boat that lay on the
Bear Grass, with its square sail furled. An awning was stretched over
the deck, and at a walnut table covered with papers sat Monsieur Vigo,
smoking his morning pipe.

"Davy," said he, "you have come a la bonne heure. At ten I depart for
New Orleans." He sighed. "It is so long voyage," he added, "and so
lonely one. Sometime I have the good fortune to pick up a companion, but
not