o look at him.

"No, no, my son," he answered, "you are always welcome. Did we not
campaign together? Did we not--shoot these very falls together on our
way to Kaskaskia?" He had to raise his voice above the roar of the
water. "Faith, well I remember the day. And you saved it, Davy,--you, a
little gamecock, a little worldly-wise hop-o'-my-thumb, eh? Hamilton's
scalp hanging by a lock, egad--and they frightened out of their five wits
because it was growing dark." He laughed, and suddenly became solemn
again. "There comes a time in every man's life when it grows dark, Davy,
and then the cowards are afraid. They have no friends whose hands they
can reach out and feel. But you are my friend. You remember that you
said you would always be my friend? It--it was in the fort at Vincennes."

"I remember, General."

He rose from the steps, buttoned his waistcoat, and straightened himself
with an effort. He looked at me impressively.

"You have been a good friend indeed, Davy, a faithful friend," he said.
"You came to me when I was sick, you lent me money,"--he waved aside my
protest. "I am happy to say that I shall soon be in a position to repay
you, to reward you. My evil days are over, and I spurn that government
which spurned me, for the honor and glory of which I founded that
city,"--he pointed in the direction of Louisville,--"for the power and
wealth of which I conquered this Northwest territory. Listen! I am now
in the service of a republic where the people have rights, I am
Commander-in-chief of the French Revolutionary Legion on the Mississippi.
Despite the supineness of Washington, the American nation will soon be at
war with Spain. But my friends--and thank God they are many--will follow
me--they will follow me to Natchez and New Orleans,--ay, even to Santa Fe
and Mexico if I give the word. The West is with me, and for the West I
shall win the freedom of the Mississippi. For France and Liberty I shall
win back again Louisiana, and then I shall be a Marechal de Camp."

I could not help thinking of a man who had not been wont to speak of his
intentions, who had kept his counsel for a year before Kaskaskia.

"I need my drummer boy, Davy," he said, his face lighting up, "but he
will not be a drummer boy now. He will be a trusted officer of high
rank, mind you. Come," he cried, seizing me by the arm, "I will write
the commission this instant. But hold! you read French,--I remember the
day Father Gibault gave you your f