self with a gesture and
joining the _voyageur_ where he stood.

"Why, Monsieur L'as," said Du Mesne, "I am making bold to mention it,
but in good truth there was some question in my mind as to what might be
our plans. The spring, as you know, is now well advanced. It was your
first design to go far into the West, and there to set up your station
for the trading in furs. Now there have come these little incidents
which have occasioned us some delay. While I have not doubted your
enterprise, Monsieur, I bethought me perhaps it might be within your
plans now to go but little farther on--perhaps, indeed, to turn back--"

"To go back?" said Law.

"Well, yes; that is to say, Monsieur L'as, back again down the Great
Lakes."

"Have you then known me so ill as this, Du Mesne?" said Law. "It has not
been my custom to set backward foot on any sort of trail."

"Oh, well, to be sure, Monsieur, that I know quite well," replied Du
Mesne, apologetically. "I would only say that, if you do go forward, you
will do more than most men accomplish on their first voyage _au large_
in the wilderness. There comes to many a certain shrinking of the heart
which leads them to find excuse for not faring farther on. Yonder, as
you know, Monsieur, lie Quebec and Montreal, somewhat better fitted for
the abode of monsieur and madame than the tents of the wilderness. Back
of that, too, as we both very well know, Monsieur, lie London and old
England; and I had been dull of eye indeed did I not recognize the
opportunities of a young gallant like yourself. Now, while I know
yourself to be a man of spirit, Monsieur L'as, and while I should
welcome you gladly as a brother of the trail, I had only thought that
perhaps you would pardon me if I did but ask your purpose at this time."

Law bent his head in silence for a moment. "What know you of this
forward trail, Du Mesne?" said he. "Have you ever gone beyond this point
in your own journeyings?"

"Never beyond this," replied Du Mesne, "and indeed not so far by many
hundred miles. For my own part I rely chiefly upon the story of my
brother, Greysolon du L'hut, the boldest soul that ever put paddle in
the St. Lawrence. My brother Greysolon, by the fire one night, told me
that some years before he had been at the mouth of the Green
Bay--perhaps near this very spot--and that here he and his brothers
found a deserted Indian camp. Near it, lying half in the fire, where he
had fallen in exhaustion, was an old,