e Black Kettle speaks French and is a devout
Catholic."

"A Catholic?" incredulously.

"Aye, pious and abstemious," with a sly glance at the innkeeper, who
was known to love his wines in proportion to his praise of them.

"The patience of these Jesuits!" the host murmured, breathing a long
sigh, such as one does from whose shoulders a weight has been suddenly
lifted. "Ah, Messieurs, but your joke frightened me cruelly. And they
call him the Black Kettle? But perhaps they will stay at the episcopal
palace, that is, if the host from Dieppe arrives to-night. And who
taught him French?"

"Father Chaumonot, who knows his Indian as a Turk knows his Koran."

"And does his Majesty intend to make Frenchmen of these savages?"

"They are already Frenchmen," was the answer. "There remains only to
teach them how to speak and pray like Frenchmen."

"And he will be quiet and docile?" ventured the inn-keeper, who still
entertained some doubts.

"If no one offers him an indignity. The Iroquois is a proud man. But
I see Monsieur Nicot calling to you; Monsieur Nicot, whose ancestor,
God bless him! introduced this weed into France;" and Du Puys refilled
his pipe, applied an ember, took off his faded baldric and rapier, and
reclined full length on the bench. Maitre le Borgne hurried away to
attend to the wants of Monsieur Nicot. Presently the soldier said:
"Shall we sail to-morrow, Master Mariner?"

"As the weather wills." Bouchard bent toward the fire and with the aid
of a pair of tongs drew forth the end of a broken spit, white with
heat. This he plunged into a tankard of spiced port; and at once there
arose a fragrant steam. He dropped the smoking metal to the floor, and
drank deeply from the tankard. "Zachary, we shall see spring all
glorious at Quebec, which is the most beautiful promontory in all the
world. Upon its cliffs France will build her a new and mighty Paris.
You will become a great captain, and I shall grow as rich as our host's
cousin."

"Amen; and may the Holy Virgin speed us to the promised land." Du Puys
blew above his head a winding cloud of smoke. "A brave race, these
black cassocks; for they carry the Word into the jaws of death. _Ad
majorem Dei gloriam_. There was Father Jogues. What privations, what
tortures he endured! And an Iroquois sank a hatchet into his brain. I
have seen the Spaniard at his worst, the Italian, the Turk, but for
matchless cruelty the Iroquois has no rival. And