Front matter (continued 2)

"I hope you will sing often," I said fatuously.

"I sing as the feeling comes to me," she retorted.

She gathered her cloak around her, and shut her cabin door.

"And you go with us to New York?" I asked—no less fatuously.

Her eyes danced with a glint of humor.

"Pray, sir, will there be any other stopping-place in the ocean!"

I laughed.

"My name," I began—and then I stopped abruptly.

My name at present was William Juggins, and I had a feeling of reluctance at practising deceit upon this girl at our first meeting. But she saved me from my quandary.

"You will not be what you might seem, sir," she said gravely. "That I can see, and perhaps you will not think me indiscreet if I say so much."

"'Tis true," I assented eagerly. "Indeed——"

"But you will be meeting my—" she hesitated ever so little—"my father presently, no doubt, and he will make us known to one another. Now I must go on deck."

And she walked by me with a faint swish of skirts that sounded like an echo of far-off fairy music.

Her father! Who could he be? And then realization smote me.

Plainly, she could not be de Veulle's daughter—nor Captain Abbot's. She was Murray's.

I went back into my cabin and shut the door, feeling not altogether satisfied, despite the fragrance of her person which still lingered in my nostrils, the recollection of her dainty charm, the indefinable tone of high breeding which had emanated from her.

Murray's daughter! I rebelled against the idea. It could not be. It ought not to be. What right had he to a daughter—and such a maid as this? 'Twas absurd! Manifestly absurd!

Why, I must hate the man. I had no other recourse. And he had a daughter! And above all this daughter!

VI THE OPENING OF HOSTILITIES

When I came on deck the next morning we were driving down-channel before a smart northwest wind. The sky was blue overhead; the low rollers were just capped with foam; the air was clean and tangy; the brownish, salt-stained canvas shone in the sunlight; the cordage hummed and droned.

Murray stood by the weather rail with the negro, Tom, at his elbow. As I emerged from the companionway Tom leaned forward and whispered something to his master. Murray walked straight across the deck to my side, his eyes fastened upon my face.

"How now, Master Juggins," he said heartily, his hand outstretched, "and did you leave your good uncle—or is it cousin?—well!"

I perceived that he took me for the lout I was dressed to represent, and strove to play up to the disguise.

"Well enough, sir," I answered sullenly, shifting clownishly from foot to foot.

"'Tis good!" he exclaimed. "Faith I am vastly relieved. I have a warm regard for honest Robert Juggins. He has spoken of me, perhaps?"

The question, designed to catch my simple mentality unawares, gave me considerable amusement.

"Oh, aye," I muttered.

"We have been rivals in our ventures, as you doubtless know," continued Murray, taking a pinch of snuff in a manner which the Duc d'Orleans might have envied.

"But he doesn't take it seriously, sir," I assured him gravely.

"Eh! What's that?"

"He laughs about it, sir."

And I goggled at him stupidly. After a moment's inspection of my countenance he seemed constrained to accept the remark as witless innocence, for a grim light of humor appeared in his eyes.

"Laughs, does he! Zooks, I might have known it. He is a merry soul, Robert Juggins, and I should like to see him footing a morris to a right merry tune. Mayhap we shall see it some day. Who knows?"

"Who knows, sir?" I repeated vacantly.

"And you are to cast your fortunes in America, lad!" he resumed.

"Oh, aye, sir."

"What I might have expected from a fine, upstanding young fellow," he applauded me. "We need many of your like. You may count upon my good offices in New York. Faith, I shall be glad to do a favor if I can, for Robert Juggins' nephew—or did you say cousin?"

"I am——"

But he saved me from the lie.

"Ah, here is come one of our fellow passengers," he interrupted.

I turned to see de Veulle approaching us.

"'Tis a French gentleman," pursued Murray, bent upon winning my confidence with his easy manners and glib tongue, "on his way to Canada. He can tell you rare tales of the wilderness and the savages. Ha, chevalier, meet a young countryman of mine. Such is the timber we use to exploit the new plantations. Master Juggins—the Chevalier de Veulle."

All unsuspecting, de Veulle made me a slight bow, a look of indifferent disdain in his face at sight of my plebeian figure. The disguise was good, and I hoped I might cozen him for a time at least. But no man forgets another who has toyed with his life, and his indifference was dissipated the instant his eye met mine.

"Juggins?" he exclaimed in bewilderment. "You said Juggins, Monsieur Murray?"

"Sure, 'tis so," returned Murray urbanely. "Not our friend, the doughty trader, you understand, but——"

"Parbleu!" swore de Veulle. "This man is no more named Juggins than I am!"

In his excitement his English, which was broken enough at best, became almost incoherent. Murray favored me with a brief glance of suspicion.

"Who then?" he demanded.

"Ormerod! 'Tis Harry Ormerod, the Jacobite refugee!"

Murray snapped his fingers to Tom, the negro, who had been a silent witness to our conversation. In an instant he stood beside us, his baleful yellow eyes glaring at me.

"Is this the man who came with Master Juggins to the hearing before the Lords of Trade?" snapped Murray.

"He de man, massa," Tom answered in a husky voice that had a snarl in it.

"You are sure!"

"Yes, massa."

"Tom doesn't make mistakes," remarked Murray with a gesture of dismissal to the negro. "May I ask who you are, sir?" he addressed me.

"I suppose you may," I replied coolly; and with a sense of relief I ripped the bobbed scratch-wig off my head and tossed it into the sea. "Does that help you at all?" I inquired of de Veulle.

He stared back at me, his face all drawn with hatred.

"I knew you with it on," he said savagely. "It became you. Why should a deserter wear the clothes of a gentleman?"

I laughed at him, but Murray intervened quickly.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

De Veulle made a gesture of disgust in my direction.

"This person, who was in the immediate entourage of the Pretender, abandoned his leader not long ago and fled to England to seek a pardon, repudiated and detested by all honorable men in Paris. But in England his protestations of loyalty were refused, for they naturally doubted the sincerity of one who wearied so soon of an unfortunate cause."

"Is this true?" Murray asked me.

"Within reason," I said.

Murray stared from one to the other of us. Plainly he was whimsically amused by our altercation.

"Stap me, but I rejoice to see that we may look forward to an entertaining voyage!" he exclaimed. "I had feared 'twould be most tedious. Are you seeking satisfaction from the gentleman, chevalier?"

"I shall fight him when I choose, on ground of my own choosing," replied de Veulle curtly.

"And by no means with small-swords," I jeered.

He gave me a black look.

"You will pray me to kill you if you ever fall into my power, Ormerod. I can wait until then."

"As you please."

He turned and left us. Murray took snuff very deliberately, first offering the box to me—which he had not done before—and scrutinized me politely from head to foot.

"I fear I have been patronizing in my conduct, sir," he observed. "Pray accept my apologies."

"You are most kind," I said ironically.

"'Twas a perfect disguise," he went on. "And your manner, if I may say so, was well conceived."

"I thank you."

"In short, I find you an opponent of totally different importance. You are an opponent?" he shot at me.

"Sure, sir, that is for you to say," I made answer. "So far as I know at this time we merely happen to be passengers together on this craft."

He laughed.

"I might have known it!" he exclaimed. "'Twas not like Juggins to send a bumpkin to Burnet. He hath been an enemy I might not scorn at any moment. And for a mere merchant he hath extraordinary spirit."

This was said with an air of condescension which irked me.

"You, sir," I remarked, "are no less a merchant. Why pretend to gentrice?"

A remarkable change came over the man. He ceased from tapping on his snuff-box. A wave of color suffused his face and neck; his eyes flashed. He straightened his back and shoulders and frowned upon me.

"Pretend—gentrice!" he rasped. "Sir, you are insulting. I have the blood of kings in my veins. I am of the Murrays of Cobbielaw. I quarter my arms with the Keiths, the Humes, the Morays—with every great family of Scotland. My grandfather four times removed was James V.

"I pretend to gentrice! I tell you there are few families in Europe can boast my lineage."

"It hath a Jacobite color to it," I could not resist observing.

He cooled rapidly at this, and the broad Scots accent which had crept into his speech soon disappeared.

"That is easily said—and easier disproved," he returned. "For myself, there is no more loyal adherent of King George, as you are likely to learn, sir, if you plan to backslide in the Pretender's interest when you reach New York. We provincials may be distant many thousands of miles from Court, but we are none the less careful in our devotion to the sovereign."

"So I have been told," I said dryly. "As for Master Juggins, his grandfather was steward to my father, and still I think him as much entitled to respect as any man, noble or common, who can prattle of sixteen quarterings. Family, sir, is not the more creditable for being talked about."

Murray laughed harshly.

"You have a sour tongue, young sir. I say to you plainly that if 'twere in my interest I might make things uncomfortable for you here. We may yet sight a King's ship."

It was my turn to laugh.

"When that time comes, we will attend to it. I thank you for warning me in advance."

He pocketed his snuff-box, swung around on his heel and strode off across the deck; but he had not reached the mainmast when he seemed to change his intent and returned to my side.

"Master Ormerod," he said, "I was in error to speak as I did of your friend. I crave your pardon."

He spoke so simply and unaffectedly as to take my breath away. There was naught for me to do but accept the apology in the spirit apparently intended.

"Sure, sir," I replied, "let us forget what hath passed."

"Willingly," he agreed. "There is enough contention, without belittling the most sacred thing in the world by needless bickering."

"And what is the most sacred thing in the world?" I asked.

"Good blood," he said quite straightforwardly. "But I must go below now. I have some papers to attend to. And I shall also attempt to induce the Chevalier de Veulle to preserve the amenities of life whilst we are restricted to such confined quarters."

"He shall not have to labor against my hostility," I promised as he departed.

Despite myself, I was taken with the man. His queer vanity, his unmistakable breeding, his ready wit, the assurance of power and self-sufficiency which radiated from him and explained, as I thought, his readiness to admit himself in the wrong, all these joined to inspire respect for his parts, if not admiration for his character.

During the rest of that day I made myself at home about the ship, talking with the seamen and their officers and watching vainly for the lady of the green cloak who had awakened me with her song. But she kept her cabin until the second afternoon, when we were sailing easily with a fair wind abeam. I found her then as I returned from a walk forward, standing with her hand on the poop-railing to steady her.

"I fear you are a poor sailor," I called to her.

She inclined her head for answer.

"Well, I have met your father," I said, coming to her side, "and I make no doubt he would present me were he here, so——"

"Sir," she said stiffly, "I have no desire for your company."

I stared at her, mouth agape.

"If I have offended——" I began.

"I may as well tell you," she interrupted me again, "that I have no personal liking or disliking for anything you have said or done in my presence. But I have heard that about you which will make me have no inclination for your company."

"And I shall ask you to tell me what that is," I retorted with mounting indignation. "It is not fair that you should accept the slurs of an enemy behind my back."

She hesitated.

"That may be so," she admitted, "but you will be willing to answer me two questions?"

"Surely."

"You are Captain Ormerod, formerly chamberlain to King James II?"

"Yes."

"And you not long ago abandoned the King's service and fruitlessly sought a pardon in London?"

"Yes."

I can not very well describe the scorn of voice and manner with which she addressed me.

"That is enough for me," she said. "You are a traitor, a deserter, proven out of your own mouth."

"But——"

"No, sir; there is naught you can say would interest me. I should despise you none the less had you deserted in the same circumstances to my own side. It makes it no less culpable that you deserted from my side because our fortunes were at low ebb. And indeed I think it will be a sure sign there is a God in heaven that such a black traitor as you will be, should be scorned even by the wicked men of the usurper in London."

"But you shall hear me," I protested. "This is absurd, what you say. You have taken two bare statements of fact and twisted into them the implications skilfully made by a personal enemy. You——"

"Last night, sir," she said cuttingly, withdrawing the folds of her cloak so that they might not touch me, "you played upon my sympathies with your tale of exile and a brother buried in the Clan Donald country, and I was all for sympathy with you and sorrow for your sorrow. You as much as told me you were one of the Good People. You let me deceive myself, after you had deceived me first. Oh, you will have acted unspeakably!"

"What I told you was true!"

"It could never have been."

"I swear it was. I was out in the '19; I fled to Scotland with my brother; he died and was buried there; I escaped with the remnants of the expedition; I am an exile at this moment."

"An exile! Phaugh! Think on the honest men can truly say that in their misfortune this day! And you—I could weep for the shame that your dead brother and the mother that bore you will be feeling as they look down upon you!"

With that she was gone, and I was left cursing—cursing de Veulle, whose treacherous tongue had planted the distorted shreds of truth in her mind; cursing Murray, who must have stood by and listened to it all, smugly amused; cursing my cousin who had put me in such a plight, after winning my inheritance; cursing the men and women at St. Germain who repaid years of sacrifice and ungrudging loyalty with such canards; cursing Juggins for having embarked me upon this ship with the girl; cursing myself for getting into such a false position; cursing the girl——

But no. Common sense came to my rescue then. There was something unaccountably fine about her attitude, something I should never have thought to uncover in Murray's daughter, however beautiful and attractive she might be. There was devotion for you, faithfulness to a lost cause, the single-minded truthfulness which only a good woman can possess.

Heir indignation was the index to her personality. By it I might know that she was really worth while, that to win her respect must be an achievement for any man.

And that brought a new thought into my mind. Could the two men she was with have her respect? Could she respect her father, Murray? Aye, perhaps; for if he labored secretly in the Jacobite interest she, with her flaming, misdirected loyalty to the Stuarts, would excuse his deceptions and crimes, if only they brought back her King to the throne.

I was familiar with the way men and women of her persuasion ignored the well-being of their country, apart from their King. They could see no difference between the two. What did it matter if France profited by the issue, so long as James replaced George?

This brought me to de Veulle. Surely she could not respect him! If she knew what I knew— But manifestly she, who had never been out of Scotland before, could know nothing of his career in Paris.

And he had a way with him, there could be no denial of that. He was a handsome devil, with the flair which appeals to all women, good and bad. Aye, he might win her regard for a time; but I was prepared to stake all that she would unmask him in the end.

The twilight faded rapidly, and I found myself with no appetite for the crowded main cabin, where de Veulle and Murray played piquet, or my stuffy berth. I strolled the deck, immersed in thought. There was so much to think about. The episode with this girl, whose name even I did not know, had brought into vivid opposition the events of the past and the uncertain future which lay before me.

I conned over what Juggins had told me, memorized anew many of the messages he had entrusted to me, speculated upon the possible turn of affairs. I planned in some vague way to win a fortune in that unknown New World ahead of me, and with the proceeds in one hand and a pardon in the other, return and reclaim Foxcroft from those abominable Hampshire cousins.

With chin cupped in hand I leaned upon the starboard rail in the black well of shadow which was formed by the overhang of the forecastle, and the towering piles of canvas that clothed the foremast. Somewhere beyond the wastes of watery darkness that veiled my eyes lay England, the home which had disowned me. I——

Without any warning a huge arm was twisted around my shoulders and a hand so huge that my teeth could make no impression in it was clamped down over my mouth. Another arm encircled my waist. My arms were pinned to my sides. My legs kicked feebly at a muscular body which pressed me against the bulwark. Fighting back with all my strength, I was nevertheless lifted gradually from the deck and shoved slowly across the flat level of the fife-rail.

Do what I might, I could not resist the pressure of those tremendous arms which seemed to have a reach and a power twice those of my own. I gasped for breath as they squeezed my lungs—and in gasping I sensed a queer taint in the air, a musky odor which I did not at once associate with the seamen or any one else on board the ship.

It was no use. I could not resist. The snakelike arms mastered me. One shifted swiftly to a grip on my legs. I was whirled into the air and dropped clear of the railing—falling, falling, until the cold waters engulfed me.

VII A TRUCE

I came to the surface, fighting for breath, my hands battling fruitlessly at the slimy side of the ship, which slid past as relentlessly as the passage of time. I tried to cry out, but the salt water choked me. Not a sound came from the decks above. The blackness was absolute, except for the mild gleam of a watch-lanthorn on the poop.

Danger and the peril of death often have been my lot, but never in all my life—no, not even when the Keepers of the Trail had bound me to the torture-stake—have I experienced the abysmal fear which clutched my heart as I struggled to save myself from the chilling waters whose numbing embrace was throttling my vitality no less surely than the long arms which had cast me overboard.

Death was only a brace of minutes away—not death from drowning, but death from the bitter cold that paralyzed my limbs and smote my heart. In the mad desperation of my fear I heaved myself waist-high out of the water, hands clutching and clawing for the support which reason must have denied me to expect.

I was sinking beneath a smooth-running wave along the counter when my fingers came in contact with a dripping rope, which slipped through their grip and lashed me in the face. This time I did contrive to cry out, a brief, choked yell of exultation. My hands possessed themselves of it again, and I rove a loose knot in the end.

Had I dared, I would have rested myself in this loop before beginning to attempt the climbing of the mossy wall of the ship's side; but the coldness of the water forbade it. Only by the utmost power of will could I force myself to the necessary effort. A few moments' delay, and I should be incapable of action.

With teeth clinched I drew myself upward along the rope, thrusting forward with my feet for purchase against the side. Sometimes I slipped on the wet planks, and then I was put to it to hold my position. But after I withdrew my body from the water, what with the urgency of my effort and the stimulation of the exercise, some degree of my strength returned; and presently I was able to pull myself up the rope, hand over hand, until I reached a small projecting structure at the level of the deck to which was fastened the starboard rigging of the mainmast. How I blessed the untidy seamanship of Captain Abbot, which would have aroused the wrath of any true sailor, no doubt.

On this bit of a platform I rested myself, below the level of the bulwarks, one arm thrust round a tautened stay. And now for the first time I gave thought to my experience. I suppose that at the most not more than five minutes had elapsed since I had been heaved overboard, and obviously no one had witnessed the incident, for the deck was as quiet and deserted as it had been when I was attacked.

Who had done it? I accepted as a primary fact the impossibility that it could have been one of the crew. I had speaking acquaintance with only two of them, Captain Abbot, himself, and Master Ringham, the second mate, a taciturn Devon man, whose conversation consisted of curses, grunts and monosyllables. Neither could have any grudge against me.

No, I must seek the assailant in the camp of my known enemies, and those immense, twining arms could belong only to the ape-like negro. With the realization, hot blood drummed in my ears. I scrambled over the bulwark in a flash, and crouched down upon the deck to survey the situation. It was one against three—no, four, I reflected bitterly; for I made no doubt the girl would array herself against me. I must have some weapon.

I looked around me, noting that the watch were all ensconced upon the forecastle or the poop. Then I remembered that ranged around the bottoms of the masts were long handbars of wood, iron-tipped, which were used in making fast the sail-ropes. I ran across to the mainmast and tore one from its slot.

Nobody had yet seen me in the pitch darkness, and I stole across the deck to the door which gave entrance to the poop, my water-soaked shoes quite soundless. The door was ajar, and I opened it very carefully, listening to the murmur of voices in the main cabin. There was no light in the passage which led to the main cabin from the foot of the shallow stairs that descended from the deck level; but the main cabin itself was brilliantly lighted by several lanthorns.

Murray and de Veulle were sitting on the bench which ran across the stern, the table in front of them littered with cards. Murray, a look of placid satisfaction on his face, was pouring rum into two glasses. De Veulle was laughing as if he had listened to the merriest tale in the world. So much I saw when the entrance into the main cabin was darkened by the body of the negro, Tom.

He saw me descending the stairs, and apparently took me to be one of the officers coming off watch. At any rate, he stepped back into the main cabin and stood there, waiting to give me room. The passage was not more than fifteen or sixteen feet long, and as I approached him I smelled again that rancid, musky odor—the body smell, as I afterward discovered, of the savage, black or red—which had overwhelmed my nostrils just before I was pitched over the side.

'Twas that decided me. I took a firm grip on my improvised club, and, stepping into the pool of light in the main cabin, swung square around, face to face with Tom. He threw up both hands and staggered back with a wild scream of terror, eyes popping from his ashen-gray face.

I gave him no time for recovery, but brought down the iron-tipped end of the handbar with all my force across his skull. The blow would have killed any save a black man. I meant it to kill him. As it was, he dropped like a slaughtered ox, and lay in a crumpled heap of tawdry finery on the floor.

Doors banged in the passage, and I stepped to one side, setting my back to the bulkhead, the while I fastened my eyes upon the startled amazement with which Murray and de Veulle regarded me. 'Twas Murray recovered first.

"Zooks," he remarked, taking snuff with his usual precision. "It seems that Tom is growing in the way of making mistakes."

"Aye, and such mistakes are like to react upon others," I replied fiercely.

"If I were a refugee from justice, I should be careful how I threatened law-abiding subjects," he answered calmly. "Well, well, it seems we have more company."

I followed his glance to the passage, where stood the girl of the green cloak, whilst over her shoulder peered the square, puzzled features of my silent cabinmate, Master Ringham.

The girl said nothing, her eyes shifting gravely from one to the other of us. But Master Ringham's official status got the better of his distaste for words.

"What hath happened?" he asked. "Is the negro dead!"

"I think so," I said. "He—"

"Not he," corrected Murray cheerfully. "You know not Tom, good Master Ormerod. He hath a skull on him can only be opened with blasting-powder."

"It matters little," I returned. "The rascal attacked me above, Master Ringham. I pursued him down here. There is naught more to be said. I will settle with his master."

The second mate looked questioningly toward Murray. I hated to compromise so, but I had not missed the veiled threat he had addressed to me nor his use of the name Ormerod. Remember, I was still known to the crew as Juggins.

I was uncertain what attitude the captain might take if he was told that I was a political refugee. There might be a reward at stake—and sailors were human like other men. What was one man's life to them—and he a stranger—if so many hundred pounds would purchase it!

"Why, that is fairly spoken," rejoined Murray, somewhat to my surprize. "I know naught of the circumstances, Master Ringham, but perhaps I may settle with our friend here. As for the negro, I will attend to him."

"And the captain?" questioned the second mate uncertainly.

"Oh, I see no reason why we should bother Master Abbot at this juncture. There will be time enough if we fail to agree upon the issue."

"There must be no more violence," warned Ringham, his eyes on me, his words addressed to all of us.

"Violence!" rejoined Murray jovially. "Let us reject the idea altogether. Why should we disdain sweet reason's rule? Eh? Master Orm—er—Juggins?"

I bowed ironically.

"If there is any further disagreement Captain Abbot shall be called," I said to Ringham. "That I promise you."

Ringham nodded and clumped back to his bunk, doubtless relieved at not being required to surrender more of his time off-watch. But the girl stood her ground, her eyes accusing all of us.

"Well, Marjory," said Murray pleasantly, "and do you plan to join in our debate?"

That was the first time I heard her name, and—why, I can not say—I heard it without surprise, as if I had always known it to be hers. It suited her, as names sometimes express the character and appearance of their possessors.

"What hath happened?" she asked in the same words the second mate had used.

"You have heard," said Murray.

She shook her head.

"That is not all. This—" she hesitated—"gentleman's clothes are wet. Tom does not attack people without orders."

Murray shrugged his shoulders. De Veulle answered her, leaning across the table, his eyes burning with hatred for me.

"You know what this man hath done, mademoiselle," he cried. "You know his record in the past. You know that he comes with us to spy out our plans, to thwart, if may be, what we undertake to do. Is any fate too hard for him? Why should you concern yourself?"

His voice grew coaxing.

"'Tis no matter for ladies' soft hands to dabble in."

"Then there has been fighting?" she asked.

I could stand it no longer.

"Fighting!" I snapped. "Aye, if you call assassination fighting. An attack in the dark upon an unarmed man, throwing him overboard to drown as you might a blind puppy, never a chance for his life!"

"Yet you are here, sir?" she said quietly.

"'Tis only by the intervention of Providence that I was saved—or the untidiness of our captain, who left a rope trailing over the side."

I grew sarcastic.

"You were pleased to say today that it was proof of a God in heaven that I had suffered misfortune. Sure, will you deny that the same God hath protected me against your father's——"

"My father!" she repeated questioningly.

"Well, what is he!" I returned cuttingly. "Mayhap you have some pet name for a parent who practises assassination."

"You have no right to say that, sir," she said with spirit.

"No right! Did not you yourself say Tom never acted without orders!"

"But——"

"And furthermore, if this case is not enough, let me tell you that this man here"—I pointed to Murray; for some reason I disliked to call him her father, even in wrath—"set a gang of ruffians to murder a friend of mine in London."

"Do you know that for a fact, sir!" die demanded with her unflinching gravity.

"I do."

Murray rose from his seat behind the table.

"Your proof, sir?" he asked coldly.

"Proof!" I answered weakly. "Why, I was there!"

"Aye, sir," he rejoined with dignity. "But your proof that I hired assassins?"

I was silent.

"As for Tom," he continued, "if he had drowned you I do not believe that I should have wept many tears. You are in my way, sir. But you have no reason to assume from my daughter's casual words that I was accomplice to his acts. Could you prove it before the captain or any court of law?"

I saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew that he was playing with me.

"No," said I shortly; "I could not prove it, even against him. I have no witnesses."

"And you could not even go into a court of law," he pursued, "for you are an outlaw, denied benefit of law or clergy."

"Yes," I flared in answer; "and you, sir, what think you might be your fate in New York if I denounced you to Governor Burnet for attempted murder! Would he make use of the opportunity—or no!"

The realization of this trump card I held had come to me in a flash of inspiration. Now it lay face up for all to see, and there could be no doubt it gave my enemies cause for uneasiness. Murray regarded me thoughtfully; a worried look replaced the cynical satisfaction with which de Veulle had watched my badgering; the bewilderment upon Marjory's face was deepened.

"I do not think I am so weakly situated as you had supposed," I mocked them. "Aye, you may denounce me to the captain for a Jacobite conspirator, and it may be he will see fit to believe you. You are three to my one. But when we reach New York, and I am brought before the officers of the Crown, I may have a different story to tell. Think you the governor would be loath to implicate a French officer and the man who is leading the fight against his struggle to control the fur-trade?"

Murray nodded his head slowly, and sank back in his seat.

"Sure, you are a lad after my own heart," he said. "That was well thought of. 'Tis checkmate—for this present."

"Nonsense," stormed de Veulle. "Why should we fear his trumpery tales? Who are we to be denounced by him?"

"Because I know somewhat of Governor Burnet," replied Murray good-humoredly. "Nay, chevalier, I dislike to yield my point as much as any man; but Master Ormerod hath stopped us. We must have a truce."

But he reckoned without Marjory. The lady of the green cloak stood forward in the center of the cabin, passionate indignation shaking her whole figure.

"Oh, why do you talk like this?" she exclaimed. "Are we criminals that we must bargain with a criminal? It is as if we were embarked upon an enterprise as vile as his life of spying and intrigue!"

I had not made any headway in regaining her good opinion, 'twas evident, and that must be the excuse for my barbed retort.

"You show unwonted sensibility, my lady," I said. "Sure, no men with good consciences would stoop to bargain with such as I."

"I fear me, Marjory," said Murray gently, "that you have no appreciation of the tangled path which must be trod by those who concern themselves with affairs of state. The good and the bad are strangely intermingled. Sometimes we must consort with those we despise in order to gain a good cause. Sometimes we must use tools which irk us to fashion a policy to a righteous end. Sometimes we must stoop to tricks and plays which soil and shame.

"It can not be otherwise. And after all, what does it matter that you and I have cause to regret, if we may see the attainment of our goal? Shall we regret the payment of a bitter price? 'Twould be parsimonious, I say. 'Tis not we who count, who are but pawns; but the cause we serve."

"I like it not," she flamed.

"Like it or not, 'tis inevitable."

He turned to me.

"It seems then, Master Ormerod, that we must proclaim a truce for the time being."

"It is your necessity," I told him flatly.

"And yours," he returned urbanely. "What guarantees shall we exchange?"

I thought.

"Why, we can neither afford to risk the denunciation of the other," I said at last. "You, because you know that the Provincial Government would seize any excuse to incommode you. I, because I know that the Provincial Government would find it difficult to protect me against your charge, even though it exploited mine."

"The advantage would seem to be on my side," he remarked tentatively.

I leaned across the table so that his eyes met mine fully.

"Not so much as you might think," I asserted. "Have I the look of one who would fail in a desperate venture?"

"No, no," he answered smilingly. "So be it, then. But the truce holds good only for the period of our voyage together?"

"That is understood," I agreed.

His eyes hardened.

"Did you ever hear of the Red Death and the Black Death, Master Ormerod!"

I shook my head, puzzled.

"You have met the Black Death. You have yet to meet the Red Death. And you may meet the Black Death again," he added as Tom groaned where he lay on the floor.

Marjory shuddered.

"Enough of this!" she exclaimed. "Is it understood there is to be no killing on this ship?"

"It is, my dear," Murray responded. "And now I think you had best withdraw. This has been a trying interview for you, I fear."

She looked from one to the other of us, as if half in doubt; and then gathered her cloak around her. We all three, as with one accord, bowed low as she stepped into the passage.

Murray opened a lanthorn and snuffed the candle within.

"You must be weary, Master Ormerod," he said solicitously. "It hath been a trying evening for you too, I fear."

"Ah, the devil played a strong hand, Master Juggins," de Veulle chimed in, with a yawn. "You do not object to your old name, I hope? It fits you like a snug shirt."

"Not in the least," I retorted. "'Tis an honest name. You will note, I hope, that the devil, as always, was checkmated, even though he had two of the minor fiends of darkness at his elbow."

Murray laughed, the fine, resonant laugh of a well-bred, honorable gentleman.

"Zooks, chevalier, have done. The man hath a rare metal."

"If wit fails, try small-swords," I suggested as I left the cabin.

VIII I HEAR FIRST OF THE DOOM TRAIL

One day followed another and one week ran into the next as the New Venture made her southing and bore west toward the New World. The weather was blustery and raw. Gales stormed down out of the polar regions and drenched us with snow. Head winds baffled us. Once a tall-masted stranger chased us for two days and a night before we lost her and might continue our course.

But we who shared the tiny quarters under the poop contrived to live together without further quarrels. It seemed almost as if the opposition of the elements had overwhelmed the bitterness of conflicting human interests.

The girl with the green cloak—I called her Marjory in my thoughts—ignored my existence. She spent much of her time with de Veulle, walking the deck with him, reading or playing at cards. I liked to think she did it to provoke me. Sometimes, too, she chatted with the seamen, and they taught her the trick of handling the wheel. But I did not speak to her after the night she came into the main cabin and found the negro, Tom, lying on the floor at my feet.

De Veulle gave me a wide berth. He did not like to be reminded before others of that duel in the Toison d'Or. Tom's eyes never left me if I was within the range of their vision; their blind, yellow glare haunted my dreams. He snarled sometimes like a caged wild beast when I walked near him. But he never lifted a finger against me.

With Murray my relations were outwardly friendly. He liked much to talk, and indeed he demonstrated a considerable acquaintance with the great men of his period. But he never dropped a hint concerning the enterprise in which he was now engaged. Nor for that matter did he ever seek to draw me out on the mission I served.

He was a man of extraordinary perspicacity. Once he had determined accurately the measure of an opponent he never made the mistake of underrating his enemy.

"Most of the failures in life come from overconfidence, Master Ormerod—" he called me by my real name with scrupulous courtesy when we were alone, and was equally scrupulous to dub me Juggins if Captain Abbot or one of the crew happened to be present—"as I dare swear you know. I have long made it a rule of my life never to believe that any other man could be less diligent about his affairs than I myself.

"If I find myself in opposition to a man—yourself, let us suppose—I do you the credit of granting you my own degree of intellect. So, I have learned, may one's interests be safeguarded."

For the rest, he exhibited much concern in the personalities at Versailles and St. Germain, and aired his views regarding the existing state of the English nobility and Court with a vanity which would have savored of the popinjay had it not been for his undoubted earnestness and the strange spell which the man's personality wove about him. Most of all, however, he delighted to discuss his own genealogy and the history of the famous Scots families with whom he was connected. He could descant on such topics for an entire afternoon—and with an uncommon candor and entertaining flow of intellect.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of our intercourse was that we talked together, more or less, every day for nearly two months; and at the end of that time I had the material for delineating the character of a man of gentility and fine feeling in matters of honor, who possessed the friendship or intimacy of many famous personages in Europe and America.

I knew that he claimed to be a younger son of a good Scots house, fallen into decay by reason of the Jacobite wars. I knew that he played a good hand at piquet, and was entirely honorable in gambling. I knew he had a dainty taste in snuff, cravats and linen.

And I knew absolutely nothing else, gained from his own admissions and observance of his habits. He was patronizingly cordial to Captain Abbot and the other officers of the ship; he controlled Tom as I should a dog; he treated Marjory with consideration, even affection, although not as I should have expected him to treat a daughter; he observed toward de Veulle exactly the right mixture of the older man of the world and the boon comrade.

He never referred to the enmity between us or the bargain we had made until the day we sailed through the Narrows, the entrance to New York's inner harbor, and saw far in the distance, behind tree-covered islands in a long perspective of forest shore-lines, the miniature provincial capital huddled on the point of the big island which the Dutch named Manhattan, an occasional steeple pointing skyward above the two and three story houses and the frowning ramparts of Fort George.

"We part for a time, Master Ormerod," he said, coming upon me where I leaned on the railing in the waist of the ship, viewing this unknown land where I must retrieve my fallen fortunes. "Our truce expires when we disembark."

"That is true," I assented.

"There is somewhat I would venture to observe upon, if you will permit me," he continued detachedly.

I inclined my head, thinking mainly of the exquisite beauty of this woodland setting, with the early Spring foliage already turning green, and the wide spaces of emptiness so close to a principal center of civilization.

"You are a youth of boldness and courage. I do not seek to flatter you by saying so. You possess intelligence. You may go far in the provinces, always supposing you do not succeed in winning a pardon. I opine that a pardon might be won if you went about it in the right way. There are gentlemen at Whitehall, who—"

His hesitation was eloquent.

"And you would suggest?" I asked him, faintly amused as I perceived the drift of his intention.

"Think well before you commit yourself to this venture. Mark me, sir, it means little to me. You know nothing of what you embark upon. You can not hope to overcome me. Why, the governor of this province, with all the semi-regal powers at his command, has failed to balk me in my plans. My influence is no less in London. If you continue as you have begun you will end, I fear, in an early grave. I say it not as a threat. 'Tis merely a prediction."

"I fear me I should lose your good opinion did I take your advice," I replied.

He looked me straight in the eyes.

"You would," he said curtly, and he turned on his heel and left me.

Three hours later we lay at anchor in the East River under the lee of Nutten Island, which some called the Governor's because it was part of his official estate. The extent of the shipping was surprizing considering the size of the town, and we were fortunate to secure small boats to ferry us ashore. They landed us at a wharf on a canal which ran up into the town along the middle of Broad Street. From here I had my baggage carried by a water-man to the George Tavern in Queen Street which he recommended as being favored by the gentry.

Murray's party I overheard giving directions for the conduct of their effects to Cawston's Tavern in Hanover Square, a comfortable open place which we traversed on our way to the George. The streets were all shaded by a variety of trees—locusts, beeches, elms—and in some parts and along certain blocks they were paved.

The houses, many of them, were stanchly built of brick and tiles, often of more than one color. Their gable ends fronted upon the streets. The more pretentious ones had gardens behind, and many had platforms on the roof whence the members of the family might secure a broad view of the town and bay.

Along the water-front there were frequent warehouses, and the chief impression that I gained was one of bustling wealth and prosperity. Indeed, although New York was then, and for many years afterwards, inferior in population to Boston and Philadelphia, it vied with them in the volume of its trade.

After a meal which was as good as any I had ever eaten in Paris or London I inquired of Master Kurt van Dam, the proprietor of the George, where I might find Governor Burnet. Van Dam was a broad-bodied, square-headed Dutchman. He sat in the ordinary, smoking a long clay pipe, and if the waiter had not pointed him out to me I should not have been able to distinguish him from a dozen other natives of the town, precisely similar in build and each sprawled back upon a bench or chair, puffing at a pipe which reached from his lips to his knees.

"You vant to sbpeak to der gofernor, eh?" he said slowly. "Hah! Myndert!"

He recalled the waiter who had piloted me to his side.

"Haf you seen der gofernor dis morning?"

Myndert had not.

"Veil, it maype he is at der Fort," reflected Master van Dam.

"He vouldt pe, if he vas," said a stout burgher on the next bench. "Put he is not."

"You are sure?"

"Ja."

A third stout Dutchman removed his pipe from his mouth and blew a mouthful of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Der gofernor is still at Cabptain van Horne's," he said, and immediately replaced the pipe in his mouth.

"To be sure," assented van Dam. "Der gofernor is only a little time married to Captain van Horne's dotter. He life with dem vile der house in der Fort is mate bpretty for her."

"And where is Captain van Horne's house!" I asked.

"In der Broad-Vay not far oop from der Fort. You valk across through Hanofer Square."

I thanked him and walked forth.

In Hanover Square, which was only a few steps distant, there was a crowd collected about the entrance to Cawston's Tavern. Murray was standing in the doorway, Tom on one side of him, and a huge, red-haired giant in buckskin, with knife and tomahawk at his belt on the other. I stared at the red-haired man, for he was the first woodsman I had seen, observing with curiosity his shaggy locks and fur cap and the brutal ferocity of his face.

I stared so long that I attracted the attention of Murray, who broke off his conversation, with the group surrounding him, and with a pale smile pointed me out to his buckskin retainer. The man scowled at me, and one hand went to his knife-hilt.

I spoke to the citizen nearest me.

"What is the occasion of the crowd?" I asked.

"'Tis Master Murray, the fur-trader, hath returned from London after winning his case before the Lords of Trade," he answered.

"How is that?"

He regarded me suspiciously.

"Are you a stranger?"

"I am but just landed from the same ship as carried Master Murray," I assured him.

"Ah!"

His manner became impressive; plainly he considered himself one who imparts portentous news.

"Master Murray, as you will soon learn, sir, is our most enterprising merchant. He hath built up with much difficulty a valuable trade with the French, with the result that the business of the province hath doubled.

"But the governor will have none of it, or so he says. He hath done all that he may, even to passing laws against Master Murray's trade; but now, it seems, Master Murray hath carried his case to the Lords of Trade, who have refused to approve the laws."

I thanked the man and pushed on through the crowd. So that was the story Murray was telling! And plainly he had the prestige and the following to make himself a dangerous force, even, as he had boasted, against the governor and the provincial authorities.

But on the outskirts of the gathering I chanced to overhear another conversation which indicated that Murray's hold upon public opinion was perhaps not so strong as my first informant had led me to believe.

"He hath the devil's own luck," murmured a prosperous-appearing citizen.

"Aye," said his neighbor bitterly; "they will ply a grand traffic over the Doom Trail."

The odd name, so sinister in its implication, struck my imagination. I lingered behind the two, pretending to peer over their heads.

"And 'tis these fools here who will pay for it in the long run," answered the other.

"And yourself and I," rejoined the second.

As I turned to leave, I met again the threatening glance of the red-haired giant which sought me out across the crowd. I tapped the nearest of the pair of disgruntled citizens upon the shoulder.

"Pray, sir, who is the tall fellow in buckskin on the steps?"

The man edged away from me as suspiciously as the first one I had accosted.

"I am a stranger in your town," I added.

"'Tis a frontiersman," he replied reluctantly; "one called 'Red Jack' Bolling."

"An ugly knave," I commented.

But the citizen and his friend only eyed me askance, and I walked on, reflecting on the current of intrigue which I had uncovered beneath the placid life of the little town within two hours of my landing.

I was walking through Bridge Street, with the leafing tree-boughs overhead and the walls of Fort George before me, when another and smaller crowd rounded the corner from the Broad-Way, a street which formed the principal thoroughfare of the town and took its name from the wide space between the house-walls.

In the lead came an Indian. He was the first of his race I chanced to see, and sure, 'tis strange that we were destined to be friends—aye, more than friends, brethren of the same Clan. He was a large man, six feet in his moccasins, and of about the same age as myself. He stalked along, arms swinging easily at his side, wholly impervious to the rabble of small boys who tagged behind, yelling and shrieking at him.

His handsome face, with its high-arched nose, was expressionless. His eyes stared straight in front of him. He wore the go-lea, or breechcloth, and thigh-leggings of soft, tanned deerskin. A single eagle feather rose from the scalp-lock which hung from his shaven head.

He was naked from the waist up, and on his massive chest was painted in yellow and red pigments the head of a wolf. He wore no other paint, and he was weaponless, except for the tomahawk and knife which hung at his belt.

The children danced around him like so many little animals. They never touched him, but some of the more venturesome hurled pebbles from the walk at his brawny shoulders.

"Injun Jim came to town, with his breeches falling down," they chanted.

"Scalp-taker, scalp-taker," shrieked another.

"Big Injun drink much fire-water," howled a group.

"Injun dirt, Injun dirt, always 'feared that soap will hurt," proclaimed others.

I can not repeat all the catch-calls and rimes which they employed, some of them too disgusting for print. Sure, the gamins of Paris, with their natural ability at verbal filth, might have listened respectfully to these children of a far province, attempting to humiliate one of the race who had formerly been lords of the whole land.

I looked to see some citizen intervene, but several who sat on their doorsteps or lounged in front of shops, smoking the inevitable pipe, viewed the spectacle with indifference or open amusement. And the Indian stalked along, his dignity unruffled through it all.

My wrath boiled over, and I charged down upon the tormentors.

"Be off," I shouted. "Have you no proper play to occupy your time?"

They fled hilariously, pleased rather than outraged by the attack, after the perverse habit of children who prefer always to be noticed instead of ignored. The citizens who had witnessed the persecution of the Indian chuckled openly at the discomfiture of his assailants, and then returned to their pipes.

I was proceeding on my way when I was dumfounded by hearing the Indian address me.

"Hold, brother," he said in perfect English, but with a certain thick guttural accent. "Ta-wan-ne-ars would thank you."

"You speak English!" I exclaimed.

A light of amusement gleamed in his eyes, although his face remained expressionless as a mask.

"You do not think of the Indian as these ignorant little ones do?" he asked curiously.

"I—I know nothing of your people," I stammered. "I am but this day landed here."

"My brother is an Englishman?" he questioned, not idly but with the courteous interest of a gentleman.

"I am."

"Ta-wan-ne-ars thanks you, Englishman." He extended his hand.

"Your kindness was the greater because you obeyed it by instinct."

I regarded him with increasing amazement. Who was this savage who talked like a London courtier?

"I helped you," I said, "because you were a stranger in a strange city, and by the laws of hospitality your comfort should be assured."

"That is the law of the Indian, Englishman," he answered pleasantly; "but it is not the law of the white man."

"It is the law our religion teaches," I remonstrated, feeling that I must defend this indictment of my race.

"Your religion teaches it to you and you try to apply it to yourselves," he objected. "But you do not even try to apply it to the Indian. The Indian is a savage. He is in the way of the white man. He must be pushed out."

I took his hand in mine.

"All white men do not feel so," I said.

"Not all," he assented. "But most."

"I go now," I continued, "to Governor Burnet. I shall ask him to make a law that Indians shall be as safe from mockery as from violence in New York."

"Governor Burnet is a good man. My brother will speak to friendly ears. He does not say '—— Injun' and 'dirty beast' because we live differently from him. He is a man."

"You call me brother," I said. "I have no friends in this land. May I call you brother?"

That wonderful expression of burning intelligence lighted his face again.

"My brother has befriended Ta-wan-ne-ars. Ta-wan-ne-ars is his friend and brother. Ta-wan-ne-ars will not forget."

He raised his right hand arm high in the gesture of greeting or farewell, and we separated.

IX THE GOVERNOR IN COUNCIL

Where Garden Street[1] crosses the Broad-Way I met the town bellringer brandishing his bell.

"'Tis Friday afternoon of the week," he bellowed, "and all householders shall take notice they must collect their refuse and offal and dump the same in the river or the swamps beyond the city limits. And they are to sweep the streets before their shops and dwellings and destroy or remove the sweepings after the same fashion. Proclaimed by order of the worshipful mayor and aldermen."

He was beginning his oration all over again, when I approached him with a request for the location of Captain van Horne's house.

"Do you but follow your nose straight before you," he directed me, "until you come to the red-brick mansion with the yellow-brick walk this side of the Green Lane.[2] That is his."

Except for the walk he had specified, the house the bell-ringer described had nothing about it to distinguish it from those adjacent, and I could not forbear a smile at thought of the different degrees of magnificence which were deemed necessary by the potentates of the Old World and the New.

The negro servant who answered my knock admitted that the governor was within.

"But Massa Burnet done hab de gen'lemen ob de Council wid him jus' now, sah," he added doubtfully.

"I am this minute landed with letters for the governor from London," I said.

"Oh, bery well, sah. Dat be a dif'runt matter. Yo' come dis way, please. Massa Burnet be plumb glad to see yo'. Dis way, please."

He ushered me into the wide hallway which ran from front to rear of the house, and knocked on the door of the first room on the right.

"Enter," roared a jovial bass voice.

The negro threw open a leaf of the door and stood aside.

"Dis gen'lemun done jus' lan' f'om London wif letters fo' yo' Exluncy," he announced.

I saw before me a group of eight men gathered around a dinner-table, which was spread with maps and papers in place of eatables. At the head sat the man of the bass voice, ruddy-faced, comfortable in girth, with the high forehead of the thinker and the square jaw of the man of action.

"I am Governor Burnet, sir," he said. "Who are you?"

"These letters will explain, your Excellency," I replied, not caring to reveal my identity before so many persons.

I tendered them to him.

"Hah, from Master Juggins!" he exclaimed with heightened interest. "You sailed on the New Venture?"

"Yes, your Excellency—with Master Murray."

"That is well. Be seated, sir; be seated," ordered the governor as he slit the packet.

I found a chair by the fireplace, and watched in silence whilst he read through the close-writ pages, with an occasional word or interjection to the others, who had risen from their places and were clustered about him. They were, as I afterward learned, the most prominent men of the governor's faction in the province, who strove to uphold his authority and aid him in his effort to clinch the control of the fur-trade in English hands—Abraham van Horne, the governor's father-in-law; James Alexander, Robert Walter, Rip van Dam, a cousin to my friend, the proprietor of the George; John Barberie, Francis Harrison and Cadwalader Colden, the surveyor-general, he who later writ "The History of the Five Indian Nations," and who made himself remarkably acquainted with the history of provincial relations with the savages.

"So! Humph!"

The governor laid down the covering letter which accompanied the detailed report of the operations of Murray in London.

"You are Master——"

He examined the letter again.

"Humph! Yes."

His keen eyes deliberately scanned my face.

"I see. Better——"

He turned from me to his councilors.

"It is apparent from what Master Juggins has writ that Murray has triumphed, gentlemen, even if not so absolutely as he would have our citizens believe. However, we know the worst, and we may prepare for it. If I may have your indulgence, I would crave an adjournment of our meeting to enable me to discuss some aspects of the situation more intimately with Master Juggins' messenger."

There was a murmur of assent, followed by a scraping of chairs and fluttering of papers as the meeting broke up.

"One moment, your Excellency," I interposed. "I have also a letter from Master Juggins for the Honorable Cadwalader Colden of your Council—if he is here."

"Indeed, he is," assented the governor. "A moment, if you please, Colden."

A thin, bustling man, with very bright black eyes and a dark complexion, who had been sitting at the governor's right hand, detached himself from the exodus and resumed his chair. His nervous fingers quickly tore loose the envelope of the letter I handed him, and he began devouring its contents, regardless of the confusion around him.

"Until tomorrow, gentlemen!"

The governor bowed the Council out, and shut the door upon the last of them. He beckoned me forward.

"Sit here beside us, Master Ormerod—for so I see you are rightly named, although you traveled under Master Juggins' name. Master Juggins vouches for you. That is sufficient for me. What say you, Colden?"

"Quite sufficient," agreed the surveyor-general. "Do you wish me to remain, sir?"

"Certainly. Glad to have you. This is no matter to be manhandled by the whole Council; but zooks, a man must have advice now and then, whether he takes it or not! Now, Master Ormerod, do you tell us as fully as you may what you know of Murray.

"Begin at the beginning. Spare nothing. Tell us how you yourself came into this.

"Master Juggins hath slated you for a prominent part. I respect his judgment, but more than our immediate fortune hinges upon the issue of what we do, and I must know all."

The while he was talking he walked to the fireplace, selected a clay pipe, walked back to his chair, crammed the pipe with tobacco and cracked flint and steel to a slow-match of wadding, with which he lighted it. Colden sat low down in his chair, finger-tips joined, drinking in everything which was said. He was like a vigilant terrier in his watchful eagerness.

I recounted the circumstances of my meeting with Juggins, the hearing before the Lords of Trade and the incidents of the voyage, not forgetting Tom's assault upon me and the strange bargain I had made with Murray.

"Then are you safe from denunciation," broke in the governor. "We think little of Hanoverian or Jacobite in New York. Here, Master Ormerod, you will find only Englishmen laboring to wrest a living from the wilderness and to extend their country's power and richness. What you were matters little. 'Tis what you are we judge you by.

"The bargain was typical of Murray. He is no ordinary villain. Already he hath persuaded the discontented elements in the province that I would take the bread from their mouths by stopping his trade. But he knows well that I would leap upon the excuse to lay him by the heels, and he will see to it that no suspicion of your past escapes."

"He threatened me with the Red Death this morning," I said. "Can you tell me what he meant by it?"

The governor and Colden exchanged significant glances.

"Bolling hath been in the town this week past," remarked the latter.

"I saw him on my way here," I said. "Ah, then, 'tis——"

"'Tis a saying of the frontier," explained the governor. "They call this red-headed Bolling and Murray's negro, Tom, the Red and the Black Deaths, for Murray is charged with having used them to remove from his path those persons he considers dangerous or whom he honors with his dislike."

"In the crowd attending Murray I also heard talk of the Doom Trail," I continued.

Governor Burnet smiled grimly.

"That is the popular name for the route by which Murray smuggles his trade-goods to Canada."

"But why the name, your Excellency?"

"Because 'tis said to be the sealing of a man's doom if he seeks the trail or any information concerning it. Is not that the story, Colden?"

"'Tis a story which hath more than legend to substantiate it," agreed the surveyor-general.

"Has the traffic been suspended during Murray's absence?" I asked.

"No," replied the governor. "Bolling and Black Robe have kept it in motion."

"And who is Black Robe?"

The governor laughed outright.

"You are red-hot for dangerous information, Master Ormerod. Black Robe is the Indian's name for one Père Hyacinthe, a Jesuit missionary, who, according to some of the tales our agents bring, shares with Murray the credit for conception of the conspiracy we are debating.

"But where Murray plots for the overthrow of English rule in America in order to bring back the Jacobites and enrich himself, Black Robe's ambition is to establish France as the supreme temporal power in the world and to extend the influence of the Pope by making his religion universal on this continent as it is in South America."

"Sometimes I almost doubted the plot could be so formidable as Juggins claimed," I said; "but——"

"Master Ormerod," returned the governor earnestly, "it is the most formidable blow which ever was aimed at us. It is formidable because it is based on a clever idea, upon a sound conception of the economic situation, and because it is prepared in secret and those who should be alive to the alarms we have sounded not only refuse to heed us, but would stop our mouths, so that we may not any more annoy them.

"Today, thanks to the law I had passed, which the Lords of Trade have now suspended, trade-goods in Montreal cost twice what they do at Albany. And this, mind you, despite the secret trade which Murray plies. Without that aid the French would never be able to meet our competition."

"Where do Black Robe and Murray make their headquarters?" I inquired.

"Murray spends part of his time here in New York or in Albany, but most of the year he is absent. He says he is on trading-expeditions—and we may not disprove it. But we think he stays at a station which is said to form a depot for the stores smuggled over the Doom Trail. Black Robe is reported to have a chapel there."

"'Tis called La Vierge du Bois," added Colden.

"And where is it!"

"If I knew, I should order a levy of the militia and burn it down at risk of my head," retorted the governor.

"But you must have some idea where it is?" I pressed incredulously.

Governor Burnet put down his pipe and unrolled a large scroll map which lay amongst the papers on the table.

"You forget that you have left the Old World of limited spaces behind you," he replied. "This province over which I rule is greater than all Britain—how much greater not even our surveyor-general, who knows more than any other man, can say."

He spread the map before me, and I gazed with fascination at the courses of unknown rivers, chains of untraversed mountains, broad savannas the foot of the white man had seldom trod, lakes like seas and immense blank spaces without even a mark upon them to denote their character.

"This is New York, Master Ormerod. Our settlements are confined to the coast districts, the island of Nassau[3]—" he motioned toward the window—"and the valley of Hudson's River. We have barely begun the task of colonization. There is room here for every soul in England—and to spare."

With his pipe-stem he pointed to the upper left corner.

"All this country is virgin forest. On the north and northwest 'tis bounded by the inland sea which we call Lake Cadaraqui;[4] to the southeast stretch the Adirondack Mountains. Somewhere between those boundaries runs the Doom Trail. There are thousands of square miles of wilderness to search for it."

"And the Keepers of the Trail to guard its mystery," put in Colden.

"Who are they?" I questioned, as anxious as a small boy for further details.

"The Ho-nun-ne-gwen-ne-yuh," he repeated. "So far as we know, Master Ormerod—and we know only what our agents have been able to learn at second and third hand—they are bands of mercenaries, Cahnuagas, Adirondacks and Shawendadies, all renegades of the Iroquois, who are retained by Murray to protect the Trail.

"They roam that belt of forest you saw depicted on the map, and 'tis death for them to find any man, white or red, within it, save he bears Murray's sign manual. The Indians are a superstitious people, and they have come to believe that there is some supernatural agency behind the Keepers of the Trail. In plain English, they fear the Trail is haunted."

"By what?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You would have to make a more profound study of their folk-lore than I have been able to in order to comprehend the precise gist of their belief. But they tell us that the False Faces, a race of demons from the underworld, to whom Murray has sold his soul, have rallied to his aid."

"Ridiculous!" I exclaimed.

"No doubt," assented the surveyor-general; "but the superstition is a factor in the problem."

"At every turn we run against the shrewdness and wit of this fellow Murray," exploded the governor. "'Tis at once a tribute to his ability, and perhaps an index to our inferiority, that we have never been able to secure certain information of his operations."

"'Tis evident, your Excellency," I ventured, "that the Lords of Trade will accept only positive evidence that he hath evaded the law."

"That means legal proof of smuggling," reflected the governor.

"And now that the Lords of Trade have suspended our law, his operations are no longer illegal, strictly speaking," said Colden. "But I make no doubt he will continue to handle the bulk of his goods over the Doom Trail, for he will not care to have his dupes in the province realize the enormous tribute they pay to France through him."

"The suspension of the law may well be permanent," I suggested. "'Twas Master Juggins' conviction that Murray would scatter bribes right and left, at home and in London, to win his point. And he hath the French Treasury to draw upon."

Governor Burnet brought his fist down upon the table with a thud.

"Gadslife!" he swore. "There is naught for it but war! We must be after the dog! We must run him down! He hath Government at his orders. If he continues much longer as he doth today he may secure a petition to his majesty for my recall."

He sank back in his chair and stared reflectively at the map which was still spread out between us.

"It shall be done, gentlemen," he said more quietly after an interval of several minutes. "But we must move unofficially. What say you, Colden!"

"We can do nothing with official support," rejoined the surveyor-general, "and 'tis probable we shall receive the instructions of the Lords of Trade to suspend the law by the next Bristol packet."

"There can be no question of that," agreed the governor. "Well, the law shall be suspended. I will have the suspension publicly proclaimed. We will affect to mourn deeply over it. Aye, that is the course to pursue. Murray will grow bolder with his success, and we must put him off his guard."

He turned the pages of Juggins' letter.

"Then under cover we must concert the measures to be taken. That will be for Master Ormerod. Do you still crave the opportunity, knowing now the full measure of its perils, sir!"

"I am more anxious, if possible, sir," I answered. "Master Juggins was good enough to think I had the qualities for the venture. As you will have read, I have spent some years at Versailles and St. Germain. I speak French sufficiently well to pass on the frontier for a Frenchman. As for danger—why, your Excellency, the man who has ruined his life can have no fear for it. He has all to gain and nothing to lose."

"True," assented the governor. "But you know nothing of woodcraft or the life amongst the savages."

"Master Juggins gave me a letter to one Peter Corlaer, a——"

Colden sat suddenly erect.

"Corlaer is now in the kitchen!" he exclaimed.

He turned to the governor.

"Peter came this morning with the Seneca chief, if your Excellency will remember."

"So he did. We will have him in."

Colden went out, and returned at once with two companions. One I recognized, to my amazement, as the Indian I had befriended an hour or two earlier. He greeted me with a faint smile. To the governor he rendered the splendid arm-high salute, and his deep voice boomed out—

"Qua, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go!"[5]

The other man was more like a tavern-keeper than a woodsman. Of a naturally large stature, he looked even larger than he was by reason of the fleshiness of his hogshead of a body.

At first glance he seemed all paunch, but when you studied him closely you saw that his fat was firm and hard and formed a sheathing for the most powerful set of muscles any man ever had. His face was tremendous, with little, insignificant features; but his eyes, behind the rolls of fat which almost masked them, twinkled with constant interest and animation, belying the air of stolid stupidity he affected.

"This is Corlaer, Master Ormerod," said the governor. "And with him is come a friend of ours, one of the two war-chiefs of the Six Nations. Peter, Master Ormerod hath a letter for you from Master Juggins in London."

"Ja," he said vacantly.

I handed him the letter. He turned it over and over in his hand and picked at the seal. Then he handed it to the Indian.

"You read idt," he said.

X THE RED DEATH

I looked from one to the other with astonishment; but 'twas the governor who intervened.

"Your pardon, Peter," he said good-humoredly enough, "but that letter happens to deal with a most confidential subject."

"Oh, ja," said Corlaer indifferently. "But I do not readt."

"Take the letter, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go," said the Indian. "Ta-wan-ne-ars does not seek your secrets. But you need have no fears. This young Englishman is Ta-wan-ne-ars' friend."

"How! What is that?" exclaimed the governor, much perplexed. "You know Master Ormerod?"

"Ta-wan-ne-ars knows not the Englishman's name," replied the Indian with his grave smile; "but he knows the Englishman's heart."

And in his sonorous English, with a slightly guttural intonation, he recounted how I had rescued him from his childish persecutors.

The incident recalled my promise, and I broke in impetuously upon his closing words.

"Aye, your Excellency, but he hath forgotten to add that I pledged myself to beseech you to make it illegal to mock at Indians in the city streets."

"An excellent thought," approved Colden. "We have trouble enough winning the friendship of the tribes without subjecting the visiting chiefs to humiliation in our midst."

"It shall be done at once," declared the governor.

He drew forward a fresh sheet of paper and hurriedly scrawled upon it the necessary instructions, then rang a bell and to the negro who answered said:

"Zach, do you carry this at once to Rollins the Bellman and bid him proclaim it through the streets at dusk upon his lights-round, and also at every general proclamation."

He returned his attention to the Indian.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars," he continued, "I need your friendship. I need the friendship of every one of your people for our King."

"Why," interposed the Indian, "has Go-weh-go-wa[1] become involved in war with some other king?"

"Not in a war with knife and tomahawk," answered the governor, "but in a secret struggle, wherein some of his own subjects are endeavoring to stab him in the back."

The Seneca drew himself erect.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars is your friend, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go. He is not the friend of Onontio[2] who rules at Quebec. Most of the white people are not well-wishers to the Indian, but you are of those we count our friends. I am come here with Corlaer to prove my friendship."

"How is that?" asked the governor with interest.

Colden and I leaned forward. Corlaer stood by the table in precisely the same position he had assumed when he gave the letter to the Indian. He had not moved a muscle. In his face only his little eyes, behind their ramparts of flesh, stirred with the animation of life.

"On the frontier 'tis said that Joncaire, the Frenchman who governs the trading-post by the Falls of Jagara,[3] is about to begin the building of a stone fort."

"A fort!" protested the governor. "Sure, 'tis impossible! 'Twould be a direct violation of the Peace of Utrecht."

"Why, we are still in negotiation with Paris over Joncaire's defiance of the treaty in establishing a trading-post upon ground allotted to us," cried Colden.

"Idt is true," spoke up Corlaer.

His voice was high and squeaky, and sounded ridiculous coming from such a giant.

"Hath the building begun?" demanded the governor.

"I think nodt. Ta-wan-ne-ars broughdt me der wordt at Onondaga. We comedt to you as fast as we couldt."

"Ta-wan-ne-ars came because it was partly the fault of his people that the French are settled by Jagara," said the Indian.

"Yes," replied the governor. "Onontio and Joncaire first made the Oneidas drunk, and then bargained with them to sell the Senecas' land."

"They had no right to do so," assented Ta-wan-ne-ars somberly. "But now will you believe that Ta-wan-ne-ars is your friend?"

"I believe," said the governor. "But I pray you tell me why you feel for us this friendship! When I came to New York to govern the province my predecessor told me that the experiment of having you educated by the missionaries had failed, that you had returned to the forest, closer wedded than ever to Indian ways."

The Indian's face lighted up again with that grave smile which showed itself with scarcely a contraction of the muscles.

"Yes, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, it failed to win Ta-wan-ne-ars from the ways of his people. Those ways are best for the Indian. You can not take a people like mine, who have lived in the wilderness as long as they can remember, and remake them in a few years so that they can live like white men.

"Once, your histories say, your people lived like mine. Well, I think it will take as long to bring the red man to your present ways as it has taken yourselves to reach them.

"But Ta-wan-ne-ars learned that of the two white races the English were the kindest to the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.[4] The French always have persecuted us. They try by most subtle means to convert us to their religion, which is not any better than our own religion. The English come to us bluntly and say, 'Be Christians,' and if we do not wish to be they let us alone.

"The French always have fought with us. The English have aided us. The French pay little for our furs; the English pay much.

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, I think the white man can never be an honest friend to the Indian, for he wants what the Indian has; but Ta-wan-ne-ars prefers the Englishman to the Frenchman, whatever may be the issue.

"Na-ho!"[5]

I can give no adequate conception of the impressiveness with which this speech was delivered by a savage speaking in a tongue strange to him. Every word rang in my ears.

"Who is this man?" I whispered to Colden as he finished.

"He is one of the two war-chiefs of the Iroquois League, both of whom are Senecas. His name, which signifies 'Needle-Breaker,' is actually a form of title which goes with the office. Moreover, he is nephew to the Roy-an-eh Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, who is Guardian of the Western Door of the Long House."

"He is what is called a sachem?" I asked curiously.

"There is no such title in use amongst the People of the Long House," replied the learned surveyor-general. "'Tis an Algonquin word, I believe. The Iroquois equivalent is roy-an-eh, the title I gave to the uncle of Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"But our friend here has no such rank. The roy-an-ehs are hereditary nobles, the title descending by the female line and generally from uncle to nephew. 'Tis quite possible, of course, that Ta-wan-ne-ars will succeed his uncle in due course. Indeed, the fact that he hath been named principal war-chief of the League, with the charge of guarding the Western Door, would almost indicate as much.

"He was taken as a youth and given to the missionaries—with the result that you see."

He broke off, for the governor was addressing me.

"Have you any objection, Master Ormerod, to my acquainting the chief and Corlaer with what we have been discussing?"

I shook my head.

"Very well."

He turned to the Indian.

"The letter which you hold in your hand, Ta-wan-ne-ars, is from Master Robert Juggins, of London, who was some time in the province when you were a lad."

"I remember Master Juggins," interrupted Ta-wan-ne-ars. "He sent me my first musket. Is this Englishman his friend?"

"Yes," said the governor. "He comes direct from Master Juggins, recommended to me for use in the plight I find myself in."

"I will help the Englishman," agreed Ta-wan-ne-ars eagerly.

He smiled at me.

"This Englishman is honest. He is kind. If he fights, I will aid him."

"Do you see?" whispered Colden in my ear. "You have saved an Indian from ridicule. In his estimation that is a greater service than rescue from the stake."

"But you know nothing of the cause I am enlisting you in," protested the governor.

"That matters little," said Ta-wan-ne-ars composedly. "If you and this Englishman and Colden are in it, it is an honest cause. What say you, Corlaer?"

"It vill pe goodt enough for me," declared the Dutchman solemnly.

The governor laughed.

"My friends and I do thank you for the compliment you do us, Ta-wan-ne-ars. But I must lay our case before you, for we seek your counsel. Do you know that Andrew Murray is landed today and that he hath secured the consent of the Lords of Trade in London to the suspension of our law against the exporting of trade-goods to Canada?"

Both the Indian and Corlaer were startled from their customary stoical attitudes.

"Yes," continued the governor, "Murray landed this morning, together with a French officer, the Chevalier de Veulle, who——"

He stopped at sight of the passion in the Seneca's face. But 'twas Corlaer who spoke first.

"That is fery stranche news, gofenor, for on der frontier there is talk that an enfoy is coming to deliver a message to der tribes at Jagara from der King of France. Joncaire is calling a grandt council to meetd in der Summer. All der Indians from beyondt der Lakes and der West vill come."

"Strange news!" repeated the governor. "You may well say so! Murray overrides our law; Joncaire sets out to build a stone fort upon our soil at Jagara; the French King sends an officer, experienced on the frontier, with a special message for a grand council of the tribes.

"All these three events come simultaneously. 'Tis impossible that accident so disposed them. Here we have the first indication of the culmination of the plot. Aye, 'tis graver than I had supposed."

Ta-wan-ne-ars laid down the unopened letter from Juggins upon the table.

"Let some other read this," he said. "But it serves no purpose. This Englishman and Ta-wan-ne-ars are brothers. Corlaer, too, will take the Englishman into his friendship—not because he carried this writing across the sea, but because he is a man to be trusted. So much is to be read in his face. And now, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, I would ask that Ta-wan-ne-ars may retire. What you have told me has clouded my heart with hatred, and I may not think straight."

His right arm swept up in the gesture of farewell, and the door closed upon his bronzed back.

"What hath happened to irk him so?" inquired the governor in surprize.

"Idt was this de Veulle who ran away with der dotter of his uncle, Do-ne-ho-ga-weh," replied Corlaer, stirred again from his habitual silence.

"I remember," interposed Colden. "'Twas some four years ago. I remember having seen the maid at a council at Albany. She was called Ga-ha-no,[6] a pretty child and wondrous dainty for an Indian."

Corlaer seemed to ponder momentarily.

"I haf been many years with der Indians, gofenor; but nefer didt I see redt people lofe as we do. They know not what passion is. But Ta-wan-ne-ars was different. If he learnedt nothing else from her missionaries he learnedt to lofe der white man's way."

"'Tis a sad story," commented the governor. "Is it certain de Veulle took her?"

"He didt not take her. She ran away with him."

"The chief will not attempt to take revenge here?"

Corlaer smiled.

"He will wait many years, if he must, to refenge himself in his own way."

"I wonder what became of her," I said. "'Tis only some three years since de Veulle appeared in Paris."

Corlaer shrugged his shoulders.

"Suppose you findt der Doom Trail andt come to La Vierge du Bois. Maybe then you know."

"That is exactly what we wish to do, Corlaer!" exclaimed the Governor.

"You don't want much, gofernor," replied the big man dryly.

"Do you think it can not be done?"

Corlaer reflected, ponderous as a sleepy moose.

"Idt has not been done."

"Does that necessarily mean it never will be done?"

"No, but——"

"But what?"

"It will take much time andt money—andt then all depends upon der Indians."

"What Indians?"

The governor was extremely patient with the mental processes of the frontiersman.

"Der Six Nations."

"Why do you specify them?"

Again Corlaer was buried in thought. And I saw that his eyes, which ordinarily twinkled, now smoldered with a slow-burning fire.

"If we findt der Trail, gofernor, what then? We haf der Keepers. They are a strong bandt. We must fight them. You can not sendt soldiers. That wouldt be war. We must fight them with Indians. Andt what Indians couldt you get but der Iroquois?"

"Can we get the Iroquois?"

"I do not know," confessed Corlaer. "But if you get them, you smash der Trail."

"I see," said the governor. "Yes, there is every reason why the Iroquois should join us. Look you, Corlaer, this is the obvious plan of the French. With Murray's aid they will cram their magazines with trade-goods this Summer. They will make an impressive showing for the tribes that attend Joncaire's council. They will push ahead the building of the fort at Jagara. Once that is finished, they will have a curb on the necks of the Iroquois. They will be able to hold up the fleets of fur canoes from the Upper Lakes that now pass down to our post at Oswego on the Onondaga's River. In two seasons they will have wrested the trade entirely from our hands, and then if they are ready they can strike with musket and scalping-knife.

"And who, think you, will bear the brunt of the first blow? Who but the Iroquois, whom the French have dreaded since Champlain's day?"

"True, only too true," murmured Colden.

"Yes," assented Corlaer; "you haf der right of it, gofernor. What is your plan?"

"I shall send this young man"—he laid his hand on my arm—"with you and Ta-wan-ne-ars to spy out the ground at Jagara, to search the wilderness for signs of the Trail, to work upon the Iroquois in our interest. Master Ormerod knows naught of forest warfare, but he hath had experience with the French and he knows de Veulle of old."

"When do we start?" replied Corlaer simply.

"So soon as may be. I must see Ta-wan-ne-ars again and concert certain matters with Master Ormerod. But within the week you must leave for Albany. You need spare no expense, Peter. My own funds are pledged to this, and Master Juggins, too, is offering his aid."

Corlaer deliberately donned his cap of fur.

"It will not be money, but friendship andt hate will serfe your turn, gofernor," he said.

"You have not yet read the letter from Juggins," I reminded him as he walked toward the door.

"So I haf not," he admitted, and took the letter from me and slipped it inside his leather shirt.

"Will you have it read?" asked Colden.

"No, der young man is all right. Ta-wan-ne-ars has chudged him."

With that he was gone, and a sense of bewilderment stole over me. It seemed incredible that either of the two odd characters of the wilderness with whom I had talked could really have existed.

But Governor Burnet lost no time in doubts. He paced the room, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction.

"We have done well, Colden. We could not have done better. Master Ormerod, you were indeed fortunate in going to the help of the Seneca. You earned, not only his friendship, but that of Peter as well. No letter from Juggins could have served you so handily. Peter hath the mind of an Indian for all his white face, and he looks at things as they do. He likes you."

"I can scarce believe in my good fortune," I replied. "'Tis a change for the better, and a marked one, believe me, your Excellency."

"You are to be congratulated," he returned heartily. "But I must ask you to excuse me. I have much work to do. Pray grant me the pleasure of your company for dinner tomorrow. Colden, will you show Master Ormerod out?"

It was dusk in the streets, a soft purple dusk that became velvet darkness under the trees; and I felt in no humor to return to the drab company which the tavern offered. I was lifted out of myself by a mood of exaltation. After years which had been starred With humiliation, penury, discontent, I saw opening before me the golden path of adventure.

I drank in the tree smells and the odor of the ground underfoot, and longed for the great forests I had traced on the governor's map. And so I wandered at hazard until I found myself in an alley leading down to the waterfront—and heard of a sudden the thud of flying feet. I spun around in time to see a monstrous bulk come sailing through the air, knife and tomahawk whirling in either hand.

"I'll kill yer, varmint," howled an ugly voice. "I'll cut yer heart out and skin yer and take yer scalp!"

I dodged the knife and grappled the wrist which swung the tomahawk, twisting myself behind him so as to hinder his attack. But he was far stronger than I and slung me back in front of him as if I were a sack of chaffed wheat. I still clung to his tomahawk hand and contrived to knock up another blow of his knife, but he must have disemboweled me in the next vicious sweep of the blade.

"Hah-yah-yah-eeee-eee-ee-e!"

The ferocious yell made my blood run cold. It startled my assailant even more. His muscles slackened just long enough for me to leap clear of him.

"——!" he snarled.

He drew one arm back to hurl his knife at me, but something whirred past my shoulder and his head jerked violently to one side. There was a sharp clang, and he fled precipitately, shouting curses.

Against the near-by house-wall a small, bright object glimmered through the shadows, and I stooped to snatch it up—only to leap instantly erect as a voice spoke at my elbow.

"My brother was in danger," said the voice quietly. "Ta-wan-ne-ars saw the Red Death follow Ormerod from the Governor's House, so Ta-wan-ne-ars followed him."

The tall figure of the Seneca was scarcely discernible in the gloom.

"Was it Bolling?" I asked.

He raised the shining object from the ground. It was his tomahawk, and curled about the blade was a lock of greasy red hair. He pointed to it.

"That time Ta-wan-ne-ars missed," he said grimly. "Some day the light will be better—and Ta-wan-ne-ars will not miss."

"Although you missed, you saved my life," I answered warmly. "'Tis an obligation I shall not forget."

He laid his fingers to his lips.

"Hark," he said.

I listened, and from the water-front came the thunderous voice of the bellman.

"Half-after-eight-o'clock, and a fine night with a south-west breeze. And all householders are cautioned they shall set out their lanthorns, and if any nightwalker shall injure the same he shall be fined twenty pounds for each offense and jailed in the Bridewell.

"And his Excellency the governor is pleased to proclaim that whereas divers persons have mocked, assailed or sought to humiliate Indian visitors to the city, the governor has made a rule that such persons, upon apprehension, shall be set in the stocks for twelve hours the first time and upon the second offense shall be publicly whipped at the cart's tail along the Broad-Way."

Ta-wan-ne-ars replaced his tomahawk in its sheath.

"There is no talk of obligations between brothers," he said. "Come, we will walk together to your tavern."

XI TA-WAN-NE-ARS UNDERSTANDS

"No, we will go to Murray's tavern," I said. "I will ask him if he thinks he can commit assassination here in the town as he does in the forest."

"Good," rejoined Ta-wan-ne-ars impassively. "I will accompany my brother there."

I remembered that de Veulle lodged at Cawston's, and hesitated.

"Let my brother Ormerod be at ease," added the Indian. "Ta-wan-ne-ars has mastered his hatred."

"Very well," I replied. "I shall be glad of your company, but we must not be tempted to violence. There are reasons for my meekness."

"It would not be courteous for Ta-wan-ne-ars to slay his enemy in New York when he is the guest of Ga-en-gwa-ra-go," returned the Seneca as he walked lightly beside me.

"I, too, hate your enemy," I said.

He was silent for as much as ten paces.

"My brother means de Veulle?" he asked.

"Yes; I once crossed swords with him."

"And he lives! Did he wound my brother?"

I recounted briefly the circumstances of the duel at the Toison d'Or. He made no comment until I had finished.

"I am glad my brother spared him," he said then. "For Ta-wan-ne-ars has often prayed to Ha-wen-ne-yu, the Great Spirit, to give him the life of this man who lives as though he were one of the fiends of the Ga-go-sa.[1]

"It is a bond between us that we have the same enemy. We did not need such a bond, Ormerod, but it is a proof that we were meant to be brothers."

At the next corner we met the bellman, trotting heavily.