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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Yes, M'sieu. Brother de Lamberville brings glorious word from the Mohawks. Twenty-three complete conversions." "You say he brings this word?" Menard's brows came together. "Then he has come up to Montreal?" "Yes." "It is true, then, that the Iroquois have word of our plans?" "It would seem so. He said that a war party which started weeks ago for the Illinois country had been recalled.
She swept me across the passage like a whirlwind, opened the door, shoved me in, and banged it after me before I could collect my senses. The room was small; it was very well filled up by a bureau, a strong box, a table, two chairs, three soldiers, one innkeeper, and myself. The bureau stood by the window, with Maître Menard's account-books on it.
For a space it was hard going through the interwoven bushes and briers that tore even Menard's tough skin. The moon was in the sky, and here and there he caught glimpses of the lake lying still and bright. They saw no signs of life save for the flitting bats, and the owls that called weirdly through the reaches of the forest.
He walked slowly up and down under the great elms that arched far up over his head. At last he looked about for the Captain, and finding him some little way back in the woods, told him the story. Menard's face had aged during the day. His eyes had a dull firmness in place of the old flash.
On the wharf, awaiting a second trip, was a huddled group of prisoners. Menard's face clouded as he watched them. Men of his experience were wondering what effect this new plan of the Governor's would have upon the Iroquois. Capturing a hunting party by treachery and shipping them off to the King's galleys was a bold stroke, too bold, perhaps.
Colonel Menard's substantial slave cabins of logs and stone were in sight, and up the bluff near the house was a sort of donjon of stone, having only one door letting into its base. "That's where Colonel Menard puts his bad Indians," said Peggy Morrison, following Maria's glance. "It is simply a little fortress for times of danger," said Mademoiselle Saucier, laughing.
"No well, yes I started at Evansville, where I bought this boat, but I live up the Mississippi, at Kaskaskia Gage, they call it now." "Yes? I stopped at Menard's on my way down from St Louis." "When was that?" "About ten days ago tell you in a minute Monday a week!" A big quarto loose-leaf notebook had revealed the day and date.
And with a curious effort at stiffness he wandered off among the trees, and was soon out of Menard's sight. Menard walked slowly down to the fire, opened his pack, and spreading out his blanket, rolled himself in it with his feet close to the red embers. For a long time he lay awake.
If I could only get word to the Big Throat. I'm certain I could talk him over. I have done it before." Father Claude had never before seen despair in Menard's eyes. "You speak well, M'sieu. There must be some way. God is with us." The Captain was again pacing the beaten floor. Finally he came to the priest, and took his arm.
The sun hung low over the western woods when Menard, at the close of the second day, headed the canoe shoreward. The great river swept by with hardly a surface motion, dimpling and rippling under the last touch of the day breeze. Menard's eyes rested on Father Claude, as the canoe drew into the shadow of the trees.
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