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He "took" him with a monstrous pile of logs on his brawny shoulder; he portrayed him resting for a moment in the midst of his toil; he even attempted to delineate him tumbling over one of the logs, and hurling a shoulder-load upon the ground; but he failed utterly in the last attempt, being quite destitute of comical perception, and he did not finally conclude until Gibault went forward and informed him that supper was ready.
In five minutes he had crossed, and entered into a hasty conversation with Gibault in low, eager tones, while pulling on his clothes. "First of all, lad," said Bounce, laying his hand impressively on the other's shoulder, "are they all safe? none killed?" "Non; dey be all alive, for certain." "I'm thankful for that very thankful.
A second or two more, and he was near enough to be heard uttering the word "buffaloes" in a hoarse whisper. "Ho! boy, wot is't?" cried Bounce in an equally hoarse whisper. "Ba buffaloes, hah! buffaloes," cried Gibault, panting violently as he came up; "Where be de leetle gun? He! Monsieur Bertram, out vid it." "Where saw ye them?" asked Redhand, seizing the two pistols, and examining the priming.
"What! my pistols," cried Bertram, seizing his weapons with as much delight as if they had been really serviceable. "Hah! ver' goot for play vid," observed Gibault contemptuously. "I say, here's something else," said Bounce, picking up a rifle. "Wah!" exclaimed Hawkswing, pointing to the weapon in surprise, and turning his eyes on Redhand. "Wot! d'ye know who it b'long'd to?" inquired Bounce.
Almost at the same time the priest Gibault volunteered to go, with a few of his compatriots, to Vincennes, and there endeavor to get the people to join the Americans, as being their natural friends and allies. Vol. The priest Gibault had given convincing proof of his loyalty.
Not long after this promise was made, a light bark canoe was launched upon the river, and into it stepped our hero, with his friend Bounce, and Big Waller, Black Gibault, Hawkswing, and Redhand, the trappers. A cheer rang from the end of the little wharf at Pine Point, as the frail craft shot out into the stream.
Hamilton, called the Hair Buyer, was upon them with no less than six hundred, and he would hang them to their own gateposts for listening to the Long Knives. These were but a handful after all was said. There was Father Gibault, for example. Father Gibault would doubtless be exposed to the crows in the belfry of his own church because he had busied himself at Vincennes and with other matters.
Gibault and Big Waller nodded their heads in testimony of their approval of the general scope of the remark; the latter even went the length of "guessing that it was a fact," and Redhand smiled. Hawkswing looked, if possible, graver than usual.
If it could be fixed beyond doubt the spot should have an imperishable monument of Indiana stone. When M, Roussillon ceased speaking the audience again exhausted its vocal resources; and then Father Gibault called upon each man to come forward and solemnly pledge his loyalty to the American cause. Not one of them hesitated.
I have often thought that we were all children then, and knew nothing of the ingratitude of republics. Monsieur Vigo took the money, and was all his life many, many thousand dollars the poorer. Father Gibault advanced his little store, and lived to feel the pangs of want. And Colonel Clark? But I must not go beyond the troubles of that summer, and the problems that vexed our commander.
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