long ago, and there is no slur to the track, so that it was not going
fast. Had we but fetched my gun, we might have followed it, and brought
the old man back a side of venison."

"For God's sake get on your horse again!" cried De Catinat distractedly.
"I fear that some evil will come upon you ere I get you safe to the Rue
St. Martin again!"

"And what is wrong now?" asked Amos Green, swinging himself into the
saddle.

"Why, man, these woods are the king's preserves and you speak as coolly
of slaying his deer as though you were on the shores of Michigan!"

"Preserves! They are tame deer!" An expression of deep disgust passed
over his face, and spurring his horse, he galloped onwards at such a
pace that De Catinat, after vainly endeavouring to keep up, had to
shriek to him to stop.

"It is not usual in this country to ride so madly along the roads," he
panted.

"It is a very strange country," cried the stranger, in perplexity.
"Maybe it would be easier for me to remember what _is_ allowed. It was
but this morning that I took my gun to shoot a pigeon that was flying
over the roofs in yonder street, and old Pierre caught my arm with a
face as though it were the minister that I was aiming at. And then
there is that old man--why, they will not even let him say his prayers."

De Catinat laughed. "You will come to know our ways soon," said he.