smiled at their weary task, their grunting and swearing; when they were
gone, smiled at the blankness of the road. All things pleased. There was
food for mirth in the call of a partridge, in the inquisitive gaze of a
squirrel, in the web of a spider gaoler to a gilded fly. There was food
for greater mirth in the appearance on the road of a solitary figure in a
wine-colored coat and bushy black peruke.

Haward sat up. "Ha, Monacan!" he cried, with a laugh, and threw a stick to
attract the man's attention.

Hugon turned, stood astare, then left the road and came down into the
dell.

"What fortune, trader?" smiled Haward. "Did your traps hold in the great
forest? Were your people easy to fool, giving twelve deerskins for an old
match-coat? There is charm in a woodsman life. Come, tell me of your
journeys, dangers, and escapes."

The half-breed looked down upon him with a twitching face. "What hinders
me from killing you now?" he demanded, with a backward look at the road.
"None may pass for many minutes."

Haward lay back upon the moss, with his hands locked beneath his head.
"What indeed?" he answered calmly. "Come, here is a velvet log, fit seat
for an emperor--or a sachem; sit and tell me of your life in the woods.
For peace pipe let me offer my snuffbox." In his mad humor he sat up
again, drew from his pocket, and presented with the most approved
flourish, his box of chased gold. "Monsieur, c'est le tabac pour le nez
d'un inonarque," he said lazily.