would be, yes, more, how terrible it would be, to have such an
opportunity thrown in your way and know that you were too weak to seize
it."

His voice rose to some earnestness, but I was ashamed of my own
emotion, and so threw pebbles at the water and kept my mood cold. I
suspected that through all this random philosophizing I was being
probed,--probed by an Englishman who ate my rations, and wore a squaw's
dress. I grew angry.

"Who are you?" I demanded roughly. "Who are you, that you know of La
Salle and of his plans, and use the French speech. Can you, for once,
answer me fairly, or is there no sound core of honesty in you?"

He rose. But he replied, not to what I had said, but to what I had
thought. "It is true that I share your food and your escort, and that
I requite you but poorly. Yet I must remind you again, I share it
under compulsion. I cannot be entirely open with you,--are you open
with me?--but I will tell you all that it is necessary for you to know,
all that touches you in any way. I said that I was a colonist. It was
the truth, but I had been but a year in the Colonies at the time of my
capture. I was born in England, and I have passed some time in France.
As to La Salle, I know nothing of him save what any man might hear. Is
it strange that I should be interested in him now that I find myself
following in his steps? Why do you always see a double meaning in my
words, monsieur?"

I filled my pipe, and answered truthfully, "I do not know."

But here he began to laugh. "Monsieur, forgive me, but truly I forget