"Davy, how you like to be trader?" asked Monsieur Vigo.

It was a new thought to me, and I turned it over in my mind. To see the
strange places of the world, and the stranger people; to become a man of
wealth and influence such as Monsieur Vigo; and (I fear I loved it best)
to match my brains with others at a bargain,--I turned it all over
slowly, gravely, in my boyish mind, rubbing the hard dirt on the floor
with the toe of my moccasin. And suddenly the thought came to me that I
was a traitor to my friends, a deserter from the little army that loved
me so well.

"Eh bien?" said Monsieur Vigo.

I shook my head, but in spite of me I felt the tears welling into my eyes
and brushed them away shamefully. At such times of stress some of my
paternal Scotch crept into my speech.

"I will no be leaving Colonel Clark and the boys," I cried, "not for all
the money in the world."

"Congress money?" said Monsieur Vigo, with a queer expression.

It was then I laughed through my tears, and that cemented the friendship
between us. It was a lifelong friendship, though I little suspected it
then.

In the days that followed he never met me on the street that he did not
stop to pass the time of day, and ask me if I had changed my mind. He
came every morning to headquarters, where he and Colonel Clark sat by the
hour with brows knit. Monsieur Vigo was as good as his word, and took