way clear."

At that they would give back grudgingly with a chorus of grunts, only to
close in again as tightly as before. But they came to have a wholesome
regard for the sun-browned man with the red hair who guarded the
Colonel's privacy. The boy who sat on the door-step, the son of the
great Pale Face Chief (as they called me), was a never ending source of
comment among them. Once Colonel Clark sent for me. The little front
room of this house was not unlike the one we had occupied at Kaskaskia.
It had bare walls, a plain table and chairs, and a crucifix in the
corner. It served as dining room, parlor, bedroom, for there was a
pallet too. Now the table was covered with parchments and papers, and
beside Colonel Clark sat a grave gentleman of about his own age. As I
came into the room Colonel Clark relaxed, turned toward this gentleman,
and said:--

"Monsieur Gratiot, behold my commissary-general, my strategist, my
financier." And Monsieur Gratiot smiled. He struck me as a man who
never let himself go sufficiently to laugh.

"Ah," he said, "Vigo has told me how he settled the question of paper
money. He might do something for the Congress in the East."

"Davy is a Scotchman, like John Law," said the Colonel, "and he is a
master at perceiving a man's character and business.

"What would you call me, at a venture, Davy?" asked Monsieur Gratiot.

He spoke excellent English, with only a slight accent.