surrender.

Juste Duvarney spoke only once, and then it was but the
rancorous word "Renegade!" nor did I speak at all; but Clark
was blasphemous, and Gabord, bleeding, fought with a sputtering
relish.

"Fair fight and fowl for spitting," he cried. "Go home to heaven,
dickey-bird."

Between phrases of this kind we cut and thrust for life, an odd
sort of fighting. I fought with a desperate alertness, and
presently my sword passed through his body, drew out, and he
shivered--fell--where he stood, collapsing suddenly like a bag. I
knelt beside him, and lifted up his head. His eyes were glazing
fast.

"Gabord! Gabord!" I called, grief-stricken, for that work was
the worst I ever did in this world.

He started, stared, and fumbled at his waistcoat. I quickly put
my hand in, and drew out--one of Mathilde's wooden crosses.

"To cheat--the devil--yet--aho!" he whispered, kissed the cross,
and so was done with life.

When I turned from him, Clark stood beside me. Dazed as I was, I
did not at first grasp the significance of that fact. I looked
towards the town, and saw the French army hustling into the St.
Louis Gate; saw the Highlanders charging the bushes at the