Chapter VII. The Lone Voyager - Page 2

tone, speaking almost perfect English, "I do believe that if you had not appeared when you did I and my canoe should have both gone to the bottom of this very deep river. I am a fair swimmer, but I doubt if I could have gained the land."

"We are glad, father," said Paul respectfully, "that we had the privilege to be present and help at such a time."

The priest looked at Paul and smiled. He liked his refined and sensitive face and his correct language and accent.

"I should fancy, my young friend," he said, still smiling, "that the debt of gratitude is wholly mine. I am Pierre Montigny, and, as you perhaps surmise, a Frenchman and priest of the Holy Church, sent to the New World to convert and save the heathen. I belong to the mission at New Orleans, but I have been on a trip, to a tribe called the Osage, west of the Great River. Last night my canoe was damaged by the fierce storm and I started forth rather rashly this morning, not realizing the extent to which the canoe had suffered. You have seen and taken a part in the rest."

"You were going back to New Orleans alone, and in a little canoe?" said Paul.

"Oh, yes," replied Father Montigny, as if he were speaking of trifles. "I always go alone, and my canoe isn't so very little, as you see. I carry in it a change of clothing, provisions, and gifts for the Indians."

"But no arms," said Henry who had been looking into the canoe.

"No arms, of course," replied Father Montigny.

"You are a brave man! About the bravest I ever saw!" burst out Tom Ross, he of few words.

Father Montigny merely smiled again.

"Oh, no," he said, "I have many brethren who do likewise, and there are as many different kinds of bravery as there are different kinds of life. You, I fancy, are brave, too, though I take it from appearances that you sometimes fight with arms."

"We have to do it, Father Montigny," said Paul in an apologetic tone.

The priest made no further comment and, taking him to the shore, with much difficulty they built a fire, at which they prepared him warm food while he dried his clothing. They had no hesitation in telling him of their errand and of the presence of Alvarez and his force on the river. Father Montigny sighed.

"It is a matter of great regret," he said, "that Louisiana has passed from the hands of my nation into those of Spain. France is now allied with your colonies, but Spain holds aloof. She fears you and perhaps with reason. Every country, if its people be healthy and vigorous, must ultimately be owned by those who live upon it."

"Do you know this Alvarez?" asked Henry.

"Yes, a man of imperious and violent temper, one who, with all his courage, does not recognize