Part 7 (2/2)

At that the priest drew from his ca.s.sock a tiny packet, and Iberville, taking, opened it. It held a silver buckle tied by a velvet ribbon. A flush crept slowly up Iberville's face from his chin to his hair, then he sighed, and presently, out of all reason, laughed.

”Indeed, yes; it is mine,” he said. ”I very well remember when I found it.”

Here Perrot spoke. ”I very well remember, monsieur, when she took it from your doublet; but it was on a slipper then.”

Iberville did not answer, but held the buckle, rubbing it on his sleeve as though to brighten it. ”So much for the lady,” he said at last; ”what more?”

”I learned,” answered the abbe, ”that Monsieur Gering was in Boston, and that he was to go to Fort Albany at Hudson's Bay, where, on our territory, the English have set forts.”

Here Perrot spoke. ”Do you know, monsieur, who are the poachers? No? Eh?

No? Well, it is that Radisson.”

Iberville turned sharply upon Perrot. ”Are you sure of that?” he said.

”Are you sure, Nick?”

”As sure as I've a head. And I will tell you more: Radisson was with Bucklaw at the kidnapping. I had the pleasure to kill a fellow of Bucklaw, and he told me that before he died. He also told how Bucklaw went with Radisson to the Spaniards' country treasure-hunting. Ah!

there are many fools in the world. They did not get the treasure. They quarreled, and Radisson went to the far north, Bucklaw to the far south.

The treasure is where it was. Eh bien, such is the way of a.s.ses.”

Iberville was about to speak.

”But wait,” said Perrot, with a slow, tantalising smile; ”it is not wise to hurry. I have a mind to know; so while I am at New York I go to Boston. It makes a man's mind great to travel. I have been east to Boston; I have been west beyond the Ottawa and the Michilimackinac, out to the Mississippi. Yes. Well, what did I find in Boston? Peste! I found that they were all like men in purgatory--sober and grave. Truly. And so dull! Never a saint-day, never a feast, never a grand council when the wine, the rum, flow so free, and you shall eat till you choke. Nothing.

Everything is stupid; they do not smile. And so the Indians make war!

Well, I have found this. There is a great man from the Kennebec called William Phips. He has traded in the Indies. Once while he was there he heard of that treasure. Ha! ha! There have been so many fools on that trail. The governor of New York was a fool when Bucklaw played his game; he would have been a greater if he had gone with Bucklaw.”

Here Iberville would have spoken, but Perrot waved his hand. ”De grace, a minute only. Monsieur Gering, the brave English lieutenant, is at Hudson's Bay, and next summer he will go with the great William Phips--Tonnerre, what a name--William Phips! Like a pot of herring! He will go with him after the same old treasure. Boston is a big place, but I hear these things.”

Usually a man of few words, Perrot had bursts of eloquence, and this was one of them. But having made his speech, he settled back to his tobacco and into the orator's earned repose.

Iberville looked up from the fire and said: ”Perrot, you saw her in New York. What speech was there between you?”

Perrot's eyes twinkled. ”There was not much said.

”I put myself in her way. When she saw me her cheek came like a peach-blossom. 'A very good morning, ma'm'selle,' said I, in English.

She smiled and said the same. 'And your master, where is he?' she asked with a fine smile. 'My friend Monsieur Iberville?' I said; 'ah! he will be in Quebec soon.' Then I told her of the abbe, and she took from a chain a little medallion and gave it me in memory of the time we saved her. And before I could say Thank you, she had gone--Well, that is all--except this.”

He drew from his breast a chain of silver, from which hung the gold medallion, and shook his head at it with good-humour. But presently a hard look came on his face, and he was changed from the cheerful woodsman into the chief of bushrangers. Iberville read the look, and presently said:

”Perrot, men have fought for less than gold from a woman's chain and a buckle from her shoe.”

”I have fought from Trois Pistoles to Michilimackinac for the toss of a louis-d'or.”

”As you say. Well, what think you--”

He paused, rose, walked up and down the room, caught his moustache between his teeth once or twice, and seemed buried in thought. Once or twice he was about to speak, but changed his mind. He was calculating many things: planning, counting chances, marshalling his resources.

<script>