"Import a shipload of bad brandy, commandant," suggested the interpreter, with an evil grin. "That would spread a disease which might carry them off in a few generations."

"What say you?" exclaimed Roussilac. "Away, hunchbacked devil!"

But when Oskelano had gone to the quarters which had been prepared for him, and Gaudriole had followed with a grating laugh, Roussilac remained to pace the cliff and consider the evil thought. "'Tis a vile plan," he muttered. "Yet beasts are poisoned when they overrun the land. By St. Louis, it is a plan which might work."

That poor twisted freak of nature, Gaudriole, had lived formerly in the gutters of Paris by his wits and the predatory powers of his fingers, begging by day, stealing by night. Favoured by fortune beyond his deserts, he had continued to escape the great stone gallows which had been erected for the dismissal of vagabonds of his kind, and had finally escaped to the New World, there to fall speedily into the hands of the Indians. Having saved his life by the performance of some sleight-of-hand tricks, he robbed the tribe which had taken him captive and escaped that same night. For years he had lived among the natives, learning their language, adopting their manner of living, until he had made himself as much at home in the dense forests as in the slums of his native city. Indian braves and French soldiers alike stood in awe of him on account of his impish form and devilish ways. The governors of the forts found him useful because he brought them information. The free life suited the unprincipled dwarf, who was little better than an animal invested with a trick of reasoning; and he knew that, like an animal, he was liable to be hanged and his body thrown to the crows any day of his sinful life.

The cabaret in the Rue des Pecheurs was noisy that evening because the ship which had lately arrived from Ma.r.s.eilles had replenished Michel's casks. Soldiers were gaming behind the red curtain which half-blinded the single window, and fierce songs sounded under the cliff as Gaudriole shuffled down the pathway. The dwarf had not listened to the welcome noise of the tavern for many a month, and his crooked heart heated at the sound.

"Saints of G.o.d!" the high voice of La Salle sounded. "If it be true, as they say, that the devil lends favour to gamblers, then are you lost, brother, body and soul. Michel, an you sing that lewd song again---- A plague strike you drunkards! Have the streets of Ma.r.s.eilles no new song?"

"There is nothing new, my father," bawled a hoa.r.s.e voice. "His sacred Eminence holds all France as a man might contain in his hand an egg.

Only strong men, good fighters, be they priests or laymen, find favour in the Cardinal's eyes, and 'tis said, though with what truth I know not, that he sways his Holiness as the wind may play with a cornstalk.

Not a brick has been added to Ma.r.s.eilles this year past. The very ma.s.s-bread is mouldy, and the women are hags----"

"Peace, brute!" La Salle shouted. "Laroche, smite me yon babbler across his mouth."

Standing in the doorway, Gaudriole saw the fat priest heave, and aim a terrific blow at a half-drunken soldier whose head lolled against the wall. The dwarf shuffled forward with his malevolent laugh as the soldier lurched aside with an oath.

"The English are upon you, Messires!" he shouted with all his strength.

Instantly there arose indescribable confusion. Trestles and stools were flung aside, wine from overthrown goblets soaked black patterns into the earthen floor, as every soldier made for the outside, grasping his sword, or swearing because he could not find it. Out of the noise grated the laugh of the dwarf, who slunk against the log wall, rubbing his hairy hands.

"A jest! A jest!" screamed Ferraud of shrill voice, his waxen face regaining colour as he wagged his hand at the dwarf. "Masters, behold Gaudriole! Liar, hunchback, b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Were you used as you deserve you would hang from the roof-tree. Masters, come back. There are no English within a thousand miles."

"What found ye outside, my soldiers?" chuckled Gaudriole, as the men of Mars tumbled disorderedly into the cabaret. "There is the wind. The west wind, which the Indians say brings all that a man may wish for.

Comrades, did ye find the wind?"

His hideous figure doubled, and his laughter grated again.

"Buffoon of the pit!" cried Laroche, striding up and shaking the dwarf until his head rolled. "Would make a laughing-stock of his Majesty's brave men, deformed imp of darkness? Come forth now and sing to us.

Sing to us, I say, lest I beat your crooked shape into a lath."

Because Gaudriole was aware of his value he dared to play such pranks.

He was indeed a capably grotesque comedian, and formerly had garnered many a capful of sous at the corners of Paris by his antics, songs, and contortions. His pathetic shape had saved him from the punishment which often attended the tricks of less daring jesters; and it may be surmised that his malignant face and cross-seeing eyes not unfrequently repelled the would-be striker. Men were superst.i.tious in the days when the world was large.

"Some wine first," the hunchback panted, for the priest's arm was rough. "The ship moves not till she has wind in her sails. I have been a drinker of water these months, and my dreams have been red of wine. Ah, friend! may your beard grow golden, and curl even as your mistress would have it."

This to a singularly ugly soldier, with a flat, scarred face and stubbly black beard, who handed him a potful of wine.

"My beard becomes me well enough," the man growled, when a laugh went against him.

"Well, in faith. It grows out of your skin like bristles from a chimney-brush."

"Cease your gibes, hunchback, and to your capers. We grow thin for want of laughter in this accursed country," cried Laroche.

"What shall it be, Messires, a dance, a clever contortion, or a song--a song of fair ladies, such as one may see upon the streets of Paris, saving the presence of these most holy and renowned priests?" jeered Gaudriole, with his intolerable laugh.

"All. Give us all, buffoon, and invent somewhat for the occasion," the master of ceremonies ordered.

Not loth to practise his talents, Gaudriole took the centre of the floor. Voice, in a musical sense, he had none. The noise he made was little better than the screech of wind roaring through the hollow mouthpiece of some gargoyle of the roof-gutter. Every fresh contortion of his face was more hideous than the last, as he danced, shouted, and twisted bonelessly over the wine splashes on the ground, until he appeared to the spectators as some frightful creature of nightmare, presenting the evil scenes and actions of their past lives before their wide-opened eyes.

He concluded his vaudeville amid shouts of applause, in which La Salle alone took no part. The priest was disgusted at this exhibition of so much that was brutal, and he was disgusted with himself for remaining a listener and a watcher. He was, for those days, well-educated, and the spectacle of the little monster writhing and yelling before him repelled. It was Paris in truth that Gaudriole recalled; but not, for him, the Paris of the corners and byways, not the Paris of vagabonds and free-livers, but the city of the most brilliant court upon earth, the city of intrigue where Cardinal Richelieu spun his red web to entangle the feet of kings. The cabaret was but an interlude, a by-way of the path to power; but the priest realised, as he sat among the fools, that he had trodden the by-ways frequently and too well.

He left the tavern with its fumes of smoke and wine, and escaped into the cool, moist wind under the cliff, but a pair of cross-seeing eyes followed his departure, and Gaudriole wormed his way through a labyrinth of arms that would have detained him for more folly, and hopped loosely up the ascent of the crooked path.

"What would you, creature of sin?" demanded La Salle, when he perceived who it was that followed him.

"A word with you, holiness," panted the dwarf. "The woman Onawa sends you greeting and prays that you will meet her at the beginning of the forest where formerly she saw you by chance. She engages to show you where your enemy may be found. She waits for you now, most renowned."

"Dog!" exclaimed La Salle. "What have I to do with this woman? What enemy is it of whom she speaks? I have no enemy save Van Vuren, who lives now under the protection of the governor, and slinks at his heels like a frightened hound."

Gaudriole could never suppress the malignant grin which escaped from the ends of his slit mouth whenever he spoke.

"I but repeat the message as it was spoken. Think you that I dare betray a Frenchman, and that a most holy priest? An I wished to do so, the game would not be worth the candle. Gaudriole loves life as yonder crows love carrion."

"See you tell no man of this," the priest muttered, as he moved towards the cliff.

The way was rough, the breeze cold, as La Salle crossed the heights, turning once to see the flag beating over the fort and men creeping like midges about their tasks. He descended, and the swaying wall of forest broke the wind. The pale purple crocus pushed its furry hood from the short gra.s.s, the songless robins hopped before him, the smell of fresh water was in the air. The fighting priest felt strong as he breathed the wind.

Onawa flashed out of the brush and waved her bow to him.

"She has painted her face and looks forth ready for battle," said the priest. "A comely maid, by St. Louis. What a figure is there, and what freedom! She has a trick of moving her head which would make a fashion at court."

"Come!" Onawa called. "Hasten!"

She spoke in English, and hope revived in the heart of the priest.

"English. I show you," she cried. "I have waited a long time. It is growing late," she went on in her own tongue, hoping vainly that he might understand.

"I commit my body to this adventure," said La Salle. "If these be the English who captured the Dutch vessel and mocked us, the reward of discovery shall be mine. A ship sails for home next week. Tidings from the New World carry apace throughout Europe. The first step. Ha, it is the first step that gives confidence. The rest is easy."

He followed Onawa along a trail which bewildered with innumerable twistings, and after an hour's sharp walking they reached an untrodden bed of sage brush glistening upon the flats. Onawa picked up a faint thread, which was invisible to La Salle's eyes, and led him on through bush where the spikes of dead pines snagged his feet. Then came a cold ravine down the sides of which quaking asps drooped and moss spread thickly. More forest, growing every pace denser, until the girl stopped and motioned her companion to enter what appeared to be a hole made in the centre of a thicket. She held back the rough bushes to allow him to pa.s.s ahead. For a moment La Salle hesitated. He was human enough to know that his manliness had made an impression upon Onawa, but at the same time he feared treachery. The Iroquois were sworn foes of the French, and here was a daughter of the chief of the Cayugas abetting a Frenchman. He looked at the girl. She smiled brilliantly and made an impatient movement, and he advanced boldly into the cold thicket.

The ground shelved, and under the arched branches a spring freshet, scarcely seven feet in width, ran hurriedly into the unseen. A canoe rocked upon the water, held to the crooked root of a pine by a knotted willow. Onawa motioned him into this canoe, and when he had taken his place after sundry lurchings and difficulties, the girl stepped in, unfastened the twig, and struck her paddle into the water. The canoe swept away under the low branches.

"I would I had Laroche with me," said La Salle, watching the cold trees and the pale rocks approaching and receding.

"English," said Onawa softly from time to time. "I show you."

The trees went back and the rocks heightened. La Salle heard water rolling up a beach and the sweep of wind across an open surface. The freshet widened and grew more shallow; the keel of the canoe sc.r.a.ped across a ridge of silt. With a deft turn of her paddle Onawa shot the prow upon a sand bank, and signed to him to land.

She led him along a cliff path, across a flat, again into sage brush, and finally into more forest. They moved stealthily under cover, until the trees thinned, and willow scrub sprang thickly out of a grey soil.

At a certain spot the girl halted and motioned her companion to look forth.

La Salle saw the little settlement of New Windsor nestling in its enclosure, and needed no longer the information, "English," which the girl offered with a smile.

They lay in wait while the night grew upon them. La Salle watched when the bars of the palisade were removed and five men came forth, and marvelled to learn the weakness of the enemy. A bold scheme instantly suggested itself. He would engage the enemy single-handed upon their return, and wear them down one by one.