“Then you are the man for me. Come. They have piled up the freight here on the wharf. I am a lucky fellow to meet you. I feel quite strange after my long absence. I suppose the old storehouse has not burned down? It could not well be robbed,” and Monsieur Denys laughed with gay indifference.
“When a man has only the coat on his back he need not be afraid of thieves.”
“Unless he fall among Indians.”
“Ah, bah! yes,” with a comical shrug. “And sometimes they take his skin.”
There were bales strapped up, with thongs of hide over the coarse covering; some sacks made of hide; several boxes bound about with bands of iron. Noyan looked them over and considered.
“I must go twice, M’sieu Denys,” looking askance as if his employer might object.
“Very well. This box is to go to Madame Renaud’s.”
The man nodded, and began to pile on the goods, fastening them with some stout straps.
“Do you go, too?”
“Oh, yes. Here, Jaques, sit on this box and guard these two bundles, and earn a little more than your salt.”