Up stood a large, stout man with lanky black hair, dressed in the uniform of the French marine troops, who had been ensconced behind a bale of furs.
"Ha, 'tis my friend from Arles," he shouted, "and his companion, the noble warchief! So the Keepers did not keep you?"
"No, Monsieur de Joncaire," I replied. "We are still alive to plague you."
"Venire St. Remi, 'tis not sorry I am! Try it again, my lad. Only try it again!"
"And what are you doing with these people?"
He roared with laughter.
"No more than shepherding them past the temptations of this English."
Ta-wan-ne-ars called again to the Indians in the canoes.
"Come ashore, brothers. We have rich goods to trade with you."
"We do not need to trade with the English," replied the Necariague who had spoken before. "We are glad we can trade with our fathers, the French. They have plenty of goods to offer us. Onontio has sent word he will pay better than the English now."