“Father Rich, I must let you sleep.”
“And I must let you sleep. You will have a busy day tomorrow. I do not envy you your transactions with Ojeeg. You will discover that you are attempting to bridge centuries. It’s a long way from hunting to power-farming. He hates us all—especially the churchmen. Which reminds me that the only Black Robe whom he ever tolerated was a priest named La Hogue.”
“La Hogue?”
“Even so. He was a vigorous old chap, named from the French cape whence his family came, and you should not confuse him with Hogg. Some Hoggs are Hugos, which means intellectual, but some are La Hogues.”
The next thing that Marvin knew was odor. He smelled coffee. So he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Well, captain, will you have a cup, with canned milk? Little did Agricola imagine the possibilities of the stannum he saw in Britain. I like canned milk first rate.”
“Then I’ll leave you some. And I’ll leave you my skiff to take it home in, and cache all my gasoline except one can. I’ll be back on Monday after seeing what effect haircloth has on Indians.”
After the coffee and hardtack, Marvin tidied up his camp ready to depart.
“May I leave you fifty dollars to bind that option?”
“Not a dollar. Hidden in my hollow log are pieces of gold that Jean knows nothing of. They were sent to my children by a friend of their mother’s down in Connecticut.”