A few minutes later he arrived within a couple of yards of the group, and at once unslung his rifle, for with a start he recognised one of the strangers. It was Jules Lapon, dressed now in the hunting costume worn by French and English backwoodsmen alike.
"Bon jour, monsieur," said Jules, swinging round and greeting Steve with a cool and satirical smile. "I wish you a fine day and prosperity. You will be pleased to look at this notice, and afterwards you will take steps to move."
He pointed to the tree and stood aside, watching Steve with an expression which boded little good, and which seemed to combine malice and triumph. Our hero stepped closer and stared at the strip of tin which the Frenchman had pointed out. It was nailed to the bark of the tree, and bore in high relief the arms of France, while beneath, stamped on to the metal, were the following words, in the English language:
"In the name of Louis XV., King of France and of the Continent beyond the sea, we, Louis Joseph, Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon de Saint-Véran, Captain-General of the Forces in North America, and others of the King's servants, renew our possession of this land. We warn all who are not good and faithful subjects of France to depart peacefully and without delay."
There was a date and a rough signature underneath, while at the foot of the tree lay a leaden disc, with a somewhat similar inscription, destined to be buried there so that there might not be wanting evidence in the future to prove the aims and aspirations of France and her king. Nor was this the first time that Steve had looked at such a disc. Some while before he had come upon another, nearer the great lakes, and he had heard that the French had placed many more in different parts.
"You will observe his Majesty's wishes," said Jules Lapon, with an irritating smile of triumph which brought a flush of anger to Steve's cheek. "The orders are that you depart peacefully and without delay. You will go this evening. To-morrow I and my Indians will come to your hut and the place will be France. Comprenez vous? Bien!"
Steve could have struck the rascally Frenchman, so great was his anger. Moreover, when he recollected that it was this same ruffianly foreigner who but a few weeks before had hunted himself and his friends with his band of cut-throats, he felt that he would be almost justified in shooting him where he stood. Then, too, there was this preposterous demand. For three miles on either hand the land belonged to Tom Mainwaring. He had paid dues for it to a land company, and he had settled the place. His labour had cleared the forest till there was sufficient open space to grow corn. The hut was his, the bank of the river, and a stretch on the far side lying opposite the hut. Steve's gorge rose at the thought that a Frenchman should order him to give up his own belongings, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself. He bit his lip, stared at the tin placard, and then swung round on the Frenchman, a cool smile on his lips.
"You are joking," he said in French, causing Jules to start backwards in surprise. "Surely you are playing with me, just as you and your band of Indians played with our hunting party in the neighbourhood of Albany. That was a sad joke, monsieur. I fear that we were too much in earnest."
It was Steve's turn to laugh, for there was no doubt that the Frenchman was utterly taken aback. He staggered, flushed to the roots of his hair, and gripped at his tomahawk.