“Bah! I am satisfied. Cap’n, don’t be a fool; we need this man, and I like him, and the three of us shall gut the galleon of treasure. What are a few jewels, when gold is waiting to be carried off?”
Vanderberg sat back and puffed at the big calumet. Frontin crossed to the door of the chapel and vanished in the little, cold, dark room. Crawford nodded to the big pirate.
“An odd soul, this Frontin of ours! I am glad that he reverences something, for it raises him in my esteem. By the way, you made a serious error in hurling a knife into that redskin Micmac. He could have given you some highly interesting information.”
“What, then?” asked Frontin, returning from the chapel and closing its door.
“That Saint-Castin was expected home sometime this evening. If I were you, I’d send a man or two up the river-trail.”
Vanderberg, exploding an oath of consternation and startled dismay, leaped to his feet. But Frontin was already darting for the outside door. Jerking it open, he whistled shrilly. A shout responded, and he turned, his dark face alive with excitement.
“Bose is coming now. Crawford, you devil! If you hadn’t told us this——”
“Well, haven’t I told you?” Crawford rose, laughing. “There are some Winter garments in the bedroom adjoining. Since we’re bound for Newfoundland, I think I’ll help myself, and advise you to do the same.”
Stepping into an adjoining room, Crawford swiftly provided himself with a large fur-lined wool capote, hat, and a splendid pair of moccasins. He returned to find Bose and half a dozen men around the doorway, Vanderberg bawling orders at them. Two men with fusils were sent to keep watch over the trail that led up-river, the others were set to work looting the interior of the house. They reported that plenty of supplies had been taken aboard the ketch, anchored in the bay.
The men hurled themselves upon the rooms, rushing down to the waiting boat with loads of everything they found—blankets, weapons, trading-goods, silver, snowshoes, furs. Frontin, meantime, stood on guard at the chapel door, defending it against intrusion, and Crawford watched the man with a trace of admiration. Whatever his real name, despite his dark past history and his present occupation, this Frenchman was adamantine in upholding his principles; and Crawford, whose whimsical talk of principles and convictions was really more true than he cared to admit seriously, found it in his heart to respect and like this Frontin.