"Mon enfant,"—his face seemed to light up with a holy radiance—"it does not matter. I bless you all de same. You 'ave don' right to come to me, Sergeant. All you 'ave don' in dis affaire 'as been right. You 'ave acted as a man ov honour, oui, an' wit' such a beeg, beeg 'art. Ah, mon petit, le Bon Dieu, 'e smile, vraiment, when 'e look down on men lak' you. Mes pauvres petits, de Indian, dey do not get ver' much de consideration you 'ave give to dat ol' chief an' 'is leetle girl. Maintenant, regardez! 'Elp you—but of course—naturelment! Attendee une minute! I 'elp you, oui. For I am well acquaint' wit' dat leetle Moon an' mon brave Sleeping Thunder. Only, 'ow? 'Ow? What to do? Attendez! Attendez!"
Hector waited.
"You say de name ov dat yo'ng fellow, it is—?" the priest queried suddenly.
"Loud Gun," said Hector.
"Loud Gun? Oui. Bon! I 'ave it now. I feex it all. Regardez, mon petit. Don't you worry no more. I will see dat poor leetle girl made 'appy, oui. She marry some good Indian fellow—Loud Gun perhaps, perhaps some oder—but she will forget you an' she will be 'appy, oui, vraiment, I will send you a leetle letter later on an' tell you all about it. An' now, don' you be sad, leetle boy." He patted Hector on the shoulder and beamed up into his eyes with beautiful benevolence. "So de poor Moon, she fall in lov' wit' you, eh?" he added softly. "Vraiment, Sergeant, I am not sooprise'! A fine beeg fellow—an' ver' 'an'some, oui. Now, go—allez, won petit! Forget all dis—an' I write to you. It all come out right soon—you see!"
"God bless you, father!" Hector exclaimed.
His spirits had leaped as high as heaven.
V
"Here's a letter, Hec'," said MacFarlane, three months later. "An In'jun brought it. You're a devil for the In'juns, Hec', old boy!"
Hector took the letter curiously. No Indians were in his mind.