“Monsieur the Abbé, where did Monsieur de la Salle land his colony?”
“On a western coast of the Gulf, monsieur. It was most unfortunate. Ever since he has been searching for the Mississippi.”
“While I searched for him. Oh, Fathers!” Tonty’s voice deepened and his swarthy joyful face set its contrast opposite two downcast churchmen, “nothing in Fort St. Louis is good enough for messengers from Monsieur de la Salle. What can I do for you? Did he send me no orders?”
“He did commit a paper to my hand, naming skins and merchandise that he would have delivered to me, as well as a canoe and provisions for our journey to New France.”
“Come, let me see this paper,” demanded Tonty. “Whatever Monsieur de la Salle orders shall be done at once; but the season is now so advanced you will not push on to New France until spring.”
“That is the very reason, Monsieur de Tonty, why we should push on at once. We have waited a month for your return. I leave Fort St. Louis with my party to-morrow, if you will so forward my wishes.”
“Monsieur the Abbé, it is impossible! You have yet told me nothing of all it is necessary for me to know touching Monsieur de la Salle.”
“To-morrow,” repeated the Abbé Cavelier, “I must set out at dawn, if you can honor my brother’s paper.”
Tonty, with a gesture of his left hand, led the way to his quarters across the esplanade. As Barbe walked behind the Récollet Father, she wondered why he had given no answer to any of Tonty’s questions.