“Je connais,” he continued—“know I, pe gar! ze ver spot ou—vere—sont cachées—hid les chandelles magnifiques—von, deux, tree big candle—vax, vax—”
“Wax-candles?”
“Oui—oui, messieurs! très grand comme un baton; ze ver chose pour allumer la prairie.”
“You know where they are? You could find them, Le Blanc?”
“Oui, messieurs—je connais: les chandelles sont cachées dans l’église—zey are in ze church hid.”
“Ha! in the church?”
“Oui, messieurs; c’est un grand sacrilege, mon Dieu! ver bad; mais n’importe cela. Eef mon capitaine permit—vill allow pour aller Monsieur Quack’bosh, he go chez moi; nous chercherons; ve bring ze chandelles—pe gar ve bring him!”
From the mixed gibberish of the voyageur, I could gather his meaning well enough. He knew of a depository of wax-candles, and the church of the rancheria was the place in which they were kept.
I was not in a frame of mind to care much for the sacrilege, and my companions were still less scrupulous. The act was determined upon, and Le Blanc and Quackenboss, without more delay, took the back-track for the village.
The rest of us dismounted; and, picketing our horses to the grass, lay down to await the return of the messengers.