Tied up to the Manitou shore were a
half-dozen cribs or rafts of timber which should be floating eastward
down the Sagalac.
"If the Monseenoor can't, or don't, step in, we're bound for a shindy
over a corpse," continued Jowett after a moment.
"Can the Monseigneur cast a spell over them all?" remarked the Ry
ironically, for he had little faith in priests, though he had for this
particular one great respect.
"He's a big man, that preelate," answered Jowett quickly and forcibly.
"He kept the Crees quiet when they was going to rise. If they'd got up,
there'd have been hundreds of settlers massacreed. He risked his life to
do that--went right into the camp in face of levelled rifles, and sat
down and begun to talk. A minute afterwards all the chiefs was squatting,
too. Then the tussle begun between a man with a soul and a heathen gang
that eat dog, kill their old folks, their cripples and their deformed
children, and run sticks of wood through their bleeding chests, just to
show that they're heathens. But he won out, this Jesueete friend o' man.
That's why I'm putting my horses and my land and my pants and my shirt
and the buff that's underneath on the little preelate."
Gabriel Druse's face did not indicate the same confidence.
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