I am Pierre Montigny, and, as you perhaps
surmise, a Frenchman and priest of the Holy Church, sent to the New World
to convert and save the heathen. I belong to the mission at New Orleans,
but I have been on a trip, to a tribe called the Osage, west of the Great
River. Last night my canoe was damaged by the fierce storm and I started
forth rather rashly this morning, not realizing the extent to which the
canoe had suffered. You have seen and taken a part in the rest."
"You were going back to New Orleans alone, and in a little canoe?" said
Paul.
"Oh, yes," replied Father Montigny, as if he were speaking of trifles. "I
always go alone, and my canoe isn't so very little, as you see. I carry in
it a change or clothing, provisions, and gifts for the Indians."
"But no arms," said Henry who had been looking into the canoe.
"No arms, of course," replied Father Montigny.
"You are a brave man! About the bravest I ever saw!" burst out Tom Ross,
he of few words.
Father Montigny merely smiled again.
"Oh, no," he said, "I have many brethren who do likewise, and there are as
many different kinds of bravery as there are different kinds of life. You,
I fancy, are brave, too, though I take it from appearances that you
sometimes fight with arms.
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