“I want you to see her, my beautiful Indian prize. Though I suspect there is a strain of French blood back of her mother, who was brought somewhere from Canada. And when her father was killed at one of those dreadful massacres up on the strait (her mother had died before), she and her brother were adopted in one branch of the Huron tribe. Her brother married a chief’s daughter. I saw her first more than a year ago, in the winter. She was only a child, not as forward as most Indian maids. And last winter we met again, and yes, fell in love with each other. The squaw who had been like a mother to her consented. But straightway there was trouble. Her brother had chosen a brave for her, a fellow noted for his fighting propensities and his love of drink. It was surmised that he was buying her. She shrank from him with horror. He had had two wives already, and rumor said he had beaten one to death. I was ready to leave with my men and pack, and she came to me in terror and despair. She would have killed herself, I know, before she could have gone to such a brute. We loved each other, and the old woman Nasauka pitied us, and had a strong liking for me. So it was arranged. I was to start with my people, leaving her behind. When the train was several days under way I was to remain at a given point where Nasauka was to meet me with the girl, and then return to ward suspicion from the right track. I only hope the poor woman did not suffer for her kindly sympathy for us. We made our way along without any alarm. At a mission station a priest married us. And now we are safe here and doubtless unsuspected. But I shall not expose myself to any dangers, at least for several years to come. There are other trails to work on. Or we may go farther south.” “Quite a romantic story, Marchand. The saints be praised that you rescued her from such a life, though I think she would have chosen death rather. I have known of several instances. Yes, it will be safer not to visit the old hunting ground, even if the brave solaces himself with a new wife.” “And now you must see her. I know there is a little prejudice, and,” with a cynical sort of smile, “if I had a sister I should not let her marry an Indian if I had to shut her up in a convent. But there are many charming Indian girls and kindly hearted squaws, true as steel, who will suffer anything rather than betray. Strange, too, when you find so much deceit and falseness and cruelty among the men.” “The women take all the virtues, perhaps. Yes, I shall be glad to welcome you. To-morrow you will bring her to dine with us. Meanwhile, you have found a home?” “With the Garreaus. Pierre did the same thing, you know, and is happy enough with his two pretty children. Ah, when you see my beautiful wife you will not wonder that I went mad for her,” laughing with a kind of gay triumph.