The Carbon County news., 1931-01-15
CHAPTER |

nN sunny afternoon in May,
~ 1749, dog, boy, a man, and
O. woman had crossed the oak opens
of Tonteur's hill and were trailing
toward the deeper wilderness of
the French frontier westward of
the Richelieu and Lake Cham
plain-the dog first. the boy follow
ing, the man next, and the woman
last.
1t was a reversal of proper form,
Tonteur had groWled as he watched
them go. A fools way of facing Il
savage-infested country that had no
end. The man should have marched
at the head of his precious column
with his long gun ready and his
questing eyes alert; the woman
next, to watch and gaard with him;
then the boy and the dog, If such
nuisances were to be tolerated in
travel of this kind, with evening
coming on.
Tonteur was the one-legged war
rior seigneur from whose gristmill
down in the valley the four were
going home.
His eyes had followed the woman
with a subdued and appraising hun
ger in them. Henri Bulain was "A
strange man, he had thought. He
might be little crazy, might even
be fool. But he was also very
lucky husband to possess a woman
with the sweet face and form and
the divinely chaste heart of Cath
crime, his wife.
Jeems was a fortunate boy to
have her for a mother.
Even the dog was a scoundrel for
luck. An Indian dog at that. A
sneaking, good-for-nothing dog. A
wreck of a dog without a soul, to
be fed by her, petted by her, smiled
at by her-as ne had seen her
smile.
Tonteur was first of the long
string of heroic fighting barons set
tied by France along the Richelieu
to hold the English and their red
barbarians back. He was Door
keeper to the waterway that led
straight TO the heart of New
France. If the English came with
their scalping fiends, the Mohawks
and the Senecas, they would have
to pass over him first of all No
general could be given greater dis
tinction than that. Honor. Wealth.
A wide domain over which he was
king.
And yet
He envied Henri Bulain.
1t was midafternoon. Maytime
shadows were growing longer To-
ward the east. 1t was the hour
when birds were singing softly
Morning had heard their defiance
q glorious and fearless challenge OF
feathered minstrelsy to all the spir-
its of darkness; but with late
afternoon, sunset, evening, these
same slim-throated songsters fount
note of gratitude and of prayer
in their chastened voices. Flowers
crushed underfoot. In the opeT
spaces they carpeted the earth witt
white and pink and blue. Flow
ers and birds and peace-a worl(
filled with a declining sun-a smll
ing heaven Of blue over the tree
tops-and with them dog, a boy
4 man, and woman advancing
westward.
Three of these, even the dog
Tonteur envied.
This dog had a name which fitted
him, Tonteur had thought. For HI
was wreck of dog-even more
wreck than the splendid seigneu
himself, with his stub of shot-of
leg and a breast that bore swort
marks which would have killed al
ordinary man. The dog, first of all
was a homely dog, so hopelessl,
homely that one could not help lov
ing him at sight. His hair wa
bristly and unkempt. His paw
huge. His tail was half gone, whicl
left him only stub to wag. Fl
walked with a limp, a heavy, never
failing limp that seemed to shak
his long body from end to end, fo
his left fore paw-like Tonteur'
foot-was. missing. A crooked
CHEEKY, inartistic, lovable dog t
whom the woman-in a moment
visioning of the fitness of things
had given the name Of Odds-and
In