“And yet I would take him with me to Montreal.  He will give his parole that he will not attempt to escape on the way.  It is the custom for prisoners to be ransomed.  I will send to you from Montreal five golden louis for him.”

Langlade shook his head.

“Ten golden louis,” said Father Drouillard.

“Nay, Father, it is no use,” said the partisan.  “I cannot be tempted to exchange him for money.”

“Fifteen golden louis, Charles Langlade, though I may have to borrow from the funds of the Church to send them to you.”

“I respect your motive, Father, but ’tis impossible.  This is a prisoner of great value and I must use him as a pawn in the game of war.  He was taken fairly and I cannot give him up.”

Again Father Drouillard sighed, and this time heavily.

“I would save you from captivity, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “but, as you see, I cannot.”

Robert was much moved.

“I thank you, Father Drouillard, for your kind intentions,” he said.  “It may be that some day I shall have a chance to repay them.  Meanwhile, I do not dread the coming hospitality of Madame Langlade.”

The priest shook his head sadly.

“It is a great and terrible war,” he said, “though I cannot doubt that France will prevail, but I fear for you, my son, a captive in the vast wilderness.  Although you are an enemy and a heretic I have only good feeling for you, and I know that the great Chevalier, St. Luc, also regards you with favor.”

“Know you anything of St. Luc?” asked Robert eagerly.

“Only that the expedition he was to lead against Albany has turned back and that he has gone to Canada to fight under the banner of Montcalm, when he comes with the great leaders, De Levis, Bourlamaque and the others.”

“I thought I might meet him.”

“Not here, with Charles Langlade.”

The priest spent the night with them and in the morning, after giving them his blessing, captors and captive alike, he departed on his long and solitary journey to Montreal.

“A good man,” said Robert, as he watched his tall, thin figure disappear in the surrounding forest.

“Truly spoken,” said the Owl.  “I am little of a churchman myself, the forest and the war trail please me better, but the priests are a great prop to France in the New World.  They carry with them the authority of His Majesty, King Louis.”

A week later they reached a small Indian village on Lake Ontario where the Owl at present made his abode, and in the largest lodge of which his patient spouse, the Dove, was awaiting him.  She was young, much taller than the average Indian woman, and, in her barbaric fashion, quite handsome.  But her face was one of the keenest and most alert Robert had ever seen.  All the trained observation of countless ancestors seemed stored in her and now he understood why Langlade had boasted so often and so warmly of her skill as a guard.  She regarded him with a cold eye as she listened attentively to her husband’s instructions, and, for the remainder of that winter and afterward, she obeyed them with a thoroughness beyond criticism.