Seldom a day went by without a skirmish with the Iroquois, who had grown impudent and fearless again.  The Iroquois were determined to destroy their ancient enemies, the Hurons, primarily because they hated them, and secondarily because they were allies of the French.  France did what she could in reason to stop these depredations, but the task needed an iron gauntlet, and De Lauson was a civilian.  At this period the Mohawks were the fiercest, the Onondagas having agreed to a temporary treaty.  Marauders were brought in and punished, but usually the punishment was trivial compared to the offense.  The governor wished to rule by kindness; but his lieutenants knew the Indian thoroughly.  He must not be treated with kindness where justice was merited; it gave him the idea that the white man was afraid.  Therefore, his depredations should be met with a vengeance swift and final and convincing.  But nine times out of ten De Lauson and the priests overruled the soldiers; and the depredations continued unabated.  Once, however, the Chevalier succeeded in having several gibbets erected on the island of Orleans, and upon these gibbets he strung half a dozen redskins who had murdered a family of peaceful Hurons.

Though he went about somberly, untalkative and morose, the Chevalier proved himself a capital soldier, readily adapting himself to the privations of scouting and the loneliness of long watches in the night.  He studied his Indian as one who intended to take up his abode among them for many years to come.  He discarded the uniform for the deerskin of the trapper.  But the Chevalier made no friends among the inhabitants; and when not on duty he was seen only in the company of Victor, the vicomte and Brother Jacques, who was assisting him in learning the Indian languages.  Brown he grew, lithe and active as the enemy he watched and studied.  Never a complaint fell from his lips; he accepted without question the most hazardous duty.

“Keep your eye upon Monsieur le Chevalier,” said De Lauson; “for he will count largely before the year is gone.”

As for Victor, he was more or less indifferent.  He was perfectly willing to fight the Indian, but his gorge rose at the thought of studying him as an individual.  As a rule he found them to be unclean, vulgar and evil-minded; and the hideous paints disturbed his dreams.  Secretly, his enthusiasm for New France had already waned, and there were times when he longed for the road to Spain—­Spain which by now held for him the dearest treasure in all the world.  But not even the keen-eyed Brother Jacques read this beneath the poet’s buoyancy and lightness of spirit.  Besides, Brother Jacques had set himself to watch the Comte d’Herouville and the Vicomte d’Halluys, and this was far more important to him than the condition of the poet’s temperament.

D’Herouville mingled with the great seigneurs, and, backed by his reputation as a famous swordsman, did about as he pleased.  He watched the Chevalier’s progress toward health; and he noted with some concern his enemy’s quick, springy step, the clear and steady eye.  He still ignored the poet as completely as though he did not exist.