Very trivial in Dr. Dunlap’s eyes were the anxieties of some poor fellows whom he saw later in the day appealing to Colonel Menard.  The doctor was returning to a patient.  The speeches were over, and the common meadow had become a wide picnic ground under the slant of a low afternoon sun.  Those outdwelling settlers, who had other business to transact besides storing political opinions, now began to stir themselves; and a dozen needy men drew together and encouraged one another to ask Colonel Menard for salt.  They were obliged to have salt at once, and he was the only great trader who brought it in by the flatboat load and kept it stored.  He had a covered box in his cellar as large as one of their cabins, and it was always kept filled with cured meats.

They stood with hands in their pockets and coonskin caps slouching over their brows, stating the case to Colonel Menard.  But poverty has many grades.  The quizzical Frenchman detected in some of his clients a moneyed ability which raised them above their fellows.

“I have salt,” admitted the colonel, speaking English to men who did not understand French, “but I have not enough to make brine of de Okaw river.  I bet you ten dollaire you have not money in your pockets to pay for it.”

More than half the pockets owned this fact.  One man promised to pay when he killed his hogs.  Another was sure he could settle by election day.  But the colonel cut these promises short.

“I will settle this matter.  De goats that have no money will stand on this side, and de sheep that have money will stand on that.”

The hopeless majority budged to his right hand, and the confident ones to his left.  He knew well what comfort or misery hung on his answer, and said with decision which no one could turn:—­

“Now, messieurs, I am going to lend all my salt to these poor men who cannot get it any other way.  You fellows who have money in your pockets, you may go to Sa’ Loui’, by gar, and buy yourselves some.”

The peninsula of Kaskaskia was glorified by sunset, and even having its emerald stretches purpled by the evening shadows of the hills, before Rice Jones could go home to his sister.  The hundreds thronging him all day and hurrahing at his merciless wit saw none of his trouble in his face.

He had sat by Maria day after day, wiping the cold dampness from her forehead and watching her self-restraining pride.  They did not talk much, and when they spoke it was to make amusement for each other.  This young sister growing up over the sea had been a precious image to his early manhood.  But it was easier to see her die now that the cause of Dr. Dunlap’s enmity was growing distinct to him.

“No wonder he wanted me shot,” thought Rice.  “No wonder he took all her family as his natural foes at sight.”

Sometimes the lawyer dropped his papers and walked his office, determining to go out and shoot Dr. Dunlap.  The most judicial mind has its revolts against concise statement.  In these boiling moods Rice did not want evidence; he knew enough.  But cooler counsel checked him.  There were plenty of grounds and plenty of days yet to come for a political duel, in which no names and no family honor need be mixed.