? ? ? ? Father Roubeau breathed a swift, silent prayer, and rose to his feet. 'If you doubt me, why-' He made as though to open the door.
? ? ? ? A priest could not lie. Edwin Bentham had heard this often, and believed it. 'Of course not, Father,' he interposed hurriedly. 'I was only wondering where my wife had gone, and thought maybe- I guess she's up at Mrs. Stanton's on French Gulch. Nice weather, isn't it? Heard the news? Flour's gone down to forty dollars a hundred, and they say the che-cha-quas are flocking down the river in droves. But I must be going; so good-by.'
? ? ? ? The door slammed, and from the window they watched him take his quest up French Gulch.
? ? ? ? A few weeks later, just after the June high-water, two men shot a canoe into mid-stream and made fast to a derelict pine. This tightened the painter and jerked the frail craft along as would a tow-boat. Father Roubeau had been directed to leave the Upper Country and return to his swarthy children at Minook. The white men had come among them, and they were devoting too little time to fishing, and too much to a certain deity whose transient habitat was in countless black bottles.
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