Collection 1999 - Beyond The Great Snow Mountains (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF

while a man was attacked without warning. Or was it in part because he was irritated with inaction?
    Rain whipped his face and pounded at him with tiny, angry fingers. He could see the men ahead of him along the road, and when they stopped near some dark buildings along the wharf, he drew back into the shadows himself.
    From the darkness nearby a man stepped. “Followin’ ’em, are ye? Now Dick’ll be proud to know that. He—”
    The American stepped quickly from the shadows and one hand grasped the newcomer by the throat, the other by the shoulder. Fiercely, he slammed the man back against the building, took a twist of the man’s collar and let up only when he became afraid unconsciousness would keep the other from understanding his words. “Open your mouth,” the very calmness of the American’s voice was more frightening than rage would have been, “and I’ll have the heart out of you. Get away from here now, and be glad that I haven’t opened you up with my saber.”
    Gagging and pawing at his bruised throat, the man staggered back, then turned and hurried away into the storm. The American watched him for a few minutes, then glanced back to where the others waited in the darkness. Far away down the channel he thought he saw a light, and he moved along the building, well back in the darkness, his saber in his hand.
    “Bloody awful night!” It was the man the others had called Dick.
    “It is that.”
    “Any sign of her?”
    “I be’ant lookin’. Soon enough when they put down a boat. If she comes, she’ll come soon, you can mark that.”
    “Where then, Dick? Where’ll we do’t?”
    “We’ve got to see him, first. Garnet will show us the man.”
    An hour passed on heavy feet. The wind did not abate, but the ship came. Her sails rolled up slowly, and the sailors at the canvas were unseen in the howling dark. They heard the rumble of her anchor going down, and later the chunk of oars, a sound caught only at intervals when the wind hesitated to gather force.
    The American shifted his saber and dried his palm on his trousers beneath his greatcoat. Then he clutched the sword again.
    He did not hear the boat come alongside, only suddenly there were men walking and he heard the sound of them speaking French. It was a language he knew, and he listened. He learned much of what he knew in Quebec, and this was but little different. But no names were called, and the three men went by, two tall men and one short, stout, and slipping as he walked. At times he ran a few steps to keep up, and puffed when he slowed down.
    Dick and his companions fell in behind, and the American followed them. And so they came again to the inn.
    By then he was before them. He had run, and gotten around them and into the back door as from the stable. When they entered, he was again at his table, a glass of sherry poured, and engrossed in his book. They entered, and he glanced up.
    “You are from the port?” the American asked.
    “From the sea.” The man who replied was tall, cold of eyes, and walked with a slight limp. The American knew him from description to be Talleyrand. “We are for America,” the man said.
    “It is my country.”
    Talleyrand glanced at him with quick interest. “Then you can tell us of your country. We go there as strangers. What can you tell of America? Is it a fair land?”
    The American closed his book carefully. “A fair land? Yes, it is. If I were to tell you of it as I think of it, you would think me a poet rather than a soldier. And I do think of it, I think of it always.
    The newcomers warmed themselves at the fire and the American went on, speaking to them but to himself also. “You will find it colder there than here, but the houses are strong and tight and warm. There will be less talk of art and more of the frontier, less of books and more of land, but there will be good food, and good drink. You will find it a land of strong men, of full-breasted women, fit to mother a race of