Admits it's foolish to bring a fight up here. Now there is nothing to stop me going back to St. Louis."
"No more duels!" gasped Papa Qair. "Name of a dog! It is good I am near the end of the trail. When I was young—bah!"
For some minutes he brooded on the decadence of the times, Lander humbly waiting for him to speak. Finally he showed some of his old spirit and philosophically declared:
"After all it is the fashion. It can be done. Men make high names by exploring. If they are called liars they can challenge. At least our winter in the Big Horn Valley will give us the chance to prove whether M'sieu Bridger spoke true.
"We will go to the Yellowstone. If we do not find the cave of war-paint I will challenge Bridger. Sacré Bleu! Is one to listen to such stories if they be false?"
"Papa Clair, don't you see there is no longer any need of my wintering with the Crows? I am free to return to St. Louis," reminded Lander.
With a groan of disgust Papa Clair turned aside and lamented: "Ever so! M'm'selle's eyes outshine the torch of glory; the torch of power.
