Fort de Seviere closed its gates and settled into the night with a
feeling of something gone awry.
By morning all was early astir, those within to witness the departure
of the strangers, and, those without for that same departure.
The canoes were floated, the men embarked, and all in readiness with
the first flame of the sun above the eastern forest when Alfred de
Courtenay presented himself at the gate and called for McElroy.
Gladly the factor responded, hoping somewhat to soften the awkwardness
of the situation by a godspeed, to be met by the Frenchman high-headed
and most carefully polite. A servant beside him held a wickered jug.
"With your leave, M'sieu," said De Courtenay, "I wish to leave some
earnest of my gratefulness for what we have received at your hands.
Therefore accept with my compliments this small gift, which, as you say
you have no cantine salope, must come most happily. Once more,
farewell."
The man set down the jug at McElroy's feet and strode toward the
landing. The master was turning more leisurely away with his uncovered
curls shining in the first level beams of morning, when he stopped and
looked past the portal within the stockade.
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