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"I tell you, padre, there's nothing along this cursed cane- voice in Spanish "It is a , in which a man would sink to his ar it may be," retorted a sharper, petulant voice, the sound of which was oddly familiar, "but I tell you this, Señor, 'tis on this very shore French gallants co froe of reeds"

"Saprista! there le my boat a-eaters have it, say I; the saints bless them Come, pull away sharply, lads, and we'll see what the shore-line looks like above"

The sound of dipping oars instantly increased in rapidity

"You are one pig-headed fool of an officer, Señor," snarled the sharp voice conteed "Speak so again, you dog of a French priest, and even your gray robe will not save you fro the mud at the bottom Do you want to knohat I think of you? Well, I 'll tell you, you snivelling, drunken singer of paternosters--you did more to help that fellow escape than you 'd care to have known Now you 're trying to hold us back until he has tiet safely away up the river That's ray-back, and if you dare breathe another word, I 'll give orders to chuck you overboard"

"Where do you purpose going?" ventured the cowed priest, in a subdued tone

"Straight up the stream That's where your cursed Frenchuard at the North Gate shot him, as they swear to O'Reilly So sit there quiet, and hold your tongue--you e of this boat"

The sound of angry controversy died away in the distance Cautiously I lifted my eyes to the level of the cane, and peered over The Spanish boat, a large one propelled by the vigorous sweep of twelve oars, was already a hundred yards above, swiftly steed the debate yet raged between the gray-robe crouched in the stern, and the big, burly fellow, resplendent in gold lace, standing up and urging his oarsreater exertion Within ten ain appeared within vision, the boat was a olden sunshine, where the setting sun gave a good-night kiss to the vast, sombre river