As the firelight flashed full in his face, I saw that his features were not painted; that they were delicate and regular, and that the skin was pale, betraying his French ancestry.

And good God! What a brood of demons had that madman, Frontenac, begot to turn loose upon this Western World! For there appeared to be a Montour in every bit of devil’s work we ever heard of — and it seemed as though there was no end to their number. One, praise God, had been slain before Wyoming — which some said enraged the Witch, his mother, to the fearsome deeds she did there — and one was this man’s sister, Lyn Montour — a sleek, lithe girl of the forest, beautiful and depraved. But the Toad Woman, mother of Amochol, was absent, and of all the Montours only this strange priest had remained at