Part 40 (1/2)

Oh, I could have knelt to him for shame! My tongue began apology, but my face told a better tale. Cadillac held up his hand.

”Stop. Montlivet, you love the Englishwoman? Why, I thought---- I beg your pardon. I was the fool.”

I went stumblingly toward the door before I could face him. Then I turned and held out my hand. ”There is no monopoly in fools.

Monsieur, if to love a woman, to love her against her will and your own judgment, to love her hopelessly,--if that is folly, well, I am the worst of fools, the most incurable. I am glad for you to know this.

Will you forget that I was a madman, monsieur?”

CHAPTER XXVI

FROM HOUR TO HOUR

It was well that I slept alone that night, for more than once before day dawned I found myself with my feet on the floor and my free arm searching for a knife. I had flouted at imagination, but now every howling dog became an Indian raising the death cry. I asked Cadillac to double the guard before the woman's quarters, but even then I slept with an ear p.r.i.c.ked for trouble. And I was abroad early.

There are no straight roads in the wilderness; all trails are devious.

So with an Indian's mind. I sat in Longuant's skin-roofed lodge and filled hours with talk of Singing Arrow. The girl was to wed Pierre at noon the next day. The marriage was to be solemnized in the chapel the next afternoon, and the whites were to attend. The affair was perhaps worth some talk, if Longuant and I had been squaws yawning over our basket-work. But we were men with knives, and Fear was whispering at our shoulders.

The sun climbed, and noises and odors of midday came in the tent door.

I plumped out a direct question.

”The tree of friends.h.i.+p that grows for the Ottawas and the French,--are its roots deep, Longuant?”

The old chief looked at me. ”What has my brother seen?”

”The Iroquois wolf, my brother. The Iroquois wolf snapping at the roots of this stately tree. What will the Ottawas do, Longuant? Will they drive the wolf away?”

The chief still studied me. ”When a tree is healthy,” he argued, ”a wolf cannot harm it; as well dread the b.u.t.terfly that lights on its leaves or the ant that runs around its trunk. It is only when a tree is unsound at heart that the snapping of a wolf can jar it. And an unsound tree is dangerous. My brother will agree that it is best to cut it down.”

I rose. ”The wolf can do more than snap; his fangs are poisoned.

Listen, my brother. This tree of friends.h.i.+p is dear to me. I have given labor to preserve it; I have watered it; I have killed the insects and small pests that would have nibbled at its branches. Now that I see its roots threatened, my heart is heavy and the sun looks dim. Can my brother brighten the world for me? Can he tell me that my fears are light as mist?”

Longuant looked at the ground. In repose his face was very sad, as are the faces of most savage leaders.

”I have only two eyes, two ears,” he crooned monotonously. ”My brother has as many. Let him use them.”

”And you will not lift your hatchet to save the tree?”

Longuant raised his eyes. ”The hatchet of the Ottawas is always bright. My brethren will hold it in readiness. If the tree looks strong and worth saving, they will raise the hatchet and defend it. If the tree is unsound, they will put the hatchet at its roots.”

Well, I had my answer. And, to be just, I could not blame them. The Ottawas were never a commanding people. Their chief was wise to throw his vote with the winning side. But I turned away saddened.

Longuant followed. ”There is always a bed in the lodges of the Ottawas for my brother of the red heart. Will he sleep in it?”

I turned. ”Would my head be safer if I did, O brother of the wise tongue?”

”My brother has said it.”

I took a Flemish knife from my pocket and handed it to him.

”Take it, my brother, for my grat.i.tude. It shall not cut the friends.h.i.+p between us. It shall cut any stranger that would come between your heart and mine. Longuant, I have a wife. She is fair, and stars s.h.i.+ne in her eyes. She has loved a daughter of your people.

I cannot hide in your lodge,--a man who carries a sword must use it,--but will you take my wife and keep her? Will you keep her with Singing Arrow for a few days?”