Part 40 (2/2)

Longuant thought a moment. He looked at the knife as if it were a talisman to teach him how much he could trust me; he tried its edge, put it in his pouch, and made up his mind.

”My brother is keen and true as the blade of the knife. I will tell him a story, a story that the birds sang. The eagle once married. He married one of the family of the hawk. But the hawk found the eagle's nest too high, so she flew lower to a nest near her own kin. Listen.

So long as the hawk stays near the hawk and is not seen with the eagle, the wolf will spare her. But when she comes back to the eagle's nest in the high tree, then let her beware. I have spoken. Now let my brother go on his way and see what his eyes and ears can teach him.”

But I went my way with thought busier than eyes. So I must keep away from the woman. I went to my room, found paper and a quill, and wrote to her. It was the first time I had written her name. It seemed foreign to me, almost a sad jest, as it flowed out under my hand.

”I cannot come to you to-day,” I wrote; ”perhaps not for some days to come. I shall be watching you, guarding you. I think I can a.s.sure you that you are in no danger. For the rest, I must beg of you to wait for me and to trust me. The women of the name you bear have often had the same burden laid on them and have carried it n.o.bly. Yet I know that your courage will match and overreach anything they have shown. I salute you, madame, in homage. I shall come to you the moment that I may.”

I subscribed myself her husband. Yet even the Indians gossiped that the eagle's nest was empty. Well, I had work on hand.

So I found Cadillac. I told him in five minutes what it had taken me five hours to learn.

”We must give our strength now to winning the Hurons,” I said. ”I will work with them this afternoon. If we can get through this one night safely I think we can carry the council.”

Cadillac shrugged, but sped me on my way. ”Be careful of to-night. Be careful of to-night,” he repeated monotonously. His eyes were growing bloodshot from anxiety and loss of sleep.

The afternoon slipped away from me like running water, yet I wasted no word or look. I dropped my old custom of letting my tongue win the way for my ears, and I dealt out blunt questions like a man at a forge. At one point I was foiled. I could not discover whether Starling--whom personally I had not seen--was in communication with the Hurons.

The sun set, the sky purpled, and the moon rose. It rose white and beautiful, and it shone on a peaceful settlement. I went to my room and found a Huron squatting on my threshold. He gave me a handful of maize.

”Our chief, whom you call the Baron, sends this to you,” he said. ”He bids you eat the corn, and swallow with it the suspicion that you feel.

You have sat all day with other chiefs, but your brother the Baron has not seen you. His lodge cries out with emptiness. He bids you come to him now.”

I thought a moment. ”Go in front of me,” I told the Huron.

I whistled as I went. A sheep that goes to the shambles of its own accord deserves to be butchered, and I was walking into ambush. But still I whistled. I whistled the same tune again and again, and I did it with great lung power. My progress was noisy.

And so we went through the Huron camp. The lodges of the Baron's followers were ma.s.sed to one side, and as I whistled and swaggered my way past their great bark parallelograms, I saw preparations for war.

The braves carried quivers, and were elaborately painted. Fires were burning, though the night was warm, and women nearly naked, and swinging kettles of red-hot coals, danced heavily around the blaze.

They leered at me when they heard my whistle, but they made no attempt to hide from me. Evidently I was not important; I was not to be allowed to go back to the French camp alive, so I could do no harm. I whistled the louder.

I reached the Baron's lodge, and looked within. Two fires blazed in the centre, and some fifty Indians sat in council. I would not enter.

The smoke and fire were in my eyes, but I recognized several of the younger chiefs, and called them by name.

”Come out here to me,” I commanded. ”I will show you something.”

There was a grunting demur, and no one rose. I whistled again and stopped to laugh. The laugh p.r.i.c.ked their curiosity, and the chiefs straggled out. They stood in an uncertain group and looked at me. It was dark; the moon was still low, and the shadows black and sprawling.

The open doors of the lodges sent out as much smoke as fires.h.i.+ne.

I let them look for a moment, then I took the handful of maize and threw it in their faces. ”Listen!” I cried. ”Chiefs, you are traitors. You eat the bread of the French, yet you would betray them.

You plan an uprising to-night. Well, you will find us ready. I whistled as I came to you. That was a signal. You think you can overpower us. Try it. Seize me, if you like. If you do, I shall give one more whistle, and my troops--the loyal Indians--will go to work.

You can see them gathering. Look.”

I waved my hand at the murk around us. My words were brave but my flesh was cold. I had told them to look, but what would they see?

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