The Grey Cloak - Page 206/256

"And will," retorted D'Hérouville, his eyes lighting with intelligence.

"At Quebec you held an unmanly threat above my head. Come with me;

there is no woman here."

"Fight you? I believe we have settled that matter," insolently.

The Chevalier brought the back of his hand swiftly against

D'Hérouville's mouth.

The laugh which sounded came from the vicomte. This would be

interesting if no one interfered. But he was up almost as quickly as

Victor, who rushed between the two men. D'Hérouville's sword was half

free.

"Wherever you say!" he cried hoarsely.

"A moment, gentlemen!" said the vicomte, pointing toward the dancing

circle.

A tall figure had stepped quietly into the dancing circle, raising his

hands to command silence. It was the Black Kettle, son of Atotarho.

"Two stranger canoes are coming up the river. Let us go to meet them,"

said the Black Kettle. "Either they are friends, or they are enemies."

"Let us wait and see what this is," and the vicomte touched the

Chevalier on the arm.

"Curse you all!" cried D'Hérouville passionately. "Liar!" He turned

upon Victor. "But for your lying tongue, I should not be here."

"After Monsieur le Chevalier," said the poet, forgetting that he could

not hold a sword.

"Rather say after me, Saumaise;" and the vicomte smiled significantly.

"All of you, together or one at a time!" D'Hérouville was mad with

rage.

"One at a time," replied the banterer; "the Chevalier first, and if he

leaves anything worth fighting, I; as for you, my poet, your chances

are nil."

Meanwhile a dozen canoes had been launched. A quarter of an hour

passed anxiously; and then the canoes returned, augmented by two more.

Father Chaumonot hailed. An answering hail came back.

"Father Chaumonot?"

"Who calls me by name?" asked the Jesuit.

"Brother Jacques!"

Brother Jacques! The human mind moves quickly from one thing to

another. For the time being all antagonism was gone; a single thought

bound the four men together again.

"Are you alone?" asked Chaumonot. His voice quavered in spite of his

effort.

"No!" sang out Brother Jacques's barytone; and there was a joyous note

in it. "Two daughters of Onontio are captives with me."

Two daughters of Onontio; two women from the Château St. Louis! A rare

wine seemed to infuse the Chevalier's blood. He forgot many things in

that moment.

"Women?" murmured Father Chaumonot, in perplexity. "Oh, this is

fortunate and yet unfortunate! What shall we do with them here? I can

spare no men to take them back to Quebec; and the journey would only

plunge them into danger even worse."

The Senecas, sullen but dignified, and their captives were brought

ashore and led toward the fire. The Onondagas crowded around. These,

then, were the fair flowers which grew in the gardens of the white man;

and the young braves, who had never before set eyes upon white women,

gazed wonderingly and curiously at the two marvels. The women

sustained with indifference and composure this mild investigation.

They had gone through so much that they were not interested in what

they saw. The firelight illumined their sadly arrayed figures and

played over their worn and weary faces. Father Chaumonot extended his

hands toward them reassuringly; and they followed his every gesture

with questioning eyes. Corn Planter, the Seneca chief, began to

harangue. Since when had the Onondaga brother taken it upon himself to

meddle with the affairs of the Senecas? Was not the law written

plainly? Did the Onondaga wish to defy the law of their forefathers?

The prisoners were theirs by right of their cunning. Let the Senecas

proceed with their captives, as their villages were yet very far away,

and they had spent much time in loitering.