Part 16 (1/2)

Father Claude was on his feet, chafing his wrists and talking with the Beaver. The Long Arrow joined them, and for a few moments the chiefs reasoned together in low, dignified tones. Then, at a word from the Beaver, and a grunt of disgust from the Long Arrow, Father Claude, with quick fingers, set the maid free, and took her head upon his knee.

”Have they hurt her, Father?” asked Menard, in French.

”No, M'sieu, I think not. It is the excitement. The child sadly needs rest.”

”Will they release you? It is not far to Frontenac. It may be that you can reach there with Mademoiselle.”

”No, my son.” The priest paused to dip up some water, and to stroke the maid's forehead and wrists. ”They have some design which has not been made clear to me. They have promised not to bind me or to injure what belongs to me among the supplies. But the Beaver threatens to kill us if we try to escape, Mademoiselle and I.”

”Why do they hold you?”

”To let no word go out concerning your capture. I fear, M'sieu--”

”Well?”

The priest lowered his eyes to the maid, who still lay fainting, and said no more. A long hour went by, with only a commonplace word now and then between the prisoners. The maid revived, and sat against the canoe, gazing over the water that swept softly by. Danton lay silent, saying nothing. Once a groan slipped past the Captain's lips at a twitch of his wounded arm, and Father Claude, immediately cheered by the prospect of a moment's occupation, cleaned the wound with cool water, and bandaged it with a strip from his robe.

Preparations were making for a start. A half-dozen braves set out, running down the beach; and shortly returned by way of the river with two canoes. The others had opened the bales of supplies (excepting Father Claude's bundle, which he kept by him), and divided the food and ammunition among themselves. The two chiefs came to the prisoners, and seated themselves on the gravel. The Long Arrow began talking.

”My brother, the Big Buffalo, is surprised that he should be taken a prisoner to the villages of the Onondagas. He thinks of the days when he shared with us our hunts, our lodges, our food, our trophies; when he lived a free life with his brothers, and parted from them with sadness in his voice. He had a grateful heart for the Onondagas then.

When he left our lodges he placed his hand upon the hearts of our chiefs, he swore by his strange G.o.ds to keep the pledge of friends.h.i.+p to his brothers of the forest. Moons have come and gone many times since he left our villages. The snow has fallen for five seasons between him and us, to chill his heart against those who have befriended him. Twice has he been in battle when we might have taken him a prisoner, but the hearts of our braves were warm toward him, and they could not lift their arms. When there have been those who have urged that the hatchet be taken up against him, many others have come forward to say, 'No; he will yet prove our friend and our brother.'”

Menard lay without moving, looking up at the stars. Danton, by his side, and the maid, sitting beyond, were watching him anxiously.

Father Claude stood erect, with folded arms.

”And now,” continued the chief, ”now that Onontio, the greatest of war chiefs, thinks that he is strong, and can with a blow destroy our villages and drive us from the lands our G.o.ds and your G.o.ds have said to be ours by right, as it was our fathers',--now there is no longer need for the friends.h.i.+p of the Onondagas, whose whole nation is fewer than the fighting braves of the great Onontio. The war-song is sung in every white village. The great canoes take food and powder up our river, for those who would destroy us.”

Menard was still looking upward. ”My brother,” he said, speaking slowly, ”was once a young brave. When he was called before his great chief, and commanded to go out and fight to save his village and his brothers and sisters, did he say to his chief: 'No, my father, I will no longer obey your commands. I will no longer strive to become a famous warrior of your nation. I will go away into the deep forest,--alone, without a lodge, without a nation, to be despised alike by my brothers and my foes?' Or did he go as he was bid, obeying, like a brave warrior, the commands of those who have a right to command? Does not the Long Arrow know that Onontio is the greatest of chiefs, second only to the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, the father of red men and white men? If Onontio's red sons are disobedient, and he commands me to chastise them, shall I say to my father, 'I cannot obey your will, I will become an outcast, without a village or a nation?' The Long Arrow is a wise man. He knows that the duty of all is to obey the father at Quebec.”

”The Big Buffalo speaks with wisdom. But it may be he forgets that our braves have pa.s.sed him by in the battles of every season since he left our villages. He forgets that he met a band of peaceful hunters from our nation, who went into his great stone house because they believed that his white brothers, if not himself, would keep the word of friends.h.i.+p. He forgets that they were made to drink of the white man's fire water, and were chained together to become slaves of the great kind Chief-Across-the-Water, who loves his children, and would make them mighty in his land. Is this the father he would have us obey?

Truly, he speaks with an idle tongue.”

Menard lay silent. His part in La Grange's treachery, and in carrying out later the Governor's orders, would be hard to explain. To lay the blame on La Grange would not help his case, at least until he could consult with Father Claude, and be prepared to speak deliberately.

”My brother does not reply?”

”He will ask a question,” replied Menard. ”What is the will of the chiefs to do with the sons of Onontio?”

”The Big Buffalo has seen the punishment given by the Onondagas to those who have broken their faith.”

”I understand. And of course we shall be taken to your villages before this death shall come?”

The Long Arrow bowed.

”Very well,” said Menard, in his slow voice. ”As the Long Arrow, brave as he is, is but a messenger, obeying the will of the nation, I will withhold my word until I shall be brought before your chiefs in council. I shall have much to say to them; it need be said only once.

I shall be pleased to tell my truths to the Big Throat, whose eyes can see beyond the limits of his lodge; who knows that the hand of Onontio is a firm and strong hand. He shall know from my lips how kind Onontio wishes to be to his ungrateful children--” He paused. The Indians must not know yet that the Governor's campaign was to be directed only against the Senecas. The mention of the Big Throat would, he knew, be a shaft tipped with jealousy in the breast of the Long Arrow. The Big Throat, Otreouati, was the widest famed orator and chief of the Onondagas; and it was he who had adopted Menard as his son. Above all, the Long Arrow would not dare to do away with so important a prisoner before he could be brought before the council.