When he spoke at last he told his story concisely.
A half hour later, I went in search of Cadillac. He heard my step on
the crunching gravel, and when I was still rods away, he laid his
finger on his lips for silence. I went to him rather resentfully, for
I had had no mind to shout my news in the street of the settlement, and
I thought that he was acting like a child. But he took no notice of my
pique, and clapped me on the shoulder as if we were pot-companions.
"Hush, man," he whispered fretfully. "Your look is fairly shouting the
news abroad. No need to keep your tongue sealed, when you carry such a
tell-tale face. So they have an Iroquois?"
I dropped my shoulder away from under his hand. "If that is the news
that you say I shouted, no harm is done,--save to my honor. No, they
have no Iroquois."
Cadillac stopped. "No Iroquois!" he echoed heavily.
"No, monsieur. They have an Englishman."
It was as if I had struck him. He stepped back, and his face grew dull
red.
"A spy?"
I shook my head. I could feel my blood pumping hard, but I answered by
rote. "Not by the Huron's story."
The commandant snapped his fingers. "That for his story! As idle as
wind in the grass!" he snorted.
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