I went to find my men, and it was time that I bestirred myself.
License was in order, and the revel assaulted eyes, ears, and nose,
till a white man was wise if he forsook his dignity, and ran like a fox
to cover. The air was surfeiting with the steam of food. Dog-meat
bubbled in great caldrons, and maize cakes crackled on hot stones. A
bear had been brought in, and was being hacked in pieces to add to the
broth. The women did this, and as I passed them they stopped, with
their hands dripping red, and shook their wampum necklaces at me, and
pointed meaningly toward a neighboring hut, where I had been told that
rum could be bought if you were discreet in choosing your occasion. I
tossed them a handful of small coins, and warned them in Huron that if
they molested my men I should report them to the commandant. I felt
yet more haste to see my canoes under way.
I was plunging on in this fashion when Father Carheil plucked at my
sleeve. "Do you think you are running from the Iroquois?" he grumbled,
and he pushed his irritable, brilliant face close to mine. It was an
old face, lined and withered, and the hair above it was scanty and
gray, but never have I met a look that showed more fire and
unconquerable will.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31