You are more familiar with the savages than I like a
man of mine to be. Remember that, Pierre. Now go."
But he lingered. "It is no pot-house story," he defended sulkily.
"The Ottawas say they will go to war if the prisoner is not put in the
pot before to-morrow morning. And what can the commandant do? The
Ottawas are two thousand strong."
I knew, without comment, that he was telling me the truth, and I stood
still. The din of the dancing and feasting was growing more and more
uproarious, and the Indians were ripe for any insanity. I saw that the
sun was already casting long shadows, and that the night would be on us
before many hours. I looked at the garrison. Two hundred Frenchmen
all told, and most of them half-hearted when it came to defending an
Englishman and a foe! I turned to my man.
"You have been with an Ottawa girl, called Singing Arrow," I said.
"Are you bringing me some woman's tale you learned from her?"
He squirmed like a clumsy puppy, but I could see his pride in my
omniscience. "She is smarter than a man," he said vaguely.
And Pierre were the man, I thought that likely. "Take me to her," I
commanded.
I expected to follow him among the revelers, but he turned his back on
them, and led the way through a labyrinth of huts, a maze so winding
that I judged him more sober than I had thought.
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