Somewhat to my surprise, the Ottawas listened with respect. I had
apparently won some reputation among them, and without demur they took
me to the chief.
Longuant was squatting before his lodge. A piece of wood was laid
across his lap, and he was chopping rank tobacco with a scalping knife.
He smelled of oil, and smoke, and half-cured hides; yet he met me as a
ruler meets an ambassador. As I stumbled after him into his dark
lodge, I saw that he was preparing to greet me with all the silence and
circumlocution of a state messenger. I had no time for that,--though
it gratified me. I tramped my way through all ceremony and plunged at
my point.
"I am no envoy," I began, shaking my head in refusal of the proffered
seat upon the mat beside him. "I am only a voice. A bird that calls
'beware' from the branches, and then flits away. Why watch the old
wolf, and let the cub play free? Would you make yourself a
laughing-stock among your people, by letting the Englishman escape into
the Baron's hands? Pemaou, son of the Baron, stands with his followers
outside the Englishman's window. What does he seek? I am no Ottawa.
I am a free man, bound to no clan, and to no covenant, and friend to
the Ottawas and Hurons alike.
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