It was a crew with choice potentialities for
mischief. Cadillac was justified in feeling that his scalp sat but
unsteadily upon his head.
I had given Singing Arrow fifteen minutes to hide her brandy and send
word to the braves, and I counted off the time to myself, trying to
numb my anxiety. But among savages news runs underground as well as
over, and I had scarcely covered half the space that I had set for
myself before the crowd began to disappear. It slipped away like water
between the fingers, and in a moment there remained only the guards,
Pemaou, and a few Ottawas. The guards, relieved from immediate anxiety
of a riot, leaned listlessly on their muskets, the Ottawas would not
interfere with a girl of their own tribe, and Pemaou could not watch
all quarters at once. Now was certainly the time to act; but where was
Singing Arrow? My inaction pressed on me like a hideous weight. It
seemed days instead of hours that I had sat like a crone by her distaff
and let others do my work--or fail to do it. Why was Singing Arrow so
slow to come?
I thought that I had not shifted my gaze from the house for more than
an instant; but now, as I watched the door, I learned, and not for the
first time, that a white man should have a score of eyes instead of two
when it comes to watching an Indian.
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