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Smith, Alice Prescott

"Montlivet"

I will deal with
you with absolute truth as with my own right hand. Tell me. Tell me,
in God's mercy! What do you know? Who did this? What can we do?"
His voice was judicial, but I saw his great frame swaying like a
shambling ox. I marveled that he could show emotion. My own body felt
dead.
"The woman has been taken away," my stiff, strange voice explained.
"So far they have not harmed her."
"How do you know?"
"There are no marks of struggle. Simon resisted, and they killed him.
The other men surrendered. The Indians wanted prisoners, not scalps."
"Was it Pemaou and his Hurons?"
"Yes."
"You are sure?"
"He left a broken spear in my lodge. There was bad blood between us
once, and I broke the spear in two and tossed the pieces at him,
telling him to keep them,--to keep them, for we should meet again. I
humbled him. Now it is his jest. He is a capable Indian. He seems to
have outwitted even you, monsieur."
Because I spoke as one dead he thought I needed leading. He took me by
the arm and would have guided me gently to the canoe.
"Come, Monsieur de Montlivet, you must rouse yourself. We must start
in pursuit."
I shook him off. "Sit here where it is dry.


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