A
leering Iroquois stood over me.
I dropped my arms and stood passive. A look over my shoulder told me
that Pierre and Starling had been seized and were fighting well.
"Caution!" I called. "Do not resist. Watch me."
"Where are we? What does it mean?" Starling called back. His voice
was shaking.
I held out my arms to be bound. "The Iroquois!" I shouted to Pierre in
dialect. "I did not know there were any within a thousand miles. Keep
steady. Follow me. We may find Pemaou here."
The Indians bound us systematically, but without undue elation, so that
I judged that they had many captives. They were Senecas and had the
look of picked men. I understood their speech, but beyond ribald jests
at our expense they said nothing. It was all swift, unreal. Owls
hooted in the woods and dogs snarled at us. The groups that remained
by the fire peered in our direction, but were too lethargic to come
near. I tried for a word with Starling. I feared for his spirit.
"They are Senecas," I managed to say to him; "the most diplomatic
nation of the Iroquois league. They will not butcher us without
consideration. Keep cool."
He nodded with some patronage. He looked impressive, unshaken; yet the
moment before he had been terror-stricken.
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