I had in my shirt the bottle of laudanum that
all traders carry, and it was my only weapon. Pierre had shown me a
small flask of rum which the Indians had not discovered, and which he
had had the unexpected self-control to leave untouched. I hoped that
when my Indian had learned the casting of his net his vanity could be
played on to invite the other Frenchmen and their guards to see his
prowess, and that we should then have opportunity to treat the Indians
to the laudanum-dosed rum. It was a crazy scheme, but worth a trial.
If we could get possession of the canoe, there was some hope that we
could make our way to the Malhominis village.
No teacher was ever more zealous than I for my net-thrower. Early the
next morning I winked toward the swamp, and jerked my thumb over my
shoulder. The Indian came willingly. Why should he not? I was
unarmed, and he had knife and hatchet and was my peer in strength. He
thought me a strange fool, but useful.
But that morning the lesson went badly. The Indian was clumsy, and
being ashamed of himself, grew surly and indifferent. The sun was hot,
the water dazzling, and mosquitoes rose in clouds. The Indian wanted
to go back to camp, and I cudgeled my wits for expedients to keep him
there.
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