That was
the man's mind. Fortunately he had humor, and that saved him,--that
and letter-writing. He tapped out his emotion through noisy
finger-tips.
"How much are you ready to tell me now?" he asked.
"Everything,--if you have patience." I rested my well arm on the
table, and went carefully--almost day by day--over the time that
separated me from May. I gave detail but not embroidery. Facts even
if they be numerous can be disposed of shortly, if fancy and philosophy
be put aside. So my recital did not take me long.
The gleam was still in Cadillac's eyes. "And, you think the western
tribes would follow you now?"
"They would have followed me a week ago."
He heard something sinister in my reply. "You could have wiped out
that Seneca camp," he meditated.
"Yes, it could have been done."
He gave me a look. "The Malhominis wished it?"
"Yes."
"And you thought it unwise?"
"They could not have done it without a leader. And I could not lead
them. I had to come here."
He smote the table till the candles flared. "You were wrong. You were
wrong. You could have gathered your forces and had the attack over in
a week,--in less time. Then you could have brought your troops with
you, and come to my aid.
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