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Smith, Alice Prescott

"Montlivet"


They leered at me when they heard my whistle, but they made no attempt
to hide from me. Evidently I was not important; I was not to be
allowed to go back to the French camp alive, so I could do no harm. I
whistled the louder.
I reached the Baron's lodge, and looked within. Two fires blazed in
the centre, and some fifty Indians sat in council. I would not enter.
The smoke and fire were in my eyes, but I recognized several of the
younger chiefs, and called them by name.
"Come out here to me," I commanded. "I will show you something."
There was a grunting demur, and no one rose. I whistled again and
stopped to laugh. The laugh pricked their curiosity, and the chiefs
straggled out. They stood in an uncertain group and looked at me. It
was dark; the moon was still low, and the shadows black and sprawling.
The open doors of the lodges sent out as much smoke as fireshine.
I let them look for a moment, then I took the handful of maize and
threw it in their faces. "Listen!" I cried. "Chiefs, you are
traitors. You eat the bread of the French, yet you would betray them.
You plan an uprising to-night. Well, you will find us ready. I
whistled as I came to you. That was a signal.


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