"There is nothing more that you can say.
Monsieur, unhand me. My wife left with Starling. She is undoubtedly
in the Seneca camp. Pemaou and Starling are in league, and they go to
the Senecas because they hope to make terms on behalf of the English
with the western tribes. I understand."
Cadillac looked at me fully, and I realized dully that his face grew
white as he examined mine. "Go away. Go at once," he urged.
"Leave things here to me."
I nodded and stumbled away. Stretched tarpaulins made my tent, and I
crawled under them, drew down the folds, and was alone. The noise of
the camp muttered around me like a wind.
And then I lay alone with myself and my beliefs, and fought to know
where my feet were set. There was tempest without my tent, but not
within. In the valleys where I struggled there was great quiet. And
at last I found certainty.
In an hour I went to find Cadillac. He would not let me speak.
"Montlivet, we will stop this attack--if we can hold the Indians."
"It is not possible to hold the Indians. They are blood drunk. We
should have general massacre."
"Then you must leave. You can go with Onanguisse. He says that if his
adopted daughter is with the Senecas he will not join in the attack.
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