FROM HOUR TO HOUR
It was well that I slept alone that night, for more than once before
day dawned I found myself with my feet on the floor and my free arm
searching for a knife. I had flouted at imagination, but now every
howling dog became an Indian raising the death cry. I asked Cadillac
to double the guard before the woman's quarters, but even then I slept
with an ear pricked for trouble. And I was abroad early.
There are no straight roads in the wilderness; all trails are devious.
So with an Indian's mind. I sat in Longuant's skin-roofed lodge and
filled hours with talk of Singing Arrow. The girl was to wed Pierre at
noon the next day. The marriage was to be solemnized in the chapel the
next afternoon, and the whites were to attend. The affair was perhaps
worth some talk, if Longuant and I had been squaws yawning over our
basket-work. But we were men with knives, and Fear was whispering at
our shoulders.
The sun climbed, and noises and odors of midday came in the tent door.
I plumped out a direct question.
"The tree of friendship that grows for the Ottawas and the French,--are
its roots deep, Longuant?"
The old chief looked at me. "What has my brother seen?"
"The Iroquois wolf, my brother. The Iroquois wolf snapping at the
roots of this stately tree. What will the Ottawas do, Longuant? Will
they drive the wolf away?"
The chief still studied me. "When a tree is healthy," he argued, "a
wolf cannot harm it; as well dread the butterfly that lights on its
leaves or the ant that runs around its trunk. It is only when a tree
is unsound at heart that the snapping of a wolf can jar it. And an
unsound tree is dangerous. My brother will agree that it is best to
cut it down."
I rose. "The wolf can do more than snap; his fangs are poisoned.
Listen, my brother. This tree of friendship is dear to me. I have
given labor to preserve it; I have watered it; I have killed the
insects and small pests that would have nibbled at its branches. Now
that I see its roots threatened, my heart is heavy and the sun looks
dim. Can my brother brighten the world for me? Can he tell me that my
fears are light as mist?"
Longuant looked at the ground. In repose his face was very sad, as are
the faces of most savage leaders.
"I have only two eyes, two ears," he crooned monotonously. "My brother
has as many. Let him use them."
"And you will not lift your hatchet to save the tree?"
Longuant raised his eyes. "The hatchet of the Ottawas is always
bright. My brethren will hold it in readiness. If the tree looks
strong and worth saving, they will raise the hatchet and defend it. If
the tree is unsound, they will put the hatchet at its roots."
Well, I had my answer. And, to be just, I could not blame them. The
Ottawas were never a commanding people. Their chief was wise to throw
his vote with the winning side. But I turned away saddened.
Longuant followed. "There is always a bed in the lodges of the Ottawas
for my brother of the red heart. Will he sleep in it?"
I turned. "Would my head be safer if I did, O brother of the wise
tongue?"
"My brother has said it."
I took a Flemish knife from my pocket and handed it to him.
"Take it, my brother, for my gratitude. It shall not cut the
friendship between us. It shall cut any stranger that would come
between your heart and mine. Longuant, I have a wife. She is fair,
and stars shine in her eyes. She has loved a daughter of your people.
I cannot hide in your lodge,--a man who carries a sword must use
it,--but will you take my wife and keep her? Will you keep her with
Singing Arrow for a few days?"
Longuant thought a moment. He looked at the knife as if it were a
talisman to teach him how much he could trust me; he tried its edge,
put it in his pouch, and made up his mind.
"My brother is keen and true as the blade of the knife. I will tell
him a story, a story that the birds sang. The eagle once married. He
married one of the family of the hawk. But the hawk found the eagle's
nest too high, so she flew lower to a nest near her own kin. Listen.
So long as the hawk stays near the hawk and is not seen with the eagle,
the wolf will spare her. But when she comes back to the eagle's nest
in the high tree, then let her beware. I have spoken. Now let my
brother go on his way and see what his eyes and ears can teach him."
But I went my way with thought busier than eyes. So I must keep away
from the woman. I went to my room, found paper and a quill, and wrote
to her. It was the first time I had written her name. It seemed
foreign to me, almost a sad jest, as it flowed out under my hand.
"I cannot come to you to-day," I wrote; "perhaps not for some days to
come. I shall be watching you, guarding you. I think I can assure you
that you are in no danger. For the rest, I must beg of you to wait for
me and to trust me. The women of the name you bear have often had the
same burden laid on them and have carried it nobly. Yet I know that
your courage will match and overreach anything they have shown. I
salute you, madame, in homage. I shall come to you the moment that I
may."
I subscribed myself her husband. Yet even the Indians gossiped that
the eagle's nest was empty. Well, I had work on hand.
So I found Cadillac. I told him in five minutes what it had taken me
five hours to learn.
"We must give our strength now to winning the Hurons," I said. "I will
work with them this afternoon. If we can get through this one night
safely I think we can carry the council."
Cadillac shrugged, but sped me on my way. "Be careful of to-night. Be
careful of to-night," he repeated monotonously. His eyes were growing
bloodshot from anxiety and loss of sleep.
The afternoon slipped away from me like running water, yet I wasted no
word or look. I dropped my old custom of letting my tongue win the way
for my ears, and I dealt out blunt questions like a man at a forge. At
one point I was foiled. I could not discover whether Starling--whom
personally I had not seen--was in communication with the Hurons.
The sun set, the sky purpled, and the moon rose. It rose white and
beautiful, and it shone on a peaceful settlement. I went to my room
and found a Huron squatting on my threshold. He gave me a handful of
maize.
"Our chief, whom you call the Baron, sends this to you," he said. "He
bids you eat the corn, and swallow with it the suspicion that you feel.
You have sat all day with other chiefs, but your brother the Baron has
not seen you. His lodge cries out with emptiness. He bids you come to
him now."
I thought a moment. "Go in front of me," I told the Huron.
I whistled as I went. A sheep that goes to the shambles of its own
accord deserves to be butchered, and I was walking into ambush. But
still I whistled. I whistled the same tune again and again, and I did
it with great lung power. My progress was noisy.
And so we went through the Huron camp. The lodges of the Baron's
followers were massed to one side, and as I whistled and swaggered my
way past their great bark parallelograms, I saw preparations for war.
The braves carried quivers, and were elaborately painted. Fires were
burning, though the night was warm, and women nearly naked, and
swinging kettles of red-hot coals, danced heavily around the blaze.
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. You think you can
overpower us. Try it. Seize me, if you like. If you do, I shall give
one more whistle, and my troops--the loyal Indians--will go to work.
You can see them gathering. Look."
I waved my hand at the murk around us. My words were brave but my
flesh was cold. I had told them to look, but what would they see?
Would my men be loyal? Then the signal,--it had been hastily agreed
upon,--would they understand it? I had to push myself around like a
dead body to face what I might find.
For a moment I thought that I had found nothing. But I looked again,
and saw that my eyes had been made blank by fear. For my men were
massed to east and west. They pressed nearer and nearer, and the moon
picked out points of light that marked knives and arquebuses. Some
wore uniforms, and some were naked and vermilion-dyed, but all were
watching me. I could not see their eyes, but I was conscious of them.
I pointed the chiefs to the prospect. "You see. I have only to
whistle, and we shall settle this question of who is master here.
Seize me, and I shall whistle. But I shall do nothing till you move
first. If we are to have war, you must begin it. Are you ready?"
Silence followed. It was a hard silence to me to get through calmly,
for I knew that my men were not so numerous as they appeared, and I
feared to be taken at my word. Pemaou glided up and spoke to his
father. I had not seen him since the night in the Seneca camp, and I
argued with myself to keep my head cool so that I should not spring on
him. His body was blackened with charcoal, and he wore a girdle of
otter skin with the body of a crow hanging from it. I had sometimes
been called the crow because of my many tongues, and I understood his
meaning. But I could only stand waiting, and the moments went on and
on.
It was a small thing that determined the issue. In the distance Pierre
began to whistle,--Pierre, the bridegroom of the morrow, the merry
bully of the night. He had a whistle in keeping with his breadth of
shoulder, and he used it like a mating cock. He whistled my tune, the
signal. It was not accident, I think, neither was it design. It was
his unconscious, blundering black art, his intuition that was
witchcraft.
The Baron drew himself up. He put out a protesting hand, and his
dignity of gesture would have shamed an Israelitish patriarch.
"We called our brother to council. What does our brother mean? He is
moon-mad when he talks of war in the house of his friends, the Hurons."
I yawned in his face. "You called me to council? But the council is
to-morrow night. The commandant calls it. Save your fair words for
him."
I turned on my heel to leave, but the Baron held me. He eyed me above
his blanket.
"My brother has been called the man who steals the Indian's heart from
his body," he purred at me. "He has stolen mine. The commandant is a
fool; I cannot talk to him. But to you, my brother, I can open my
heart. Come with me to my lodge and listen. You shall be safe. In
token of my love I give you this calumet," and he took his great
feathered pipe--the pipe that means honor to the lowest of savages--and
would have thrust it in my hands.
I was too nonplussed to remember to laugh. An offer to buy me, and
from the Indian who hated me most! They must indeed be afraid of
me,--and with what little cause. Where had my reputation come? I knew
my own weakness. Well, I must play on my fame while it lasted. So,
without deigning to answer, I turned away. My troops hedged me like a
wall as I went back to the French camp, but I did not speak to them.
It was strange to see them melt before me. I did not wonder that the
Hurons smelled witchcraft where, in fact, there was only bluster and a
pleading tongue.
I stood for a moment and looked at the garrison. The moon had crept
high and the place was very still. We were safe for the night. I lit
my pipe, and the smoke that spiraled above me did not seem more filmy
than the chance that had saved us. I suddenly shivered. But we were
safe. I gave the troops the signal to disband.
I stopped for a moment at Cadillac's door. "Sleep well," I said, with
my hand on his; "we have bridged to-night. Now for the council
tomorrow."