"I can," I agreed. "And so can you. But I would risk denunciation
at an extremity, Murray. Red Jack sought the protection of the
wilderness. So might I."
"You are safe," he returned. "Believe me or not. 'Tis true."
"You hear?" I said to Ta-wan-ne-ars beside us.
He smiled gravely.
"My brother is safe," he agreed, "for Ta-wan-ne-ars will watch."
"You are thrice fortunate," Murray congratulated me. "You have won
the confidence of the noble red man."
Ta-wan-ne-ars looked squarely at him.
"He will win the confidence of the red man, Murray, because he speaks
straight. But you speak with the tongue of an Englishman, and think
with the mind of a Frenchman."
Murray smiled.
"But always to my own interest, Ta-wan-ne-ars. Well, good luck to
the two of you. And do not permit the Keepers to take you alive."
His smile became a sardonic grin.
"The Keepers have their own way with prisoners, you know. 'Tis part
of their reward--or so the story goes."
I felt a shock of revulsion against the man. And he was the father
of Marjory!
"You double-dyed scoundrel!" I ripped out at him.
"Have I touched your nerves?" he gibed. "Zooks, how sad! Well, I
have company. I will bid you good evening."
The door shut behind his mocking grin, and we descended the stairs to
the street. Ta-wan-ne-ars walked beside me without speaking until we
had left the tavern.
"I understand your thoughts, my brother," he said suddenly. "We go
upon the same quest."
"Quest?" I repeated. "What quest?"
"We each seek a soul which is lost, a sick soul."