"How will you die, my friend?" I asked. "You can smother to death if
you prefer it."
His answer was a bellow of insensate rage and his knife, thrown
point-first at my chest. By sheer luck I caught its point on my
hilt, turned it aside and met his rush. He wrapped his arms around
me, intent on carrying me with him into the ooze and slime. But I
stabbed him to the heart before his bear's hug was completed, and he
fell away from me, arms spread wide, and lay in a noisome heap by the
tussocks of marsh grass.
I stood over him, panting from my exertions, when a shout from
Ta-wan-ne-ars attracted my attention. The Seneca was returning from
his pursuit of the two Cahnuagas. He shouted again, and pointed
behind me. I turned to see Peter and the negro locked in each
other's arms, and as I looked, Tom heaved Peter into the air and
sought to throw him. But Peter locked his legs around the negro's
waist, and they rolled over and over across the ground.
I reached them just as they struggled to their feet, grips unrelaxed.
Peter warned me off.
"Standt clear," he croaked. "I finish this myself."
Certes, nobody but Peter could have finished it. The negro's
strength was colossal. His arms were half again as long as Peter's
and Peter was a big man. The negro's shoulder and back muscles were
iron bands--we afterward estimated the pack he had been carrying at
three hundred weight and a half. He fought like a wildcat, with
teeth and nails and legs. But Peter met him phlegmatically, refusing
to be angered by the vilest attempt.
Once, whilst Ta-wan-ne-ars and I stood by, Peter tried to break his
back. Any other man's back would have been broken. A second time
Tom rolled the Dutchman on the ground and clawed at his eyes; but
Peter kept one arm across them and escaped with bleeding cheeks.
Again, Peter rose up to his full height and jolted the negro down
upon his head. It seemed as if the fellow's neck must break if his
skull resisted the shock. Yet he bounded to his feet unhurt, and
with a swift look around made a dash for liberty, which Ta-wan-ne-ars
and I headed off.
Then Peter closed with him. They had torn the clothing from each
other's shoulders and flanks. They dripped blood. Their skins shone
with sweat. Their chests heaved with the effort for breath.
Tom stooped and flung his arms around Peter's waist, driving his head
for the Dutchman's loins. Peter retaliated by bringing up his knee
against the negro's chin. Tom reeled back, and Peter swooped upon
him. One arm hooked Tom's waist, the other caught him by the neck.
Dazed and with a mouthful of shattered teeth, Tom struggled feebly,
but without avail. Peter twisted him, bore him to the ground,
shifted grip rapidly, drove his knee into the quivering belly and
throttled the life out of the black throat.
"So I make an endt of him," panted the Dutchman as he staggered to
his feet.
"Aye, we have made an end to Red Death and Black Death," I answered.
"And I slew the two who ran," added Ta-wan-ne-ars, touching two
scalps whose clustered feathers protruded from his belt.
"A clean sweep," I said. "There will be none to carry the tale to La
Vierge du Bois."
"That is ever the criminal's belief," interrupted a voice in French.
We spun round in amazement to face a gaunt figure in the black habit
of the Jesuits.
"Black Robe!" exclaimed Peter.
Ta-wan-ne-ars glowered at the priest.
"What do you do here, Père Hyacinthe?" I asked in French.
"What is that to you?" he snapped. "I go about my Father's business;
that is sufficient for the bloody-minded to know."
"If you will look at me closer, father, you will recognize my face,"
I answered. "Surely one has the right of vengeance upon those who
would torture one."
He peered at me.
"You and the Indian were at La Vierge du Bois," he said. "Yes, I
remember now. Did the light shine in your eyes, my son?"
"Not the light you mean, but I saw much evil which went on there
behind your back."
"What?" he demanded.
I told him of the Moon Feast and the False Face rites and started to
reveal the duplicity of de Veulle.
"Tell me no more," he interrupted with a sigh. "'Tis already hard to
bear these burdens my unworthy shoulders carry. I cry out now and
again, 'How long, O Lord, how long?' But what bloody business have
you done here? Are your skirts clear that you should assail the poor
savages, who still relapse to superstition!"
"You say nothing of the Chevalier de Veulle," I commented.
"The man is your enemy," he returned shrewdly. "I do not think your
judgment is unbiased."
Ta-wan-ne-ars raised his tomahawk, implacable hatred in his face.
"This man is leagued with the priests of evil," he said. "He is at
one with Murray. Let us made an end of him."
Peter, methodically retrieving his clothing and equipment, grunted
assent.
"No, no," I intervened. "'Tis not fair to judge him by his
associates. Let him go."
"He will only carry word of what has passed to Murray," objected
Ta-wan-ne-ars.