Le Borgne gabbled out something that drove the braves back.
"We have no furs yet," said he.
"But you will have them when you raid the Little White Sticks," raged Godefroy, caring nothing for the harm his words might work if he saved his own scalp.
Le Borgne drew off to confer with the braves. Then he came back and there was a treacherous smile of welcome on his bronze face.
"The Indians thought the white-men spies from the Little White Sticks," he explained in the mellow, rhythmic tones of the redman. "The Indians were in war council. The Indians are friends of the French."
"Look out for him, Godefroy," said I.
"If the French are friends to the Indians, let the white-men come to battle against the Little White Sticks," added Le Borgne.
"Tell him no! We'll wait here till they come back!"
"He says they are not coming back," answered Godefroy, "and hang me, Ramsay, an I'd not face an Indian massacre before I go back empty-handed to M. Radisson. We're in for it," says he, speaking English too quick for Le Borgne's ear. "If we show the white feather now, they'll finish us. They'll not harm us till they've done for the English and got more muskets. And that red pirate is after these same furs! Body o' me, an you hang back, scared o' battle, you'd best not come to the wilderness."
"The white-men will go with the Indians, but the white-men will not fight with the Little Sticks," announced Godefroy to Le Borgne, proffering tobacco enough to pacify the tribe.