"Then I follow behind."
"You have no canoe, no provision."
"I have legs. I can walk. I can eat tripe de roche."
The giant was trembling. I could not but respect this rebellion. He had broken the chains of three centuries in his defiance. The thought of his filling his cavernous stomach with tripe de roche—which is a rock lichen, slimy and tasteless—moved me somewhat.
"You dare disobey me, Pierre?"
"But the master is sick."
I shrugged, but the logic held. "Then tell the chief," I capitulated.
"And see that I have something to wear."
Water was brought by one squaw, and another fetched more broth and bound my shoulder with fresh dressings. Then leggings, robe, and girdle of wolfskin were left for me. I put them on with difficulty, and went to find Outchipouac.
I stepped out into a glare of sunshine and stood blinking. The braves were gathered in a group, and a line of squaws barred me from them. I started toward them, but the squaws waved me back; they pointed me to the shore and the waiting canoe. Pierre rolled forward, uneasy and scowling.
"The braves will not speak to us; they say our talk means nothing."