"But if you succeeded?"
I bowed to him. "If I succeeded I intended to come to you for help and consultation, monsieur."
I saw his eyes gleam. The man loved war, and his imagination was fertile as a jungle. I knew that already he had taken my small vision, magnified it a thousand-fold, and peopled it with fantasies. That was the man's mind. Fortunately he had humor, and that saved him,—that and letter-writing. He tapped out his emotion through noisy finger-tips.
"How much are you ready to tell me now?" he asked.
"Everything,—if you have patience." I rested my well arm on the table, and went carefully—almost day by day—over the time that separated me from May. I gave detail but not embroidery. Facts even if they be numerous can be disposed of shortly, if fancy and philosophy be put aside. So my recital did not take me long.
The gleam was still in Cadillac's eyes. "And, you think the western tribes would follow you now?"
"They would have followed me a week ago."
He heard something sinister in my reply. "You could have wiped out that Seneca camp," he meditated.
"Yes, it could have been done."
He gave me a look. "The Malhominis wished it?"