“To whom do you say this man belongs?” she asked, at the same time touching him contemptuously with the toe of her moccasin. “You say he is Red Feather’s. I say he is not. I say that no one but François Sharp Eyes has a right to him.”
“Wah!” grunted the old chief, “the Man-Wife has been drinking the new sap of the fever-tree and it has touched her brain. Do dead bodies desire to take away prisoners from the living?”
Jeanne tossed up her chin. “No, but the living have a right to their own. See, my brothers, François Sharp Eyes is here.” With a wave of her hand she indicated the approach of Ricard and Edouard with their burden.
“And not a minute too soon,” growled Petit Marc. “It was getting to be close quarters for him.”
Even the most impassive of the redskins stared to see the white face of François appear. Lendert struggled in his bonds and glared at this unexpected presence.
“Where is the prisoner?” asked François. “Place me near him.” He was laid under the tree where Lendert was bound.
“You see me, my brothers,” François began. “You ask if a dead body desires to take possession of a living one. Behold a dead body, this one of mine. As the chill of winter creeps farther and farther from the north, so over this body of mine creeps the chill of death; and who has caused this to happen? The same enemy who has robbed Red Feather of his son. Am I not worse off than Red Feather? He has another son, two or three of them. I have but my one body and it is worse than useless; only a frame to fasten this head upon. Was it not I who led you against the English? Said I not, We will have revenge for those indignities of the English and the Dutch and the Iroquois? You have come home in safety; I have been all these months a prisoner; and look at me. Who shall say that I should not have body for body?”
The Indians listened solemnly. Then one spoke up. “Our brother speaks well, but he has still his head. We will give him the body of the white man and we will take the head.”
This was received with much approval by the rest of the Indians, and Petit Marc gave a short laugh. The grim humor of the speech struck him. “They have you there,” he said aside to François.
“Pah!” François raised his hand. “Of what use is a body which cannot move? And if you deprive me of the head, how, then, can the body move for me? My living body has been taken; for it I demand a living body in return. This is what Yonondio would accord me. Call the head yours if you wish. I am willing, but how will it serve me to have two useless bodies? My brothers mock me; they wish to double my burdens by giving me two loads to carry, as if one were not enough. Who will be feet for my feet, legs for my legs? Who will run for me if I have not these living legs to do my will? And what will Yonondio say when I tell him. They have given me a dead man to bring to you as a prisoner?”