"That I can do what I say!" he interrupted. "I have some authority in New France. You may rest confidence in my pledge. I, myself, will attend you so far as Jagara. 'Tis on my way to Montreal and Quebec."
I consulted with the others, anticipating Tawannears and Corlaer would be unwilling to trust him; but both assented promptly.
"Black Robe is no longer a hater of those who do not believe in his god," responded the Seneca to my query as to his changed attitude. "He has learned that we are honest in what we think. He has learned, too, that love is the servant of truth."
"Ja," said Peter. "Andt he remembers der time he was a man before he was a bpriest."
"He is a nasty old ant," declared Kachina. "He flaps like a raven. Ugh! I hate him!"
We paddled up the Ouabache to Vincennes, undisturbed by the savages along the river. The French garrison at the trading-post eyed us with suspicion, but made no objection to our presence. On the trip overland to Le Detroit, the French post on the straits betwixt the Huron Lake and the Lake of the Eries, the priest guided us past the scowling scrutiny of tribe after tribe, to whom Tawannears' presence was a menacing reminder of their dreaded enemies, the People of the Long House. Savages, traders, habitants, trappers, soldiers of the Lilies, all bowed and stood aside at sight of that gaunt figure, the crippled hand upraised in blessing. Under the skirts of his threadbare robe he carried us through the heart of the new empire France was creating below the Lakes, saving us I know not how many months of dangerous, roundabout traveling. And from Le Detroit he escorted us to the fortress at Jagara, which the great French soldier-statesman of the wilderness, Joncaire, had built to form a bulwark against the Iroquois.
'Twas here we said good-by, in the woods on the edge of the glacis, sloping up to the stone walls of the fort. In the distance we heard the subdued roar of the mighty falls. On the walls of the fort stood the white-coated sentinels of France. At our feet commenced a tenuous trail, the Northern approach to the Western Door of the Long House.
Black Robe gave Tawannears the Iroquois salute of parting. He pressed Peter's hand. On Kachina he bestowed his blessing.
"There is a place on Christ's bosom for you, my daughter," he said in the Seneca dialect, which she had mastered.
She scowled back at him in a way that must have compelled a man with a sense of humor to laugh.