"You are a fine, healthy maid, Marjory. As for Master Ormerod, he hath been a resourceful enemy, and as the first man to cry 'Checkmate!' against me I congratulate him."
Ta-wan-ne-ars tapped him on the shoulder and he swung around to meet the frowning gaze of the Seneca.
"You are a prisoner, Murray. Come with Ta-wan-ne-ars."
"'Sdeath, I was to have safe-conduct!"
"You are to go safely to Jagara—yes," I interposed; "but think not we will trust you at liberty."
He took snuff and dusted his lapels carefully.
"Have your way, noble Iroquois," he sighed. "A little while, and I shall be quit of you."
The warriors of the Long House came pouring through the gates of the stockade, and their war-whoops echoed over the forest as they commenced the work of looting Murray's establishment and securing their prisoners. As Marjory and I passed out of that sinister enclosure, which had seen so much of wickedness and human suffering, we had our last joint glimpse of Andrew Murray. The Otter was lashing his arms at his back, and on his face was a look of whimsical distaste.
"Farewell, my children," he called. "Bear in mind 'twas Andrew Murray brought you together. So good cometh out of evil."
Marjory shrank closer against my side.