"We might enter many charges against him," answered Do-ne-ho-ga-weh grimly. "But we pledged our word to bring him here in safety—and we have washed away the stains of his offenses in the blood of the Keepers of the Trail."
"He shall tell his story to Onontio," replied Joncaire, politely threatening. "I am pleased with your assurances of peacefulness. I have no more to say."
But as the Iroquois were leaving he buttonholed me in the sallyport.
"I know you, my lad from Arles," he said jocosely. "I knew you the minute I laid my eyes on you. You have played ducks and drakes with high policies in your few months on the frontier. I hope your people appreciate you."
I laughed and returned his compliment. He waxed serious.
"For myself I am not so sorry this has happened," he declared. "I'll fight the English any day—and beat them, too. But I like not this stealthy intriguing by crime, by perverting the poor savages, by downright cruelty and superstition. This fellow de Veulle, now——"
"He's dead," I interrupted.
"Ma foi, you seem to have made a clean sweep of it, Jean! You are a lad after my own heart. De Veulle, he was a bad one. He cast discredit on France. I am glad you disposed of him. Let us fight clean and win clean, I say. Do you tell that to your governor."
"I will," I promised, laughing.
"You haven't a chance, you know," continued Joncaire gravely. "Not a chance."