"At all events this quantity of powder in the hands of the Cherokees makes it certain that a siege of Fort Prince George will follow close on the fall of Fort Loudon," Stuart declared.
Demeré raised himself on his elbow to gaze at Stuart by the light of the flickering candle which the visitor held in his hand.
"I am afraid that you are right," Demeré said, after a grave pause. "But how can we help it?"
"Hide the powder,—hide it," said Stuart excitedly. "Bury it!"
"Contrary to the stipulations and our agreement," returned Demeré.
Stuart evidently struggled with himself. "If these fiends," he exclaimed,—the triumph of Oconostota had gone very hard with him,—"were like any other enemy we could afford to run the chance. But have we the right to submit the commandant of Fort Prince George and his garrison—to say nothing of ourselves and our garrison, hampered as we are with women and children, taking refuge with him,—to the risk of siege and massacre, fire and torture, compassed by materials practically furnished by us,—on a delicate question of military ethics?"
"If we do not keep our word, how can we expect Oconostota to keep his word?" asked Demeré.
"But do we really expect it? Have we any guarantee?"
Once more Stuart hesitated, then suddenly decided. "But if you have scruples"—he broke off with a shrug of the shoulders. "I should leave Oconostota enough powder to amuse him with the guns for a while, but not enough to undertake a siege. The government will surely occupy this place again. I expect to find the powder here when I come back to Fort Loudon."
His words were prophetic, although neither knew it. He cast a hasty glance at Demeré, who again objected, and Stuart went out of the door saying nothing further, the draught flickering, then extinguishing, the flame of the candle in his hand.