Peter Bondie looked at the girl contemptuously. “So!” he sneered. “You will not leave him, hein? You will save him, hein? And how will you save him? Bah! It is squaw’s talk.”
“Silence, cochon!” Fantine had risen swiftly to her feet. Her vast bulk quivered. “Fear not, ma bebée,” she cried. “We shall save him! He is a fool and blind, but some day le bon Dieu will open his eyes. Till then Fantine will protect and save him and you.” She caught the half-fainting girl in her arms, and turned upon her brother. “Scelerat!” she cried. “Know you to whom you speak? Know you that you address the daughter of M. Delaroche, the niece of the Count of Telfair, your liege lady? Down upon your knees, pig, and beg forgiveness.”
Peter did not drop upon his knees—he had been in America too long—but he changed color and began to mutter hasty apologies.
Alagwa scarcely heard him. Confused as leaves driven before October’s blasts her thoughts fluttered. Possibility after possibility rose in her mind only to be swiftly discarded. Her efforts to gain time had failed. Metea would come for her at dawn. No doubt his men were watching. She and Jack might flee that very night—But no! Jack would not go without explanation. Even if he did go, his flight and hers would be discovered in the morning and they would be pursued and Jack would be killed. He could not withstand twenty men. And he must not be excited. Besides, he would not go. Well she knew it. Could she persuade him to take refuge in the fort? Not without an explanation, certainly! And the fort would soon be attacked. She herself had made that certain. It was her message to Tecumseh that had caused the British to send their red allies to beleaguer it and cut off all help and ammunition. Truly her deeds had found her out.
What could she do? What could she do? Insistently her thoughts beat upon the question. And presently the answer came.
Jack must be saved. He could be saved only by saving the fort. Therefore the fort must be saved. It could not be saved unless its garrison was warned. Therefore it must be warned.
To warn it was to be treacherous to Tecumseh and to her friends. It was to dig a deathtrap in the path which she had called them to tread. It was to set back, perhaps forever, the day on which her people would regain their ancient power.
Alagwa knew it. To the last detail she knew it. And she did not care.
Jack should not die! Rather let every Shawnee die! Rather let Tecumseh himself perish! Rather let the whole Indian nation pass away forever! Metea’s threat had done its work well, but its effect had been far different from that which he had intended.
She sprang to her feet. “Come,” she said. “Let us go.”