What could he do? How warn his countrymen? He could not leave Alagwa in peril. Nay! He could not leave at all. The road to the River Raisin led through the room, past Brito and the Indians without. Could he pass them? He could not overpower Brito without a struggle. And a single outcry would ruin all. He must wait—wait and watch. The game was not played out. Alagwa was no child. She might save herself and make it possible for him to escape with her to the American camp. With hard-set jaws he waited.
Alagwa was speaking without tremor or fear. Scorn unutterable rang in her voice.
“It is a plot worthy of you and your race,” she grated. “Dogs and liars that you are. Oh! I have found you out, all of you! For years you have cheated my people, deceived them, debauched them. For years you have fed them with lying promises to restore them to their ancient homes. You hated and despised them, but you wanted them for a bulwark against the Americans. You wanted them and you got them. You won them cheaply—by lies and by presents—presents for which they are paying now. They have borne the brunt of every battle in this war. They have won every victory for you. And you—you do not dream of keeping your promises. You—you personally—are like your lying race. You have killed, you have bribed, you have conspired, you have imprisoned those of your own race to win your way to this house, to get your grasp on the lands handed down to me by my forefathers. Tonight you purpose to betray the great chief who has gone away to fight your battles, trusting to your honor, leaving his women in your care. All my life long I have been taught to hate the Americans. All my life long I have been taught to look upon them as robbers and as foes. But, after all, I was born beneath the American flag. I have married an American. I am an American. And I am proud of it! Yes! proud of it! I am proud of my husband and proud of the race that produced him. I hate their foes. I hate you. And, by the white man’s God I swear, that your triumph—if you win it—shall be hollow, for you will clasp a dead woman in your arms. And tomorrow—tomorrow—Tecumseh will come back and burn you at the stake!”
Brito did not answer in words. Instead, he leaped swiftly forward, clutching at the girl with outstretched arms.
Had Alagwa been bred in civilization he must have caught her. But quickly as he leaped, eyes and muscles trained to avoid the rattlesnake striking from his lurking place in the grass were quicker. Alagwa dodged beneath his arms and darted into the dining-room, flinging the door backward behind her as she went.
Jack could wait no longer. As Alagwa vanished he sprang from behind the curtains and threw himself upon Brito. His fingers closed on the latter’s long military cloak and he swung the Englishman round with a fury that tore the garment from his shoulders and sent him catapulting against the farther wall. Simultaneously the jar of a heavy door told that Alagwa had escaped from the house.
Cursing horribly, the Englishman sprang up, plunging at Jack, sword out. But he halted and recoiled as he met the small dark unwinking stare of the American’s pistol.
Jack’s voice rang out, chill and metallic. “Silence!” he clinked. “If you raise your voice, you die.”
Breathing hard, Brito faced the unexpected foe who had confronted him. Suddenly his eyes gleamed with recognition and his teeth flashed from behind his snarling lips. “You!” he gasped. “By God! You!”
Jack frowned. “Not so loud,” he cautioned.