“The Spanish, señor. Do you love them well?”
For a moment de Sancerre, startled by so unexpected an interrogatory, gazed down at the old hag, speechless. His suspicious mind strove in vain to find her motive for a question which seemed to him, at first, to have no bearing upon the topics they had just discussed. But his intuitions told him that upon the answer he should make to her would depend her attitude toward him from this time forth. By one word, he well knew, he might destroy in an instant the good-will of the one ally who could save him and Julia de Aquilar from the dangers which menaced them. Noco spoke Spanish, a tongue which, it seemed probable, she had learned from her immediate ancestors. That the Spaniards had treated the native Americans with great cruelty, de Sancerre had often heard. Was it possible that Noco had inherited a hatred for a race of oppressors from whom her forebears had fled in fear? On the chance that this might be, the Frenchman, hesitating only a moment, decided finally to tell the truth to his dusky inquisitor.
“Doña Noco,” said de Sancerre, impressively, placing a hand upon the old crone’s arm, “the Spanish are my dearest foes. Often have I led my men against them on the fields of war. I hold for them a hatred only less intense than the love I bear for Coyocop.”
The dark, beady eyes of the beldame seemed to search de Sancerre’s very soul. Suddenly she fell upon her knees, and, seizing his cold hand, pressed it to her shrivelled lips.
“I am your servant, señor—even unto death,” she muttered, hoarsely. Then she sprang to her feet with marvellous agility and stood listening intently, as if the noise outside bore some new tale to her quick ears.
“’Tis Cabanacte!” she exclaimed. “And with him comes the sister of the foolish man they slew.”
Hardly had de Sancerre grasped the significance of her words, when Katonah, followed by Noco’s grandson, stole into the hut, panting as if their journey had been a hurried one.
“Bienvenue, Katonah!” cried de Sancerre, a note of mingled annoyance and surprise in his voice. “I did not think to see you here again. You bring me word from Sieur de la Salle?”
Katonah’s sensitive ear caught the hollow sound in the Frenchman’s word of welcome. The suggestion of a sad smile played across her weary face, as she said:
“The great captain urged me not to come. But, monsieur, I was so lonely! With you and Chatémuc not there, I could not stay.” A suppressed sob checked her words. Handing to de Sancerre a note from de la Salle, the Mohican maiden seated herself upon a bench and gazed mournfully at the glowing embers of Noco’s dying fire.