"The English owe the poor Indians much—they will not pay. Hence the
Indians thought it no more than fair to keep the goods."
Not wishing to anger the great chief too much, Dave did not reply to this.
"The white young man has the eyes of a hawk and the cunning of a fox," continued Pontiac. "He is no trapper, no hunter, no trader, but a spy."
"A spy!" cried Dave, a light breaking in upon him. "So you take me to be a spy?"
"And Pontiac is right. 'Tis useless to deny it. The young man would spy upon the Indians and then go and tell the great English general of what he has seen. He is a snake in the grass, close to the trail of Pontiac and his followers."
"I am not a spy, Chief Pontiac. My father is a trader and I help him at his trading-post on the Ohio, that is all."
Pontiac waved his hand. "The wind can blow a lie away, but the truth is like a rock that the wind cannot stir. Pontiac's followers have watched the white youth, and he knows."
"Chief Pontiac is mistaken, I give him my word upon it," answered Dave. And then he added. "What do you propose to do with me?"
"That remains to be seen. In war times the English and the French put a spy to death. It may be that Pontiac will be more merciful. But first the white young man must tell all he knows."
"Of what?"