That was so, but made no difference. All had heard; and whether the words were understood or not, all had seen, too, and knew that the man in the red coat and the Hunter had been together before.
The French officers exchanged glances. Captain Strobo sat flushing as if vexed. Vanbraam gabbled in broken French and English, and patted the Hunter’s shoulder and called him “goot boy,” and Strobo called sharply to him.
The French laughed. The captain chief and another captain who was the same Mercier that had summoned Ensign Ward to surrender talked together rapidly; then the interpreter mingled with the Ottawa and Huron, passing word to them.
“Go with your brothers of Onontio,” said the French captain, now. “Sit by their fires and eat.”
This time he spoke in French; for the tipsy Jacob Vanbraam was babbling in spite of the angry Strobo:
“He iss a goot boy. He iss a smart boy. He speak English and a leetle French, and why not should I talk with him. Mebbe he coom from Washington. I am no prisoner. We but stay a leetle while and den we go home. Yah! He shall tell Washington we all right.”
That had finished things for the Buck and Robert. They were taken away by the French Indians, to a fire, and given food; but while they ate they knew that they were under suspicion.
The interpreter came and sat with them; and a haughty, piercing-eyed Ottawa chief, plainly a great warrior, but not of councillor age yet, put shrewd questions to them.
“My young warrior brothers are from the English?”
“No,” said the Buck. “We have heard the French are strong and wish to see them.”