Hugh turned to climb back the way he had come down. He gave a gasp, almost lost his footing, and seized a sturdy juniper root to keep himself from falling. Directly above him, on the verge of the ridge, stood a strange man, from his features, dark skin and long black hair evidently an Indian,—but not Ohrante. It flashed through Hugh’s mind that on level ground he might be a match for this fellow. They were not on level ground though. The Indian had the advantage of position. Moreover Hugh’s only arms were the hatchet and knife in his belt. The Indian carried a musket ready in his hand. That he realized to the full his advantage was proved by the malicious grin on his bronze face. There was no friendliness in that grin, only malevolence and vindictiveness.
Hugh knew himself to be in a bad position. Probably the Indian was one of Ohrante’s followers, and they were a wild crew, outlaws and renegades, their hand against every man and every man’s hand against them. The picture of the prisoner being tortured in the firelight crossed the boy’s mind in a vivid flash, and a shudder crept up his back. Then the grin on the Indian’s face sent a wave of anger over Hugh that steadied him. He must be cool at all costs and not show fear.
Moving a step, to a more secure footing, he looked the fellow straight in the eyes. “Bo jou,” Hugh said, using the corruption of the French “Bon jour” common among traders and Indians.
“Bo jou, white man,” the other replied in French.
Both were silent for a moment. Hugh did not know what to say next and the Indian seemed content to say nothing. Suddenly Hugh made up his mind, resolving on a bold course.
“What is this place?” he asked. “Is it island or mainland?”
“Ne compr’ney,” was the only answer.
Hugh took the phrase to be an attempt to say that the other did not understand. He repeated his questions in French, then tried English, but the Indian merely stared at him, the sardonic grin still distorting his lips, and replied in the same manner. Either he really did not understand, the two French phrases being all the white man’s speech he knew, or he did not wish to talk. Yet Hugh made another attempt at conversation.
“I was driven here in the storm last night,” he volunteered, “and my canoe wrecked and my companion drowned. We were on our way down shore from the New Fort with our winter supplies, but they are all lost. What is this place? I never saw it before and I do not like it. This morning I heard strange sounds, unlike any I ever heard made by man or animal. The devil was at large I think,” and he crossed himself in the French manner.
During the speech Hugh had kept his eyes closely fixed on the Indian’s face. He thought when he mentioned the strange sounds that he detected a quiver of interest, but it was gone in an instant. The fellow merely repeated his singsong “Ne compr’ney.” There was no use saying more. Determined not to show that he expected or feared any violence, Hugh started to climb up the projecting rock. Somewhat to the boy’s surprise, the Indian made no move to stop him. However, he kept his gun ready for instant use.