“Crebleu!” he scowled, “there must be three thousand of them at least. Fools that they are! I have no men to waste upon such carrion as these. You are a wise soothsayer, M. de Brésac!”
“Monsieur!” replied the Chevalier with some dignity, “I have only replied to your questions with the best of my understanding.”
“But these red devils,” De Gourgues continued, “are armed to the very finger-nails. They look from here little like the allies you have promised us, M. de Brésac. Ho! Dariol, come aft!”
De Gourgues was striding up and down in a ferment. He saw his anchors gone and his plans set adrift by this unexpected resistance. When Dariol came, he stopped before him savagely, and pointing to the dark mass upon the beach said with scorn:
“Look you, master trumpeter, at your friends yonder! Look, I say! Must we cut our way through all this red vermin before we may reach the Spanish Fort? Explain it,—if you can. What has happened?”
Dariol wore a most serious face.
“The matter is bad, my Captain, for these Indians are surely bent upon war——”
“Well!”
“If we cannot prove our friendship we shall not land without a battle.”
“’Tis plain as a pike-handle,” said Bourdelais.