A look passed between the Chevalier and me. There was that in the manner of Olotoraca which we could not understand. But De Brésac had made a quick theory of his own, and acting on it as was his wont, he put his hand upon the muscular shoulder of the young warrior, turning him about and looking him steadily in the eyes.
“We believe in the truth of the things you say, Olotoraca, and for our part we will keep our promises. But you, what have you done for us since we have been away? What will you do for us when we are gone?” The Indian did not look at De Brésac, but straight before him.
“We will keep friendship as we have ever done,” he said evenly, “asking no more than we can give.”
“You have kept friendship with our people?” said the Chevalier craftily, and I saw his drift. “Then you have among you those who escaped from Fort Caroline!”
A great change came suddenly over the face of the young brave. He flashed the eye of a hawk first at the Chevalier and then at me. De Brésac was impassive. I was leaning forward, the query that was vexing my soul hanging upon my tongue. His face lost the boyish look and in a moment became again as it was when he mounted the entering ladder—haughty and immobile.
“There is but one of your race among us,” he said, carelessly, “a youth who calls himself Debré. He is at the village of the Paracousi Satouriona and will be brought hither on the morrow.”
It all happened thus as I have written it. ’Twas but a second of time that his eyelid fluttered at our sudden query as he sought to gain his composure. But in that brief moment there was that which showed us that the personal friendship which this young brave avowed was no friendship at all, but only breath upon his lips and in no manner to be believed. If something had happened to make the Indian distrust us, ’twas no good beginning for our foray. And these doubts must speedily be cleared if success was to attend our undertaking. For my part I was so sure Olotoraca was lying, that I made myself no concern over his denial. A French youth named Debré had escaped and had been cared for. Then why not others? If Satouriona was a friend of the French, then all refugees should be safe in his lodges.
After the Indians had been set ashore again and De Gourgues had been told of the manner of Olotoraca, he stroked his chin gravely.
“You are certain of some deception? H-m! That is strange, for I have found a great frankness in the manner of the Paracousi. But it may be as you say—and we will be upon our guard against him. ’Tis most certain that these Caribs do hate the Spaniards with a mortal hatred and we must show no doubt of them until our mission is accomplished. So I say, do nothing to gain their enmity, even should you believe that friends of yours are in their keeping.”
These were orders and he spoke them firmly. But all night long I strode up and down the deck under the deep vault of starlit sky, trying to hit upon some plan by which I could learn the truth. Why had Olotoraca started at the mention of my name? Emola had spoken it, he said, but my return to Florida should be no cause for alarm or even surprise to him, since in the presence of that chief we three, De Brésac, Goddard and I, had sworn to visit vengeance upon the Spaniards, and Emola knew that we would return as soon as could be. Unless our judgment was at fault there was some matter of common interest between this young Carib prince and me. For the chance perception which had enabled us to pierce the weak spot in his armor had shown that there was something in his mind against me, which in spite of his accustomed immobility he could not hide. What could it mean? The instinct of battle and the desire to measure my strength and skill against any man who looked at me askance, an instinct which has not been taken from me even at this day, rose up strong and I vowed I would have some fair good exercise from this fellow, should he not explain. Perhaps Mademoiselle—