“Yes,” he put in coolly, “and I can tell you more than that if you will.”
There are natures, those of women as well as of men, whose vitality quickens in the face of actual danger. They may be even cowardly in the mere anticipation, but the trumpet-call of duty, honor, or sacrifice, or the less high-sounding clarion of self-preservation, sets them on their feet, face forward to the coming foe. In Gabriel all these forces were at work, though Margot’s sweet, pale face and the gran’-père’s bowed gray head, were the strongest influences. And behind all these was that irrepressible spirit of adventure, never wholly absent from the normally healthy young mind.
Drawing on his store of woodland stories, and occasionally pausing to give ear to those furnished by the now interested Micmacs, an hour passed in total oblivion by the captors of the commands laid on them concerning their prisoner; and when at last a tall dark form suddenly appeared within the circle of light, and a well-known terrible voice broke forth in objurgation; it was plain that the owner of both was scarcely more welcome to his “lambs” than to the prisoner.
“What is that I behold?” exclaimed Le Loutre. “Where is your Christian service, vowed to God and the king? Instead, I find feasting and foolish gabbling, with a traitorous captive in the midst!”
The faces of the Indians clouded in sullen silence. The lash of the priest’s tongue went unsparingly on. At length the leader growled out, “The pale faces from over the sea bring no more gifts. The red men grow weary of taking the scalps of friendly white men who are at war with your people but who do the Indian no wrong. They at the new fort have treated us well. And as for this boy, you give us not enough to take the scalp of so mighty a hunter and true a tracker.”
Le Loutre’s face paled with baffled rage. True it was that owing to some at present unexplained delay the customary large remittances from France for the bribing of Indians who were friendly to the English were not forthcoming, and with a heart-leap of joy Gabriel saw the truth written in his eyes.
“Fools! Did I bid you take his scalp? Did I not bid you rather to chasten him for his faithlessness and force him back to his duty? This you know well enough how to do without my guiding presence. Yet I come to find——”
With a gesture of unutterable scorn he waved his black-robed arm.
But his personal influence was on the wane, and he knew it. It was money, gifts, that were needed, and for these he must wait. Yet were there still a few whose greed was of the kind that will take anything rather than nothing, and on these he depended, and not in vain.
Stealthily, like dark spirits, two or three Indians glided from behind their companions, and took up their station beside the priest. Strengthened by these mute allies he once more faced the group at the fire, and proceeded to pour forth in fervid eloquence alternate persuasion, threat, and glowing promise of future reward. Gabriel soon discovered that he was not the central figure in this tirade—that larger projects than the fate of one boy were being held before the now attentive Indians, who uttered guttural notes of assent or dissent.