"Two stranger canoes are coming up the river. Let us go to meet them," said the Black Kettle. "Either they are friends, or they are enemies."
"Let us wait and see what this is," and the vicomte touched the Chevalier on the arm.
"Curse you all!" cried D'Hérouville passionately. "Liar!" He turned upon Victor. "But for your lying tongue, I should not be here."
"After Monsieur le Chevalier," said the poet, forgetting that he could not hold a sword.
"Rather say after me, Saumaise;" and the vicomte smiled significantly.
"All of you, together or one at a time!" D'Hérouville was mad with rage.
"One at a time," replied the banterer; "the Chevalier first, and if he leaves anything worth fighting, I; as for you, my poet, your chances are nil."
Meanwhile a dozen canoes had been launched. A quarter of an hour passed anxiously; and then the canoes returned, augmented by two more. Father Chaumonot hailed. An answering hail came back.
"Father Chaumonot?"
"Who calls me by name?" asked the Jesuit.