“No fear of that. We know that Clare doesn’t speak our tongue.”
“Maybe the policeman speaks Beaver.”
“He doesn’t, though. He spoke English to them. I asked Shose Cardinal if he spoke Beaver, and he said no. And when I pushed off I insulted him in our tongue, and he paid no attention. Listen to this——”
Imbrie turned, and in the Indian tongue addressed an unrepeatable insult to the wounded trooper. Stonor, though almost suffocated with rage, contrived to maintain an unchanged face.
“You see?” said Imbrie to the woman, laughing. “No white man would take that. We can say what we like to each other. Speak English now just to torment him, the swine! Ask me in English what I’m going to do with him.”
She did so.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered carelessly. “Just tie him up, I guess, and leave him sitting here.”
“Tie him up?” she said with an evil smile.
“Sure! Give him leisure to prepare for his end.”
They laughed together.