The warrior, who seemed to be good natured, shook his head once more, and grinned, not abating at all his air of proprietorship so far as the rifle was concerned.
"And you with the pistol," continued the prisoner, "I beg to tell you it's mine, not yours, and I shall claim it again. What, you don't understand? Well, I'll have to find some way to make you comprehend later on."
The three warriors walked briskly and Robert, of course, had no choice but to keep pace with them. They indicated very conclusively that they knew where they meant to go, and so he assumed that a hostile camp was not very far away. Resolved to show no sign of discouragement, he held his head erect and stepped springily.
About three miles, and he saw a gleam of uniforms through the trees, a few steps more and his heart gave a leap. He beheld a group of Indians, and several Frenchmen, and one of them, tall, young, distinguished, was St. Luc.
The Chevalier was in a white uniform, trimmed with silver, a silver hilted small sword by his side, and his smile was not unpleasant when he said to Robert:
"I sent out these three warriors to find me a prisoner and bring him in, but I little suspected that it would be you."
"I suspected as little that it was you to whom I was being taken," said Robert. "But since I had to be a prisoner I'm glad I'm yours instead of De Courcelles' or Jumonville's, as those two soldiers of France have as little cause to love me as I have to love them."
"Monsieur De Courcelles is suffering from a bullet wound."
"It was my bullet."
"You say that rather proudly, but perhaps I'd better not tell it to him. It seems, Mr. Lennox, that you have a certain facility in getting yourself captured, as this is the second time within a year."