Tonty spoke to the sentinel, whose fingers visibly held the door, and he let pass a tall Iroquois brave carrying such a bundle of rich furs as one of that race above the condition of squaw rarely deigned to lift. His errand was evidently peaceable. He paused and stood like a prince. Neither La Salle nor Tonty remembered his face, though both felt sure he came from the mission village of friendly Iroquois near Fort Frontenac.
“What does my brother want?” inquired La Salle, with sympathy he never showed to his French subordinates.
“He waits to speak to his white brother with the iron hand,” answered the Iroquois.
“Have you brought us bad news?” again inquired La Salle.
“Good news.”
“What is it?”
“It is only to my brother with the iron hand.”
“Can you not speak in the presence of Monsieur de la Salle?” demanded Tonty.
With exquisite reserve the Indian stood silent, waiting the conditions he needed for the delivery of his message.
“It is nothing which concerns me,” said La Salle to Tonty. He prepared to stalk into the weather with Barbe.