Tonty spoke a few words to the waiting savage, who heard without returning any sign, and then followed Barbe, stretching the buffalo hide above her head. When La Salle observed this he failed to ridicule his lieutenant, but took one side of the shaggy canopy in his own hold. It was impossible for the girl to go dry-shod, but Tonty directed her way over the best and firmest ground. They made a solemn procession, for not a word was spoken. When they came to the fortress gate, Tonty again bestowed the robe around her as he had done when she entered the chapel, and stood bareheaded while Barbe—whispering “Adieu, monsieur”—passed out of his sight.
“I have thought of this, Tonty,” said La Salle as he entered; “when she is a few years older she shall come to the fort on the Illinois, if I again reap success.”
“Monsieur de la Salle, I am bound to tell you it will be dangerous for me ever to see mademoiselle again.”
“Monsieur de Tonty,” responded the explorer with his close smile, “I am bound to tell you I think it will be the safest imaginable arrangement for her.”
The gate closed behind him, and Tonty carried back an exhilarated face to the waiting Iroquois.
He entered Father Hennepin’s chapel again, and the Indian followed him to the hearth.
They stood there, ready for conference, the small black savage eye examining Tonty’s face with open approval.
“Now let me have your message,” said the Italian. “Have I ever seen you before? What is your name?”
“Sanomp,” answered the Iroquois. “My white brother with the iron hand has not seen me before.”
