Tonty’s iron hand brought out of Jolycœur immediate confession of the poison he had used.
In an age when most cunning and deadly drugs were freely handled, and men who would not shed blood thought it no sin to take enemies neatly off the scene by the magic of a dish, Jolycœur was not without knowledge of a plant called hemlock, growing ready to the hand of a good poisoner in the New World.
Noon stood in the sky, half shredding vapors, and lighting cool sparkles upon the lake. Afternoon dragged its mute and heavy hours westward.
Men left the mission house and entered it again, carrying wood or water.
“His rings of black hair flaring to a fierce uprightness.”—Page 158.
The sun set in the lake, parting clouds before his sinking visage and stretching his rays like long arms of fire to smite the heaving water.
Twilight rose out of the earth and crept skyward, blotting all visible shore. Fort Frontenac stood an indistinct mass beside the Cataraqui, as beside another lake. Stars seemed to run and meet and dive in long ripples. The wash of water up the sand subsided in force as the wind sunk, leaving air space for that ceaseless tune breathed by a great forest.
Overhead, from a port of cloud, the moon’s sail pushed out suddenly, less round than it had been the night before, and owning by such depression that she had begun tacking toward her third quarter. Fort and settlements again found their proportions, and Father Hennepin’s cross stood clear and fair, throwing its shadow across the mission house.