“Just that––the tale of what you saw in the Mission garden at St. Ignace. Sacre, that shot hits, does it! You thought me asleep, and with no knowledge of your escapade, but I had other eyes open that night, my lady. Now will you confess the truth?”
“I shall conceal nothing, Monsieur.”
“’Twill be best that you make no attempt,” he sneered, his old braggart spirit reasserting itself as De Tonty kept silent. “I have guard here to escort you to the Commandant’s office.”
“You do me honor.” I turned to De Tonty. “Shall I go, Monsieur?”
“I think it best, Madame,” he replied soberly, his dark eyes contemptuously surveying Cassion. “To refuse would only strengthen the case against the prisoner. M. Cassion will not, I am sure, deny me the privilege of accompanying you. Permit me to offer my arm.”
I did not glance toward Cassion, but felt no doubt as to the look on his face; yet he would think twice before laying hand on this stern soldier who had offered me protection. The guard at the door fell aside promptly, and permitted us to pass. Some order was spoken, in a low tone, and they fell in behind with rifles at trail. Once in the open I became, for the first time, aware of irregular rifle firing, and observed in surprise, men posted upon a narrow staging along the side of the log stockade.
“Is the fort being attacked?” I asked.
“There has been firing for some days,” he answered, “but no real attack. The savages merely hide yonder amid the rocks and woods, and strive to keep us from venturing down the trail. Twice we have made sortie, and driven them away, but ’tis a useless waste of fighting.” He called to a man posted above the gate. “How is it this morning, Jules?”
The soldier glanced about cautiously, keeping his head below cover.