“You wish me to retire?”
“I would prefer you do so.”
I arose to my feet, hesitating and uncertain. It was evident enough that the court intended to convict the prisoner. All the hatred and dislike engendered by years of controversy with La Salle, all the quarrels and misunderstandings of the past few months between the two rival commanders at the fort, was now finding natural outlet in this trial of Rene de Artigny. He was officer of La Salle, friend of De Tonty, and through his conviction they could strike at the men they both hated and feared. More, they realized also that such action would please La Barre. Whatever else had been accomplished by my exhibit of the governor’s letter, it had clearly shown De Baugis that his master desired the overthrow of the young explorer. And while he felt slight friendship for Cassion, he was still La Barre’s man, and would obey his orders. He wished me out of the way for a purpose. What purpose? That I might not hear the lying testimony of those soldiers and Indians, who would swear as they were told.
Tears misted my eyes, so the faces about me were blurred, but, before I could find words in which to voice my indignation, De Tonty stood beside me, and grasped my arm.
“There is no use, Madame,” he said coldly enough, 333 although his voice shook. “You only invite insult when you deal with such curs. They represent their master, and have made verdict already––let us go.”
De Baugis, Cassion, De la Durantaye were upon their feet, but the dragoon first found voice.
“Were those words addressed to me, M. de Tonty?”
“Ay, and why not! You are no more than La Barre’s dog. Listen to me, all three of you. ’Twas Sieur de la Salle’s orders that I open the gates of this fort to your entrance, and that I treat you courteously. I have done so, although you took my kindness to be sign of weakness, and have lorded it mightily since you came. But this is the end; from now it is war between us, Messieurs, and we will fight in the open. Convict Rene de Artigny from the lies of these hirelings, and you pay the reckoning at the point of my sword. I make no threat, but this is the pledged word of Henri de Tonty. Make passage there! Come, Madame.”
No one stopped us; no voice answered him. Almost before I realized the action, we were outside in the sunlight, and he was smiling into my face, his dark eyes full of cheer.
“It will make them pause and think––what I said,” he exclaimed, “yet will not change the result.”