“Iroquois, by the look of that warrior,” he whispered, “and enough of them to mean mischief. I would I knew their language.”
“’Twas the tongue of the Tuscaroras,” I answered. “My father taught me a little of it years ago. The first words spoken were a warning to be still; the other answered that the white men are all asleep.”
“And I am not sure but that is true. If De Tonty was in command the walls would be well guarded, but De Baugis and Cassion know nothing of Indian war.”
“You believe it to be an assault?”
“It hath the look; ’tis not Indian nature to gather thus at this night hour, without a purpose. But, pouf, there is little they can do against that stockade of logs for all their numbers. It is our duty to be well away by daylight.”
The remaining distance to the water’s edge was not far––a direct descent amid a litter of rocks, shadowed 360 by great trees. Nothing opposed our passage, nor did we hear any sound from the savages concealed in the forest above. De Artigny led the way along the shore until we reached the log hut. Its door stood open; the canoe was gone.