Usak was watching him. He understood the thing that was stirring behind the whiteman’s troubled eyes. He had driven home his conviction and he was satisfied. Now he awaited agreement with his desire that they should themselves go and deal with these fierce marauders. He saw no reason for hesitation. He saw nothing in his desire that could make it impossible, hopeless. But then he was a savage and only applied calm reason when passion left him undisturbed. The only thing to satisfy his present mood was to go, even singlehanded if necessary, and retaliate slaughter for slaughter.
Finally it was he again who broke the silence. The spirit driving him would not permit of long restraint.
“Us go, boss?” he urged.
Marty Le Gros suddenly bestirred himself. He shook his head.
“No,” he said. Then he pointed at the scene in front of them.
“We do this thing. The poor dead things must be hidden up. They were Christians, and we must give them Christian burial. After that we go. We go back home. There is my little Felice. There is your Pri-loo. They must be made safe.”
The man’s decision was irrevocable. The Indian recognised the tone and understood. But his disappointment was intense.
“Us not go?” he cried. His words were accompanied by a sound that was like a laugh, a harsh, derisive laugh. “So,” he said. “We bury ’em all these people. Yes. The good boss say so. Then we go home, an’ mak safe Felice. We mak safe Pri-loo. Then us all get kill up—sure.”
CHAPTER III
THE PLANNING OF LE GROS