“If you will take off the coat––”
He unlaced it at the breast, and drew it off. She took his wrist, and plunged his arm into the pool, washing it with quick, gentle fingers, drying it on his coat. Then she leaned back, half perplexed, and looked around.
“What is it?”
“A cloth. No,”––as he reached for his coat;––“that is too rough. Here, M’sieu,––” she tore a strip from her skirt, and wrapped it around the forearm. “Hold it with your other hand, just a moment.” 232
She hurried to the hut, and returning with needle and thread, stitched the bandage. Then she helped him on with his coat, and they walked slowly to the hut.
“Where is Father Claude?” she asked.
He pointed to a thicket beyond the hut. There, kneeling by the body of a dying Indian, was the priest, praying silently. He had baptized the warrior with dew from the leaves at his side, and now was claiming his soul for the greater King in whose service his own life had been spent.
The Captain sat beside the maid, their backs to the logs, and watched the shifting groups of warriors. He told her of the arrival of the Big Throat, and of the confusion that resulted. Then for a time they were silent, waiting for the impromptu council to reach a conclusion. The warriors finally began to drift away, though the younger and more curious ones still hung about. A group of braves came slowly toward the hut.
“That is the Big Throat in front,” said Menard. “The broad-shouldered warrior beside him is the Talking Eagle, the best-known chief of the clan of the Bear. They are almost here. We had better stand. Are you too tired?” 233
“No, indeed.”