“You––you have been here since you left the hospital?”
“I think, then, that he must have had time to slip out before we knew of it. There are many Indians here who would help him; but a few of them can be trusted, I think, to join the search. Major d’Orvilliers left me with only a handful of men. It will be difficult to accomplish much until he returns. I will post a sentry at the sally-port; we shall have to leave the bastions without a guard. I think it will be safe, for the time.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.”
The Lieutenant saluted and hurried away. Menard closed the door, and turned to the table, where were scattered the sheets on which he had been writing his report. He collected them and read the report carefully. He removed one leaf, and rolling it up, lighted it at the candle, and held it until it was burned to a cinder. Then he read the other sheets again. The report now told of his capture, of a part of the council at the Long House, and of the escape; but no word was there concerning Captain la Grange. Another hand had disposed of that question. Menard sighed as he laid it down, but soon the lines on his face relaxed. It was not the first time in the history of New France that a report had told but 402 half the truth; and, after all, the column had been saved.
He sharpened a quill with his sheath-knife, and began to copy the report, making further corrections here and there. Something more than an hour had passed before the work was finished. He rolled up the document and tied it with a thong of deerskin.
It was still early in the evening, but the fort was as silent as at midnight. Menard opened the door and walked out a little way. The lamps were all burning, but no soldiers were to be seen. The barrack windows were dark. He stepped back into the house, closed the door, and said in a low voice:––
“Teganouan.”
There was a stir in the loft. In a moment the Indian came down the ladder and stood waiting.
“Teganouan, you heard what the Lieutenant said?”