“But yourself, M’sieu? They are angry with you. What will they do?”
“Lieutenant Danton and I must look out for ourselves. I shall hope that we may find a way out.”
The Long Arrow was looking closely at them, evidently resenting a woman’s voice in the talk. At the silence, he spoke in the same low voice, but Menard and Father Claude read the emotion underneath.
“It may be that the Big Buffalo has never had a son to brighten his days as his life reaches the downward years. It may be that he has not watched the papoose become a fleet 144 youth, and the youth a tireless hunter. He may not have waited for the day when the young hunter should take his seat at the council and speak with those who will hear none but wise men. I had such a son. He went on the hunt with a band that never returned to the village.” His voice rose above the pitch customary to a chief. It was almost cold in its intensity. “I found his body, my brother, the body of my son, at this place, killed by the white men, who talked to us of the love of their gods and their Chief-Across-the-Water. Here it was I found him, who died before he would become the slave of a white man; and here I have captured the man who killed him. It is well that we have not killed my brother to-night. It is better that we should take him alive before the council of the Onondagas, who once were proud in their hearts that he was of their own nation.”
The maid’s eyes, shining with tears, were fixed on the Indian’s face. She had caught up with her hand the flying masses of her hair and braided them hastily; but still there were locks astray, touched by the light of the starlit sky. Menard turned his head, and watched her during the long silence. Danton was watching 145 her too. He had not understood the chief’s story, but it was clear from her face that she had caught it all. It was Father Claude who finally spoke. His voice was gentle, but it had the air of authority which his long experience had taught him was necessary in dealing with the Indians.
“The Big Buffalo has said wisely. He will speak only to the great chiefs of the nation, who will understand what may be beyond the minds of others. The heart of the Long Arrow is sad, his spirit cast down, and he does not see now what to-morrow he may,––that the hand of the Big Buffalo is not stained with the blood of his son. We will go to your village, and tell your chiefs many things they cannot yet know. For the Big Buffalo and his young brother, I shall ask only the justice which the Onondagas know best how to give. For myself and my sister, I am not afraid. We will follow your course, to come back when the chiefs shall order it.”
The two Indians exchanged a few signs, rose, and went to the scattered group of braves, who were feasting on the white men’s stores. In a moment these had thrown the bundles together, and were getting the canoes into the water. 146 Two warriors cut Danton’s thongs and raised him to his feet. He rubbed his wrists, where the thongs had broken the skin, and stepped about to get the stiffness from his ankles. Then he bent down to set Menard loose, but was thrown roughly back.
“What’s this? What’s the matter? Do you understand this, Menard?”
“I think so,” replied the Captain, quietly.
“What is it?”