She took the note, rolled it up with a nod, and went away. Menard saw the question in Mademoiselle’s eyes, and said: “It was a warning to be cool. Our hope is in getting the good-will of the chiefs.”
“Will they––will they hurt him, M’sieu?”
“I hope not. At least we are still alive and safe; and years ago, Mademoiselle, I learned how much that means.”
The maid looked into the trees without replying. Her face had lost much of its fulness, and only the heavy tan concealed the worn outlines. But her eyes were still bright, and her spirit, now that the first shock had passed, was firm.
Father Claude returned, after a time, with a heavy face. He drew Menard into the hut, and told him what he had gathered: that the Long Arrow and his followers were planning a final vengeance against Captain Menard. All the 151 braves knew of it; everywhere they were talking of it, and preparing for the feasting and dancing.
“They will wait until after the fighting, won’t they?”
“No, M’sieu. It is planned to begin soon, within a day or two.”
“Have you inquired for the Big Throat?”
“He is five leagues away, at the next village. We can hardly hope for help from him, I fear. All the tribes are preparing to join in fighting our troops.”
Menard paused to think.