Neither of the boys had been badly hurt in the fierce scrimmage, though scratches and minor cuts were in evidence, and they looked the worse for wear. Deprived of every weapon, they were helpless in the midst of that circle of hostile Blackfeet, and could only grit their teeth and give back look for look in a resolute fashion.
Lascelles stood before them, with folded arms, and a sneer on his dark face. From a point still more remote there came again those yells of baffled rage to tell that the skillful Mayhew must still be eluding his pursuers.
“So, zis is ze young Armstrongs zat I haf ze pleasure to entertain?” the trader started to say, as though he had a communication to make which he fancied would add still more to their wretchedness, and it was necessary to first of all “break the ice.”
“Yes, we are the Armstrong boys, and you are François Lascelles,” replied Dick. “What business have you trying to make us prisoners? We are not interfering with these Indians in their hunting grounds. The last time we saw you it was at the cabin of our grandfather, David Armstrong. Why do you not order these warriors to set us free? We will go back to the camp from which we came, and they will not see us again.”
“Eet is not to be as you wish, but as I say,” the Frenchman observed, with a pompous inflation of his chest, as became a victor. “I haf you in my power, and zat ees vat I am here for. Eef you evair return to ze home again eet vill not be until ze winter is gone. Zen eet vill be too late to take ze leetle paper to zose zat sit by ze fireside, and wait day by day for you to come back!”
At hearing this Dick felt considerable relief. Perhaps, after all, the Frenchman was not quite so bad a man as he had believed. He spoke as though there might be a possibility of their being kept prisoners through the winter, and set free in the spring, when it was no longer possible for them to reach home before the time limit had expired, and their parents ousted from their property.
That would mean that long months must elapse. They might even be taken to the Blackfoot village, leagues and leagues away, but there would always remain a chance for escape. Dick was a firm believer in the old motto that “while there’s life there’s hope.”
“You know why we are here in this strange land, then?” he remarked, chiefly to draw the other out, so that something might be learned concerning the whereabouts of Jasper Williams.
“Yes, eet is all plain to me vy you come here,” Lascelles assured him, nodding as he spoke. “I haf made sure zat ze paper you could nevaire secure. I haf already ze Williams a prisoner in anuzzer camp, vere my son Alexis and ze brave French comrades zay watch heem like ze weasel.”
“You mean that Jasper Williams is a prisoner, do you?” asked Dick, while Roger listened eagerly, trying to read the grinning countenance of Lascelles, and determine whether he was speaking the truth, or concocting a lie for some evil purpose.