The Hunters of the Hills

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER XII

  THE HUNTER AND THE BRAVO

  Robert turned away, not wishing to meet Boucher again, as he felt thatthe man would say something provocative, and, standing on one side withde Courcelles, he watched the players. The air was heated, and the facesof the men were strained and eager. It was all unwholesome to the lastdegree, and he felt repulsion, yet it held him for the time with afascination due to curiosity. He saw Boucher begin to play and as thelatter held his cards, noticed again his thick and strong, but supplewrists. Uncommon wrists they were, and Robert knew that an uncommonamount of power was stored in them.

  Bigot presently observed Robert, and asked him to play, but the laddeclined, and he was brave enough to say that he never played. Bigotlaughed and shook his head.

  "Ah, you Puritan Bostonnais!" he said; "you'll never learn how to live."

  Then he went back to his game.

  "I think," said Robert, upon whom the heat and thick air were beginningto tell, "that I'd like to go outside and breathe a little fresh air."

  "It is like a hothouse in here," said de Courcelles.

  "It's but a step from this room to a little garden, where we can findall the cool air we want."

  "Then show the way," said Robert quickly. He was eager to escape fromthe room, not alone for the sake of air, but because the place chokedhim. After a period of excitement and mental intoxication the reactionhad come. The colors were growing dimmer, the perfume in the air turnedto poison, and he longed for the clean out-of-doors.

  De Courcelles opened a small door and they stepped out. Robert did notnotice that Boucher instantly put down his cards and followed. Beforethem was a grassy lawn with borders of rose bushes, and beyond, the vastsweep of the hills, the river and the far shore showed dimly through thedusk. The air, moved by a light wind, was crisp, fresh and pure, and, asRobert breathed it deeply, he felt his head grow clear and cool. Severalmen were walking in the garden. One of them was Jumonville, and theothers he did not know.

  "A wonderful site and a wonderful view," said Robert.

  "But from Montmartre in Paris one may see a far greater city," saidBoucher at his elbow.

  Robert turned angrily upon him. He felt that the man, in some manner,was pursuing him, and that he had stood enough.

  "I did not speak to you, Monsieur Boucher," he said.

  "But I spoke to you, my young sprig of a Bostonnais."

  He spoke with truculence, and now de Courcelles did not interfere. Theothers, hearing loud and harsh words, drew near. Jumonville came veryclose and regarded Robert with great intentness, evidently curious tosee what he would do. The youth stared at Boucher in amazement, but heexercised his utmost self-control.

  "I know that you spoke to me, Monsieur Boucher," he said, "but as I donot see any relevancy in your remarks I will ask you to excuse me. Icame here merely for the air with Colonel de Courcelles."

  He turned away, expecting de Courcelles to resume the walk with him, butthe figure of the Frenchman stiffened and he did not move. All at once awind of hostility seemed to be blowing. Somewhere in the dusk, somebodylaughed lightly. Robert's face blazed, but he was still master ofhimself.

  "And so you would leave after speaking to me in a manner that is aninsult," sneered Boucher.

  "You were the first to give an insult."

  "If you think so I am ready to return satisfaction."

  Boucher folded his arms across his chest, his powerful wrists crossed,and stared at Robert, his lips wrinkling in ugly fashion. It was a looklike that which Tandakora had given him, and there in the background wasthe huge and sinister figure of the Indian, wrapped in his blanket offlame. He also saw de Mezy and he too was sneering in insolent triumph.De Courcelles, from whom he had a right at that time to expectfriendship, or at least support, had drawn farther away.

  "I am a guest here," said Robert, "and I seek no trouble. I don't wishto mar the hospitality of Monsieur Bigot by being a party to a quarrelin his garden."

  Again that light laugh came from a point somewhere in the dusk and againRobert's face blazed, but he still held himself under firm control.

  "You were ready enough to fight Count Jean de Mezy this morning," saidBoucher, "knowing that he was not in condition and that you had a skillwith the sword not suspected by him."

  The truth of it all flashed upon Robert with the certainty ofconviction. The entire situation had been arranged and de Courcelles wasone of its principals. He had been brought into the garden that a fightmight be forced upon him there. Boucher was a bravo and undoubtedly agreat swordsman. He understood now the secret of those thick flexiblewrists and of the man's insulting manner. His blood became ice in hisveins for a moment or two, but it was good for him, cooling his head andquickening his mind. His heart beat with regularity and steadiness.

  "I thank you, Monsieur de Courcelles," he said, "for your action in thismatter, which I now understand. It's true that it departs in somerespects from what I have understood to be the code and practice of aFrench gentleman, but doubtless, sir, it's your right to amend thosestandards as you choose."

  De Courcelles flushed, bit his lip and was silent.

  "Very pretty! Very pretty!" sneered Boucher, "but French gentlemen arethe best judges of their own manners and morals. You have your sword,sir, and I have mine. Here is a fine open space, well lighted by themoon, and no time is better than the present. Will you draw, sir?"

  "He will not," said a voice over Robert's shoulder, which he instantlyrecognized as that of the hunter. He felt suddenly as if a great wallhad been raised for his support. He was no longer alone among plottingenemies.

  "And why will he not, and what affair is it of yours?" asked Boucher,his manner threatening.

  Willet took a step forward, his figure towering and full of menace. Justbehind him was Tayoga. Robert had never seen the hunter look taller ormore charged with righteous wrath. But it was an anger that burned likea white hot flame, and it was alive with deadly menace.

  "He will not draw because he was brought here to be assassinated by you,bully and bravo that you are," replied Willet, plumbing the very depthsof Boucher's eyes with his stern gaze. "I like the French, and I knowthem to be a brave and honest people. I did not think that in agathering of French gentlemen enough could be found to form atreacherous and murderous conspiracy like this."

  Nobody laughed in the dusk. The silence was intense. A cool wind blewacross Robert's face, and he felt anew that an invincible champion stoodby his side. Boucher broke the silence with a contemptuous laugh.

  "Out of the way, sir," he said. "The affair does not concern you. If hedoes not draw and defend himself I will chastise him with the flat of mysword."

  "You will not," said the hunter, in his cool, measured tones. "You willfight me, instead."

  "My quarrel is not with you."

  "But it soon will be."

  Near Willet was a rose bush with fresh earth heaped over its roots.Stooping suddenly he picked up a handful and flung it with force intothe bravo's face. Boucher swore under his breath, stepped back, andwiped away the earth.

  "You've earned the precedence, sir," he said, "though I reserve theright to attend to Mr. Lennox afterward. 'Tis a pity that I should haveto waste my steel on a common hunter. I call all of you to witness thatthis quarrel was forced upon me."

  "Your pity does you credit," said the hunter, "but it's not needed.'Twere better, sir, if you have such a large supply of that commoditythat you save a little of it for yourself. And as for your attending toMr. Lennox afterward, that meeting, I think, will not occur."

  A long breath came from the crowd. This strange hunter spoke in aconfident tone, and so he must know more than a little of the sword. DeGalisonniere had just come into the garden, and was about to speak, butwhen he saw that Willet was face to face with Boucher he remainedsilent.

  "Robert," said the hunter, "do you give me full title to this quarrel ofyours?"

  "Yes, it is yours," replied the youth, knowing that the hunter wouldnot
be denied, and having supreme confidence in him.

  "And now, Monsieur Boucher," continued Willet, "the quicker the better.Mr. Lennox will be my second and I recommend that you choose for yoursone of three gentlemen, Colonel de Courcelles, Count de Mezy or theCaptain de Jumonville, all of whom conspired to lead a boy into thisgarden and to his death."

  The faces of the three became livid.

  "And," said the hunter, "if any one of the three gentlemen whom I havementioned should feel the need of satisfaction after I have attended toMonsieur Pierre Boucher, I shall be very glad to satisfy him."

  De Mezy recovering himself, and assuming a defiant manner, took the partof Boucher's second. Willet removed his coat and waistcoat and handedthem to Robert, beside whom Tayoga was now standing. Then he drew hissword and balanced it a moment in his hand, before he clasped it lightlybut firmly by the hilt.

  Another long breath came from the crowd which had increased. Every manthere was aware that something uncommon was afoot. Who and what Boucherwas most of them knew, but the hunter was an unknown quantity, all themore interesting because of the mystery that enshrouded him. And theinterest was deepened when they saw his swift, easy motion, hiswonderful lightness for so large a man, and the manner in which the hiltof his sword fitted into his hand, as if they had long been brothers.

  "I call you all to witness once again," said Boucher, "that this quarrelwas forced upon me, and that I had no wish to slay a wandering hunterof the Bostonnais."

  Willet made no reply for the present. He took his position and Bouchertook his. The seconds gave the word, their swords clashed together, andthey stepped back, each looking for an opening in the other's guard.Then it dawned upon the bravo that a swordsman stood before him. But hehad not the slightest fear. He knew his own skill and strength.

  "It's strange that a hunter should know anything about the sword," hesaid, "but it seems that you do and the fact pleases me much. I wouldnot have it said that I cut down an ignorant man."

  "And yet it might be said," replied the hunter. "Do you remember theboy, Gaston Lafitte, whom you fought behind the Luxembourg near twentyyears ago?"

  The face of Boucher suddenly went deathly white, and, for a moment, hetrembled.

  "Who are you, you mumming hunter?" he cried. "I know no Gaston Lafitte."

  "There you lie, Boucher. You knew him well enough and you can't forgethim if you would. Your face has shown it. It was well that you hadpowerful friends then, or you would soon be completing your twentiethyear in the galleys."

  The blood rushed back into Boucher's face until it was a blazing red,and he attacked savagely. Few men could have stood before that powerfuland cunning offense, but Willet met him at every point. Always theflashing steel was turned aside, and the hunter, cool, patient andwary, looked like one who, in absolute faith, bided his time.

  A gasp came from the spectators. The omens had foretold somethingunusual, but here was more than they had expected or had hoped. Thegreatest swordsman whom France could send forth had been checked andheld by an unknown hunter, by a Bostonnais, among whom one would notlook for swordsmanship. They stopped for breath and Boucher from underhis dark brows stared at the hunter.

  "Mummer," he said. "You claim to know something of me. What other lieabout me can you tell?"

  "It's not necessary to tell lies, Pierre Boucher. There was Raoul deBassempierre whom you compelled to fight you before he was fairlyrecovered of a sickness. His blood is still on your hands. Time has notdried it away. Look! Look! See the red bubbles standing on your wrists!"

  Boucher, again as white as death, looked down hastily, and then uttereda fierce oath. The hunter laughed.

  "It's true, Boucher," he said, "and everyone here knows it's true. Whyspeak of lies? I don't carry them in my stock, and I've proved that Idon't need them. Come, you wish my death, attack again, but rememberthat I'm neither the untrained boy, Gaston Lafitte, nor Raoul deBassempierre, wasted from illness."

  Boucher rushed at him, and Robert thought he could hear the angry breathwhistling through his teeth. Then he grew cooler, steadied himself andpushed the offense. His second attack was even more dangerous than thefirst, and he showed all the power and cunning of the great swordsmanthat he was. Willet slowly gave ground and the spectators began toapplaud. After all, Boucher was a Frenchman and one of themselves,although it was not the best of the French who were gathered there inthe garden that night--except de Galisonniere and one or two others.

  Robert watched the hunter and saw that his breathing was still regularand easy, and that his eye was as calm and confident as ever. Then hisown faith, shaken for a moment, returned. Boucher was still unable tobreak through that guard of living steel, and when they paused a secondtime for breath each was still untouched.

  "You are a swordsman, I'll admit that," said Boucher.

  "Yes, a better than the raw lad, Gaston Lafitte, or Raoul deBassempierre who was ill, and a better than a third whom I recall."

  "What do you mean, mummer?"

  "There was a certain Raymond de Neville who played at dice with anotherwhom I could name. Neville said that the other cheated, but he was agreat swordsman while Neville was but an indifferent fencer, and theother slew him. Yet, they say Neville's charges were true. Shall I namethat man, Boucher?"

  Boucher, livid with rage, sprang at him.

  "Mummer!" he cried. "You know too much. I'll close your mouth forever!"

  Now it seemed to Boucher that a very demon of the sword stood beforehim. His own fierce rush was met and he was driven back. The ghosts ofthe boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man Raoul de Bassempierre, and ofthe indifferent swordsman, Raymond de Neville who had been cheated atcards, came back, and they helped Willet wield his weapon. His figurebroadened and grew. His blade was no longer of steel, it was a strip oflightning that played around the body and face of the dazzled bravo. Itwas verily true that the hands of four men grasped the hilt, the ghostsof the three whom he had murdered long ago, and Willet who stood therein the flesh before him.

  A reluctant buzz of admiration ran through the crowd. Many of them hadcome from Paris, but they had never seen such swordsmanship before.Whoever the hunter might be they saw that he was the master swordsman ofthem all. They addressed low cries of warning to Boucher: "Have a care!""Have a care!" "Save your strength!" they said. But de Galisonnierestood, tight-lipped and silent. Nor did Robert and Tayoga feel the needof saying anything to their champion.

  Now Boucher felt for the first time in his life that he had met thebetter man. The great duelist who had ruffled it so grandly through theinns and streets of Paris looked with growing terror into the stern,accusing eyes that confronted him. But he did not always see Willet. Itwas the ghosts of the boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man Raoul deBassempierre and of the indifferent swordsman, Raymond de Neville, thatguided the hunter's blade, and his forehead became cold and wet withperspiration.

  De Galisonniere had moved in the crowd, until he stood with Robert andTayoga. He was perhaps the only one of the _honnetes gens_ in thegarden, and while he was a Frenchman, first, last and all the time, heknew who Boucher was and what he represented, he understood the reasonwhy Robert had been drawn into the garden and he was willing to see thepunishment of the man who was to have been the sanguinary instrument ofthe plot.

  "A miracle will defeat the best of plans," he said to de Courcelles.

  "What do you mean, de Galisonniere?" asked de Courcelles with a show ofeffrontery.

  "That an unknown hunter should prove himself a better swordsman thanyour great duelist and bravo, Boucher."

  "Why do you call him my duelist and bravo, de Galisonniere?"

  "I understand that you brought young Lennox into the garden, apparentlyhis warm friend on the way, and then when he was here, stood aside."

  "You must answer for such insinuations, Captain de Galisonniere."

  "But not to you, my friend. My sword will be needed in the coming war,and I'm not called upon to dull it now against one who was a principalin
a murderous conspiracy. I may be over particular about those withwhom I fight, de Courcelles, but I am what I am."

  "You mean you will not fight me?"

  "Certainly not. A meeting would cause the reasons for it to be threshedout, and we are not so many here in Canada that those reasons would notbecome known to all, and you, I fancy, would not relish the spread ofsuch knowledge. The Intendant is a powerful man, but the MarquisDuquesne is the head of our military life, and he would not be pleasedto hear what one of his officers so high in rank has done here tonight."

  All the blood left de Courcelles' face, and he shook with anger, but heknew in his heart that de Galisonniere spoke the deadly truth. Besides,the whole plan had gone horribly wrong. And it had been so well laid.Who could have thought that a wandering hunter would appear at such atime, take the whole affair into his hands, and prove himself a betterswordsman than Boucher, who was reputed not to have had his equal inFrance. It was the one unlucky chance, in a million! Nay, it was worse!It was a miracle that had appeared against them, and in that deGalisonniere had told the truth. Rage and terror stabbed at his heart,rage that the plan laid so smoothly had failed, and terror for himself.No, he would not challenge de Galisonniere.

  "You will notice, de Courcelles," said the young Captain, "that Boucheris approaching exhaustion. Perhaps not another man in the world couldhave withstood his tremendous offense so well, but the singular hunterseems to be one man in a world, at least with the sword. Now, theseconds will give them a little rest before they close once more, and,I think, for the last time."

  "For God's sake, de Galisonniere, cease! It's bad enough without yourunholy glee!"

  "'Bad enough' and 'unholy glee,' de Courcelles! Not at all! It's verywell, and my pleasure is justified. I fear that villany is not alwayspunished as it should be, and seldom in the dramatic manner that leapsto the eye and that has the powerful force of example. Ah, a foul blowbefore the seconds gave the word! Boucher has gone mad! But you and Iwon't trouble ourselves about him, since he will soon pay for it. Ithink I see a change in the hunter's eye. It has grown uncommonly sternand fierce. He has the look of an executioner."

  De Galisonniere had read aright. When the treacherous blow was dealt andturned aside barely in time, Willet's heart hardened. If Boucher livedhe would live to add more victims to those who had gone before. Theman's whole fiber, body and mind, was poison, nothing but poison, andthe murdered three whom Willet had known cried upon him to takevengeance. He began to press the bravo and Boucher's followers weresilent. De Galisonniere was not the only one who had marked the changein the hunter's eye.

  "You will note, de Courcelles," said he, "that your man, Boucher, hasthrown his life away."

  "He's not my man, de Galisonniere!"

  "You compel me to repeat, de Courcelles, that your man, Boucher, hasthrown away his own life. It's not well to deal a foul blow at aconsummate swordsman. But I suppose it's hard for a murderer to changehis instincts. Ah, what a stroke! What a stroke! It was so swift that Isaw only a flash of light! And so, our friend, Boucher, has sped! Andwhen you seek the kernel of the matter, de Courcelles, it was you whohelped to speed him!"

  De Courcelles, unable to bear more, strode away. Boucher was lying uponhis back, and the bravo had fought his last fight. Willet looked down athim, shook his head a little, but he did not feel remorse. The ghosts ofthe untrained boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man, Raoul deBassempierre, and of Raymond de Neville, who had been murdered at dice,guided his hand, and it was they who had struck the blow. Robert helpedhim to put on the waistcoat and coat, as a group of men, Bigot, Cadet,and Pean at their head, invaded the garden.

  "What's this! What's this!" exclaimed Bigot, staring at the motionlessprostrate figure with the closed eyes.

  Then de Galisonniere spoke up, and Robert was very grateful to him.

  "It was done by Mr. Willet, as you see, sir, and if ever a man hadjustification he has it. The quarrel was forced upon him, and, during apause, Boucher struck a foul blow, which, had it not been for Mr.Willet's surpassing skill, would have proved mortal and would havestained the honor of all Frenchmen in Quebec. Colonel de Courcelles willbear witness to the truth of all that I have said, will you not, deCourcelles?"

  "Yes," said de Courcelles, though he shook in his uniform with anger.

  "And so will Count Jean de Mezy. He too is eager to give testimony andsupport me in what I say. Is it not so, de Mezy?"

  "Yes," said de Mezy, the purple spots in his face deepening.

  "Then," said the Intendant, "I see nothing left to do but bury Boucher.He was but a quarrelsome fellow with none too good a record in France.And keep it from the ladies at present."

  He returned with his courtiers to the house, and the dancing continued,but Robert felt that he could not stay any longer. Such cynicism shockedhim, and paying his respects to Bigot and his friends, he left withTayoga and the hunter for the Inn of the Eagle.

  "It was a great fight," said Tayoga, as they stood outside and breathedthe cool, welcome air again. "What Hayowentha was with the bow and arrowthe Great Bear is with the sword."

  "I don't like to take human life," said the hunter, "and it scarcelyseems to me that I've done it now. I feel as if I had been an instrumentin the hands of others, giving to Boucher the punishment deferred solong."

  "There will be no trouble about it," said Tayoga. "I read the face ofBigot and no anger was there. It may be that he was glad to get rid ofthe man Boucher. The assassin becomes at times a burden."

  But Willet remained silent and thoughtful.

  "I've a feeling, Robert," he said, "that our mission to Quebec willfail. We've passed through too much, and all the signs are against us.As for me, I'm going to get ready for war."

  "Maybe the Governor General will arrive tomorrow," said Robert, "and ifso we can give him our letters and go. I was glad to come to Quebec, andI'll be equally glad to leave."

  "And we can see the lodges of the Hodenosaunee again," said Tayoga, hiseyes glistening.

  "Yes, Tayoga, and glad I'll be to be once more among your great people,the hunters of the hills."

  It was about two o'clock in the morning, when Robert went to bed, and heslept very late. Willet awoke shortly after dawn, dressed himself andwent to the window, where he stood, gazing absently at the deepeningsunlight on the green hills, although he saw the incidents of the heatednight before far more vividly. He was a man who did not favor bloodshed,though it was a hard and stern age, and the slaying of Boucher, whowould have added another to his victims, did not trouble him even themorning after. In his mind was the thought, expressed so powerfully,that the mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small.However, his anxiety to be away from Quebec had grown with the hours.The dangers were too thick, and they also had a bad habit of increasingcontinually.

  When Robert awoke he found the hunter and Tayoga awaiting him.

  "I've ordered breakfast," said Willet, "and it will be ready for us assoon as you dress. After that I'll have to comply with someformalities, owing to last night's affair, and then if the GovernorGeneral arrives this afternoon, we can deliver our letters and depart.It seems strange, Robert, that we should be here such a little while andthat both you and I should fight duels. Perhaps it will be Tayoga's turntoday, and he too will have to fight."

  "Not unless Tandakora seeks me," said the young Onondaga.

  "Did you see what became of him last night, Tayoga?" asked Willet.

  "I watched him all the time you and the Frenchman were fighting, and Iwatched also when we came back to the inn. He would willingly havethrown a tomahawk in the dark at the head of any one of us, but he knewI watched and he did not dare."

  "And that Ojibway savage is another of our troubles. He's gone clean madwith his hate of us."

  Their late breakfast was served by Monsieur Berryer himself with muchdeference and some awe. The large room also held many more guests thanusual at such an hour, but most of them ate little, only an egg or aroll, perhaps, or they dallied o
ver a cup of coffee, reserving most oftheir attention for Willet, whom they regarded covertly, but withextraordinary interest. The youth with him had shown himself to be afine swordsman, as Count Jean de Mezy could testify, but the elder man,who had appeared to be a hunter, and who claimed to be one, was such amaster of the weapon as had never before appeared in New France. And itwas said by the French officers that his equal could not be found inold France either. The interest aroused by his fame was increased by themystery that enshrouded him, and they gave him an attention that was notat all hostile. In truth, it was strongly compounded with admiration. Aman who had removed Pierre Boucher as he had done, was to be regardedwith respect. Boucher had given every promise of becoming a publicdanger in Quebec, and perhaps they owed gratitude to the hunter,Bostonnais though he was.

  Late in the afternoon they had word that the Marquis Duquesne had comeand would receive them. Again they arrayed themselves with the greatestcare, and took their way to the Castle of St. Louis. They found a manvery different in appearance and manner from the Intendant, Bigot. Tall,austere, belonging to a race that was reckoned very noble in France, theMarquis Duquesne was not popular in New France. He had none of thegeniality and easy generosity of Bigot, as he spent his own money, buthe had shown a military energy and foresight which the British governorsto the south were far from imitating. While Canada did not love him, itrespected him and his boldness, and his daring and foresight had deeplyimpressed the powerful Indian tribes whose friendship and alliance wereso important in the coming war.

  The manner of the Marquis was high, when he received the three in hischamber of audience, but it was not deficient in courtesy. He lookedintently at each of them in turn.

  "You come, so I am told, from the Governor of New York," he said, "andjudging from what I have heard he has chosen messengers who are able tomake a stir. Two days in Quebec and already you have fought two duels,one of them ending fatally."

  "My lord," said Willet, gravely, "they were not of our seeking."

  "That also, I hear. They tell me, too, Mr. Willet, that you are anincomparable swordsman, and it must be true, or you would not have beenable to defeat Boucher. But that matter is adjusted. You will not beheld here because of his death. It seems that the Intendant, MonsieurBigot himself, does not wish to carry it further. But the letters fromthe Governor of New York?"

  "Mr. Lennox has them," said Willet.

  Robert bowed and took from an inner pocket of his waistcoat the lettershe had carried through so many dangers. They were contained in a smalldeerskin pouch, and were only two in number. Bowing again, he handedthem to the Governor General, who said:

  "Pray be seated, and excuse me for a few minutes while I read them."

  He read slowly, stopping at times to consider, and when he had finishedhe read them over again.

  "Do you and Mr. Willet know the contents of these letters?" he said toRobert.

  "We do," replied the youth. "They were read to us by the Governor of NewYork before he sealed them. If we were robbed of them on the way toQuebec, and he knew the way was dangerous, we were to continue ourjourney and deliver the message to you verbally."

  "Their nature does credit to both the heart and head of the Governor ofNew York. He makes a personal appeal to me to use all my influenceagainst the war seemingly at hand. He says that England and France havenothing to gain by attacking each other in the American woods, which arelarge enough to hide whole European kingdoms. But he wishes the lettersto be a secret with him and me and you three who have brought them. Youunderstand that?"

  Robert bowed once more.

  "The second letter explains and amplifies the first, contains, I shouldsay, his afterthoughts. As I said, 'tis a noble act, but what can I do?A war may look to many men like a sudden outburst, but it is nearlyalways the result of conditions that have been a long time in thegrowth. Your hunters, your traders and your surveyors pressed forwardinto the Ohio country, which is ours."

  He looked at them as if he expected them to challenge the French claimto the Ohio regions, but they were wisely silent.

  "The letters do not demand an immediate reply," he continued. "HisExcellency prays me to consider. Perhaps I shall send one later througha trusted messenger by sloop or schooner to New York, and naturally, Ishall choose one of my own officers."

  "Naturally, my lord," said Robert. "We did not expect to take back theanswer."

  The Marquis Duquesne looked at him very keenly.

  "You speak as if you were relieved at not having the errand," he said."Perhaps there is something else on your mind which you wish to do andwith which such a mission would interfere."

  Robert was silent and the Marquis laughed.

  "I will not press the question, because I've no right to do so," hesaid. "But I will let it remain an inference."

  Then his eye rested upon Tayoga, at whom he looked long and searchingly,and the eye of the Onondaga met him with an answering gaze, fixed andunfaltering.

  "Captain de Galisonniere has told me," said the Marquis, "that you are ayoung chief, or coming chief, of the Iroquois, that despite your youthyou have thought much and have influence with your people. How do theIroquois feel toward the French who wish them so well?"

  "They do not forget that this Quebec is the Stadacona of one of theirgreat warrior nations, the Mohawks," replied Tayoga.

  The Marquis started and flushed.

  "Quebec is ours," he said slowly, after taking due thought. "You cannotundo what was done two centuries ago."

  "The nations of the Hodenosaunee do not forget, what are two centuriesto them?"

  "When you return to the Long House in the vale of Onondaga, and thefifty sachems meet in council, tell them Onontio has only kindness inhis heart for them. The war clouds that hang over England and Francegrow many and thick, and my children are brave and vigilant. They knowthe ways of the forest. They travel by day and by night, and they strikehard. The English are not a match for them."

  "If I should tell them what Onontio tells to me they would say: 'Go backto Quebec, which is by right the Stadacona of our great warrior nation,the Mohawks, and say to Onontio that his words are like the songs ofbirds, but we, the Hodenosaunee, do not forget. We remember Frontenac,and we remember Champlain, the first of the white men to come among uswith guns, the use of which we did not know, killing our warriors.'"

  "Time makes changes, Tayoga, and the Iroquois must change too."

  Tayoga, was silent, but his haughty face did not relax a particle. TheMarquis was about to say more upon the subject, but he had a penetratingmind and he saw that his words would be wasted.

  "We shall see what we shall see," he said. "My master, His Majesty KingLouis, keeps his promises. Mr. Lennox, as I take it, still clinging tomy inference, it will be some time before you see the Governor of NewYork again. But, when you do see him, and if my letter has not thenreached him, tell him it is coming by ship to New York. As for you andyour comrades, I wish you a safe journey whithersoever you go. Anaide-de-camp will give the three of you, as you go out, passports whichwill be your safe conduct until you reach the borders of Canada. Ofcourse, I cannot speak with certainty concerning anything that willhappen to you beyond that point. Mr. Willet, I am sorry that a swordsuch as yours is not French."

  Willet bowed, and so did Robert. Then the three withdrew, receivingtheir safe conducts as they went. At the inn they made hurriedpreparations for departure, deciding that they would cross at once tothe south side of the St. Lawrence and travel on foot through the woodsuntil they reached the Richelieu, where in a secret cove a canoebelonging to Willet lay hidden. The canoe would take them into LakeChamplain and then they could proceed by water to the point they wished.

  Robert wrote a note of thanks to the Intendant for his courtesy,expressing their united regrets that the brevity of time would notpermit them to pay a formal call, and as it departed in the hands of amessenger, de Galisonniere came to say farewell.

  "It's likely," he said, "that if we meet again it will be on
thebattlefield. I see nothing for it but a war, but if we do meet, Mr.Willet, you must promise that you will not use that sword against me."

  "I promise, Captain de Galisonniere," said Willet, smiling, "but if thewar does come, and I hope it may not, it will be fought chiefly in thewoods, and there will be little need for swords. And now we wish tothank you for your great kindness and help."

  He shook hands with them all, showing some emotion, and then lefthastily. The three deferred their departure, concluding to spend thenight at the inn, but before dawn the next morning they crossed the St.Lawrence and began their journey.