Father Claude was on his feet, chafing his wrists and talking with the Beaver. The Long Arrow joined them, and for a few moments the chiefs reasoned together in low, dignified tones. Then, at a word from the Beaver, and a grunt of disgust from the Long Arrow, Father Claude, with quick fingers, set the maid free, and took her head upon his knee.

"Have they hurt her, Father?" asked Menard, in French.

"No, M'sieu, I think not. It is the excitement. The child sadly needs rest."

"Will they release you? It is not far to Frontenac. It may be that you can reach there with Mademoiselle."

"No, my son." The priest paused to dip up some water, and to stroke the maid's forehead and wrists. "They have some design which has not been made clear to me. They have promised not to bind me or to injure what belongs to me among the supplies. But the Beaver threatens to kill us if we try to escape, Mademoiselle and I."

"Why do they hold you?"

"To let no word go out concerning your capture. I fear, M'sieu--"

"Well?"

The priest lowered his eyes to the maid, who still lay fainting, and said no more. A long hour went by, with only a commonplace word now and then between the prisoners. The maid revived, and sat against the canoe, gazing over the water that swept softly by. Danton lay silent, saying nothing. Once a groan slipped past the Captain's lips at a twitch of his wounded arm, and Father Claude, immediately cheered by the prospect of a moment's occupation, cleaned the wound with cool water, and bandaged it with a strip from his robe.

Preparations were making for a start. A half-dozen braves set out, running down the beach; and shortly returned by way of the river with two canoes. The others had opened the bales of supplies (excepting Father Claude's bundle, which he kept by him), and divided the food and ammunition among themselves. The two chiefs came to the prisoners, and seated themselves on the gravel. The Long Arrow began talking.

"My brother, the Big Buffalo, is surprised that he should be taken a prisoner to the villages of the Onondagas. He thinks of the days when he shared with us our hunts, our lodges, our food, our trophies; when he lived a free life with his brothers, and parted from them with sadness in his voice. He had a grateful heart for the Onondagas then.

When he left our lodges he placed his hand upon the hearts of our chiefs, he swore by his strange G.o.ds to keep the pledge of friendship to his brothers of the forest. Moons have come and gone many times since he left our villages. The snow has fallen for five seasons between him and us, to chill his heart against those who have befriended him. Twice has he been in battle when we might have taken him a prisoner, but the hearts of our braves were warm toward him, and they could not lift their arms. When there have been those who have urged that the hatchet be taken up against him, many others have come forward to say, 'No; he will yet prove our friend and our brother.'"

Menard lay without moving, looking up at the stars. Danton, by his side, and the maid, sitting beyond, were watching him anxiously.

Father Claude stood erect, with folded arms.

"And now," continued the chief, "now that Onontio, the greatest of war chiefs, thinks that he is strong, and can with a blow destroy our villages and drive us from the lands our G.o.ds and your G.o.ds have said to be ours by right, as it was our fathers',--now there is no longer need for the friendship of the Onondagas, whose whole nation is fewer than the fighting braves of the great Onontio. The war-song is sung in every white village. The great canoes take food and powder up our river, for those who would destroy us."

Menard was still looking upward. "My brother," he said, speaking slowly, "was once a young brave. When he was called before his great chief, and commanded to go out and fight to save his village and his brothers and sisters, did he say to his chief: 'No, my father, I will no longer obey your commands. I will no longer strive to become a famous warrior of your nation. I will go away into the deep forest,--alone, without a lodge, without a nation, to be despised alike by my brothers and my foes?' Or did he go as he was bid, obeying, like a brave warrior, the commands of those who have a right to command? Does not the Long Arrow know that Onontio is the greatest of chiefs, second only to the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, the father of red men and white men? If Onontio's red sons are disobedient, and he commands me to chastise them, shall I say to my father, 'I cannot obey your will, I will become an outcast, without a village or a nation?' The Long Arrow is a wise man. He knows that the duty of all is to obey the father at Quebec."

"The Big Buffalo speaks with wisdom. But it may be he forgets that our braves have pa.s.sed him by in the battles of every season since he left our villages. He forgets that he met a band of peaceful hunters from our nation, who went into his great stone house because they believed that his white brothers, if not himself, would keep the word of friendship. He forgets that they were made to drink of the white man's fire water, and were chained together to become slaves of the great kind Chief-Across-the-Water, who loves his children, and would make them mighty in his land. Is this the father he would have us obey?

Truly, he speaks with an idle tongue."

Menard lay silent. His part in La Grange's treachery, and in carrying out later the Governor's orders, would be hard to explain. To lay the blame on La Grange would not help his case, at least until he could consult with Father Claude, and be prepared to speak deliberately.

"My brother does not reply?"

"He will ask a question," replied Menard. "What is the will of the chiefs to do with the sons of Onontio?"

"The Big Buffalo has seen the punishment given by the Onondagas to those who have broken their faith."

"I understand. And of course we shall be taken to your villages before this death shall come?"

The Long Arrow bowed.

"Very well," said Menard, in his slow voice. "As the Long Arrow, brave as he is, is but a messenger, obeying the will of the nation, I will withhold my word until I shall be brought before your chiefs in council. I shall have much to say to them; it need be said only once.

I shall be pleased to tell my truths to the Big Throat, whose eyes can see beyond the limits of his lodge; who knows that the hand of Onontio is a firm and strong hand. He shall know from my lips how kind Onontio wishes to be to his ungrateful children--" He paused. The Indians must not know yet that the Governor's campaign was to be directed only against the Senecas. The mention of the Big Throat would, he knew, be a shaft tipped with jealousy in the breast of the Long Arrow. The Big Throat, Otreouati, was the widest famed orator and chief of the Onondagas; and it was he who had adopted Menard as his son. Above all, the Long Arrow would not dare to do away with so important a prisoner before he could be brought before the council.

The maid was leaning forward, following their words intently. "Oh, M'sieu," she said, "I cannot understand it all. What will they do with you?"

Menard hesitated, and replied in French without turning his head: "They will take us to their villages below Lake Ontario. They will not harm you, under Father Claude's protection. And then it is likely that we may be rescued before they can get off the river."

"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 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 G.o.ds 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 ma.s.ses 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 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. 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?"

"A little compliment to me, that is all."

Danton stood looking at him in surprise, until he was hustled to the nearest canoe and ordered to take a paddle. He looked back and saw four warriors lift Menard, still bound hand and foot, and carry him to the other canoe, laying him in the bottom beneath the bracing-strips. Father Claude, too, was given a paddle. Then they glided away over the still water, into a mysterious channel that wound from one shadow-bound stretch to another, past islands that developed faintly from the blackness ahead and faded into the blackness behind. The lean arms of the Indians swung with a tireless rhythm, and their paddles slipped to and fro in the water with never a sound, save now and then a low splash.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MAID MAKES NEW FRIENDS.

The prisoners were allowed some freedom in the Onondaga village. They were not bound, and they could wander about within call of the low hut which had been a.s.signed to them. This laxity misled Danton into supposing that escape was practicable.

"See," he said to Menard, "no one is watching. Once the dark has come we can slip away, all of us."

Menard shook his head.

"Do you see the two warriors sitting by the hut yonder,--and the group playing platter among the trees behind us? Did you suppose they were idling?"

"They seem to sleep often."

"You could not do it. We shall hope to get away safely; but it will not be like that."

Danton was not convinced. He said nothing further, but late on that first night he made the attempt alone. The others were asleep, and suspected nothing until the morning. Then Father Claude, who came and went freely among the Indians, brought word that he had been caught a league to the north. The Indians bound him, and tied him to stakes in a strongly guarded hut. This much the priest learned from Tegakwita, the warrior who had guarded them on the night of their capture. After Menard's appeal to his grat.i.tude he had shown a willingness to be friendly, and, though he dared do little openly, he had given the captives many a comfort on the hard journey southward.