. 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,