"I know your plans, monsieur."

"You know that I hunt beaver."

"I know that you hunt men. Monsieur, are all the women of your nation
puppets, that you should think me blind? Listen. You plan a coalition
of the western tribes. La Salle's plan--with changes. You hope to
make yourself a dictator, chief of a league of red men that shall
control this western water-way. Is not this so, monsieur?"

"I---- Yes, mademoiselle."

"You intend to form your league this summer and advance upon the
Iroquois in the autumn before the ice locks the lakes. You are in
haste, for if you delay another twelvemonth you are convinced that the
Iroquois will make a treaty with the Hurons at Michillimackinac,
massacre your garrison there, cow the western tribes, and so wrest this
country from the French. Is not this so, monsieur?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"You see that I understand all this, monsieur. Yet, I will go with
you."

I did not stir. "You are acute. Yet there is one point in my plan
that you did not mention," I said dully.

She turned away. "I hoped to spare us both," she returned in a tone as
lifeless as my own. "Yet, if you wish words, take them. Monsieur, the
Iroquois are allies of the English. Your warfare with them is but a
step in pursuit of larger game. In founding an empire for your own
land you would take one away from mine. You hope in the end to crush
the English on this continent. Have I stated you correctly, monsieur?"

I bowed.

She laughed--a laugh more bitter than my own had been. "I am indeed
the plaything of Fate," she said a little wildly. "But I will marry
you. You saved my life. Yes, more. You threw your career into the
balance for an unknown man, your foe. You jeopardized all that you
hoped for, and you never whined nor lost sleep. You are a superb
gamester, monsieur."

I smiled. "Not enough of a gamester to accept your sacrifice,
mademoiselle."

She clenched her hands. "I will marry you," she retorted. "You shall
follow out your purpose. Though, after all, you cannot succeed. Who
are you? A dreamer, a soldier of fortune, a man without place or
following. You think slowly, and your heart rules your head. How can
you hope to wrest an empire from--from us? You cannot do it. You
cannot. But you shall have your chance. You gave me mine and you
shall have yours. We go west. Otherwise--I have warned you, monsieur."

I seized her wrist, and made her meet my look. "Th