hing
the two breeds fight for the mastery in the huge Pierre. The cat was
quicker of wit, but the ox was of more use to me in the long run, so I
tried to keep an excess of stimulants--whether of brandy or
adventure--out of Pierre's way.

He was a figure for Bacchus when I found him, and I pricked at him with
my sword, and drove him to the water, where I saw him well immersed.

"Now for quick work," I admonished. "I must see the commandant, but
only for a moment. You gather the men, and have the canoes in waiting.
There will be no tobacco for you to-night, if you are not ready when I
come."

He shook the water from his red locks, and wagged his head in much more
docile fashion than I had expected. "My master cannot go too fast for
me," he said, with a twist of his great protruding lip. "I have no
liking for white meat broth myself."

He drew back like one who has hit a bull's-eye and waited for me to ask
questions, but I thought that I knew my man, and laughed at his
childishness.

"No more of that!" I said with perfunctory sternness. "What pot-house
rabble of Indians have you been with that you should prattle of making
broth of white men, and dare bring such speech to me as a jest! That
is not talk for civilized men, and if you repeat it I shall send you
back to France. You are more familiar with the savages than I like a
man of mine to be. Remember that, Pierre. Now go."

But he lingered. "It is no pot-house story," he defended sulkily.
"The Ottawas say they will go to war if the prisoner is not put in the
pot before to-morrow morning. And what can the commandant do? The
Ottawas are two thousand strong."

I knew, without comment, that he was telling me the truth, and I stood
still. The din of the dancing and feasting was growing more and more
uproarious, and the Indians were ripe for any insanity. I saw that the
sun was already casting long shadows, and that the night would be on us
before many hours. I looked at the garrison. Two hundred Frenchmen
all told, and most of them half-hearted when it came to defending an
Englishman and a foe! I turned to my man.

"You have been with an Ottawa girl, called Singing Arrow," I said.
"Are you bringing me some woman's tale you learned from her?"

He squirmed like a clumsy puppy, but I could see his pride in my
omniscience. "She is smarter than a man," he said vaguely.

And Pierre were the man, I thought that likely. "Take me to her," I
commanded.