figure of the Iroquois headman, and looked him straight in the face.

"Tell him," said he to Pierre Noir, "that we are all English, and that
we are not afraid; and that if we are harmed, the armies of Corlaer will
destroy the Iroquois, even as the Iroquois have the Illini. Tell him
that we will go back with him to the settlements because we are willing
to go that way upon a journey which we had already planned. We could
fight forever if we chose, and he can see for himself by the bodies of
his young men how well we are able to make war."

"It is well," replied Teganisoris. "You have the word of an Iroquois
that this shall be done, as I have said."

"The word of an Iroquois!" cried Pierre Noir, slamming down the butt of
his musket. "The word of a snake, say rather! Jean Breboeuf, harken you
to what our leaders have agreed! We are to go as prisoners of the
Iroquois! Mary, Mother of God, what folly! And there is madame, and _la
pauvre petite_, that infant so young. By God! Were it left to me, Pierre
Berthier would stand here, and fight to the end. I know these Iroquois!"

CHAPTER XII

PRISONERS OF THE IROQUOIS

The faith of the Iroquois was worse than Punic, nor was there lacking
swift proof of its real nature. Law and Pembroke, the moment they had
led their little garrison beyond the gate, found themselves surrounded
by a ring of tomahawks and drawn bows. Their weapons were snatched away
from them, and on the instant they found themselves beyond all
possibility of that resistance whose giving over they now bitterly
repented. Teganisoris regarded them with a sardonic smile.

"I see you are all English," said he, "though some of you wear blue
coats. These we may perhaps adopt into our tribe, for our boys grow up
but slowly, and some of the blue coats are good fighters. These dogs of
Illini we shall of course burn. As for your war house, you will no
longer need it, since you are now friends of the Iroquois, and are going
to their villages. You may say to Corlaer that you well know the
Iroquois have no prisoners."

The horrid significance of this threat was all too soon made plain. In
an hour the little stockade was but a mass of embers and ashes. In
another hour the little valley had become a Gehenna of anguish and
lamentations, with whose riot of grief and woe there mingled the savage
exultations of a foe whose treachery was but surpassed by his cruelty.
Again the planting-ground of the Illini was utterly la