We only seek the murderer."
The tall man stood in silence a moment and glared at the scene, at the
excited faces, the gleaming eyes, the shifting glance of the spokesman.
"A likely sthory!" he said presently. "An' who, may I make bould to
ask, is this murderer?"
DesCaut squirmed a moment in silence.
"Who,--did ye say?"
"A man, M'sieu,--a-a-trapper."
"One lone man? Troth I commend his valour in evadin' such a rabble o'
hell-spawn! An' what from did he escape,--th' sthake an' th'
stretchline?"
"Justice, M'sieu,--his life for the chief's."
"Ho-ho! From th' looks o' yer fri'nds, me lad, I'm thinkin' 'twill be
justice wid her eyes shut!...But ye may turrn back an' search the
forest,--we have no sthrangers in our party."
DesCaut glowered at him a moment and spoke to the headmen around in
their speech. There were threatening gutturals and gestures.
The flotilla was small compared to that of the tribe back at the gorge,
they would know, at any rate.
"They say, if M'sieu will let one canoe go through his people with the
torches, all will be well. Otherwise,--five hundred warriors, M'sieu,
can take their will with two hundred."
"Aye?" said the tall man, jerking his head around.
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