h a cuff it flattened
him to the floor.

Then prayers went on as before.

The Indians, whom we had nursed of their wounds, were to lead us to the
tribe, one only being held by M. Radisson as hostage for safe conduct.
In my mind, that trust to the Indians' honour was the single mistake M.
Radisson made in the winter's campaign. In the first place, the Indian
has no honour. Why should he have, when his only standard of right is
conquest? In the second place, kindness is regarded as weakness by the
Indian. Why should it not be, when his only god is victory? In the
third place, the lust of blood, to kill, to butcher, to mutilate, still
surged as hot in their veins as on the night when they had attempted to
scale our walls. And again I ask why not, when the law of their life
was to kill or to be killed? These questions I put to you because life
put them to me. At the time my father died, the gentlemen of King
Charles's court were already affecting that refinement of philosophy
which justifies despotism. From justifying despotism, 'twas but a step
to justifying the wicked acts of tyranny; and from that, but another
step to thrusting God's laws aside as too obsolete for our clever
courtiers. "Give your unbroken colt tether enough to pull itself up
with one sharp fall," M. Radisson used to say, "and it will never run
to the end of its line again."

The mind of Europe spun the tissue of foolish philosophy. The savage
of the wilderness went the full tether; and I leave you to judge
whether the _might_ that is _right_ or the _right_ that is _might_ be
the better creed for a people.

But I do not mean to imply that M. Radisson did not understand the
savages better than any man of us in the fort. He risked three men as
pawns in the game he was playing for mastery of the fur trade.
Gamester of the wilderness as he was, Pierre Radisson was not the man
to court a certain loss.

The Indians led us to the lodges of the hostiles safely enough; and
their return gave us entrance if not welcome to the tepee village. We
had entered a ravine and came on a cluster of wigwams to the lee side
of a bluff. Dusk hid our approach; and the absence of the dogs that
usually infest Indian camps told us that these fellows were marauders.
Smoke curled up from the poles crisscrossed at the tepee forks, but we
could descry no figures against the tent-walls as in summer, for heavy
skins of the chase overlaid the parchment. All was silence