ough here before we leave, and little to do to
help us through the time. We must wait here for Pierre."

"What do you mean? We must go at once."

"No, we wait for Pierre. It may be dusk before he returns. I sent him
over the portage yesterday with orders to explore some leagues to the
south. We must wait for him. He can tell us whether Pemaou went east
by way of the portage."

"But we lose time!"

"We gain it. If Pemaou did not go by way of the portage, he went west.
He would not dare go north, for fear of the Pottawatamies, and he would
have no object in going south. He went east or west. We can learn
from Pierre."

The man's shoulders heaved. "Your men were cowards," he muttered.

I looked at him. So a coward could despise a coward! "My men were
wise," I corrected. "With Simon killed there were only two men
left,--one, rather, for Leclerc is a nonentity. Labarthe, left alone,
was wise to surrender. He is skillful with Indians. Monsieur, tell me
of your dealings with Pemaou. Tell me your trip here. I need details."

He measured me. "You dictate, monsieur?"

I pointed to Simon's body. "That is my claim."

He gulped at that, and turned his back on the red horror to fix his
steady, critical gaze on my face. "After the massacre," he began, with
an effort, "I followed many false trails. I went to Quebec, to
Montreal. All this has nothing to do with what you wish to know. But
at Montreal I first heard rumors of an English prisoner who was being
carried westward. That sent me to Michillimackinac."

"You heard this rumor through the priests?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"I thought so. It is fortunate for the success of your somewhat
complicated plans that you are a Catholic and a Jacobite."

"Is there a slur in that remark, monsieur?"

"Not unless the facts themselves are insulting, Our priests would see
no hidden purpose in your story. They would be predisposed in favor of
a Catholic and follower of James. They would give you letters where a
commandant would not. It was good policy to go to them."

"But, monsieur, I am a Catholic!"

"Which, I repeat, is fortunate."

"Monsieur, this is wanton insult. Are you trying to pick a quarrel
with me here, here with this tragedy around us? It is a dog's trick.
I will not fight you."

Again I took out my knife. "I will not fight you here,--here with this
tragedy around us,--but I may kill you. I shall do it if you do not
tell me this story f