Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 23, 2025
On the shore to the north of us were lights. It could not be the Malhominis, for they lived inland; it was not Pemaou, for the camp was many times larger than his would be. It was probably a hunting party. All the western tribes were friendly; more, they were my allies. I saw no necessity for caution. I raised a long halloo, and our canoes raced toward the lights. We landed in a medley.
"We grow like animals in the wilderness," I parried, "and so suspect every sound as coming from a foe." "Then you do not know who it is in the canoe?" I could have answered "no," but I would not. "Yes, I think that I know," I replied. "I think that it is Pemaou, a Huron. An Indian whom you have never seen." She read the hate in my voice. "Do you know what he wants, monsieur?"
"I am trying to tell you the story, monsieur." "No. You are telling me a pleasant fairy tale of a love-lorn knight searching the wilderness for his lost mistress. A moving tale, monsieur, but not the true one. I want the real story. The story of the English spy who wishes to ransom his cousin, but who also treats secretly with the Hurons, who treats with Pemaou, monsieur. Tell me his story."
But best I can see Pemaou, dancing between me and the sun like some grotesque dream fantasy. He was in full war bravery, his body painted red, barred with white stripes to imitate the lacing on our uniforms, and his hair feather-decked till he towered in height like a fir tree.
"The woman has been taken away," my stiff, strange voice explained. "So far they have not harmed her." "How do you know?" "There are no marks of struggle. Simon resisted, and they killed him. The other men surrendered. The Indians wanted prisoners, not scalps." "Was it Pemaou and his Hurons?" "Yes." "You are sure?" "He left a broken spear in my lodge.
Keep watch of Pemaou. He will make trouble if he can." Cadillac looked at the horizon. "Montlivet, I have bad news. Pemaou has gone." "Gone! Where?" "I don't know. To the Seneca camp, probably. His canoes have just left." I tapped the ground. I was tired and angry. "You should have prevented such a possibility," I let myself say. But he kept his temper. "What could I have done?" he asked quietly.
He looked down, his breath laboring. I could look at him now without recoil, for a common humiliation bound us. We were white and we had been tricked by a savage. We sat in heavy silence. At last Starling spoke dully. "Why did Pemaou wait so long?" I gripped my knife the closer. "That we shall learn when we learn what he has done with the woman." He looked up with his jaw shaking.
I suppose that I really desired him to wake, and that made me careless, for just as I bent to the canoe, I let my foot blunder on a twig, and it cracked like shattering glass. I grasped my knife and whirled. The figure on the ground jerked, threw off its shrouding blanket, and stretched up. It was not Pemaou. It was the Ottawa girl Singing Arrow. I did not drop my knife.
Seize me, and I shall whistle. But I shall do nothing till you move first. If we are to have war, you must begin it. Are you ready?" Silence followed. It was a hard silence to me to get through calmly, for I knew that my men were not so numerous as they appeared, and I feared to be taken at my word. Pemaou glided up and spoke to his father.
But where were Pemaou, and Starling, and the woman? Labarthe made his way near, and stood with his back toward me. I remembered a roundelay that we had sung in camp. I whistled it, picking, in the meantime, at the bone the Indian had brought. I whistled the tune once, twice, several times. Then I fitted words to it. "Where is the woman? Where is the Englishman? Tell me."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking