And so I pushed my way about.  But wherever I went, or whatever else my eyes were doing, I kept watch upon the woman.  She stood quiet with Singing Arrow and waited for what might come.  Her fate was hanging with Starling’s at the council ring, and I knew that I must keep away from her.  That was not easy.  Each time that I let my glance rest upon the foulness of the camp I felt that I must go to her and blind her eyes.  But I never made more than one step.  I had only to look at her to understand that her spirit had learned in these months to hold itself above the body.  What was passing did not touch her; she lived in the fortress of her splendidly garrisoned pride.  Singing Arrow stood equally aloof, intrenched in her stoicism, but I think the root motives of the two were different, though the outside index was the same.  Indeed, we all had different wellsprings for our composure.  Pierre’s stolidity was largely training.  Starling’s quiet might mean instinctive imitation, but I feared it was something more sinister.  While mine——­ But I had no composure.  I swaggered and shrugged and played harlequin and boaster.

We were soon to learn that Starling’s quiet was not impervious.  I saw him start.  His hand flew to where his knife had been, and his teeth showed like a jackal’s.  A figure that had lain, blanket-shrouded in the shadow, had risen and come forward.  It was Pemaou.  He had pleased his humor by being an unseen auditor and letting us play out our various forms of resistance and despair for his delight.  Now he would make a dramatic entry.  He was dressed for the part in a loin cloth, a high laced hat of scarlet, and the boots of a captain of dragoons.  He stopped before Starling and grinned silently.  Then he held his hat, French fashion, and made a derisive bow.  The Englishman forgot his dignity and cursed.  I wished that I had been near enough to hold up a warning hand.

I knew my turn was next, so was prepared.  Pemaou sought me, and stood before me, but I would not see him; I looked through him as through glass.  He spoke to me in French, but I was deaf.  I heard the Senecas grunt with amusement.

Pemaou heard it too, and his war plume quivered.  He gave an order in Huron, and one of his men came behind me and unbound my hands.  I could have jeered at the childishness of his open purpose.  He hoped that, with my hands free, I would spring at him, impotent and vengeful as a caged rattlesnake, and that then he could turn me over to the sport and torture of the mob.  I stretched my freed arms, laughed to myself, and turned away.  My laugh was genuine.  It was wine to me that he should have shown weakness in this fashion, when in some ways he had proved himself a better general than I. It was a small victory, but it cheered me.

I do not know how long the council lasted, but it seemed hours.  The old men rose at last, and going to Starling, patted him, grunted over him, and examined him.  I could not hear what they said, but it was evidently pacific; they led him off in the direction of the largest lodge.