Labarthe did not answer at once nor look around, so I went on singing.  Nonsense words now, with no coherence or meaning, and all in French that a cowherd would have been ashamed to own.

I worked at last to a crescendo of sound that gave Labarthe his cue.  He turned and laughed, as if noticing me for the first time.  He cocked his head like a game bird, planted his legs apart, and joined the song.  He had the biggest voice from Montreal to Chambly, and he sung with full lung power and at breathless speed.  It was a torrent of sound; my ears were strained to follow it.

“Five large canoes left this morning,” he warbled.  “They carried madame, the Englishman, Pemaou, and his Hurons, and a detachment of the Senecas,—­some seventy-five in all.  They went to Michillimackinac.”

The news hit me like a bullet, and I must have whitened, but I kept on singing.  I nodded at Labarthe, and sang, I think, of spring and running brooks.  Then I flung a jeer at him and ate my breakfast.  I ate it systematically and stolidly, though it would not have tempted any but a starving man.  I was a fool and a dullard.  I had slept away my opportunities, and I could not see that my strength was important to any one.  But I determined to preserve it.

If I kept up jest and laughter for the next hours—­and I have some memory that I did—­it was automatic.  For I more nearly touched despair than ever before.  I did not need the sentences that I picked up further among the Indians to tell me what had happened.  The Senecas, under Pemaou’s guidance, had gone to Michillimackinac; had put their heads into the bear’s mouth, and yet were as safe as in their own village, for the bear’s teeth were drawn, and the Senecas were armored.  They traveled with Pemaou, and they had two English prisoners.  That insured them protection from the Hurons, who desired the English alliance and had leanings toward the Iroquois.  As to the Ottawas,—­there was Singing Arrow as hostage.  It was significant that the Senecas had allowed Singing Arrow to go unbound.  They desired an alliance with the Ottawas.  I remembered Longuant’s speech, and his indicated policy of casting his strength with the winning side, and I thought it probable they would succeed.

And if they succeeded?  Well, Cadillac had his two hundred regulars.  Yet he could not hope to win, and he would do what he could to hold off the necessity of trying.  He would not dare seize the Senecas.  No, the league of the Long House had won.  Their braves could sit in our garrison at their leisure and exchange peace belts with our Indians under our eyes.  I set my teeth and wondered what part Starling had played in it all.  He had grown curiously at ease when he had found himself in an Iroquois camp.  I had no choice but to believe that Pemaou had tricked and deceived him, as he had said, but that did not mean that he had not been in league with Pemaou in the beginning.  Pemaou was