“You did not wish my help?”

“I wished to test the ground without entangling you.  If I failed,—­why, I was nothing but a fur trader.  There had been no talk, no explanations, nothing.  A trader went west; he returned.  That would end it.”

“But if you succeeded?”

I bowed to him.  “If I succeeded I intended to come to you for help and consultation, monsieur.”

I saw his eyes gleam.  The man loved war, and his imagination was fertile as a jungle.  I knew that already he had taken my small vision, magnified it a thousand-fold, and peopled it with fantasies.  That was the man’s mind.  Fortunately he had humor, and that saved him,—­that and letter-writing.  He tapped out his emotion through noisy finger-tips.

“How much are you ready to tell me now?” he asked.

“Everything,—­if you have patience.”  I rested my well arm on the table, and went carefully—­almost day by day—­over the time that separated me from May.  I gave detail but not embroidery.  Facts even if they be numerous can be disposed of shortly, if fancy and philosophy be put aside.  So my recital did not take me long.

The gleam was still in Cadillac’s eyes.  “And, you think the western tribes would follow you now?”

“They would have followed me a week ago.”

He heard something sinister in my reply.  “You could have wiped out that Seneca camp,” he meditated.

“Yes, it could have been done.”

He gave me a look.  “The Malhominis wished it?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought it unwise?”

“They could not have done it without a leader.  And I could not lead them.  I had to come here.”

He smote the table till the candles flared.  “You were wrong.  You were wrong.  You could have gathered your forces and had the attack over in a week,—­in less time.  Then you could have brought your troops with you, and come to my aid.  You were wrong.”

I moved the candles out of danger.  “I had to follow madame,” I said mechanically.  “She might have needed me.”

Cadillac’s teeth clicked.  “Madame”—­he began, but he swallowed the sentence, and rose and walked the floor.  “Do you realize what you have done?  Do you realize what you have done?” he boiled out at me.  “This desertion may have cost you your hold with the western tribes.”

“I realize that.”

And then he cursed till the candles flared again.  “It was the chance of a lifetime,” he concluded.

Why does the audience always feel that they understand the situation better than the actor?  I was willing enough to let Cadillac rage, but resentful of the time he was using.

“What happened when the Senecas came?” I demanded.

He looked at me with puffing lips.  “You know nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“But Madame de Montlivet”——­

“I asked her no questions.”

He whistled under his breath.  “Well—­nothing happened.  The flotilla reached here at sundown three days ago.  The Baron and his followers met them at the beach and rushed the Senecas into the Huron camp.  They are there now.”