The sun set, the sky purpled, and the moon rose.  It rose white and beautiful, and it shone on a peaceful settlement.  I went to my room and found a Huron squatting on my threshold.  He gave me a handful of maize.

“Our chief, whom you call the Baron, sends this to you,” he said.  “He bids you eat the corn, and swallow with it the suspicion that you feel.  You have sat all day with other chiefs, but your brother the Baron has not seen you.  His lodge cries out with emptiness.  He bids you come to him now.”

I thought a moment.  “Go in front of me,” I told the Huron.

I whistled as I went.  A sheep that goes to the shambles of its own accord deserves to be butchered, and I was walking into ambush.  But still I whistled.  I whistled the same tune again and again, and I did it with great lung power.  My progress was noisy.

And so we went through the Huron camp.  The lodges of the Baron’s followers were massed to one side, and as I whistled and swaggered my way past their great bark parallelograms, I saw preparations for war.  The braves carried quivers, and were elaborately painted.  Fires were burning, though the night was warm, and women nearly naked, and swinging kettles of red-hot coals, danced heavily around the blaze.  They leered at me when they heard my whistle, but they made no attempt to hide from me.  Evidently I was not important; I was not to be allowed to go back to the French camp alive, so I could do no harm.  I whistled the louder.

I reached the Baron’s lodge, and looked within.  Two fires blazed in the centre, and some fifty Indians sat in council.  I would not enter.  The smoke and fire were in my eyes, but I recognized several of the younger chiefs, and called them by name.

“Come out here to me,” I commanded.  “I will show you something.”

There was a grunting demur, and no one rose.  I whistled again and stopped to laugh.  The laugh pricked their curiosity, and the chiefs straggled out.  They stood in an uncertain group and looked at me.  It was dark; the moon was still low, and the shadows black and sprawling.  The open doors of the lodges sent out as much smoke as fireshine.

I let them look for a moment, then I took the handful of maize and threw it in their faces.  “Listen!” I cried.  “Chiefs, you are traitors.  You eat the bread of the French, yet you would betray them.  You plan an uprising to-night.  Well, you will find us ready.  I whistled as I came to you.  That was a signal.  You think you can overpower us.  Try it.  Seize me, if you like.  If you do, I shall give one more whistle, and my troops—­the loyal Indians—­will go to work.  You can see them gathering.  Look.”

I waved my hand at the murk around us.  My words were brave but my flesh was cold.  I had told them to look, but what would they see?  Would my men be loyal?  Then the signal,—­it had been hastily agreed upon,—­would they understand it?  I had to push myself around like a dead body to face what I might find.