I called out like a mad thing, and insanity gave me power.  I tore the red hatchet from Pemaou’s hands and pinioned him.  My fingers dug into his throat, and I threw him to the ground.  He bared his wolf’s teeth and began his death song.  But I raved at him, and choked him to silence.  “You are not to die now!” I shouted at his glazing eyes.  “You shall live.  I shall torture you.  You shall live to be tortured.”

I carried rope around my waist, and I took it and bound him.  How I did it is not clear, for I had a weak shoulder and he was muscular.  But now he seemed palsied and I a giant.  It was done.  I bound him till he was rigid and helpless.

And then I fell to my knees beside Pierre.  He was dead.  I had lost even the parting from him.  My giant was dead.  He had taken the blow meant for me.

Pierre was dead, and Simon and Labarthe and Leclerc.  I had brought them to the wilderness because I believed in a western empire for France.  I left Pierre and went on.

But I had not gone far when a cry rose behind me.  It was louder than the calls of the dying.  It was the wail of an Indian woman for her dead.  I ran back.  Singing Arrow lay stretched on Pierre’s body.

I looked at her.  I did not ask myself how she came there, though I had thought her safe in the Malhominis village.  So she had loved the man enough to follow secretly.  I left her with him and went on.

I stepped over men who were mangled and scalped.  Some of them were not dead, and they clutched at me.  But I went on my way.

Indians and troops were gathered at the north of the camp.  The warfare was over.  Corpses were stacked like logs, and the savages were binding their captives and chanting of their victories.  The French stood together, leaning on their muskets.  I saw Cadillac unhurt, and went to him.

“Is the bugler alive?  Have him sound the call.”

The commandant turned at sound of my voice.  He was elated and would have embraced me, but seeing my face his mood altered.  He gave the order.

The bugle restored quiet, and I raised my sword for attention.  I asked each tribe in turn if they had seen a white woman.  Then I asked the French.  I gained only a storm of negatives.

I went on with the orders to the tribes.  All captives were to be treated kindly and their wounds dressed.  This was because they were to be adopted, and it was prudent to keep them in good condition.  The argument might restrain the savages.  I was not sure.

And all the time that I was speaking I wondered if I looked and talked as other men did.  Would the savages obey me as they had done when I was a live, breathing force, full of ardor and belief?  They seemed to see no difference.  I finished my talk to them and turned to Cadillac.

“You do not need me now.  You will be occupied caring for the wounded and burying the dead.  The Indians will not attempt torture to-day.  I am going to the woods.”