“Is life all bitterness and sharp-edged laughter with you, monsieur?” I asked bluntly.  “This may be our last talk.  It is hardly a seemly one.  If you have messages to send that will not compromise you, I will try and get them through—­in case our plans fail.”

The prisoner eyed me oddly.  “And in case you still live, monsieur,” he corrected.  “You show much solicitude that I meet my end decorously, yet I cannot see that you display any dolor over your own condition.  Why should I have less fortitude?  You are like a man who cares not for religion for himself, yet insists upon it for children and for his womenkind,—­for his inferiors in general.  Why should you feel that I need so much prompting?” His voice suddenly hardened.  “Tell me.  Is it my youth that makes you feel yourself my mentor, or have I failed you in any way?  Answer.”  And he gave the stamp of the foot that I had heard once before.

How could I answer but with laughter?  “You are a leopard, and a lamb, and a bantam cock all in one,” I jeered at him.  “No wonder that I feel you need a priest to shrive you;” and I laughed again, and would not notice the hurt shining of his eyes as I went away.

CHAPTER VII

THE BEGINNING

I had not vaunted idly when I told the prisoner that our plans were ready.  I had scarcely dropped the latch of the commandant’s door when I saw Singing Arrow sauntering near.

She was graceful in her finery.  Even a white man might commend.  Her skin garments looked soft and clean, and draped her cunningly.  In the dusk and the firelight with the bright blanket falling from her hair, she looked so winning that I thought the guards could find excuse if the prisoner loitered at the window.

And loiter he did.  I sauntered and watched while the prisoner and Singing Arrow threw glances that proved them no tyros in the game of love and life.  The comedy was pleasing, and I did not wonder that the guards tilted their heads to one side, and looked on with grins.  Singing Arrow bridled, and drew away and then drew near.  All was going as we planned, till Pemaou and a band of his Hurons came around the corner of the house.

I had done Pemaou the justice to hate him when I first saw him.  And one does not hate an inferior.  He had as keen a mind as I have ever known, and he was not hampered by any of the scruples and decencies that interfere with a white man.  So he was my superior in resource.  I knew, as I saw him look at me now, that my share in the game was over.  He had seen me listening to Longuant.  Where had my wits been lagging that I had not foreseen that he would have spies watching me, and would trace some connection between the prisoner and myself?  Well, there was nothing left me but to stroll away.  I did not dare go in the direction of the canoes; it would be unwise to seek Cadillac; so I turned boldly to the Ottawa camp.  Hardly knowing what I planned, I asked for Longuant.