Montlivet | Page 3

take what you are willing to give, and be thankful.
As to this messenger,--this is the tale. Some months ago a small band
of Hurons left here for the south. Hunting, or war, or diplomacy, how
shall I say what was their errand? But I mistrust them, for they are
followers of the Baron. They returned this morning, and are in camp on
the island. Their sending a messenger in advance looks as if they had a
prisoner, and so desired to be welcomed in state. If the prisoner should
be an Iroquois"----
Now certain tales were fresh in my ears, and so I did not like the
implication of the unfinished sentence, and hastened to cover it. "It is a
favorable sign, monsieur, that the messenger came to you first."
"How do I know that he came to me first? He came to me--yes. But
because a snake slips out of one hole, can you swear that he has not
been in another? Will you go to him now?"

There was no door open for escape, and the matter was not important
enough for me to be willing to force one. "If you wish," I agreed.
Cadillac looked relieved. "Good! You will find the messenger at my
quarters. I shall let you go alone, for I can make nothing of the man's
speech, and he smells somewhat rancid for a close acquaintance. When
you are through, you will find me here."
I bowed, and made my way to his quarters. I knew as I opened his door
that I might be entering more than appeared upon the surface, but the
excitement of the game was worth the hazard,--even the hazard of a
possible delay,--and I pushed the door wide, and went in.
The Huron was sitting in the middle of the floor, handling his calumet
with some ostentation. The Hurons were but the remnant of a race, for
Iroquois butchery had reduced them in numbers and in spirit, but even
in their exile they preserved a splendor of carriage that made the
Ottawas, who camped beside them here, seem but a poor and shuffling
people. This man was a comely specimen, and he was decked to do
honor to the moment. His blanket was clean, and his head freshly
shaved except for a bristling ridge that ran, like a cock's comb, across
his crown, and that dripped sunflower oil over his shoulders.
He handed me his calumet, and we smoked for the time required by
ceremony, then he rose, and drew two beaver skins from the folds of
his blanket.
"The sun has smiled upon us," he said, with a certain sedate pomposity
which, like the black crest on his head, might be ludicrous in itself, but
seemed fitting enough in him. "I speak for my people who are in camp
upon the island. We have been upon strange rivers, and over mountains
where the very name of Frenchman is unknown. Yet we have returned,
and we come to you at once, as the partridge to her young. We are glad
to see a Frenchman's face again. We confirm what we have said by
giving these beavers."
I smoked for a moment, then leaned over and kicked the skins into the
corner. "Why these words?" I asked, with a slow shrug. "Does the leg

thank the arm for its service? Does the mouth give flatteries and
presents to the tongue? We of Michillimackinac are all of one body.
My brother must be drunk with the bad rum of the English traders, that
he should come to me in this way. No, if my brother has anything to
say, let him think it aloud without ceremony, as if speaking to his own
heart. Let him save his beavers till he goes to treat with strangers."
There was a long silence. The Huron wrapped his blanket closer, and
looked at me, while I stared back as unwinkingly. His face was a mask,
but I thought--as I have thought before and since when at the council
fire--that there was amusement in the very blankness of his gaze, and
that my effort to outdo him at his own mummery somewhat taxed his
gravity. When he spoke at last he told his story concisely.
A half hour later, I went in search of Cadillac. He heard my step on the
crunching gravel, and when I was still rods away, he laid his finger on
his lips for silence. I went to him rather resentfully, for I had had no
mind to shout my news in the street of the settlement, and I thought that
he was acting like a child. But he took no notice of my pique, and
clapped me on the shoulder as if we were pot-companions.
"Hush, man," he whispered fretfully. "Your look