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 is fairly shouting the
news abroad. No need to keep your tongue sealed, when you carry such a
tell-tale face. So they have an Iroquois?"

I dropped my shoulder away from under his hand. "If that is the news
that you say I shouted, no harm is done,--save to my honor. No, they
have no Iroquois."

Cadillac stopped. "No Iroquois!" he echoed heavily.

"No, monsieur. They have an Englishman."

It was as if I had struck him. He stepped back, and his face grew dull
red.