Now this would not do; I would leave all gallantries to my subordinate.
"This is idle talk," I said, as I lit my pipe, and prepared as if to
go. "It is the clatter of water among stones that makes a great noise,
but goes nowhere. I have seen many strange things in my life, but
never a cat that could fight fair, nor a woman that could answer a
direct question. Look at this now. I ask you about the English
prisoner, and you talk to me of covenant chains."

She looked at me with impassive good humor, her hands busy with her
wampum necklaces, and I saw, not only that I had failed to entrap her
into losing her temper, but that I was dealing with a quick-witted
woman of a race whose women were trained politicians. But, for reasons
of her own, she chose to answer me fairly.

"The Frenchman is right," she said, with a second swift upward look to
test the ice where she was venturing. "I was wrong to talk of the
covenant between the French and my people, for the chain is too weak to
bear even the weight of words. It is rusted till it is as useless as a
band of grasses to bind a wild bull. But blood will cleanse rust.
What can the French want with their enemy, the Englishman? Why should
not the prisoner's blood be used to brighten the chain between the
Ottawas and the French?"

Now this was plain language. I listened to the girl's speech, which
was as gently cadenced as if she talked of flowers or summer pleasures,
and thought that here was indeed snake's venom offered as a sweetmeat.
But why did she warn me? I had a flash of sense. I went to her, and
compelled her to stop playing with her necklaces, and raise her eyes to
mine.