I had been walking the floor, grinding my mailed heels into the pine
wood. "Escape!" I cried at him. "Escape! To starve or be eaten by
wolves! The torture of the Ottawas were kinder. Now it is your turn to
play the child. Escape? Yes, but not alone. Go, go, monsieur! Go and
meet the Baron. Go before I change my mind. Tell the Baron he can have
the prisoner. Then go to Longuant, and make what terms you will with
him. Make any concessions. Feather your nest while you can. I want
some one to win at this, since I must lose. I will take the prisoner
west with me."

Cadillac seized me. "Montlivet, you mean this?" he demanded. His grip
ate into my arm.

I reached up, and unclasped his fingers. "Unhand me!" I grumbled. "I
must be on my way."

But he paid no heed. "You mean this?" he reiterated, taking a fresh
grip. "The prisoner will hamper you."

I tore my arm away. "Hamper me!" I jerked out. "He will clog me,
manacle me! But it is the only thing to do. Now go, while this mood
holds with me. Five minutes hence I may not see things in this way. Go!
I will arrange the escape. You, as commandant, must not connive with me
at that. Go to the Indians, and make your terms. If you can hold them
off till moonrise, I promise you the prisoner shall be gone."

But Cadillac would not hasten. He gave me the long estimating glance
that I had seen him use once before. "Montlivet," he said, with his arm
across my shoulder, "you are doing a great thing; a great thing for