"We must scout the Doom Trail," I said as we carried the canoe through the water-gate and deposited it within the stockade. "I will write the governor at once of affairs at Jagara and La Vierge du Bois. But this last business makes it necessary he should have sure intelligence of what passes to Canada."
"Ja," agreed Corlaer slowly. "Budt I hafe another scheme we might try first—tonight."
"What?"
He surveyed the scores of dwindling canoes, their silvery birchen sides agleam in the sunlight, their dripping paddle-blades shining as the paddlers drove them along.
"They will make camp by sunset at der point of der three rocks. Am I right, Ta-wan-ne-ars?"
The Seneca assented.
"That is eight—ten—miles from here.Ja, we can make it."
"Make what?" I asked impatiently.
"Der distance. Andt my plan."
"What plan, man?"
"To put der grin on der other side of Joncaire's face, by ——! Now you listen."
And he outlined an undertaking which seemed absurdly simple until I chanced to look up and see that fleet of canoes clouding the eastern horizon of the lake.
"They are too many for us," I objected.
"Ja, if they know we come," he admitted. "Budt they do not. Andt I hafe seen brandy-kegs in among der furs."
"It is well worth trying," said Ta-wan-ne-ars deliberately. "If it succeeds it will set back the plans of Onontio and Murray."
"Andt if it does not, then you tell der Gofernor Peter Corlaer tried once too often to get der joke back on Joncaire."
With which sage comment, Peter took himself off to arrange with the post commandant for drawing certain supplies we should require for this new expedition.
Two hours later an express left Oswego with dispatches for Governor Burnet, describing the situation at Jagara and our experiences at La Vierge du Bois, as well as the passage of Joncaire's argosy of furs, the greatest haul which had so far been made by either country that year on the frontier. Before the gate was slammed shut again we three slipped out and waved good-by to the garrison on the walls.
We traveled parallel with the shore of the lake and made no effort to set a fast pace. Ta-wan-ne-ars and I were still tired from our exertions in escaping the hellish abode of the False Faces. We were glad to halt when we glimpsed the glow of fires on the beach ahead of us.
From this point our advance was more cautious, and we parted company with Corlaer in some bushes, whence we could distinguish figures dancing around the flames and hear the distant yells of the guests of Joncaire as they caroused on his thoughtful provision of brandy. The Dutchman stripped to his belt. Ta-wan-ne-ars relieved him of his musket, powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and I shouldered his clothes and pack.
"By der blasted pine—a goodt mile beyondt der other side," whispered Peter as he waded into the water.
"You are sure you can stay afloat so long!" I asked with some misgiving.
"Ja," he said scornfully. "When you hear a noise like a fish rising three times, that is Peter."
He settled knife and tomahawk against either thigh, slung a spare flask of powder beside them, sank forward to his chin and began to cleave the water with powerful, overhand strokes.
"A merry evening to you," I called gently.
A grunt was my answer.
"We must hurry, brother," admonished Ta-wan-ne-ars.
He started off at right angles with the path we had been following, and we fetched a circle around the group of fires, coming ultimately to a high point above the shore half a mile beyond them. Here we rested, both because our weariness was very great and because we desired to witness Peter's exploit, and, if need be, be prepared to aid him.
It was past midnight, and the fires had burned low and the brandy-drinkers soaked themselves stupid. Not a sound came to us, except for the calling of a wolf from the heavy timber inshore and the croaking of water-birds.
'Twas Ta-wan-ne-ars' eagle vision which saw the danger-signal. He gripped my arm.
"Look, brother," he hissed.
I looked, and a flame spurted upward between the fires and the water. There was a sharp explosion. A long minute elapsed, and then a chorus of excited yells rose, dropped and was sustained.
The flame mounted higher, and we could see figures running this way and that in confusion. A musket barked. Others echoed it.
"They saw him in the water," remarked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"Do you think he escaped?" I asked.
"We should hear the scalp-yell if he was taken or killed. Hark! They still babble like animals."
We listened for ten minutes, and whilst the yelling continued, with intermittent shooting, there was nothing to indicate triumph or satisfaction. In the meantime the flames which Peter had kindled, after flourishing grandly, gradually died out as the awakened savages removed those canoes which had not caught fire and threw water on such as were only smoldering.
We waited another five minutes to make sure the search did not trend in our direction, but the bewildered tools of Joncaire were convinced the attack had come from Oswego and the shouting and firing shifted away from us toward the fort. So we picked up our burdens and descended between boulders and stunted trees to a little bay which was marked by the shattered stump of a pine.
Half an hour passed uneventfully. Then the steady lapping of the water against the beach was disturbed by the splash a fish makes in rising. It was repeated twice. Ta-wan-ne-ars leaned over and splashed the water thrice with his hand. A grunt boomed out of the darkness. Ripples spread in a widening circle, and a huge form stepped noiselessly ashore, ignoring our helping hands.
"Oof, that was a goodt joke on Joncaire," muttered Peter. "Some canoes I smash with der ax andt some I blow up with der powder andt more are burnedt. Where are my clothes? I am soaked like der muskrat.Ja, when we get to der woods I findt me a bear and gife myself a rub with grease. I hafe bubbles under my skin."
"You were long in coming," said Ta-wan-ne-ars. "My brother is not hurt?"
"Nein, nein. Those drunken swine couldt not hit me. I swam far oudt andt at der first up der lake to fool them. Then I turned andt swam back under der water. Ooof, what a swim! I tell you I hafe bubbles under my skin!Ja!"
"Did you damage them much?" I asked eagerly.
Peter suspended the operation of struggling into his shirt and chuckled shrilly.
"I wouldt gife much to see der face of that Joncaire when he counts his canoes andt der fur-packs he has left. Twice now we get der joke on him."
Wet as he was, with the water dripping from his lank hair, he insisted upon quitting that dangerous locality at once. We tramped across country until the sun was high, and we stumbled upon an isolated family of Onondagas, who made us free of theirga-no-sote. They relieved Peter's principal want by furnishing him bear's grease, with which he anointed himself vigorously before sleeping.
We spent two days with these people, recuperating in preparation for the stern task ahead of us. After parting with them we continued in leisurely fashion eastward, keeping well to the north of the Great Trail of the Long House and avoiding as much as possible contact with the Onondagas, Oneidas and Mohawks whose countries we traversed. Some ten days after leaving Oswego we found ourselves on the verge of that untracked domain which was roamed by the Keepers of the Doom Trail.
Here we paused to take counsel with one another.
"Somewhere this side of the Mohawk the Trail begins," said Ta-wan-ne-ars. "Shall we follow the river and scout for signs there?"
"'Tis there the Keepers must be most vigilant," I suggested.
"Ja," spoke up Peter, "andt if we do not come to harm, yet Murray will know we watch."
"What then?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"Let us scout der country well back from der river. You know aboudt where lies La Vierge du Bois. It shouldt not be difficult to strike der line of der Trail."
This plan we agreed upon, and, so that we might not be constrained to use our muskets in the forbidden territory, we obtained from a Mohawk village a quantity of jerked meat and parched corn mixed with maple sugar ample to sustain us for a week or more. And in order to assure that our departure would be free from the observation of spies we left our last camp after dark and in two parties, Ta-wan-ne-ars and myself going in one direction and Peter in another.
Our meeting-place was a grove on the bank of a creek, one of the tributaries of the Mohawk. We reached it without observation, and lay in concealment most of the day, starting again in the late afternoon and moving warily through the forest, following no particular course, but addressing ourselves rather to the effacement of all evidence of our passage.
We discovered nothing, and the next day and many others went by with no better luck. Sometimes we encountered the slots of deer or bear, and the woodcraft of my comrades would be baffled temporarily until they had proved beyond doubt that the trace was not used by human feet. Once we came upon signs of old encampments, and diligently scouted the vicinity, only to be convinced they were the relics of some casual hunting-party.
Our provisions were exhausted, and we were compelled to live from hand to mouth upon such game as Ta-wan-ne-ars could snare or kill with his tomahawk—and certes he was wondrous proficient in both arts. But we kept on, bearing always eastward and quartering the country in every direction. Game there was in plenty, sure testimony that man seldom came here; dense underbrush linked the towering trunks; there was not so much as a footprint in hundreds of square miles to reveal human occupancy.
Yet in the very midst of this deserted wilderness we came upon what we sought. We had abandoned the headwaters of the Mohawk and were following one of its middle branches, a shallow stream with pebbly, shelving banks, wading close inshore so as not to disturb the close-growing shrubbery. We all saw it simultaneously—a tattered, weather-stained fragment of canvas, caught on a snag in the current. I fished it out with my musket-barrel.
"A pack-cofer," declared Peter immediately.
"And safely identified," I added, putting my finger on an unmistakable thistle in green paint with three-quarters of a letter "M" above it.
A mile farther on Ta-wan-ne-ars exclaimed and pointed upward to the trunk of a tall elm. Partly shaded by the foliage of the lower boughs a deep blaze was revealed in the bark.
We waded ashore and investigated. The underbrush was as thick as elsewhere, but presently Peter gave a heave with his bull-like shoulders and a whole section of growths, which had been laced together with vines on a backing of boughs, lifted gate-fashion. Beyond stretched a narrow alley, whose carpet of grass showed it to be seldom traveled.
"If this be not the Doom Trail 'tis worth a look none the less," I whispered.
Peter nodded, and slipped through the opening. I followed him, and Ta-wan-ne-ars brought up the rear.
Here in this hidden path the forest noises became remote. Even the birds ceased to twitter overhead, and the slightest stirring of the treetops made us drop to earth in expectancy of attack. Yet when the attack came we were taken completely by surprize.
We had progressed some five miles from the beginning of the trail, and had reached a point where it forked—or perhaps I should say was joined by a second trail. At any rate the united trails continued into a beaver swamp, where they disappeared. We scouted the swamp, but could see no signs of a path across it; and Peter led the way to the right, intending to encircle it.
The beavers had thinned the timber hereabout and cut down most of the brushwood, so that we walked at ease between wide-spaced trunks. We were all of us alert, but the first warning that we were under observation was a green-feathered arrow which sang between Peter and me and buried its head in the ground.
"Don'dt fire, whatefer you do," muttered Peter as he threw himself behind the nearest trunk.
Ta-wan-ne-ars and I copied his example. I found myself on the right of the three. The others had selected standing trunks. I had chosen, perforce, a fallen giant which some forest wind had overthrown. I crawled along the trunk into the tangle of roots, and from there gained a clump of bushes growing about the hole from which it had been torn. I could see Ta-wan-ne-ars crouched behind his trunk, with his musket beside him and his tomahawk in his hand. Peter was concealed from view.
The green-feathered arrow had ceased quivering and I idly followed the angle of its inclination. My eyes traveled forward—and focused upon a hideous painted face which peered from a screen of sumac.
The watcher motioned behind him, and a second painted visage glided to his side. Ta-wan-ne-ars, seeking to draw their fire, thrust out the end of his scalp-lock, and the first watcher instantly drew bow and sent an arrow that grazed the trunk.
Nothing happened for a while. The Keepers waited, and Ta-wan-ne-ars and Peter remained under cover. I surveyed the situation. From the hole in which I lay a depression of the ground ran eastward past the lair of the Cahnuagas in the sumac clump. I started to crawl up it, dragging my musket after me, but before I had gone a dozen feet I was obliged to abandon the gun in order to insure that my progress should be silent.
Ta-wan-ne-ars, aware that I was up to something, called to Peter, and the two of them executed a series of feints which kept the Keepers occupied. When I was parallel with the sumac clump I sought shelter under a patch of wild blackberry-bushes. Cautiously parting my screen—which was exceedingly thorny and painful—I was able to view the Keepers from the rear. They were ensconced in what was evidently a permanent sentry-post. Beyond the sumacs was a low bark hut masked with boughs. At their feet were muskets. The bows they held were employed for the purpose of adding mystery to their attack.
So accustomed were the Keepers to the overpowering spell of the Doom Trail, which weakened the nerves of all trespassers, that they were wholly confident of the success of their tactics in first frightening us and afterward running us down at pleasure. They stood behind the sumac screen, their bushy feather head-dresses close together, grins of anticipation cracking the paint on their evil faces.
I worked myself a little more in rear of their position, then rose quietly and drew knife and tomahawk. I was an amateur at casting the ax, but this was no time for hesitation. I flung it with all my might, and yelled the nearest approach I could compass to the war-whoop.
The tomahawk struck one of the Keepers with the flat of its blade, felling him. The other savage turned quickly and loosed his arrow at me, aiming wide in his confusion. He stooped for his musket, but I was on him with my knife and he was forced to leap back and meet me on even terms. Ta-wan-ne-ars and Peter came running between the trees, whooping encouragement.
They arrived in the nick of time, for the Cahnuaga I had tried to tomahawk was on his feet, ready to shoot me as I dodged the knife-blade of his mate. The Seneca brained this man with the butt of his gun, and Peter methodically tripped my adversary and helped me pinion him.
Ta-wan-ne-ars paused long enough to remove what was left of the scalp of his victim, then crossed to us and set his bloody knife to the throat of the survivor.
"Is it to be torture or a quick death, Cahnuaga dog!" he demanded.
The red eyes of the Keeper glared at him. "Death," the man spat, and strove to gnaw at the hands which held him.
"Then speak truly. Who travels Doom Trail today?"
"Nobody. We watch always."
Ta-wan-ne-ars pricked him slightly.
"You watch always," assented the Seneca. "Yes. And who comes?"
A shout echoed through the forest aisles. The red eyes of the Cahnuaga flared exultantly. His mouth opened.
"Yaaa-aaaa-aaa-ah—"
Ta-wan-ne-ars drove his point home, and the scream ended in an awful bubbling gasp.
The shout was repeated.
The crashing of branches sounded as some heavy body ran along the Doom Trail.
"Did ye hear that screech?" shouted a rough voice.
"Yaas, Red, me hear him. He bery much like feller feel something he not like."
Peter nudged me, and Ta-wan-ne-ars seized the bow and quiver of one of the dead Keepers. We crouched beside the bodies behind the sumac screen. My gun was still where I had left it in the gully by which I had approached the lair of the watchers. In its stead I selected the musket of the man the Seneca had just knifed.
"Funny they don't answer us—'nless that was an answer we heard," continued the rough voice. "Give 'em another hail in their own lingo."
A third voice was raised—in the Cahnuaga dialect, which was a corruption of the Iroquois speech and perfectly understandable to my comrades.
"Qua, O Keepers who watch," shouted the third speaker. "We acquaint you that we approach. We have with us the Red One and the Black One."
We remained quiet, but Peter possessed himself of the gun of the second Cahnuaga and placed it where he could reach it as soon as his own piece was discharged.
"That's —— funny, Tom," called the first speaker, who was plainly Bolling.
"Yaas, him —— —— funny," answered the negro.
They were approaching over the trail which forked into the one we had followed from the stream with the pebbly banks. And at this point apparently they came to the junction of the two branches.
"Hullo," commented Bolling's great voice—he spoke habitually in a roar. "Somebody come by this way."
"Mebbe them Keepers go look for us the other way," suggested Tom.
"Mought be so, but I ain't figgerin' on takin' no chances with them green arrows. French put the Injuns up to dippin' the points in rattlesnake p'ison, and I seed them try it on a poor devil of a Mohican they gathered in. I ain't hankerin' to die in no snake-snarl."
The Indian who had shouted before repeated his hail.
"Them Keepers done gone away, Red," declared Tom. "Mebbe some Maquas[1] come dis way. The Keepers chase 'em out o' hyuh."
[1] Hostile term for Mohawks.
"——! I'm agoin' to find out," returned Bolling.
He trotted out of the mouth of the trail into the open space on the brink of the muskrat swamp.
"Nobody here," he called back after a casual look around. "Guess you was right, Tom. The Keepers got after somebody—or else the lazy dogs have turned in for a sleep. I'll find out later for sure. Now you rustle them packs up, and I'll get the dugout ready."
He dragged a canoe hollowed from a tree-trunk from its hiding-place in a bed of reeds, and produced two paddles from the prostrate trunk of a hollow tree. But we paid scant attention to him. Our eyes were fastened upon the odd procession which emerged from the trail in obedience to his summons.
First walked the negro Tom, a huge pack bowing his enormous shoulders. After the negro, in single file, came eight Cahnuagas, each with a large pack braced on aga-ne-ko-na-ah, or burden frame. They carried their muskets in their hands.
"We've got to hurry if we're goin' to get everything ferried over the swamp tonight," grumbled Bolling. "Waall, what's bitin' you?"
This question was addressed to a Cahnuaga who, in unslinging his burden-frame, had chanced to see the arrow in the ground which the Keepers had shot in their first attempt to bait us.
The Cahnuaga pointed silently to the green-feathered shaft.
"By ——!" swore Bolling with a start. "D'ye see that, Tom?"
The negro dropped his pack and shook some fresh priming into the pan of his musket.
"Nobody nebber done come here befo'," he said dubiously. "Howcome dat arrow dere, Red?"
"—— it, how the —— do I know? I want to tell you this ain't no joke. Something's happened here."
Bolling glanced about him uneasily.
"The Keepers have gone, that's sure," he announced. "What most likely happened was some party broke in here, and the Keepers chased 'em."
He chuckled wickedly.
"Ain't no blood nor nothin' around, so it 'pears likely the Keepers got the jump on 'em."
Ta-wan-ne-ars, who had been occupied in extracting arrows from a quiver and setting them in a row before him with points lightly thrust into the ground, now notched a shaft.
"Shall we begin, brothers?" he whispered. "Hold your fire until I run out of arrows."
"Ja," agreed Peter. "Budt do not shoot Red Jack or der nigger. We will safe them if we can."
"You can take on the negro," I spoke up. "Leave Bolling to me."
Peter looked doubtful.
"He is a goodt knife-fighter," he commenced to argue; but Ta-wan-ne-ars chose that moment to open his bombardment, and the Dutchman's remonstrance went for naught.
A green arrow streaked across the grove and buried its barbed bone head in the chest of one of the Cahnuagas. The man shrieked and tore at the shaft with his hands. His companions scattered right and left. But Ta-wan-ne-ars gave them no respite. His shafts filled the air. The green arrows drove into the packs, quivered in tree-trunks, pierced another unfortunate.
"Are ye crazy?" shouted Bolling at the strangely hostile sumac clump. "Don't ye see——"
"It's dem —— False Faces," cried Tom, dancing with rage. "Dey got some hocus-pocus up. Fire at 'em."
Thus adjured, the Cahnuagas let off a ragged volley which whistled over our heads. Ta-wan-ne-ars discharged the last of his arrows and reached for his musket. At the same moment Peter fired, and I tailed him. We saw two of the Indians collapse. Peter caught up his second musket and he and Ta-wan-ne-ars shot again. 'Twas impossible to miss. Besides Bolling and Tom, only two of the enemy were left.
"Knife and hatchet for the rest," said Ta-wan-ne-ars grimly. "Are my brothers ready?"
Peter answered him with the Iroquois war-whoop, and we sprang from the sumac clump, dodging right and left through the tree-trunks.
"Here they come," yelled Bolling in warning.
He fired his musket, and I felt the wind of its bullet on my cheek. Tom shot with no better results. The two surviving Cahnuagas threw away their guns and fled.
"I will take care of them, brothers," shouted Ta-wan-ne-ars, casting aside his own musket. "One Seneca against two Cahnuagas—that should be fair odds."
He put on speed as he spoke, waved his hand and was gone, running like a greyhound after the two frightened savages, who were scurrying around the swamp.
The field was left to Peter and me and the two ruffians whom the frontier called Red Death and Black Death. They seemed nothing loath to meet us.
"Ho, ho, ho," roared Bolling. "D'ye see who it is, Tom?"
The negro's apelike face was distorted by a grin which showed his yellow tusks. His wicked little eyes gleamed ferociously.
"Massa Murray done goin' to gib us a heap o' presents fo' this," he answered. "Ah reckon mebbe we get all der rum we wants to drink."
"Waall, I will," chuckled Bolling, "but you won't."
Tom slobbered like an animal regretting its inability to eat sufficiently.
"Ah'm aimin' to try," he said.
"There ain't enough," returned Bolling. "Waall, young feller"—this to me—"was you intendin' to amuse me some!"
"I'm intending to let a little clean air into your dirty skin," I answered.
He threw back his head as if much amused.
"Ho, ho, ho! Now ain't you got the smart way o' puttin' things! Young feller, I'll tell yer what: you're too good for the frontier. You——"
As quick as lightning, and without an indication in advance to warn me, he flung his tomahawk at my head. I saw it coming, and instinctively did the only thing possible to save myself—raised my own ax to guard. Bolling's hatchet struck mine and knocked it from my hand, leaving my arm sore and tingling.
"You wasn't expectin' that, was you?" he gibed. "Waall, young feller, there's a heap o' other things you ain't expectin', but they're a-goin' to happen. Yes, right now. You watch."
He poised himself on the balls of his feet, and pranced around me, his big, double-edged scalping-knife held ready in his right hand.
"I'm aimin' to carve you, my lad," he warned me. "You ain't got the chance a squirrel has ag'in an eagle. There ain't a knife-fighter in these parts can stand up to me. D'ye know what they call me?"
"The Red Death," I said. "And I am going to redden more than your hair."
"Ho, ho, ho! The cockerel can crow! Boy, I'm 'most ready to be sorry for ye. I feel that bloody-minded I ain't got no mercy left at all.
"It ain't just that I'm a-goin' to kill ye, ye understand. That wouldn't be so bad. But no, I'm goin' to take my time about it and carve ye up first—bit by bit. I'll take a little off en your arm first. Like that!"
He made a sudden leap, but I had been watching his eye, as the fencing-masters taught us to watch an opponent with the small-swords—and knife-fighting is much like sword-play in this respect—and I was prepared for him. I jumped backward, and his knife-point jabbed the sod underfoot. He was on his feet again in a second.
"Thought ye was smart, eh?" he snarled, his ugly face a blaze of ferocity. "Waall, for that, I'll torment ye the longer. Take this now!"
He attacked me with a peculiar sweeping blow that was aimed at my shoulder, but fell at the level of the waist. Had it passed my guard, 'twould have disemboweled me. I parried his blade with mine, and struck back for the first time with such venom that he leaped away in alarm.
The suspension in his attack gave me opportunity to glance over my shoulder toward the edge of the swamp, where Peter and the negro were circling each other warily, tomahawks poised for throwing.
The sight put an idea in my mind. I remembered my duel with the Cahnuaga in the glade by the Great Trail and the discovery that he was at a disadvantage when I used the knife as I had learned to use the sword. I promptly shifted my grip on the knife-hilt and held it straight before me as if it were a rapier. At the same time I inclined my other arm behind me to balance it. Bolling viewed this manoeuvre with derision.
"Ye pore babby," he sneered. "Think ye can meet a knife-fighter like me with one arm? Or fight me off with the point? I'll show ye."
He charged upon me like a battering-ram, his knife a whirling point of steel, its broad blade slashing in both directions. I retired slowly, anxious to increase his self-confidence.
"Stand up to me!" he yelled finally. "Be ye feared?"
I laughed at this, and it made him furious. He stamped around me, slashing and stabbing, and it was several minutes before he discovered that however viciously he struck I was always able to parry him with an economy of effort. I kept my point in the restricted circle which the experts of fence decree to be the most potent guard.
Breathing heavily, he retreated several paces and stood, glaring at me, his knife upraised.
"You don't understand, Bolling, do you?" I mocked him.
"Understand what, ye —— swine?" he ripped.
"Fighting the way gentlemen fight."
"Ye call that a gentleman's way!" he laughed harshly. "I call it a coward's way! Why don't ye take the edge?"
"I will if you'll take the point," I retorted.
"Come on," he proffered, and he crept forward like a huge cat, feet spread wide, shoulders crouched, knife a menacing flame.
Somewhat to his surprize I did not give ground to him this time, but met him squarely as he advanced. My arm was extended, full-length, tipped with a good ten inches of steel. He struck, and I parried his blow. He slashed, and I put it aside. He struck again, and I almost succeeded in twisting his blade from his hand by an old trick of thesalle des armes. But my knife was not long enough to get the necessary purchase with it.
"Why don't ye fight fair?" he growled, wringing his arm.
"Why don't you?" I returned.
He charged with wonderful celerity, dropped to his knee and slashed upward so effectively that his point cut the skirt of my leather shirt.
"I'll get ye yet," he howled with glee.
But I refuse to be intimidated. Indeed, I was no longer doubtful of the issue. I knew that I could outfight him or any fighter of his caliber by my adaptation of sword-play to knife-fighting.
I leaped upon him by way of answer, and pressed the fighting. He yielded ground to me, seeking to retreat into the woods by the trail; but I rounded him up and herded him steadily toward the edge of the swamp.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peter fling his tomahawk at Tom and Tom hurl his knife in reply. Then my opponent shifted ground once more, and I was occupied in driving him back in the direction I meant him to go. We hovered nearer and nearer to the swamp edge, and Bolling's breath began to come in labored gasps.
I shortened our fighting-range, and gave him the point, drawing blood occasionally. He kept his head down, and parried desperately, trying to escape to one side, but I was on him so swiftly that he was afraid of a blow from the rear, and must needs stand to defend himself. At last he stood on the very brink of the morass, with no avenue of escape open.
I paused a moment.
"How will you die, my friend?" I asked. "You can smother to death if you prefer it."
His answer was a bellow of insensate rage and his knife, thrown point-first at my chest. By sheer luck I caught its point on my hilt, turned it aside and met his rush. He wrapped his arms around me, intent on carrying me with him into the ooze and slime. But I stabbed him to the heart before his bear's hug was completed, and he fell away from me, arms spread wide, and lay in a noisome heap by the tussocks of marsh grass.
I stood over him, panting from my exertions, when a shout from Ta-wan-ne-ars attracted my attention. The Seneca was returning from his pursuit of the two Cahnuagas. He shouted again, and pointed behind me. I turned to see Peter and the negro locked in each other's arms, and as I looked, Tom heaved Peter into the air and sought to throw him. But Peter locked his legs around the negro's waist, and they rolled over and over across the ground.
I reached them just as they struggled to their feet, grips unrelaxed. Peter warned me off.
"Standt clear," he croaked. "I finish this myself."
Certes, nobody but Peter could have finished it. The negro's strength was colossal. His arms were half again as long as Peter's and Peter was a big man. The negro's shoulder and back muscles were iron bands—we afterward estimated the pack he had been carrying at three hundred weight and a half. He fought like a wildcat, with teeth and nails and legs. But Peter met him phlegmatically, refusing to be angered by the vilest attempt.
Once, whilst Ta-wan-ne-ars and I stood by, Peter tried to break his back. Any other man's back would have been broken. A second time Tom rolled the Dutchman on the ground and clawed at his eyes; but Peter kept one arm across them and escaped with bleeding cheeks. Again, Peter rose up to his full height and jolted the negro down upon his head. It seemed as if the fellow's neck must break if his skull resisted the shock. Yet he bounded to his feet unhurt, and with a swift look around made a dash for liberty, which Ta-wan-ne-ars and I headed off.
Then Peter closed with him. They had torn the clothing from each other's shoulders and flanks. They dripped blood. Their skins shone with sweat. Their chests heaved with the effort for breath.
Tom stooped and flung his arms around Peter's waist, driving his head for the Dutchman's loins. Peter retaliated by bringing up his knee against the negro's chin. Tom reeled back, and Peter swooped upon him. One arm hooked Tom's waist, the other caught him by the neck.
Dazed and with a mouthful of shattered teeth, Tom struggled feebly, but without avail. Peter twisted him, bore him to the ground, shifted grip rapidly, drove his knee into the quivering belly and throttled the life out of the black throat.
"So I make an endt of him," panted the Dutchman as he staggered to his feet.
"Aye, we have made an end to Red Death and Black Death," I answered.
"And I slew the two who ran," added Ta-wan-ne-ars, touching two scalps whose clustered feathers protruded from his belt.
"A clean sweep," I said. "There will be none to carry the tale to La Vierge du Bois."
"That is ever the criminal's belief," interrupted a voice in French.
We spun round in amazement to face a gaunt figure in the black habit of the Jesuits.
"Black Robe!" exclaimed Peter.
Ta-wan-ne-ars glowered at the priest.
"What do you do here, Père Hyacinthe?" I asked in French.
"What is that to you?" he snapped. "I go about my Father's business; that is sufficient for the bloody-minded to know."
"If you will look at me closer, father, you will recognize my face," I answered. "Surely one has the right of vengeance upon those who would torture one."
He peered at me.
"You and the Indian were at La Vierge du Bois," he said. "Yes, I remember now. Did the light shine in your eyes, my son?"
"Not the light you mean, but I saw much evil which went on there behind your back."
"What?" he demanded.
I told him of the Moon Feast and the False Face rites and started to reveal the duplicity of de Veulle.
"Tell me no more," he interrupted with a sigh. "'Tis already hard to bear these burdens my unworthy shoulders carry. I cry out now and again, 'How long, O Lord, how long?' But what bloody business have you done here? Are your skirts clear that you should assail the poor savages, who still relapse to superstition!"
"You say nothing of the Chevalier de Veulle," I commented.
"The man is your enemy," he returned shrewdly. "I do not think your judgment is unbiased."
Ta-wan-ne-ars raised his tomahawk, implacable hatred in his face.
"This man is leagued with the priests of evil," he said. "He is at one with Murray. Let us made an end of him."
Peter, methodically retrieving his clothing and equipment, grunted assent.
"No, no," I intervened. "'Tis not fair to judge him by his associates. Let him go."
"He will only carry word of what has passed to Murray," objected Ta-wan-ne-ars.
I touched my forehead.
"He hath gone through the torture twice," I said. "I think the Great Spirit has set his seal upon him."
Ta-wan-ne-ars sheathed his ax. Peter, saturated as he was with Indian lore, nodded his head.
"Let him go," said the Dutchman curtly. "It don't matter if Murray knows we hafe found der trail. Sooner or later he hears of this killing anyhow."
I turned to the priest.
"You are free to go, father," I said.
He laughed mockingly.
"Yes, free, but I do not need your word for it. I go when the Word calls me, and I come when It calls me—and none stays me."
He raised a crucifix on high as he spoke. His eye chanced to fall upon the bodies scattered on the verge of the swamp.
"Do these poor souls require Christian burial!" he asked.
"They were devil-worshipers, father," I said.
He hesitated, then muttered several prayers in Latin and made the sign of the cross in the air. Without another word he turned on his heel and disappeared into the woods, following the route around the swamp which Ta-wan-ne-ars had taken.
'Twas early Autumn when we returned to Albany. The leaves were coloring, and there was a nip of frost in the air. The flag over the battlements of Fort Orange stood out straight from its staff. The citizens who thronged the street leading up to the fort gate must needs hold on to their hat-brims.
"Are the streets usually so crowded?" I asked Peter.
He shook his head, and I accosted a tavernkeeper who stood in his doorway, regarding the passers-by with anticipation of the harvest he would reap later.
"'Tis his Excellency the governor," he explained. "Master Burnet is come up-river from New York town this morning."
"What is toward?"
"I know not, my master. The governor and Master Colden of his Council have summoned certain gentry and merchants and the officers of the troops to meet them in the Great Hall of the fort this afternoon."
I thanked him, and passed on.
"Here is great luck for us!" I exclaimed to Corlaer and Ta-wan-ne-ars. "We are saved the trip down-river."
"Ja," grunted Peter.
Ta-wan-ne-ars smiled.
"Does my brother already surrender to the spell of the wilderness?" he inquired.
I started, for indeed the Seneca's uncanny inward vision had perceived the question I was then debating in my own mind.
"How knew you that?" I demanded as we shouldered our way through Dutch farmers and burghers, English settlers of the newly opened districts, slaves, patentees, patroons, Indians from the Lower Castle of the Mohawks, frontiersmen and soldiers.
His smile broadened.
"My brother was pleased to think that he need not go down-river."
"'Tis true," I affirmed. "I have no wish to leave the forest. I find even this village overcrowded to suit me."
Whilst I pondered this we came to the fort gate and gave our names to the sentry who stopped all save the few the governor had summoned to attend upon him. A messenger he dispatched brought back word that we were to enter, and we were escorted across the parade and into the quarters of the commandant adjoining the Great Hall.
Master Colden met us in the doorway.
"Zooks, but I am right glad to see you," he cried. "And his Excellency is overjoyed. But I will leave it to him to express his satisfaction."
He opened an inner door and ushered us into the presence of the governor. Master Burnet rose from the chair in which he was sitting by a flat-topped table which served him for desk, and came forward with hand outstretched.
"Master Ormerod, this could not have been better! I wished above all things for speech with you. Corlaer, I am deeply in your debt. Ta-wan-ne-ars, you have again incurred the gratitude of the province. I shall not forget that you have imperiled your life in our cause."
"Did you receive my report from Oswego, sir?" I asked.
"Certes, 'twas that—and this"—he tapped a document which lay before him on the table—"which brought me here."
He proffered it. 'Twas a report from a secret agent at Montreal, quoting the decision of the French fur-dealers, acting in conjunction with their Government, to raise the price of beaver from two livres, or one shilling six pence in English currency, the pound, to the level of four livres, or three shillings, the established price then prevailing at the English trading-posts.
"That, mind you," continued the governor as I returned the paper to him, "was the first reaction in Canada to the tidings that Murray had succeeded in legitimatizing his trade over the Doom Trail."
"We have found the Doom Trail, your Excellency," I said.
"You have done well," he applauded. "Aye, better than I expected of you in so short a time."
"We also slew——"
"I beg your Excellency's indulgence," interrupted Master Colden, "but the gentlemen you bade to meet you are now assembled in the Great Hall. Can not Master Ormerod's report await the conclusion of your interview with them!"
"That would be best," agreed the governor, "But I wish Master Ormerod and his companions to come with me. It may be I shall appeal to them for first-hand testimony."
We deposited our muskets in a corner of the room, and then filed behind Master Burnet and the surveyor-general into the larger chamber adjoining, where some thirty men awaited him. Several were gentry who were members of his Council. Three were officers in command of the frontier garrisons. The remainder were merchants, dealing to greater or lesser extent in the fur-trade, the great export staple of the province.
They rose when the governor entered and remained standing until he was seated. Master Colden found seats for Ta-wan-ne-ars, Peter and me to one side of the room, and we watched with interest the battle which began almost with his Excellency's first word.
He wasted no time in preliminaries or generalities. He deposited several papers on the table in front of him, and addressed himself to his task.
"Gentlemen," he began, "I have summoned you to meet me here because a situation has arisen which is of the utmost gravity to the welfare of the province and the larger interests of his Majesty's realm. Recently I have been in receipt of a communication in the form of a petition signed by many of the chief merchants of the province, beseeching me to abandon my opposition to the retention of the free trade with Canada which is now temporarily secured to them by the action of the Lords of Trade in suspending decision upon the law prohibiting the trade in Indian goods which I secured to be passed last year."
"That petition represented the sober thought of a majority of the merchants and traders, your Excellency," spoke up a prosperous-looking man in the front row facing Master Burnet.
"It may be so," replied the governor. "But I would suggest to you, my friends, that certain knowledge hath come to me which compels me to wonder whether you would persist in this attitude were you acquainted with it. Briefly, I have lately obtained definite information that the French are beginning the erection of a stone fort at Jagara."
"There are many such reports in circulation," said another merchant, a hard-featured man with graying hair. "It seems to many of us, sir, that the fault is as much upon our side as upon that of the French. Why must we assail them if they seek to protect their interests?"
"I agree with the principle of what you say, sir," answered the governor patiently. "But in this case, permit me to point out that the territory this side of the Falls of Jagara is secured to us by the Peace of Utrecht. 'Tis not only that the French have no right to construct a fort there. They have no right to maintain a trading-post there.
"Yet my agent talked with the officers in charge, Monsieur de Joncaire and Monsieur de Lery, and they boasted of their intent to erect such a fort as would be a curb on our Indian allies, the Iroquois, and divert to their posts farther up the Cadarakui Lake the fur trade which now comes to us at Irondequoit and Oswego, Schenectady and Albany."
"Your Excellency is needlessly worried concerning the fur-trade," asserted the hard-featured merchant. "What matters it to us the way in which the furs come! They will go ultimately to the people paying the best prices for them, and those people are ourselves."
"I thank you for putting me in the way of bringing forward a most important point," returned the governor suavely. "At the time I received word of the building of the fort at Jagara, I received also this report from an agent in Montreal——"
"Why must we have spies?" interrupted a third merchant.
"To protect our just interests, sir," said the governor, and for the first time a hint of sternness rang in his voice. "This report announces the doubling of the price paid for beaver at tie French posts, so that now they are on a par with us."
"We can afford to pay more than we do. London will still take it from us at a profit," rejoined the merchant who had first spoken.
"Aye, sirs," urged the governor; "but do you not see that presently, if things go on as they do, the French may increase their price again slowly, a few sous at a time, until they are frankly overbidding you?"
"We will chance that," spoke up several men.
"Trade is trade," cried another. "It goes where the money is."
"Aye, we have no fear," clamored others.
"And let us suppose," resumed the governor, "that the French permit you to draw supplies of furs through them. I can conceive they might do so if it netted them the prices they desire. Does that mean that you will always be safe in expecting to have your wants so filled!"
"To be sure," answered three or four men at once.
"I differ with you," replied Master Burnet. "The fur-trade is not only a means to earn profits. 'Tis a most important stake in securing military success. The nation which controls the fur-trade, my masters, will have the interest of the larger numbers of savages. The nation which owns the support of the most Indian tribes will be the nation superior in extending its territories in time of peace and superior in battle in time of war."
"It ill becomes a plain merchant to take issue with your Excellency," remarked the hard-featured merchant. "And 'tis like to go against me if I do——"
"Speak with entire freedom, sir," interrupted Master Burnet.
"Then I must say, your Excellency, that it seems to me you attach overmuch importance to savage tribes and war. There is enough land in North America for French and English and Indians, too. But if you go around looking for attack, why, 'tis likely you will bring such a catastrophe upon yourself."
"Hear, hear," cried the bulk of the merchants and traders.
"You mistake me," answered the governor. "I aim to serve your own interests as well as those of his Majesty's other subjects which transcend even yours."
"Trade is everything," snapped the hard-featured merchant.
"So long as 'tis rightly conducted," amended Master Burnet. "Bear in mind, my masters, that the whole history of our possessions on this continent disproves the statement just made that there is land enough for ourselves and the French. The French are the first to dispute this view.
"They plan openly to drive us into the sea. The New France they see in the future will embrace all the settlements of the Atlantic coast together with the inland wilderness."
"If you bait them sufficiently, doubtless they will seek to fight us," asserted a merchant.
"But they know not the English breed if they think to do so," cried a neighbor.
"Or the Dutchman either," said a third.
"Good! That is the spirit I want to arouse," acknowledged the governor, quick to seize what he thought an advantage. "Gentlemen, you have heard some of my evidence. Additional, if you wish it, can be laid before you.
"What I desire from you especially today is your support in a plan I have been considering for moderating the exit of goods to Canada. The volume reached in recent weeks passes all reason. If permitted to continue 'twill exhaust our supplies. It plays directly into the hands of——"
But he was not suffered to continue.
"Free trading!" shouted a group.
"Stick by the law, governor!" warned one.
"The law is the law!" cried a third.
The prosperous-looking merchant in the front row stood up and made himself heard by pounding his stick on the floor.
"Do I understand your Excellency to mean that you would alter the instructions received from the Lords of Trade?" he asked.
"My plan is rather to amend the carrying out of the law by certain restrictions until I can forward representations on the situation to their lordships," replied Master Burnet steadily.
"But as one of my brethren has just remarked, the law is the law.
"The trouble here, sirs, is that there is no law," declared the governor. "We have the suspension of the law, and in the interim there is no provision for a substitute statute."
"Tush, we want no such law," proclaimed the hard-featured merchant. "Let us not quibble. His Excellency might as well know the truth. Since Master Murray won his case we have been able to sell and buy as we chose. And our coffers have swollen thereby.
"The law was an ill-judged law. It restricted trade, reduced profits. Let the French secure furs if they wish. They may do the dirty work. We will sit back and reap the profits."
"Gentlemen, you still avoid my point," insisted the governor. "The profits you have made recently are unnatural profits, and were you in your right minds you would be the first to appreciate that they can not continue. I should be content to leave your education to the normal processes of time, but for the fact that the French are turning your assistance to account, and we are like to pay heavily to them for it in the long run."
"How?" inquired a skeptical voice.
"By permitting the French to confirm their prestige with the savages, by undermining the confidence in us of those Indian allies we have won hitherto. Your lot will be improved only so long as it pleases the French. If matters continue as they are, the French will force a war at the moment they deem most promising, and likely enough conquer us by reason of the very profits which you say have swollen your coffers."
"Better so, mayhap," shouted the hard-featured merchant. "Better have free trade under France than limited trade under England or any other country."
"You talk treason, sir," said the governor coldly. "Moreover, you talk foolishly. There is no freedom of trade in Canada——"
"Well, we have it here; and by ——, we'll keep it as long as we can," replied the merchant.
"That is not like to be very long, my masters," announced a new voice.
All eyes were turned to the door. There stood Andrew Murray, a fashionably cut blue plush coat draping his fine shoulders, half-revealing the canary-yellow vest beneath; a beautiful periwig framing his handsome, masterful face; a laced and cocked hat tucked under his arm.
He bowed low to the governor.
"I must beseech your Excellency's pardon for my unheralded entrance," he said. "I am but just arrived in town, and I hastened here to present my case to you."
He swept his eyes over the room as he spoke and fastened them upon my face.
"You are welcome, Master Murray," returned the governor. "Had I known where to reach you I should have invited your attendance."
"I am honored, sir."
Murray bowed again. His eyes passed from me to Peter's stolid features and the calm, impassive face of Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"I venture to intrude upon you," he continued, "because of information I possess which I am sure will be of interest to you and all others who have the prosperity of the province at heart."
"I am interested," said the governor impartially. "Pray state your case, Master Murray."
"I shall do so all the more readily, your Excellency, because I am persuaded you can have no knowledge of the crimes recently committed by persons who represent themselves to be your agents."
"So?" observed the governor.
"Yes, sir," Murray went on. "I see in this room three men whom I charge with the wanton destruction of a large quantity of furs and the murder of two of my servants and a number of friendly Indians."
And that there might be no mistaking the objects of his accusation Murray pointed his forefinger at my comrades and me. A rustle of interest agitated the audience. Murmurs arose and hostile glances were bent upon us.
"Be explicit, if you please," said the governor.
"I will, sir," replied Murray boldly. "The young man known as Harry Ormerod, with Peter Corlaer and a Seneca chief called Ta-wan-ne-ars, raided a fleet of canoes on the shore of the Cadarakui Lake near Oswego and burned hundreds of packs of valuable furs which the far-western savages were bringing in for trade."
"I have heard something of this matter," admitted Master Burnet. "But I understood the savages were in charge of Monsieur de Joncaire, the French commandant at Jagara, and bound for Montreal."
"Monsieur de Joncaire was accompanying them, 'tis true," admitted Murray. "But the savages were bound for my own trading-stations. The loss, which will run into thousands of pounds, will fall upon our New York merchants."
The murmurs grew into an outburst of indignation which the governor quelled with difficulty. But before he could speak Murray continued his attack.
"Nor is that all, your Excellency. These same three men afterwards attacked from ambush and murdered two of my servants, a man named Bolling and a negro."
"It sticks in my mind that both have been charged with murders of their own in the past," the governor broke in drily.
"They were never convicted of such a crime," returned Murray.
"Bolling was wanted for an attempt upon Master Ormerod's life in New York town," interjected Colden.
"I am not responsible for that," observed Murray. "It shows at best that there was enmity betwixt the two. But surely, my masters, enmity does not call for cold-blooded murder."
There was no misinterpreting the unanimity of the endorsement which his words received. Governor Burnet held up his hand for silence.
"I shall look into Master Murray's charges," he said. "So much, at least, he is entitled to. But first I wish to acquaint him with what I have laid before this gathering, all the more so because he is more vitally interested perhaps than any other.
"Master Murray, I am concerned over the extent to which the fur-trade is passing into French hands, and I am bound to say my information indicates that the French have your assistance in the matter. The quantities of trade-goods going up-river have enormously increased this Summer. They are hundreds of tons in excess of what formerly passed through Albany."
"Doubtless our trading-posts have profited thereby," suggested Murray blandly.
"On the contrary," returned Master Burnet with decision. "Our trading-posts have fared worse, if anything. Aside from the Iroquois, the savages are patronizing more and more the French traders. And as I have told these gentlemen here, the French have increased their trading-stocks already to such an extent that they have been able to establish parity with our prices."
"Yet the volume of furs coming through Albany has increased and not diminished," said Murray.
"What has that to do with the situation I have outlined?" demanded the governor with his first show of impatience.
"Everything, sir."
"I think not. Briefly, Master Murray, I am canvassing the sentiment of our merchants on the advisability of suspending for the time being, to some degree at any rate, the proclamation I issued in response to the action of the Lords of Trade in withholding the assent of his Majesty's government to our law prohibiting the trade in Indian goods with Canada."
Murray took snuff deliberately, and I, who had passed considerable time in his company, did not miss the gleam of frank hostility which showed in his eye.
"I am not surprized," he commented. "I am free to say, your Excellency, that I have noted hitherto a laxness on the part of the provincial authorities in administering the free-trade requirements of their lordships."
"You charge that?" inquired the governor coldly.
"I do, sir. And I give fair warning that, with a view to the best interests of the province and in response to the wishes of the majority of the merchants, I purpose to carry my complaint before the Privy Council at the earliest opportunity."
Governor Burnet rose from his chair. The cordiality was gone from his manner.
"This meeting is dissolved," he pronounced. "No, not a word, gentlemen"—this as several undertook to object—"I still hold his Majesty's commission as governor, and I purpose to secure assent to my authority by one means or another.
"I have striven to reason with you. I shall now proceed as seems best to me. Master Murray, file your charges in writing and be prepared to bear testimony in their defense. You may go."
The door of the Great Hall closed on the last of the turbulent group.
"But, your Excellency," I protested, "why do you permit Murray to make such charges without bringing up against him the information we gathered at La Vierge du Bois? Sure, 'tis some measure of offense to apply torture to a fellow-countryman; and for the rest, there is the testimony of Ta-wan-ne-ars to corroborate me."
Governor Burnet shook his head sadly.
"Naught would have pleased that clever rascal more than to have me confront him with you, Master Ormerod. You forget that unfortunately your own past is somewhat clouded in the eyes of the law. Did I charge him with anything on your evidence, he would assail you for a known Jacobite and outlaw, and whatever counter-charges we might make he would dismiss as mere efforts to offset your guilt."
"But——"
"No, sir, it may not be. Do you not agree with me, Colden?"
"I fear you are right, sir," replied the surveyor-general. "Murray hath worked up an intrigue which can not lightly be exposed. He hath set the entire province awry."
"'Tis that very state which concerns me most!" exclaimed the governor. "In my own Council I can not feel sure of a vote of approval upon any measure which would go contrary to the fancied interests of these mad merchants. So rabid have they grown that I dared bring with me from New York only Master Surveyor-General, here. And of those from this neighborhood I might rely upon none others than Master Livingston and Captain Schuyler. The officers of the troops would obey my commands, and in all probability endorse my policy; but frankly I dare not force the issue."
"Why, 'tis incredible, your Excellency," I cried with heat. "Here we have, beside myself, Peter Corlaer, who is surely known for trustworthy, if I am not. And Ta-wan-ne-ars is a chief as well as a man of education, even according to white men's standards. Must we suffer this self-confessed traitor to escape scot-free?"
The governor abandoned his chair and paced the length of the hall, his hands clasped behind him. Five times he traversed it from the rough fireplace to the double doors hewn out of shaggy oak-slabs. Then he shook his head again.
"I dare not, Master Ormerod. Unfortunately, as I have said, and through no fault of your own, you are discredited in advance as a witness. Peter is known for a sturdy hater of the French and devoted to me and to those who think as I do, notably your friend Master Juggins in London.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars is an Indian. He will acquit me of intent to offend if I say openly that my enemies will refuse to accept his word against that of a great merchant like Murray."
"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go is the friend of Ta-wan-ne-ars," said the Seneca. "He speaks with a straight tongue. It is better to hear what is unpleasant than to listen to smooth speeches which deceive."
The governor turned swiftly upon him.
"I thank you, chief," he answered. "You make it plain to me that I can speak to you without concealment."
"That is true," said Ta-wan-ne-ars gravely.
Governor Burnet hesitated a moment, deep in thought.
"There is no other way," he decided suddenly. "Draw up your chairs. I have much to ask of you, and 'tis no more than fair that I should present for you all the facts in the case.
"As I conceive the situation, the fate of this province and its neighbor colonies, as well as the sovereignty and prosperity of Great Britain, are at stake. And the future of the People of the Long House is intimately bound up with that of our people, as I think Ta-wan-ne-ars will concede."
"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go speaks always with a straight tongue," replied the Seneca sententiously.
"Advices from Paris," continued the governor, "state that the Pretender has been called to the Louvre on two occasions for secret conferences. The Duke of Berwick is gone to Spain—'tis reported to arrange for contingents of troops. Master Ormerod will understand the seriousness of such news.
"I need not acquaint you with the preparations the French are making upon this continent, but it may interest you to know that the Duke of Newcastle has been pleased to write me, remonstrating over my inability to get along better with the prominent men of the province. This I deem most significant, for it is no more than the voice of Murray speaking through the medium of his Grace's pen.
"'Tis for this reason as much as any other that I do not care to lock horns with Murray. To do so might very well secure my own recall, and that would leave the way open for Murray to prosecute his designs without any check whatsoever.
"I am in an impasse, gentlemen. In London a corrupt ministry is more interested in the spoils of office than in intelligent rule. In New York a powerful coterie of merchants, who have discovered a way by which, they are persuaded, they can all grow rich in a few years, have permitted themselves to become the active tools of an ingenious mind which would purchase the return of the Stuarts at the price of handing over to French rule the British domain in North America.
"My sole reliance today is upon a few personal friends like yourselves—and the political keenness and military energy of the Iroquois."
Master Burnet bent his gaze upon Ta-wan-ne-ars, sitting erect in a plain wooden chair, the natural dignity of the Seneca offsetting the incongruity of his half-naked figure, the wolf's-head of his clan sprawled across his chest, with the civilized furnishings of the Great Hall.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars is listening," said the Indian.
"That is well," answered the governor. "For what I am about to say is of the utmost importance to Ta-wan-ne-ars and his race. You have heard me admit my impotence. You know that the rule of the English is in danger. Will you go with my ambassadors, Master Ormerod and Peter Corlaer, to the Ho-yar-na-go-war, the Council of theroy-an-ehs, and support them in asking for the intervention of the Long House to smash the Doom Trail and Murray's conspiracy to win control of the fur-trade from our hands?"
Ta-wan-ne-ars rose and his right arm went up in the Iroquois salute.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars will do as Ga-en-gwa-ra-go asks," his deep voice boomed.
Governor Burnet drew a deep breath of relief.
"I thank you, my brother," he said. "You have relieved the load of sorrows I have carried. I ask you this, you understand, not alone as a favor, an act of friendship, but because, as I think, your people will come to believe when they consider it that the success of Murray's plot will mean the crushing of the Long House by the French."
"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go need not argue with Ta-wan-ne-ars," the Seneca responded. "Ta-wan-ne-ars believes as he does. Moreover, Murray and his friends are not the friends of the Long House, and we have old scores to wipe out in their blood. If my brothers, Ormerod and Corlaer, are ready, we will leave at once."
Colden, who had been looking out of the window upon the fort parade, came quickly across the room.
"It will be best to await darkness," he advised. "The town is full of people, and amongst them may be some of Murray's desperadoes. His tools were not exhausted with the deaths of Tom and Bolling."
"That is so," approved the governor. "And it serves to remind me that you have further details of your adventures to acquaint me with. Do you stay and dine with me, and whilst we eat we may discuss affairs and take account of how to combat our enemies. By the way, Colden, where is the Belt of the Covenant Chain?"
The surveyor-general drew from a traveling-trunk in a corner a band of wampum about three feet long and eight inches wide. Crudely woven into it in different colored beads were the figures of an Indian and a white man with hands joined. The governor examined it curiously.