Drawing M. de Radisson aside, I gave him hurried account of the night's
adventures.
"Ha!" says he. "Not Hudson's Bay Company men, or you would be in
irons, lad! Not French, for they spoke English. Pardieu! Poachers
and thieves--we shall see! Where is that vagabond Cree? These people
are southern Indians and know nothing of him.--Godefroy," he called.
Godefroy came running up. "Le Borgne's gone," said Godefroy
breathlessly.
"Gone?" repeated Radisson.
"He left word for Master Stanhope from one who wishes him well--"
"One who wishes him well," repeated M. Radisson, looking askance at me.
"For Master Stanhope not to be bitten twice by the same dog!"
Our amazement you may guess: M. de Radisson, suspicious of treachery
and private trade and piracy on my part; I as surprised to learn that I
had a well-wisher as I had been to discover an unknown foe; and
Godefroy, all cock-a-whoop with his news, as is the way of the vulgar.
"Ramsay," said M. Radisson, speaking very low and tense, "As you hope
to live and without a lie, what--does--this--mean?"
"Sir, as I hope to live--I--do--not--know!"
He continued to search me with doubting looks. I raised my wounded
hand.
"Will you do me the honour to satisfy yourself that wound is genuine?"
"Pish!" says he.
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