The lightning filled the tent and lit our faces, and I saw the chief start back under the blow of my words. He was shocked out of all his inherited and acquired phlegm. He did not speak, but he rose and peered into my eyes and I saw bewilderment go and contempt rise to take its place. To feel the righteous disdain of an Indian! That is an unusual experience for a white man. And still he did not reply. He sat down and pulled his blanket over him. He was sorting out the evidence against me and giving judgment. It seemed at least an hour that he sat silent. And when he did speak he brought no manna. "You have sold yourself to the Iroquois wolf. You are a child. You see only what is in front of your nose and forget what may come later. You are a fox. You hand us over to the wolf, but what do you expect? Has a wolf gratitude? No, but he has hunger. Fox meat is poor and stringy, but the wolf has a large stomach. Let the fox beware." I pulled myself to my feet, though my shoulder cried to me for mercy. I jerked the chief's blanket aside. "Outchipouac, I have listened. You have used an old trick. When a man wishes to be rid of a dog he cries that it is mad; then he can kill it, and no one will call him to account. So you. If you wish to break the covenant between us, now is your time. You can call me a fox, you can say that I have sold my honor to the Iroquois wolf. No one will check you, for I am naked and ill, and you are powerful. But you will have lied. This is my answer. I have called you 'brother;' I have kept the bond unbroken. If there is a fox here it is the man who calls me one." I waited, and my mind was heavy. If the chief called me "brother" in turn, I was ready to embrace him as of my kin. For he was full of vigor of mind and honesty, and I respected him. He had been kind to me. Would he trust me against the evidence,--the evidence of his ears and of my reluctant tongue? He temporized. "The Frenchman has a tongue like a bobolink,--pleasant to hear. Whether it says much,--that is a different matter. Can the Frenchman tell me why he wishes to go to Michillimackinac? Can he tell me why he spends time from the moon of breaking ice to the moon of strawberries building a lodge of promises, and then when he is just ready to use the lodge blows it down with a breath?" What could I tell him? That I was following a woman? That I had given her my name, and that I must protect her? It would sound to him like a parrot's laughter. This was no court of love. It was war. A troubadour's lute would tinkle emptily in these woods that had seen massacre and knew the shriek of the death cry. Again I set my teeth and rose.