"I shall waste no more. I have made up my mind. Listen. I promised you my story." He had regained all his quiet arrogance. "It is soon told. I am an Englishman,--or a colonist, if you like the term better. I was in a village on the Connecticut frontier, when your savages came down upon us. No, I am wrong. They did nothing so manly as to come down upon us boldly. They slid among us like foul vermin afraid of the light. They achieved a notable victory, monsieur. I see that you recognize their prowess, and that the feast you have prepared for them is lavish. It was a noble battle. I regret you could not have seen it. There were some hundreds of the Indians, and a scattering handful of us. A quiet farming community, monsieur, that worked hard, supped early, and slept the deep sleep of quiet living and sober minds. We waked to find the scalping knives at our throats, and the death scream of children in our ears. Look over the bags of scalps, and see the number of women and old men that your braves had to overcome. You will be proud of them, monsieur." I clenched my hand, and wished myself elsewhere. "But our Hurons say they were neutral," I defended. He lifted his brows. "You prefer to give all the praise to the Algonquins?" he asked smoothly. "I understand. Yes, I have heard that the Algonquins stand even closer to you than your Hurons here. They are more than brothers. Indeed, it is said that your Count Frontenac calls them his children. Well, they did you credit. It took ten of them to silence Goodman Ellwood's musket, but they butchered him in the end. If you find a scalp with long silky white hair, monsieur, it belongs to John Ellwood. Value it, and nail it among your trophies, for it cost you the lives of a full half-dozen Algonquin braves." I kept my eyes down. I had come here to unearth a certain fact, and I would pursue it. "But were the Hurons neutral?" I persisted.