The French vocabulary of the Algonquin chief did not extend beyond the single word _diable_, a word which he uttered constantly in his subsequent efforts to converse with his guest, without any understanding of its meaning, but believing, since he had heard it issue with frequency from the lips of the soldiers in the fortress, that it was an expression of possibilities. He endeavoured to convey by means of gestures that it had come to his knowledge that the Iroquois were about to attack the fortress at the instigation of the English. His spies had seen a messenger bearing the symbol of the headless bird. They had also observed the general movement eastward of the tribes. The gods had provided him with a rare opportunity for attacking his enemy. He was the friend of the great French people--he slapped his insidious old heart with his treacherous hand--he was eager to fight for his allies, and in return he doubted not that the chief far over seas, King Louis to wit, would graciously send to his good Algonquin friends many of the magic fire-tubes, with an abundant supply of that unholy admixture of saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal which possessed such a wondrous property of exploding to the physical detriment of a foe. "Diable?" he grunted, staring eagerly at Woodfield. "Oui," answered the harassed Englishman, though in truth he had understood nothing. "Um," grunted Oskelano; and there the interview ended, with nothing gained on either side. But as the chief returned to his skin-hut, his brother, a sachem wiser than he, made the disquieting assertion: "The white stranger is not of the French tribe." "How know you so?" cried the perturbed chief. "He does not lift his hands, nor does he shake his shoulders when he speaks. He sits without motion. He does not laugh. He is one of the race they call English." Woodfield ate the strong bear-meat brought to his shelter by a silent giant, and turned to compose himself for sleep; but the giant touched his shoulder and made a gesture which there was no mistaking. The Englishman rose, and immediately two other figures glided out of the forest and cut off his retreat. They led him along a trail where the fireflies were beginning to light their lamps, between the big trees, and out into short bush and sage-brush where the cranes swept overhead, crying mournfully. Rockland appeared presently, streaked granite overrun with poison-ivy. The captive noticed that the rock was fretted with caves. Into one of these he was ushered by the custodians, who then gravely divested him of his weapons. A fire was lighted near the mouth of the cave, and there the bronze guardians squatted, maintaining an intolerable silence throughout the night. A change of sentries took place at daybreak; another at mid-day; a third the following nightfall. Food and drink were handed in to the prisoner; but the guards spoke never a word and made him no sign.