With Nathaniel in his arms, he went to the opening in the rear of the tent, then turned to face us. In a kind voice he said, “I do not need to tell you, of course, that it would be unwise to leave this tent. My charges are sometimes over-hasty—just a lot of thoughtless children.” He smiled and went out.

“Just a lot of red wildcats!” Doc Means muttered. “Just a lot of thoughtless rattlesnakes!”

Verrieul’s face was haggard. “If this Lanaudiere is a friend of yours,” he said, “I hope you’ll remind him that now is the time to show it. From the way he speaks to Indians, he’s one of their highest officers. They’re under his orders—as much as any Indian can be under anyone’s orders.”

“But we’re free of Indians, now,” I reminded him.

“I don’t know,” Verrieul said uneasily. “They’re difficult to deal with, sometimes. Those that captured us have taken a liking to Doc. They want to carry him home with them—and us, too.”

“By Grapes,” Doc protested, “they better leave me be! I can’t stand much from those pole-cats! How was it you said they called themselves? Sox and Pox?”

“Sacs and Foxes,” Verrieul said.

Doc grunted. “I guess there’s no doubt they’re Sacs: Wind-Sacs!”

He raised his voice to a mincing mealiness. “Just a lot of Foxes with the hydrophoby! Just a pack of thoughtless, boyish Wind-Sacs!”

Verrieul appealed to me. “I tell you frankly, I do not like the way Doc speaks to these Indians! It is true that my experience with Hurons and Abenakis has so far been pleasant, but I know nothing about Sacs and Foxes, and I prefer to be elsewhere if Doc intends to continue to speak unpleasantly to them. That’s not how Indians like to be addressed. What is more, the Sacs and Foxes live so far to the westward that if we are obliged to go with them, we’ll be old men before we get back—if, indeed, we ever get back!”

I wondered whether fatigue and hunger had unhinged my mind. Not only did Verrieul’s words sound fantastic: not only did the incessant yowling of Indians seem maniacal; but I thought I heard, somewhere near at hand, a woman’s voice: a voice familiar to me. This, I knew, was impossible.

Lanaudiere came back with a slab of venison between two half loaves of bread, and under his arm a bottle of rum. His manner was paternal. “This is the best we have, and I know there is no need to apologize for it—not to gentlemen who have led such precarious lives for so many days!”