“Therefore, brother, we have decided to do no more than we did last year. Shabonock is a great war chief. It pleased him, last year, to travel to the eastward with some of our young men who wished to learn more about the white man’s way of making war, and although their numbers were small, their deeds were great. This year Shabonock has again decided to go, and we are happy because of it, since it will show the white father in England that we are his children still. With Shabonock will go one of our shamans, a shaman whose medicine is strong and powerful, so that those who go will have the assistance of a great manitou, and will do wonderful things.”

In spite of the chorus of approval that greeted Pahokuk’s speech, Gautier made an immediate protest, though he was careful about it, for fear of irritating the Sacs, who, like all Indians, are quick to take offense when their decisions are questioned.

“My brothers,” Gautier said. “There are three among you who were not, at this time last year, members of your nation. Today, although they are members of your nation, two are not yet familiar with your speech. In a manner of speaking, the three are strangers. I have learned that they wish to go to the eastward with your fighting men. Oftentimes, brothers, it is a mistake to transplant a tree too soon. Therefore I say to my brothers that it would be better if these three were kept among you until they are more familiar with your language and customs.”

Doc spoke up quickly in an aggrieved voice, and Verrieul translated. “Ain’t every drop of white blood been washed out of my veins? Ain’t I flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone, the way we was promised? Ain’t I got a right to do what I want to do, the way all the rest of the Sacs do? They ain’t going back on their word, are they?”

Gautier ignored him. “Brothers, you are sensible men; and I hope that I, too, am a sensible man. I have questioned the oldest of the three strangers, and learned from him how the three came among you, and why they wish to return to the eastward. Brothers, I am not impressed by their story. It is the sort of story that might be told by men who wished to escape, and could escape in no other way.”

Doc raised his eyebrows. “Hoy!” he exclaimed lightly. “Us shamans don’t think much of that kind of talk!”

Gautier leveled a hard black eye at him. “One little moment! You will oblige me by remaining silent for one little moment.” He turned to Sponge-belly. “I have been told that when the three strangers were taken prisoner, they were not with the Americans: that they had hidden from their own war party: that they made no resistance on being captured.”