“The Marquis de Montcalm is coming to lead all our armies,” he said, “and he is a far abler soldier than Dieskau.  You really did us a great service when you captured the Saxon.  Only a Frenchman is fit to lead Frenchmen, and under a mighty captain we will crush you.  The Bostonnais are not the equal of the French in the forest.  Save a few like Willet, and Rogers, the English and Americans do not learn the ways of woods warfare, nor do you make friends with the Indians as we do.”

“That is true in the main,” responded Robert, “but we shall win despite it.  Both the English and the English Colonials have the power to survive defeat.  Can the French and the Canadians do as well?”

Langlade could not be shaken in his faith.  He saw nothing but the most brilliant victories, and not only did he boast of French power, but he gloried even more in the strength of the Indian hordes, that had come and that were coming in ever increasing numbers to the help of France.  Only the Hodenosaunee stood aloof from Quebec, and he believed the Great League even yet would be brought over to his side.

Robert argued with the Owl, but he made no impression upon him.  Meanwhile they continued to march north by west.

CHAPTER VIII

BEFORE MONTCALM

The Owl, with his warriors and captive, descended in time into the low country in the northwest.  They, too, had been on snowshoes, but now they discarded them, since they were entering a region in which little snow had fallen, the severity of the weather abating greatly.  Robert was still treated well, though guarded with the utmost care.  The Indians, who seemed to be from some tribe about the Great Lakes, did not speak any dialect he knew, and, if they understood English, they did not use it.  He was compelled to do all his talking with the Owl who, however, was not at all taciturn.  Robert saw early that while a wonderful woodsman and a born partisan leader, he was also a Gascon, vain, boastful and full of words.  He tried to learn from him something about his possible fate, but he could obtain no hint, until they had been traveling more than three weeks, and Langlade had been mellowed by an uncommonly good supper of tender game, which the Indians had cooked for him.

“You’ve been trying to draw that information out of me ever since you were captured,” he said.  “You were indirect and clever about it, but I noticed it.  I, Charles Langlade, have perceptions, you must understand.  If I do live in the woods I can read the minds of white men.”

“I know you can,” said Robert, smilingly.  “I observed from the first that you had an acute intellect.”