“It is, indeed, a long time since we have been here, master Francois,” somewhat sarcastically and drily replied Captain Blessington; “and you have not visited us quite so often latterly yourself, though well aware we were in want of fresh provisions.  I give you all due credit, however, for your intention of coming to-day, but you see we have anticipated you.  Still this is not the point.  Where is the Indian who fired at us just now? and how is it we find you leagued with our enemies?”

“What, sir, is it you say?” asked the Canadian, holding up his hands with feigned astonishment “Me league myself with de savage.  Upon my honour I did not see nobody fire, or I should tell you.  I love de English too well to do dem harms.”

“Come, come, Francois, no nonsense.  If I cannot make you confess, there is one not far from me who will.  You know Colonel de Haldimar too well to imagine he will be trifled with in this manner:  if he detects you in a falsehood, he will certainly cause you to be hanged up at the first tree.  Take my advice, therefore, and say where you have secreted this Indian; and recollect, if we fall into an ambuscade, your life will be forfeited at the first shot we hear fired.”

At this moment the governor, followed by his adjutant, came rapidly up to the spot.  Captain Blessington communicated the ill success of his queries, when the former cast on the terrified Canadian one of those severe and searching looks which he so well knew how to assume.

“Where is the rascal who fired at us, sirrah? tell me instantly, or you have not five minutes to live.”

The heart of mine host of the Fleur de lis quailed within him at this formidable threat; and the usually ruddy hue of his countenance had now given place to an ashy paleness.  Still, as he had positively denied all knowledge of the matter on which he was questioned, he appeared to feel his safety lay in adhering to his original statement.  Again, therefore, he assured the governor, on his honour (laying his hand upon his heart as he spoke), that what he had already stated was the fact.

“Your honour—­you pitiful trading scoundrel—­how dare you talk to me of your honour?  Come, sir, confess at once where you have secreted this fellow, or prepare to die.”

“If I may be so bold, your Honour,” said one of Captain Blessington’s men, “the Frenchman lies.  When the Ingian fired among us, this fellow was peeping under his shoulder and watching us also.  If I had not seen him too often at the fort to be mistaken in his person, I should have known him, at all events, by his blanket coat and red handkerchief.”

This blunt statement of the soldier, confirmed as it was the instant afterwards by one of his comrades, was damning proof against the Canadian, even if the fact of the rifle being discharged from the front of the hut had not already satisfied all parties of the falsehood of his assertion.

“Come forward, a couple of files, and seize this villain,” resumed the governor with his wonted sternness of manner.  “Mr. Lawson, see if his hut does not afford a rope strong enough to hang the traitor from one of his own apple trees.”