Putting his hand out slowly, Father Holland caught the little creature's arm. It gave a start, jerked back and looked in mute wonderment at our strange hiding-place.
"Pretty boy," crooned the priest in low, coaxing tones, gently tightening his hold.
"Good little man," he went on, slowly folding his hands about it. Drawing quickly back, he lifted the child completely into his arms.
The child's head fell wearily against the priest's shoulder. Snuggling closer, he lisped back in perfect English, "Eric's tired."
At once Father Holland's free hand caught my arm as if he feared I might rush out. For a moment neither of us spoke.
I ripped off my buckskin-smock. Wrapping the sleeping boy about, the priest laid him gently among the ferns.
"Where's the mother?" asked Father Holland with a catching intake of breath.
I pointed to the wigwam. The big squaw had come out, leaving Miriam alone and was engaged in noisy dispute with the men. Louis and Little Fellow had now wriggled abreast of us.
"Ha, ha, _mon brave_--your time, it come now! You save the white woman! I pay my devoirs to the lady, ha, ha--I owe her much--I pay you both back with one stroke, one grand stroke. Little Fellow, he watch for spring surprise and help us both! Swoop--snitch--snatch--snap her up! 'Tis done--tra-la!" and Louis drew up for all the world like a tiger about to spring, but the priest drew him down.
"Listen," commanded the churchman, in the slow, tense way of one who intended to be obeyed. "I'll go back and come up by the beach. I'll brow-beat them and tongue-whack them for having slaves. They'll offer fight; so'll I. They'll all run down; that's your chance. Wait till they all go. I'll make them, every one. That's your chance. You rush! Try that! If it fail, in the name of the Lord, have y'r weapons ready--and the Lord be with us!"
"They'll kill you," I protested. "Let me go!"
"Pah!" said Louis. "I go myself--I trick--I trap--I snare 'em----"
"Hush to ye, ye braggart," interrupted the priest. "Gillespie is as flabby as dough from an illness. 'Tis here you sit quiet, and help with Miriam as ye'd save y'r soul! Howld down with y'r bouncing nonsense, lad, and the saints be with ye; for it's a fight there'll be, and there is the fightin' stuff of a soldier in ye! Never turn to me--mind ye never turn to help me, or the curse of the fool be on y'r head--and the Lord be with us!"