Free Adventures of Radisson by Martin Fournier

plenty of rest,” he told Radisson in Iroquois. “Tomorrow we’ll head east, out to where the Dutch are. It’s a long way, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll take you to the best hunting ground in the whole world. You’ll be happy and your friends will have all the time they need to rest. Don’t worry.”
    But panic swept over Radisson. On the one hand, he dreamed of seeing Marguerite and his friends in Trois-Rivières again, of eating the French bread he had always eaten in Trois-Rivières and Paris. He could already smell the pots simmering over the hearth, could hear everyone chattering away— in French —around the table. On the other hand, the price to be paid was exorbitant: he would have to kill Serontatié, who had never done him any harm, as well as his two companions. It was a dreadful situation. How was he possibly going to get out of it?
    Everyone was asleep except Radisson. He couldn’t very well expose the Algonquin: he had such a way with words. In two seconds flat, he’d have convinced Téganissorens that
Radisson
was plotting to kill his Iroquois brothers and run away. Denouncing him would bring certain death. He cursed the Algonquin for pushing him so hard. Radisson would have much preferred to wait for the right moment, the next day or perhaps the day after next. He would have liked to wake the Algonquin up to talk things over and change their plan, but he stayed where he was since his Iroquois companions weren’t yet sleeping soundly. He would have to bide his time. He reassured himself, stroking Bo, who was dozing now by his side. Only the moon and the stars cast their feeble light over the forest. Radisson finally fell into a deep sleep.
    A hand touched Radisson on the shoulder and he awoke with a start. The Algonquin motioned to him to get to his feet, handing him a tomahawk. He pointed to Serontatié’s prostrate body, motioning for him to kill him. Radisson didn’t even have time to protest: the Algonquin had already smashed his tomahawk over Otreouti’s head from point-blank range. His brain exploded over their legs. Bo began to howl. The two other Iroquois jumped to their feet to defend themselves and the Algonquin struck Téganissorens’ head with the butt of his musket. The young man collapsed in a heap. But Radisson was paralyzed. He couldn’t kill his friend. Serontatié rushed at him, knife in hand, and only just missed him as Radisson’s reflexes kicked in at the very last second and he ducked to avoid the fatal blow. He wheeled around and planted his tomahawk in Serontatié’s skull. The Iroquois gave out a long groan, wobbled, and fell to the ground. The Algonquin picked up his bag, shouting at Radisson to hurry. Bo was barking and growling fiercely.
    Radisson tried to do as he ordered, but his tomahawk was stuck in his friend’s skull. He didn’t want to leave it there. It was too horrible, too cruel. He had to pull it out. But, try as he might, it wouldn’t budge. Radisson planted his foot on Serontatié’s bloody face and pulled with all his strength! At last it gave way, and Radisson almost fell backward with the effort. Completely overcome by the turn events had taken, he slid his blood-covered tomahawk into his belt and caught up with his accomplice. He quickly gathered up his bag and musket, and called his dog. But the Algonquin wouldn’t hear of bringing him along. “Filthy beast!” he shouted, flinging a stone in its direction. Radisson called him again. “Here, Bo! Come with me, boy!” But the Algonquin slapped him across the face: “Are you nuts?” he cried. “Your dog’s staying put! If we take it with us, the Iroquois will hear the barking from miles around. They’ll catch up with us in no time. You really want to die? Now follow me and do what I tell you!” Radisson was broken-hearted. But now that his life was in the