289CHAPTER XXVWITHIN THE FORT
I doubt if I paused a second, yet that was enough to give me glimpse of the weird scene. I saw De Artigny lunge with his knife, a huge savage reeling beneath the stroke, and Barbeau cleave passage to the rescue, the stock of his gun shattered as he struck fiercely at the red devils who blocked his path.
Outnumbered, helpless for long in that narrow space, their only hope lay in a sortie by the garrison, and it was my part to give the alarm. Even as I sprang forward, a savage leaped from the ruck, but I escaped his hand, and raced up the dark trail, the one thought urging me on. God knows how I made it––to me ’tis but a memory of falls over unseen obstacles, of reckless running; yet the distance could have been scarce more than a hundred yards, before my eyes saw the darker shadow of the stockade outlined against the sky.
Crying out with full strength of my voice I burst into the little open space, then tripped and fell just as the gate swung wide, and I saw a dozen dark forms290emerge. One leaped forward and grasped me, lifting me partly to my feet.
“Mon Dieu! a woman!” he exclaimed in startled voice. “What means this, in Heaven’s name?”
“Quick,” I gasped, breaking away, able now to stand on my own feet. “They are fighting there––two white men––De Artigny––”
“What, Rene! Ay, lads, to the rescue! Cartier, take the lady within. Come with me you others.”
They swept past me, the leader well in advance. I felt the rush as they passed, and had glimpse of vague figures ’ere they disappeared in the darkness. Then I was alone, except for the bearded soldier who grasped my arm.
“Who was that?” I asked, “the man who led?”
“Boisrondet, Francois de Boisrondet.”
“An officer of La Salle’s? You then are of his company?”
“I am,” a bit proudly, “but most of the lads yonder belong with De Baugis. Now we fight a common foe, and forget our own quarrel. Did you say Rene de Artigny was in the fighting yonder?”
“Yes; he and a soldier named Barbeau.”
The fellow stood silent, shifting his feet.
“’Twas told us he was dead,” he said finally, with effort. “Some more of La Barre’s men arrived three days ago by boat, under a popinjay they call Cassion291to recruit De Baugis’ forces. De la Durantaye was with him from the portage, so that now they outnumber us three to one. You know this Cassion, Madame?”
“Ay, I traveled with his party from Montreal.”
“Ah, then you will know the truth no doubt. De Tonty and Cassion were at swords points over a charge the latter made against Rene de Artigny––that he had murdered one of the party at St. Ignace.”
“Hugo Chevet, the fur trader.”
“Ay, that was the name. We of La Salle’s company know it to be a lie.Sacre! I have served with that lad two years, and ’tis not in his nature to knife any man in the back. And so De Tonty said, and he gave Cassion the lie straight in his teeth. I heard their words, and but for De Baugis and De la Durantaye, Francois Cassion would have paid well for his false tongue. Now you can tell him the truth.”
“I shall do that, but even my word, I fear, will not clear De Artigny of the charge. I believe the man to be innocent; in my heart there is no doubt, yet there is so little to be proven.”
“Cassion speaks bitterly; he is an enemy.”
“Monsieur Cassion is my husband,” I said regretfully.
“Your pardon, Madame. Ah, I understand it all now. You were supposed to have been drowned in292the great lake, but were saved by De Artigny. ’Twill be a surprise for Monsieur, but in this land, we witness strange things.Mon Dieu! see, they come yonder; ’tis Boisrondet and his men.”
They approached in silence, mere shadowy figures, whose numbers I could not count, but those in advance bore a helpless body in their arms, and my heart seemed to stop its beating, until I heard De Artigny’s voice in cheerful greeting.
“What, still here, Madame, and the gate beyond open,” he took my hand, and lifted it to his lips. “My congratulations; your work was well done, and our lives thank you. Madame Cassion, this is my comrade, Francois Boisrondet, whose voice I was never more glad to hear than this night. I commend him to your mercy.”
Boisrondet, a mere shadow in the night, swept the earth with his hat.
“I mind me the time,” he said courteously, “when Rene did me equal service.”
“The savages have fled?”
“’Twas short, and sweet, Madame, and those who failed to fly are lying yonder.”
“Yet some among you are hurt?”
“Barbeau hath an ugly wound––ay, bear him along, lads, and have the cut looked to––but as for the rest of us, there is no serious harm done.”
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I was gazing at De Artigny, and marked how he held one hand to his side.
“And you, Monsieur; you are unscathed?”
“Except for a small wound here, and a head which rings yet from savage blows––no more than a night’s rest will remedy. Come, Madame ’tis time we were within, and the gates closed.”
“Is there still danger then? Surely now that we are under protection there will be no attack?”
“Not from those we have passed, but ’tis told me there are more than a thousand Iroquois warriors in the valley, and the garrison has less than fifty men all told. It was luck we got through so easily. Ay, Boisrondet, we are ready.”
That was my first glimpse of the interior of a frontier fort, and, although I saw only the little open space lighted by a few waving torches, the memory abides with distinctness. A body of men met us at the gate, dim, indistinct figures, a few among them evidently soldiers from their dress, but the majority clothed in the ordinary garb of the wilderness. Save for one Indian squaw, not a woman was visible, nor did I recognize a familiar face, as the fellows, each man bearing a rifle, surged about us in noisy welcome, eagerly questioning those who had gone forth to our rescue. Yet we were scarcely within, and the gates closed, when a man pressed his way forward through294the throng, in voice of authority bidding them stand aside. A blazing torch cast its red light over him, revealing a slender figure attired in frontier garb, a dark face, made alive by a pair of dense brown eyes, which met mine in a stare of surprise.
“Back safe, Boisrondet,” he exclaimed sharply, “and have brought in a woman. ’Tis a strange sight in this land. Were any of our lads hurt?”
“None worth reporting, Monsieur. The man they carried was a soldier of M. de la Durantaye. He was struck down before we reached the party. There is an old comrade here.”
“An old comrade! Lift the torch, Jacques. Faith, there are so few left I would not miss the sight of such a face.”
He stared about at us, for an instant uncertain; then took a quick step forward, his hand outstretched.
“Rene de Artigny!” he cried, his joy finding expression in his face. “Ay, an old comrade, indeed, and only less welcome here than M. de la Salle himself. ’Twas a bold trick you played tonight, but not unlike many another I have seen you venture. You bring me message from Monsieur?”
“Only that he has sailed safely for France to have audience with Louis. I saw him aboard ship, and was bidden to tell you to bide here in patience, and seek no quarrel with De Baugis.”
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“Easy enough to say; but in all truth I need not seek quarrel––it comes my way without seeking. De Baugis was not so bad––a bit high strung, perhaps, and boastful of his rank, yet not so ill a comrade––but there is a newcomer here, a popinjay named Cassion, with whom I cannot abide. Ah, but you know the beast, for you journeyed west in his company.Sacre! the man charged you with murder, and I gave him the lie to his teeth. Not two hours ago we had our swords out, but now you can answer for yourself.”
De Artigny hesitated, his eyes meeting mine.
“I fear, Monsieur de Tonty,” he said finally, “the answer may not be so easily made. If it were point of sword now, I could laugh at the man, but he possesses some ugly facts difficult to explain.”
“Yet ’twas not your hand which did the deed?”
“I pledge you my word to that. Yet this is no time to talk of the matter. I have wounds to be looked to, and would learn first how Barbeau fares. You know not the lady; but of course not, or your tongue would never have spoken so freely––Monsieur de Tonty, Madame Cassion.”
He straightened up, his eyes on my face. For an instant he stood motionless; then swept the hat from his head, and bent low.
“Your pardon, Madame; we of the wilderness become rough of speech. I should have known, for a296rumor reached me of your accident. You owe life, no doubt, to Sieur de Artigny.”
“Yes, Monsieur; he has been my kind friend.”
“He would not be the one I love else. We know men on this frontier, Madame, and this lad hath seen years of service by my side.” His hand rested on De Artigny’s shoulder. “’Twas only natural then that I should resent M. Cassion’s charge of murder.”
“I share your faith in the innocence of M. de Artigny,” I answered firmly enough, “but beyond this assertion I can say nothing.”
“Naturally not, Madame. Yet we must move along. You can walk, Rene?”
“Ay, my hurts are mostly bruises.”
The torches led the way, the dancing flames lighting up the scene. There was hard, packed earth under our feet, nor did I realize yet that this Fort St. Louis occupied the summit of a great rock, protected on three sides by precipices, towering high above the river. Sharpened palisades of logs surrounded us on every side, with low log houses built against them, on the roofs of which riflemen could stand in safety to guard the valley below.
The central space was open except for two small buildings, one from its shape a chapel, and the other, as I learned later, the guardhouse. A fire blazed at the farther end of the enclosure, with a number of men297lounging about it, and illumined the front of a more pretentious building, which apparently extended across that entire end. This building, having the appearance of a barrack, exhibited numerous doors and windows, with a narrow porch in front, on which I perceived a group of men.
As we approached more closely, De Tonty walking between De Artigny and myself, a soldier ran up the steps, and made some report. Instantly the group broke, and two men strode past the fire, and met us. One was a tall, imposing figure in dragoon uniform, a sword at his thigh, his face full bearded; the other whom I recognized instantly with a swift intake of breath, was Monsieur Cassion. He was a stride in advance, his eyes searching me out in the dim light, his face flushed from excitement.
“Mon Dieu! what is this I hear,” he exclaimed, staring at the three of us as though doubting the evidence of his own eyes. “My wife alive? Ay, by my faith, it is indeed Adele.” He grasped me by the arm, but even at that instant his glance fell upon De Artigny, and his manner changed.
“Saint Anne! and what means this! So ’tis with this rogue you have been wandering the wilderness!”
He tugged at his sword, but the dragoon caught his arm.
“Nay, wait, Cassion. ’Twill be best to learn the298truth before resorting to blows. Perchance Monsieur Tonty can explain clearly what has happened.”
“It is explained already,” answered the Italian, and he took a step forward as though to protect us. “These two, with a soldier of M. de la Durantaye, endeavored to reach the fort, and were attacked by Iroquois. We dispatched men to their rescue, and have all now safe within the palisades. What more would you learn, Messieurs?”
Cassion pressed forward, and fronted him, angered beyond control.
“We know all that,” he roared savagely. “But I would learn why they hid themselves from me. Ay, Madame, but I will make you talk when once we are alone! But now I denounce this man as the murderer of Hugo Chevet, and order him under arrest. Here, lads, seize the fellow.”
299CHAPTER XXVIIN DE BAUGIS’ QUARTERS
De Tonty never gave way an inch, as a dozen soldiers advanced at Cassion’s order.
“Wait men!” he said sternly. “’Tis no time, with Iroquois about, to start a quarrel, yet if a hand be laid on this lad here in anger, we, who are of La Salle’s Company, will protect him with our lives––”
“You defend a murderer?”
“No; a comrade. Listen to me, Cassion, and you De Baugis. I have held quiet to your dictation, but no injustice shall be done to comrade of mine save by force of arms. I know naught of your quarrel, or your charges of crime against De Artigny, but the lad is going to have fair play. He is nocourier du boisto be killed for your vengeance, but an officer under Sieur de la Salle, entitled to trial and judgment.”
“He was my guide; I have authority.”
“Not now, Monsieur. ’Tis true he served you, and was yourengagéon the voyage hither. But even in that service, he obeyed the orders of La Salle. Now, within these palisades, he is an officer of this garrison, and subject only to me.”
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De Baugis spoke, his voice cold, contemptuous.
“You refuse obedience to the Governor of New France?”
“No, Monsieur; I am under orders to obey. There will be no trouble between us if you are just to my men. La Barre is not here to decide this, but I am.” He put his hand on De Artigny’s shoulder. “Monsieur Cassion charges this man with murder. He is an officer of my command, and I arrest him. He shall be protected, and given a fair trial. What more can you ask?”
“You will protect him! help him to escape, rather!” burst out Cassion. “That is the scheme, De Baugis.”
“Your words are insult, Monsieur, and I bear no more. If you seek quarrel, you shall have it. I am your equal, Monsieur, and my commission comes from the King. Ah, M. de la Durantaye, what say you of this matter?”
A man, broad shouldered, in the dress of a woodsman, elbowed his way through the throng of soldiers. He had a strong, good-humored face.
“In faith, I heard little of the controversy, yet ’tis like I know the gist of it, as I have just conversed with a wounded soldier of mine, Barbeau, who repeated the story as he understood it. My hand to you, Sieur de Artigny, and it seems to me, Messieurs, that De Tonty hath the right of it.”
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“You take his side against us who hath the authority of the Governor?”
“Pah! that is not the issue. Tis merely a question of justice to this lad here. I stand for fair trial with Henri de Tonty, and will back my judgment with my sword.”
They stood eye to eye, the four of them, and the group of soldiers seemed to divide, each company drawing together. Cassion growled some vague threat, but De Baugis took another course, gripping his companion by the arm.
“No, Francois, ’tis not worth the danger,” he expostulated. “There will be no crossing of steel. Monsieur Cassion, no doubt, hath reason to be angered––but not I. The man shall have his trial, and we will learn the right and wrong of all this presently. Monsieur Tonty, the prisoner is left in your charge. Fall back men––to your barracks. Madame, permit me to offer you my escort.”
“To where, Monsieur?”
“To the only quarters fitted for your reception,” he said gallantly, “those I have occupied since arrival here.”
“You vacate them for me?”
“With the utmost pleasure,” bowing gallantly. “I beg of you their acceptance; your husband has been my guest, and will join with me in exile.”
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I glanced at De Tonty, who yet stood with hand on De Artigny’s shoulder, a little cordon of his own men gathered closely about them. My eyes encountered those of the younger officer. As I turned away I found myself confronted by Cassion. The very sight of his face brought me instant decision, and I spoke my acceptance before he could utter the words trembling on his lips.
“I will use your quarters gladly, Captain de Baugis,” I said quietly, “but will ask to be left there undisturbed.”
“Most assuredly, Madame––my servant will accompany you.”
“Then good-night, Messieurs,” I faced Cassion, meeting his eyes frankly. “I am greatly wearied, and would rest; tomorrow I will speak with you, Monsieur. Permit me to pass.”
He stood aside, unable to affront me, although the anger in his face, was evidence enough of brewing trouble. No doubt he had boasted of me to De Baugis, and felt no desire now to have our true relations exposed thus publicly. I passed him, glancing at none of the others, and followed the soldier across the beaten parade. A moment later I was safely hidden within a two-roomed cabin.
Everything within had an appearance of neatness, almost as if a woman had arranged its furnishings. I303glanced about in pleased surprise, as the soldier placed fresh fuel on the cheerful fire blazing in the fireplace, and drew closer the drapery over the single window.
“Madame will find it comfortable?” he said, pausing at the door.
“Quite so,” I answered. “One could scarcely anticipate so delightful a spot in this Indian land.”
“Monsieur de Baugis has the privilege of Sieur de la Salle’s quarters,” he answered, eager to explain, “and besides brought with him many comforts of his own. But for the Iroquois we would be quite happy.”
“They have proven dangerous?”
“Not to us within the fort. A few white men were surprised without and killed, but, except for shortness of provisions and powder and ball, we are safe enough here. Tomorrow you will see how impregnable is the Rock from savage attack.”
“I have heard there are a thousand Iroquois in the valley.”
“Ay, and possibly more, and we are but a handful in defense, yet their only approach is along that path you came tonight. The cowardly Illini fled down the river; had they remained here we would have driven the vermin out before this, for ’tis said they fight well with white leaders.”
I made no reply, and the man disappeared into the darkness, closing the heavy door behind him, and leaving304me alone. I made it secure with an oaken bar, and sank down before the fire on a great shaggy bear skin. I was alone at last, safe from immediate danger, able to think of the strange conditions surrounding me, and plan for the future. The seriousness of the situation I realized clearly, and also the fact that all depended on my action––even the life of Rene de Artigny.
I sat staring into the fire, no longer aware of fatigue, or feeling any sense of sleepiness. The thick log walls of the cabin shut out all noise; I was conscious of a sense of security, of protection, and yet comprehended clearly what the new day would bring. I should have to face Cassion, and in what spirit could I meet him best? Thus far I had been fortunate in escaping his denunciation, but I realized the reason which had compelled his silence––pride, the fear of ridicule, had sealed his lips. I was legally his wife, given to him by Holy Church, yet for weeks, months, during all our long wilderness journey, I had held aloof from him, mocking his efforts, and making light of his endeavors. It had been maddening, no doubt, and rendered worse by his growing jealousy of De Artigny.
Then I had vanished, supposedly drowned in the great lake. He had sought me vainly along the shore, and finally turned away, convinced of my death, and that De Artigny had also perished.
Once at the fort, companioning with De Baugis, and305with no one to deny the truth of his words, his very nature would compel him to boast of his marriage to Adele la Chesnayne. No doubt he had told many a vivid tale of happiness since we left Quebec. Ay, not only had he thus boasted of conquests over me, but he had openly charged De Artigny with murder, feeling safe enough in the belief that we were both dead. And now when we appeared before him alive and together, he had been for the moment too dazed for expression. Before De Baugis he dare not confess the truth, yet this very fact would only leave him the more furious. And I knew instinctively the course the man would pursue. His one thought, his one purpose, would be revenge––nothing would satisfy him except the death of De Artigny. Personally I had little to fear; I knew his cowardice, and that he would never venture to use physical force with me. Even if he did I could rely upon the gallantry of De Tonty, and of De Baugis for protection. No, he would try threats, entreaties, slyness, cajolery, but his real weapon to overcome my opposition would be De Artigny. And there he possessed power.
I felt in no way deceived as to this. The ugly facts, as Cassion was able to present them, would without doubt, condemn the younger man. He had no defense to offer, except his own assertion of innocence. Even if I told what I knew it would only strengthen the306chain of circumstance, and make his guilt appear clearer.
De Tonty would be his friend, faithful to the end; and I possessed faith in the justice of De Baugis, yet the facts of the case could not be ignored––and these, unexplained, tipped with the venom of Cassion’s hatred, were sufficient to condemn the prisoner. And he was helpless to aid himself; if he was to be saved, I must save him. How? There was but one possible way––discovery of proof that some other committed the crime. I faced the situation hopelessly, confessing frankly to myself that I loved the man accused; that I would willingly sacrifice myself to save him.
I felt no shame at this acknowledgment, and in my heart there was no shadow of regret. Yet I sat there stunned, helpless, gazing with heavy eyes into the fire, unable to determine a course of action, or devise any method of escape.
Unable longer to remain quiet, I got to my feet, and my eyes surveyed the room. So immersed in thought I had not before really noted my surroundings, but now I glanced about, actuated by a vague curiosity. The hut contained two rooms, the walls of squared logs, partially concealed by the skins of wild animals, the roof so low I could almost touch it with my hand.
A table and two chairs, rudely made with axe and knife, comprised the entire furniture, but a small mirror,307unframed, hung suspended against the farther wall. I glanced at my reflection in the glass, surprised to learn how little change the weeks had made in my appearance. It was still the face of a girl which gazed back at me, with clear, wide-open eyes, and cheeks flushed in the firelight. Strange to say the very sight of my youthfulness was a disappointment and brought with it doubt. How could I fight these men? how could I hope to win against their schemes, and plans of vengeance?
I opened the single window, and leaned out, grateful for the fresh air blowing against my face, but unable to perceive the scene below shrouded in darkness. Far away, down the valley, was the red glow of a fire, its flame reflecting over the surface of the river. I knew I stared down into a great void, but could hear no sound except a faint gurgle of water directly beneath. I closed the window shutter, and, urged by some impulse, crossed over to the door leading to the other apartment. It was a sleeping room, scarcely more than a large closet, with garments hanging on pegs against the logs, and two rude bunks opposite the door. But the thing which captured my eyes was a bag of brown leather lying on the floor at the head of one of the bunks––a shapeless bag, having no distinctive mark about it, and yet which I instantly recognized––since we left Quebec it had been in our boat.
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As I stood staring at it, I remembered the words of De Baugis, “your husband has been my guest.” Ay, that was it––this had been Cassion’s quarters since his arrival, and this was his bag, the one he kept beside him in the canoe, his private property. My heart beat wildly in the excitement of discovery, yet there was no hesitation; instantly I was upon my knees tugging at the straps. They yielded easily, and I forced the leather aside, gaining glimpse of the contents.
309CHAPTER XXVIII SEND FOR DE TONTY
I discovered nothing but clothes at first––moccasins, and numerous undergarments––together with a uniform, evidently new, and quite gorgeous. The removal of these, however, revealed a pocket in the leather side, securely fastened, and on opening this with trembling fingers, a number of papers were disclosed.
Scarcely venturing to breathe, hardly knowing what I hoped to find, I drew these forth, and glanced hastily at them. Surely the man would bear nothing unimportant with him on such a journey; these must be papers of value, for I had noted with what care he had guarded the bag all the way. Yet at first I discovered nothing to reward my search––there was a package of letters, carefully bound with a strong cord, a commission from La Barre, creating Cassion a Major of Infantry, a number of receipts issued in Montreal, a list of goods purchased at St. Ignace, and a roster of men composing the expedition.
At last from one corner of the pocket, I drew forth a number of closely written pages, evidently the Governor’s310instruction. They were traced in so fine a hand that I was obliged to return beside the fire to decipher their contents. They were written in detail, largely concerned with matters of routine, especially referring to relations with the garrison of the fort, and Cassion’s authority over De Baugis, but the closing paragraph had evidently been added later, and had personal interest. It read: “Use your discretion as to De Artigny, but violence will hardly be safe; he is thought too well of by La Salle, and that fox may get Louis’ ear again. We had best be cautious. Chevet, however, has no friends, and, I am told, possesses a list of the La Chesnayne property, and other documents which had best be destroyed. Do not fail in this, nor fear results. We have gone too far to hesitate now.”
I took this page, and thrust it into my breast. It was not much, and yet it might prove the one needed link. I ran through the packet of letters, but they apparently had no bearing on the case. Several were from women; others from officers, mere gossipy epistles of camp and field. Only one was from La Barre, and that contained nothing of importance, except the writer urged Cassion to postpone marriage until his return from the West, adding, “there is no suspicion, and I can easily keep things quiet until then.”
Assured that I had overlooked nothing, I thrust the various articles back, restrapped the bag, and returned311to the outer room. As I paused before the fire, someone rapped at the door. I stood erect, my fingers gripping the pistol which I still retained. Again the raps sounded, clearly enough defined in the night, yet not violent, or threatening.
“Who is there?” I asked.
“Your husband, my dear––Francois Cassion.”
“But why do you come? It was the pledge of De Baugis that I was to be left here alone.”
“A fair pledge enough, although I was not consulted. From the look of your eyes little difference if I had been. You are as sweet in disposition as ever, my dear; yet never mind that––we’ll soon settle our case now, I warrant you. Meanwhile I am content to wait until my time comes. ’Tis not you I seek tonight, but my dressing case.”
“Your dressing case?”
“Ay, you know it well, a brown leather bag I bore with me during our journey.”
“And where is it, Monsieur?”
“Beneath the bunk in the sleeping room. Pass it out to me, and I will ask no more.”
“’Twill be safer if you keep your word,” I said quietly, “for I still carry Hugo Chevet’s pistol, and know how to use it. Draw away from the door, Monsieur, and I will thrust out the bag.”
I lowered the bar, opening the door barely wide312enough to permit the bag’s passage. The light from the fire gleamed on the barrel of the pistol held in my hand. It was the work of an instant, and I saw nothing of Cassion, but, as the door closed, he laughed scornfully.
“Tis your game tonight, Madame,” he said spitefully, “but tomorrow I play my hand. I thank you for the bag, as it contains my commission. By virtue of it I shall assume command of this Fort St. Louis, and I know how to deal with murderers. I congratulate you on your lover, Madame––good night.”
I dropped into the nearest seat, trembling in every limb. It was not personal fear, nor did I in my heart resent the insult of his last words. De Artigny was my lover, not in mere lip service, but in fact. I was not ashamed, but proud, to know this was true. The only thing of which I was ashamed was my relationship with Cassion; and my only thought now was how that relationship could be ended, and De Artigny’s life saved. The paper I had found was indeed of value, yet I realized it alone was not enough to offset the charges which Cassion would support by his own evidence and that of his men. This mere suggestion in La Barre’s handwriting meant nothing unless we could discover also in Cassion’s possession the documents taken from Chevet And these, beyond doubt, had been destroyed. Over and over again in my mind I313turned these thoughts, but only to grow more confused and uncertain. All the powers of hate were arrayed against us, and I felt helpless and alone.
I must have slept finally from sheer exhaustion, although I made no attempt to lie down. It was broad daylight, when I awoke, aroused by pounding on the door. To my inquiry a voice announced food, and I lowered the bar, permitting an orderly to enter bearing a tray, which he deposited on the table. Without speaking he turned to leave the room, but I suddenly felt courage to address him.
“You were not of our party,” I said gravely. “Are you a soldier of M. de Baugis?”
“No, Madame,” and he turned facing me, his countenance a pleasant one. “I am not a soldier at all, but I serve M. de Tonty.”
“Ah, I am glad of that. You will bear to your master a message?”
“Perhaps, Madame,” his tone somewhat doubtful. “You are the wife of Monsieur Cassion?”
“Do not hesitate because of that,” I hastened to say, believing I understood his meaning. “While it is true I am legally the wife of Francois Cassion, my sympathies now are altogether with the Sieur de Artigny. I would have you ask M. de Tonty to confer with me.”
“Yes, Madame.”
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“You have served with De Artigny? You know him well?”
“Three years, Madame; twice he saved my life on the great river. M. de Tonty shall receive your message.”
I could not eat, although I made the endeavor, and finally crossed to the window, opened the heavy wooden shutters, and gazed without. What a marvelous scene that was! Never before had my eyes looked upon so fair a view, and I stood silent, and fascinated. My window opened to the westward, and I gazed down from the very edge of the vast rock into the wide valley. Great tree tops were below, and I had to lean far out to see the silvery waters lapping the base of the precipice, but, a little beyond, the full width of the noble stream became visible, decked with islands, and winding here and there between green-clad banks, until it disappeared in the far distance. The sun touched all with gold; the wide meadows opposite were vivid green, while many of the trees crowning the bluffs had already taken on rich autumnal coloring. Nor was there anywhere in all that broad expanse, sign of war or death. It was a scene of peace, so silent, so beautiful, that I could not conceive this as a land of savage cruelty. Far away, well beyond rifle shot, two loaded canoes appeared, skimming the surface of the river. Beyond these, where the meadows swept down to the315stream, I could perceive black heaps of ashes, and here and there spirals of smoke, the only visible symbols of destruction. A haze hid the distant hills, giving to them a purple tinge, like a frame encircling the picture. It was all so soft in coloring my mind could not grasp the fact that we were besieged by warriors of the Iroquois, and that this valley was even now being swept and harried by those wild raiders of the woods.
I had neglected to bar the door, and as I stood there gazing in breathless fascination, a sudden step on the floor caused me to turn in alarm. My eyes encountered those of De Tonty, who stood hat in hand.
“Tis a fair view, Madame,” he said politely. “In all my travels I have seen no nobler domain.”
“It hath a peaceful look,” I answered, still struggling with the memory. “Can it be true the savages hold the valley?”
“All too true––see, yonder, where the smoke still shows, dwelt the Kaskaskias. Not a lodge is left, and the bodies of their dead strew the ground. Along those meadows three weeks since there were the happy villages of twelve tribes of peaceful Indians; today those who yet live are fleeing for their lives.”
“And this fort, Monsieur?”
“Safe enough, I think, although no one of us can venture ten yards beyond the gate. The Rock protects us, Madame, yet we are greatly outnumbered, and316with no ammunition to waste. ’Twas the surprise of the raid which left us thus helpless. Could we have been given time to gather our friendly Indians together the story would be different.”
“They are not cowards then?”
“Not with proper leadership. We have seen them fight often since we invaded this land. ’Tis my thought many of them are hiding now beyond those hills, and may find some way to reach us. I suspected such an effort last night, when I sent out the rescue party which brought you in. Ah, that reminds me, Madame; you sent for me?”
“Yes, M. de Tonty. I can speak to you frankly? You are the friend of Sieur de Artigny?”
“Faith, I hope I am, Madame, but I know not what has got into the lad––he will tell me nothing.”
“I suspected as much, Monsieur. It was for that reason I have sent for you. He has not even told you the story of our journey?”
“Ay, as brief as a military report––not a fact I could not have guessed. There is a secret here, which I have not discovered. Why is M. Cassion so wild for the lad’s blood? and how came there to be trouble between Rene, and the fur trader? Bah! I know the lad is no murderer, but no one will tell me the facts.”
“Then I will, Monsieur,” I said gravely. “It was because of my belief that Sieur de Artigny would refuse317explanation that I sent for you. The truth need not be concealed; not from you, at least, the commander of Fort St. Louis––”
“Pardon, Madame, but I am not that. La Salle left me in command with less than a dozen men. De Baugis came later, under commission from La Barre, but he also had but a handful of followers. To save quarrel we agreed to divide authority, and so got along fairly well, until M. Cassion arrived with his party. Then the odds were altogether on the other side, and De Baugis assumed command by sheer force of rifles. ’Twas La Salle’s wish that no resistance be made, but, faith, with the Indians scattered, I had no power. This morning things have taken a new phase. An hour ago M. Cassion assumed command of the garrison by virtue of a commission he produced from the Governor La Barre, naming him major of infantry. This gives him rank above Captain de Baugis, and, besides, he bore also a letter authorizing him to take command of all French troops in this valley, if, in his judgment, circumstances rendered it necessary. No doubt he deemed this the proper occasion.”
“To assure the conviction, and death of De Artigny?” I asked, as he paused. “That is your meaning, Monsieur?”
“I cannot see it otherwise,” he answered slowly, “although I hesitate to make so grave a charge in318your presence, Madame. Our situation here is scarcely grave enough to warrant his action, for the fort is in no serious danger from the Iroquois. De Baugis, while no friend of mine, is still a fair minded man, and merciful. He cannot be made a tool for any purpose of revenge. This truth Major Cassion has doubtless learned, and hence assumes command himself to carry out his plans.”
I looked into the soldier’s dark, clear-cut face, feeling a confidence in him, which impelled me to hold out my hand.
“M. de Tonty,” I said, determined now to address him in all frankness. “It is true that I am legally the wife of this man of whom you speak, but this only enables me to know his motives better. This condemnation of Sieur de Artigny is not his plan alone; it was born in the brain of La Barre, and Cassion merely executes his orders. I have here the written instructions under which he operates.”
I held out to him the page from La Barre’s letter.
319CHAPTER XXVIIITHE COURT MARTIAL
De Tonty took the paper from my hand, glanced at it, then lifted his eyes inquiringly to mine.
“’Tis in the governor’s own hand. How came this in your possession?”
“I found it in Cassion’s private bag last night, under the berth yonder. Later he came and carried the bag away, never suspecting it had been opened. His commission was there also. Read it, Monsieur.”
He did so slowly, carefully, seeming to weigh every word, his eyes darkening, and a flush creeping into his swarthy cheeks.
“Madame,” he exclaimed at last. “I care not whether the man be your husband, but this is a damnable conspiracy, hatched months ago in Quebec.”
I bowed my head.
“Beyond doubt, Monsieur.”
“And you found nothing more? no documents taken from Hugo Chevet?”
“None, Monsieur; they were either destroyed in accordance with La Barre’s instructions, or else M. Cassion has them on his person.”
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“But I do not understand the reason for such foul treachery. What occurred back in New France to cause the murder of Chevet, and this attempt to convict De Artigny of the crime?”
“Sit here, Monsieur,” I said, my voice trembling, “and I will tell you the whole story. I must tell you, for there is no one else in Fort St. Louis whom I can trust.”
He sat silent, and bareheaded, his eyes never leaving my face as I spoke. At first I hesitated, my words hard to control, but as I continued, and felt his sympathy, speech became easier. All unconsciously his hand reached out and rested on mine, as though in encouragement, and only twice did he interrupt my narrative with questions. I told the tale simply, concealing nothing, not even my growing love for De Artigny. The man listening inspired my utmost confidence––I sought his respect and faith. As I came to the end his hand grasp tightened, but, for a moment, he remained motionless and silent, his eyes grave with thought.
“’Tis a strange, sad case,” he said finally, “and the end is hard to determine. I believe you, Madame, and honor your choice. The case is strong against De Artigny; even your testimony is not for his defense. Does M. Cassion know you saw the young man that night?”