"Greetings to my own dear love from her ever loyal and devoted knight."
"Greetings to my own dear love from her ever loyal and devoted knight."
This, Father Holland bore to Frances Sutherland from me.
How many shapeless terrors can spring from the mind of man I never knew till Eric and the priest left me alone in the Mandane village. Ever, on closing my eyes, there rolled and rolled past, endlessly, without going one pace beyond my sight, something too horrible to be contemplated. When I looked about to assure myself the thing was not there—could not possibly be there—memory flashed back the whole dreadful scene. Up started glazed eyes from the hearth, the floor, and every dim nook in the lodge. Thereupon I would rush into the village road, where the shamefaced greetings of guilty Indians recalled another horror.
If I ventured into Le Grand Diable's power a fate worse than La Robe Noire's awaited me. That there would be a hostile demonstration over the Sioux messenger's death I was certain. Nothing that I offered could induce any of the Indians to act as scouts or to reconnoiter the enemy's encampment. I had, of my own will, chosen to remain, and now I found myself with tied hands, fuming and gnashing against fate, conjuring up all sorts of projects for the rescue of Miriam, andbutting my head against the impossible at every turn. Thus three weary days dragged past.
Having reflected on the consequences of their outrage, the Mandanes exhibited repentance of a characteristically human form—resentment against the cause of their trouble. Unfortunately, I was the cause. From the black looks of the young men I half suspected, if the Sioux chief would accept me in lieu of material gifts, I might be presented as a peace-offering. This would certainly not forward my quest, and prudence, or cowardice—two things easily confused when one is in peril—counseled discretion, and discretion seemed to counsel flight.
"Discretion! Discretion to perdition!" I cried, springing up from a midnight reverie in my hut. Every selfish argument for my own safety had passed in review before my mind, and something so akin to judicious caution, which we trappers in plain language called "cowardice," was insidiously assailing my better self, I cast logic's sophistries to the winds, and dared death or torture to drive me from my post. Whence comes this sublime, reasonlessabandonof imperiled human beings, which casts off fear and caution and prudence and forethought and all that goes to make success in the common walks of life, and at one blind leap mounts the Sinai of duty? To me, the impulse upwards is as mysterious as the impulse downwards, and I do not wonder that pagans ascribe one to Ormuzd, the other to Ahriman. 'Tis ours to yield or resist, and I yielded with thevehemence of a passionate nature, vowing in the darkness of the hut—"Here, before God, I stay!"
Swift came test of my oath. While the words were yet on my lips, stealthy steps suddenly glided round the lodge. A shuffling stopped at the door, while a chilling fear took possession of me lest the mutilated form of my other Indian should next be hurled through the window. I had not time to shoot the door-bolt to its catch before a sharp click told of lifted latch. The hinge creaked, and there, distinct in the starlight, that smote through the open, stood Little Fellow, himself, haggard and almost naked.
"Little Fellow! Good boy!" I shouted, pulling him in. "Where did you come from? How did you get away? Is it you or your ghost?"
Down he squatted with a grunt on one of the robes, answering never a word. The gaunt look of the man declared his needs, so I prepared to feed him back to speech. This task kept me busy till daybreak, for the filling capacity of a famishing Indian may not be likened to any other hungry thing on earth without doing the red man grave injustice.
"Hoohoo! Hoohoo! But I be sick man to-morrow!" and he rubbed himself down with a satisfied air of distension, declining to have his plate reloaded for the tenth time. I noticed the poor wretch's skin was cut to the bone round wrists and ankles. Chafed bandage marks encircled the flesh of his neck.
"What did this, Little Fellow?" and I pointed to the scars.
A grim look of Indian gratitude for my interest came into the stolid face.
"Bad Indians," was the terse response.
"Did they torture you?"
He grunted a ferocious negative.
"You got away too quick for them?"
An affirmative grunt.
"Le Grand Diable—did you see him?"
At that name, his white teeth snapped shut, and from the depths of the Indian's throat came the vicious snarl of an enraged wolf.
"Come," I coaxed, "tell me. How long since you left the Sioux?"
"Walkee—walkee—walkee—one sleep," and rising, he enacted a hobbling gait across the cabin in unison with the rhythmic utterance of his words.
"Walkee—walkee—walkee—one."
"Traveled at night!" I interrupted. "Two nights! You couldn't do it in two nights!"
"Walkee—walkee—walkee—one sleep," he repeated.
"Three nights!"
Four times he hobbled across the floor, which meant he had come afoot the whole distance, traveling only at night.
Sitting down, he began in a low monotone relating how he had returned to La Robe Noire with the additional ransom demanded by Le Grand Diable. The "pig Sioux, more gluttonous than the wolverine, more treacherous thanthe mountain cat," had come out to receive them with hootings. The plunder was taken, "as a dead enemy is picked by carrion buzzards." He, himself, was dragged from his horse and bound like a slave squaw. La Robe Noire had been stripped naked, and young men began piercing his chest with lances, shouting, "Take that, man who would scalp the Iroquois! Take that, enemy to the Sioux! Take that, dog that's friend to the white man!" Then had La Robe Noire, whose hands were bound, sprung upon his torturers and as the trapped badger snaps the hand of the hunter so had he buried his teeth in the face of a boasting Sioux.
Here, Little Fellow's teeth clenched shut in savage imitation. Then was Le Grand Diable's knife unsheathed. More, my messenger could not see; for a Sioux bandaged his eyes. Another tied a rope round his neck. Thus, like a dead stag, was he pulled over the ground to a wigwam. Here he lay for many "sleeps," knowing not when the great sun rose and when he sank. Once, the lodges became very still, like many waters, when the wind slumbers and only the little waves lap. Then came one with the soft, small fingers of a white woman and gently, scarcely touching him, as the spirits rustle through the forest of a dark night, had these hands cut the rope around his neck, and unbound him. A whisper in the English tongue, "Go—run—for your life! Hide by day! Run at night!"
The skin of the tent wall was lifted by the samehands. He rolled out. He tore the blind from his eyes. It was dark. The spirits had quenched their star torches. No souls of dead warriors danced on the fire plain of the northern sky! The father of winds let loose a blast to drown all sound and help good Indian against the pig Sioux! He ran like a hare. He leaped like a deer. He came as the arrows from the bow of the great hunter. Thus had he escaped from the Sioux!
Little Fellow ceased speaking, wrapped himself in robes and fell asleep.
I could not doubt whose were the liberator's hands, and I marveled that she had not come with him. Had she known of our efforts at all? It seemed unlikely. Else, with the liberty she had, to come to Little Fellow, surely she would have tried to escape. On the other hand, her immunity from torture might depend on never attempting to regain freedom.
Now I knew what to expect if I were captured by the Sioux. Yet, given another stormy night, if Little Fellow and I were near the Sioux with fleet horses, could not Miriam be rescued in the same way he had escaped? Until Little Fellow had eaten and slept back to his normal condition of courage, it would be useless to propose such a hazardous plan. Indeed, I decided to send him to some point on the northern trail, where I could join him and go alone to the Sioux camp. This would be better than sitting still to be given as a hostage to the Sioux. If the worst happened and I were captured, had I the courageto endure Indian tortures? A man endures what he must endure, whether he will, or not; and I certainly had not courage to leave the country without one blow for Miriam's freedom.
With these thoughts, I gathered my belongings in preparation for secret departure from the Mandanes that night. Then I prepared breakfast, saw Little Fellow lie back in a dead sleep, and strolled out among the lodges.
Four days had passed without the coming of the avengers. The villagers were disposed to forget their guilt and treat me less sulkily. As I sauntered towards the north hill, pleasant words greeted me from the lodges.
"Be not afraid, my son," exhorted Chief Black Cat. "Lend a deaf ear to bad talk! No harm shall befall the white man! Be not afraid!"
"Afraid!" I flouted back. "Who's afraid, Black Cat? Only white-livered cowards fear the Sioux! Surely no Mandane brave fears the Sioux—ugh! The cowardly Sioux!"
My vaunting pleased the old chief mightily; for the Indian is nothing if not a boaster. At once Black Cat would have broken out in loud tirade on his friendship for me and contempt for the Sioux, but I cut him short and moved towards the hill, that overlooked the enemy's territory. A great cloud of dust whirled up from the northern horizon.
"A tornado the next thing!" I exclaimed with disgust. "The fates are against me! A fig for my plans!"
I stooped. With ear to the ground I could hear a rumbling clatter as of a buffalo stampede.
"What is it, my son?" asked the voice of the chief, and I saw that Black Cat had followed me to the hill.
"Are those buffalo, Black Cat?" and I pointed to the north.
As he peered forward, distinguishing clearly what my civilized eyes could not see, his face darkened.
"The Sioux!" he muttered with a black look at me. Turning, he would have hurried away without further protests of friendship, but I kept pace with him.
"Pooh!" said I, with a lofty contempt, which I was far from feeling. "Pooh! Black Cat! Who's afraid of the Sioux? Let the women run from the Sioux!"
He gave me a sidelong glance to penetrate my sincerity and slackened his flight to the proud gait of a fearless Indian. All the same, alarm was spread among the lodges, and every woman and child of the Mandanes were hidden behind barricaded doors. The men mounted quickly and rode out to gain the vantage ground of the north hill before the enemy's arrival.
Another cross current to my purposes! Fool that I was, to have dilly-dallied three whole days away like a helpless old squaw wringing her hands, when I should have dared everything and ridden to Miriam's rescue! Now, if I had been near the Sioux encampment, when all the warriors wereaway, how easily could I have liberated Miriam and her child!
Always, it is the course we have not followed, which would have led on to the success we have failed to grasp in our chosen path. So we salve wounded mistrust of self and still, in spite of manifest proof to the contrary, retain a magnificent conceit.
I cursed my blunders with a vehemence usually reserved for other men's errors, and at once decided to make the best of the present, letting past and future each take care of itself, a course which will save a man gray hairs over to-morrow and give him a well-provisioned to-day.
Arming myself, I resolved to be among the bargain-makers of the Mandanes rather than be bargained by the Sioux. Wakening Little Fellow, I told him my plan and ordered him to slip away north while the two tribes were parleying and to await me a day's march from the Sioux camp. He told me of a wooded valley, where he could rest with his horses concealed, and after seeing him off, I rode straight for the band of assembled Mandanes and surprised them beyond all measure by taking a place in the forefront of Black Cat's special guard. The Sioux warriors swept towards us in a tornado. Ascending the slope at a gallop, whooping and beating their drums, they charged past us, and down at full speed through the village, displaying a thousand dexterities of horsemanship and prowess to striketerror to the Mandanes. Then they dashed back and reined up on the hillside beneath our forces. The men were naked to the waist and their faces were blackened. Porcupine quills, beavers' claws, hooked bones, and bears' claws stained red hung round their necks in ringlets, or adorned gorgeous belts. Feathered crests and broad-shielded mats of willow switches, on the left arm, completed their war dress. The leaders had their buckskin leggings strung from hip to ankle with small bells, and carried firearms, as well as arrows and stone lances; but the majority had only Indian weapons. In that respect—though we were not one third their number—we had the advantage. All the Mandanes carried firearms; but I do not believe there was enough ammunition to average five rounds a man. Luckily, this was unknown to the Sioux. I scanned every face. Diable was not there.
Scarcely were the ranks in position, when both Sioux and Mandane chiefs rode forward, and there opened such a harangue as I have never heard since, and hope I never may.
"Our young man has been killed," lamented the Sioux. "He was a good warrior. His friends sorrow. Our hearts are no longer glad. Till now our hands have been white, and our hearts clean. But the young man has been slain and we are grieved. Of the scalps of the enemy, he brought many. We hang our heads. The pipe of peace has not been in our council. The whites are our enemies. Now, the young man is dead.Tell us if we are to be friends or enemies. We have no fear. We are many and strong. Our bows are good. Our arrows are pointed with flint and our lances with stone. Our shot-pouches are not light. But we love peace. Tell us, what doth the Mandane offer for the blood of the young man? Is it to be peace or war? Shall we be friends or enemies? Do you raise the tomahawk, or pipe of peace? Say, great chief of the Mandanes, what is thy answer?"
This and more did the Sioux chief vauntingly declaim, brandishing his war club and addressing the four points of the compass, also the sun, as he shouted out his defiance. To which Black Cat, in louder voice, made reply.
"Say, great chief of the Sioux, our dead was brought into the camp. The body was yet warm. It was thrown at our feet. Never before did it enter the heart of a Missouri to seek the blood of a Sioux! Our messengers went to your camp smoking the sacred calumet of peace. They were sons of the Mandanes. They were friends of the white men. The white man is like magic. He comes from afar. He knows much. He has given guns to our warriors. His shot bags are full and his guns many. But his men, ye slew. We are for peace, but if ye are for war, we warn you to leave our camp before the warriors hidden where ye see them not, break forth. We cannot answer for the white man's magic," and I heard my power over darkness and light, life and death, magnified in a way to terrify my own dreams; but Black Catcunningly wound up his bold declamation by asking what the Sioux chief would have of the white man for the death of the messenger.
A clamor of voices arose from the warriors, each claiming some relationship and attributing extravagant virtues to the dead Sioux.
"I am the afflicted father of the youth ye killed," called an old warrior, putting in prior claim for any forthcoming compensation and enhancing its value by adding, "and he had many feathers in his cap."
"He, who was killed, I desired for a nephew," shouted another, "and an ivory wand he carried in his hand."
"He who was killed was my brother," cried a third, "and he had a new gun and much powder."
"He was braver than the buffalo," declared another.
"He had three wounds!" "He had scars!" "He wore many scalps!" came the voices of others.
"Many bells and beads were on his leggings!"
"He had garnished moccasins!"
"He slew a bear with his own hands!"
"His knife had a handle of ivory!"
"His arrows had barbs of beavers' claws!"
If the noisy claimants kept on, they would presently make the dead man a god. I begged Black Cat to cut the parley short and demand exactly what gift would compensate the Sioux for the loss of so great a warrior. After another half-hour's jangling, in which I took an animated part, beating down their exorbitant request fortwo hundred guns with beads and bells enough to outfit the whole Sioux tribe, we came to terms. Indeed, the grasping rascals well-nigh cleared out all that was left of my trading stock; but when I saw they had no intention of fighting, I held back at the last and demanded the surrender of Le Grand Diable, Miriam and the child in compensation for La Robe Noire.
Then, they swore by everything, from the sun and the moon to the cow in the meadow, that they were not responsible for the doings of Le Grand Diable, who was an Iroquois. Moreover, they vowed he had hurriedly taken his departure for the north four days before, carrying with him the Sioux wife, the strange woman and the white child. As I had no object in arousing their resentment, I heard their words without voicing my own suspicions and giving over the booty, whiffed pipes with them. But I had no intention of being tricked by the rascally Sioux, and while they and the Mandanes celebrated the peace treaty, I saddled my horse and spurred off for their encampment, glad to see the last of a region where I had suffered much and gained nothing.
The warriors had spoken truth to the Mandanes. Le Grand Diable was not in the Sioux lodges. I had been at the encampment for almost a week, daily expecting the warriors' return, before I could persuade the people to grant me the right of search through the wigwams. In the end, I succeeded only through artifice. Indeed, I was becoming too proficient in craft for the maintenance of self-respect. A child—I explained to the surly old men who barred my way—had been confused with the Sioux slaves. If it were among their lodges, I was willing to pay well for its redemption. The old squaws, eying me distrustfully, averred I had come to steal one of their naked brats, who swarmed on my tracks with as tantalizing persistence as the vicious dogs. The jealous mothers would not hear of my searching the tents. Then I was compelled to make friends with the bevies of young squaws, who ogle newcomers to the Indian camps. Presently, I gained the run of all the lodges. Indeed, I needed not a little diplomacy to keep from being adopted as son-in-law by one pertinacious old fellow—akind of embarrassment not wholly confined to trappers in the wilds. But not a trace of Diable and his captives did I find.
I had hobbled my horses—a string of six—in a valley some distance from the camp and directly on the trail, where Little Fellow was awaiting me. Returning from a look at their condition one evening, I heard a band of hunters had come from the Upper Missouri. I was sitting with a group of men squatted before my fatherly Indian's lodge, when somebody walked up behind us and gave a long, low whistle.
"Mon Dieu! Mine frien', the enemy! Sacredie! 'Tis he! Thou cock-brained idiot! Ho—ho! Alone among the Sioux!" came the astonished, half-breathless exclamation of Louis Laplante, mixing his English and French as he was wont, when off guard.
Need I say the voice brought me to my feet at one leap? Well I remembered how I had left him lying with a snarl between his teeth in the doorway of Fort Douglas! Now was his chance to score off that grudge! I should not have been surprised if he had paid me with a stab in the back.
"What for—come you—here?" he slowly demanded, facing me with a revengeful gleam in his eyes. His English was still mixed. There was none of the usual light and airy impudence of his manner.
"You know very well, Louis," I returned without quailing. "Who should know better than you? For the sake of the old days, Louis, helpto undo the wrong you allowed? Help me and before Heaven you shall command your own price. Set her free! Afterwards torture me to the death and take your full pleasure!"
"I'll have it, anyway," retorted Louis with a hard, dry, mirthless laugh. "Know they—what for—you come?" He pointed to the Indians, who understood not a word of our talk; and we walked a pace off from the lodges.
"No! I'm not always a fool, Louis," said I, "though you cheated me in the gorge!"
"See those stones?" There was a pile of rock on the edge of the ravine.
"I do. What of them?"
"All of your Indian—left after the dogs—it lie there!" His eye questioned mine; but there was not a vestige of fear in me towards that boaster. This, I set down not vauntingly, but fully realizing what I owe to Heaven.
"Poor fellow," said I. "That was cruel work."
"Your other man—he fool them——"
"All the better," I interrupted.
"They not be cheated once more again! No—no—mine frien'! To come here, alone! Ha—ha! Stupid Anglo-Saxon ox!"
"Don't waste your breath, Louis," I quietly remarked. "Your names have no more terror for me now than at Laval! However big a knave you are, Louis, you're not a fool. Why don't you make something out of this? I can reward you. Holdme, if you like! Scalp me and skin me and put me under a stone-pile for revenge! Will itmake your revenge any sweeter to torture a helpless, white woman?"
Louis winced. 'Twas the first sign of goodness I had seen in the knave, and I credited it wholly to his French ancestors.
"I never torture white woman," he vehemently declared, with a sudden flare-up of his proud temper. "The son of a seigneur——"
"The son of a seigneur," I broke in, "let an innocent woman go into captivity by lying to me!"
"Don't harp on that!" said Louis with a scornful laugh—a laugh that is ever the refuge of the cornered liar. "You pay me back by stealing despatches."
"Don't harp on that, Louis!" and I returned his insolence in full measure. "I didn't steal your despatches, though I know the thief. And you paid me back by almost trapping me at Fort Douglas."
"But I didn't succeed," exclaimed Laplante. "Mon Dieu! If I had only known you were a spy!"
"I wasn't. I came to see Hamilton."
"And you pay me back as if I had succeed," continued Louis, "by kicking me—me—the son of a seigneur—kicking me in the stomach like a pig, which is no fit treatment for a gentleman!"
"And you paid me back by sticking your knife in my boot——"
"And didn't succeed," broke in Louis regretfully.
At that, we both laughed in spite of ourselves,laughed as comrades. And the laugh brought back memories of old Laval days, when we used to thrash each other in the schoolyard, but always united in defensive league, when we were disciplined inside the class-room.
"See here, old crony," I cried, taking quick advantage of his sudden softening and again playing suppliant to my adversary. "I own up! You owe me two scores, one for the despatches I saw taken from you, one for knocking you down in Fort Douglas; for your knife broke and did not cut me a whit. Pay those scores with compound interest, if you like, the way you used to pummel me black and blue at Laval; but help me now as we used to help each other out of scrapes at school! Afterwards, do as you wish! I give you full leave. As the son of a seigneur, as a gentleman, Louis, help me to free the woman!"
"Pah!" cried Louis with mingled contempt and surrender. "I not punish you here with two thousand against one! Louis Laplante is a gentleman—even to his enemy!"
"Bravo, comrade!" I shouted out, full of gratitude, and I thrust forward my hand.
"No—no—thanks much," and Laplante drew himself up proudly, "not till I pay you well, richly,—generous always to mine enemy!"
"Very good! Pay when and where you will."
"Pay how I like," snapped Louis.
With that strange contract, his embarrassment seemed to vanish and his English came back fluently.
"You'd better leave before the warriors return," he said. "They come home to-morrow!"
"Is Diable among them?"
"No."
"Is Diable here?"
"No." His face clouded as I questioned.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No."
"Will he be back?"
"Dammie! How do I know? He will if he wants to! I don't tell tales on a man who saved my life."
His answer set me to wondering if Diable had seen me hold back the trader's murderous hand, when Louis lay drunk, and if the Frenchman's knowledge of that incident explained his strange generosity now.
"I'll stay here in spite of all the Sioux warriors on earth, till I find out about that knave of an Indian and his captives," I vowed.
Louis looked at me queerly and gave another whistle.
"You always were a pig-head," said he. "I can keep them from harming you; but remember, I pay you back in your own coin. And look out for the daughter of L'Aigle, curse her! She is the only thing I ever fear! Keep you in my tent! If Le Grand Diable see you——" and Louis touched his knife-handle significantly.
"Then Diableishere!"
"I not say so," but he flushed at the slip of histongue and moved quickly towards what appeared to be his quarters.
"He is coming?" I questioned, suspicious of Louis' veracity.
"Dolt!" said Louis. "Why else do I hide you in my tent? But remember I pay you back in your own coin afterwards! Ha! There they come!"
A shout of returning hunters arose from the ravine, at which Louis bounded for the tent on a run, dashing inside breathlessly, I following close behind.
"Stay you here, inside, mind! Mon Dieu! If you but show your face; 'tis two white men under one stone-pile! Louis Laplante is a fool—dammie—a fool—to help you, his enemy, or any other man at his own risk."
With these enigmatical words, the Frenchman hurried out, fastening the tent flap after him and leaving me to reflect on the wild impulses of his wayward nature. Was his strange, unwilling generosity the result of animosity to the big squaw, who seemed to exercise some subtle and commanding influence over him; or of gratitude to me? Was the noble blood that coursed in his veins, directing him in spite of his degenerate tendencies; or had the man's heart been touched by the sight of a white woman's suffering? If his alarm at the sound of returning hunters had not been so palpably genuine—for he turned pale to the lips—I might have suspected treachery. But there was no mistaking the motive of fearthat hurried him to the tent; and with Le Grand Diable among the hunters, Louis might well fear to be seen in my company. There was a hubbub of trappers returning to the lodges. I heard horses turned free and tent-poles clattering to the ground; but Laplante did not come back till it was late and the Indians had separated for the night.
"I can take you to her!" he whispered, his voice thrilling with suppressed emotion. "Le Grand Diable and the squaw have gone to the valley to set snares! And when I whistle, come out quickly! Mon Dieu! If you're caught, both our scalps go! Dammie! Louis is a fool. I take you to her; but I pay you back all the same!"
"To whom?" The question throbbed with a rush to my lips.
"Stupid dolt!" snarled Louis. "Follow me! Keep your ears open for my whistle—one—they return—two—come you out of the tent—three, we are caught, save yourself!"
I followed the Frenchman in silence. It was a hazy summer night with just enough light from the sickle moon for us to pick our way past the lodges to a large newly-erected wigwam with a small white tent behind.
"This way," whispered Louis, leading through the first to an opening hidden by a hanging robe. Raising the skin, he shoved me forward and hastened out to keep guard.
The figure of a woman with a child in her arms was silhouetted against the white tent wall. Shewas sitting on some robes, crooning in a low voice to the child, and was unaware of my presence.
"And was my little Eric at the hunt, and did he shoot an arrow all by himself?" she asked, fondling the face that snuggled against her shoulder.
The boy gurgled back a low, happy laugh and lisped some childish reply, which only a mother could translate.
"And he will grow big, big and be a great warrior and fight—fight for his poor mother," she whispered, lowering her voice and caressing the child's curls.
The little fellow sat up of a sudden facing his mother and struck out squarely with both fists, not uttering a word.
"My brave, brave little Eric! My only one, all that God has left to me!" she sobbed hiding her weeping face on the child's neck. "O my God, let me but keep my little one! Thou hast given him to me and I have treasured him as a jewel from Thine own crown! O my God, let me but keep my darling, keep him as Thy gift—and—and—O my God!—Thy—Thy—Thy will be done!"
The words broke in a moan and the child began to cry.
"Hush, dearie! The birds never cry, nor the beavers, nor the great, bold eagle! My own little warrior must never cry! All the birds and the beasts and the warriors are asleep! What does Eric say before he goes to sleep?"
A pair of chubby arms were flung about her neck and passionate, childish kisses pressed her forehead and her cheeks and her lips. Then he slipped to his knees and put his face in her lap.
"God bless my papa—and keep my mamma—and make little Eric brave and good—for Jesus' sake——" the child hesitated.
"Amen," prompted the gentle voice of the mother.
"And keep little Eric for my mamma so she won't cry," added the child, "for Jesus' sake—Amen," and he scrambled to his feet.
A low, piercing whistle cut the night air like the flight of an arrow-shaft. It was Louis Laplante's signal that Diable and the squaw were coming back. At the sound, mother and child started up in alarm. Then they saw me standing in the open way. A gasp of fright came from the white woman's lips. I could tell from her voice that she was all a-tremble, and the little one began to whimper in a smothered, suppressed way.
I whispered one word—"Miriam!"
With a faint cry of anguish, she leaped forward. "Is it you, Eric? O Eric! is it you?" she asked.
"No—no, Miriam, not Eric, but Eric's friend, Rufus Gillespie."
She tottered as if I had struck her. I caught her in my arms and helped her to the couch of robes.
Then I took up my station facing the tent entrance;for I realized the significance of Laplante's warning.
"We have hunted for more than a year for you," I whispered, bending over her, "but the Sioux murdered our messenger and the other you yourself let out of the tent!"
"That—your messenger for me?" she asked in sheer amazement, proving what I had suspected, that she was kept in ignorance of our efforts.
"I have been here for a week, searching the lodges. My horses are in the valley, and we must dare all in one attempt."
"I have given my word I will not try," she hastily interrupted, beginning to pluck at her red shawl in the frenzied way of delirious fever patients. "If we are caught, they will torture us, torture the child before my eyes. They treat him well now and leave me alone as long as I do not try to break away. What can you, one man, do against two thousand Sioux?" and she began to weep, choking back the anguished sobs, that shook her slender frame, and picking feverishly at the red shawl fringe.
To look at that agonized face would have been sacrilege, and in a helpless, nonplussed way, I kept gazing at the painful workings of the thin, frail fingers. That plucking of the wasted, trembling hands haunts me to this day; and never do I see the fingers of a nervous, sensitive woman working in that delirious, aimless fashion but it sets me wondering to what painful treatment from a brutalized nature she has been subjected, thather hands take on the tricks of one in the last stages of disease. It may be only the fancy of an old trader; but I dare avow, if any sympathetic observer takes note of this simple trick of nervous fingers, it will raise the veil on more domestic tragedies and heart-burnings than any father-confessor hears in a year.
"Miriam," said I, in answer to her timid protest, "Eric has risked his life seeking you. Won't you try all for Eric's sake? There'll be little risk! We'll wait for a dark, boisterous, stormy night, and you will roll out of your tent the way you thrust my Indian out. I'll have my horses ready. I'll creep up behind and whisper through the tent."
"WhereisEric?" she asked, beginning to waver.
Two shrill, sharp whistles came from Louis Laplante, commanding me to come out of the tent.
"That's my signal! I must go. Quick, Miriam, will you try?"
"I will do what you wish," she answered, so low, I had to kneel to catch the words.
"A stormy night our signal, then," I cried.
Three, sharp, terrified whistles, signifying, "We are caught, save yourself," came from Laplante, and I flung myself on the ground behind Miriam.
"Spread out your arms, Miriam! Quick!" I urged. "Talk to the boy, or we're trapped."
With her shawl spread out full and her elbowssticking akimbo, she caught the lad in her arms and began dandling him to right, and left, humming some nursery ditty. At the same moment there loomed in the tent entrance the great, statuesque figure of the Sioux squaw, whom I had seen in the gorge. I kicked my feet under the canvas wall, while Miriam's swaying shawl completely concealed me from the Sioux woman and thus I crawled out backwards. Then I lay outside the tent and listened, listened with my hand on my pistol, for what might not that monster of fury attempt with the tender, white woman?
"There were words in the tepee," declared the angry tones of the Indian woman. "The pale face was talking! Where is the messenger from the Mandanes?"
At that, the little child set up a bitter crying.
"Cry not, my little warrior! Hush, dearie! 'Twas only a hunter whistling, or the night hawk, or the raccoon! Hush, little Eric! Warriors never cry! Hush! Hush! Or the great bear will laugh at you and tell his cubs he's found a coward!" crooned Miriam, making as though she neither heard, nor saw the squaw; but Eric opened his mouth and roared lustily. And the little lad unconsciously foiled the squaw; for she presently took herself off, evidently thinking the voices had been those of mother and son.
I skirted cautiously around the rear of the lodges to avoid encountering Diable, or his squaw. The form of a man hulked against me in the dark. 'Twas Louis.
"Mon Dieu, Gillespie, I thought one scalp was gone," he gasped.
"What are you here for? You don't want to be seen with me," I protested, grateful and alarmed for his foolhardiness in coming to meet me.
"Sacredie! The dogs! They make pretty music at your shins without me," and Louis struck boldly across the open for his tent. "Fool to stay so long!" he muttered. "I no more ever help you once again! Mon Dieu! No! I no promise my scalp too! They found your horses in the valley! They—how you say it?—think for some Mandane is here and fear. They rode back fast on your horses. 'Twas why I whistle for, twice so quick! They ride north in the morning. I go too, with the devil and his wife! I be gone to the devil this many a while! But I must go, or they suspect and knife me. That vampire! Ha! she would drink my gore! I no more have nothing to do with you. Before morning, you must do your own do alone! Sacredie! Do not forget, I pay you back yet!"
So he rattled on, ever keeping between me and the lodges. By his confused words, I knew he was in great trepidation.
"Why, there are my horses!" I exclaimed, seeing all six standing before Diable's lodge.
"You do your do before morning! Take one of my saddles!" said Louis.
Sure enough, all my saddles were piled before the Iroquois' wigwam; and there stood my enemyand the Sioux squaw, talking loudly, pointing to the horses and gesticulating with violence.
"Mon Dieu! Prenez garde! Get you in!" muttered Louis. We were at his tent door, and I was looking back at my horses. "If they see you, all is lost," he warned.
And the warning came just in time. With that animal instinct of nearness, which is neither sight, nor smell, my favorite broncho put forward his ears and whinnied sharply. Both Diable and the squaw noted the act and turned; but Louis had knocked me forward face down into the tent.
With an oath, he threw himself on his couch. "Take my saddle," he said. "I steal another. Do your do before morning. I no more have nothing to do with you, till I pay you back all the same!"
And he was presently fast asleep, or pretending to be.
Next morning Le Grand Diable would set out for the north. This night, then, was my last chance to rescue Miriam. "Do your do before morning!" How Laplante's words echoed in my ears! I had told Miriam a stormy night was to be the signal for our attempt; and now the rising moon was dispelling any vague haziness that might have helped to conceal us. In an hour, the whole camp would be bright as day in clear, silver light. Presently, the clatter of the lodges ceased. Only an occasional snarl from the dogs, or the angry squeals of my bronchos kicking the Indian ponies, broke the utter stillness. There was not even a wind to drown foot-treads, and every lodge of the camp was reflected across the ground in elongated shadows as distinct as a crayon figure on white paper. What if some watchful Indian should discover our moving shadows? La Robe Noire's fate flashed back and I shuddered.
Flinging up impatiently from the robes, I looked from the tent way. Some dog of the pack gave the short, sharp bark of a fox. Then, but for the crunching of my horses over the turfsome yards away, there was silence. I could hear the heavy breathing of people in near-by lodges. Up from the wooded valley came the far-off purr of a stream over stony bottom and the low washing sound only accentuated the stillness. The shrill cry of some lonely night-bird stabbed the atmosphere with a throb of pain. Again the dog snapped out a bark and again there was utter quiet.
"One chance in a thousand," said I to myself, "only one in a thousand; but I'll take it!" And I stepped from the tent. This time the wakeful dog let out a mouthful of quick barkings. Jerking off my boots—I had not yet taken to the native custom of moccasins—I dodged across the roadway into the exaggerated shadow of some Indian camp truckery. Here I fell flat to the ground so that no reflection should betray my movements. Then I remembered I had forgotten Louis Laplante's saddle. Rising, I dived back to the tepee for it and waited for the dogs to quiet before coming out again. That alert canine had set up a duet with a neighboring brute of like restless instincts and the two seemed to promise an endless chorus. As I live, I could have sworn that Louis Laplante laughed in his sleep at my dilemma; but Louis was of the sort to laugh in the face of death itself. A man flew from a lodge and dealing out stout blows quickly silenced the vicious curs; but I had to let time lapse for the man to go to sleep before I could venture out.
Once more, chirp of cricket, croak of frog and the rush of waters through the valley were the only sounds, and I darted across to the camp shadow. Lying flat, I began to crawl cautiously and laboriously towards my horses. One gave a startled snort as I approached and this set the dogs going again. I lay motionless in the grass till all was quiet and then crept gently round to the far side of my favorite horse and caught his halter strap lest he should whinny, or start away. I drew erect directly opposite his shoulders, so that I could not be seen from the lodges and unhobbling his feet, led him into the concealment of a group of ponies and had the saddle on in a trice. To get the horse to the rear of Miriam's tent was no easy matter. I paced my steps so deftly with the broncho's and let him munch grass so often, the most watchful Indian could not have detected a man on the far side of the horse, directing every move. Behind the Sioux lodge, the earth sloped abruptly away, bare and precipitous; and I left the horse below and clambered up the steep to the white wall of Miriam's tent. Once the dogs threatened to create a disturbance, but a man quieted them, and with gratitude I recognized the voice of Laplante.
Three times I tapped on the canvas but there was no response. I put my arm under the tent and rapped on the ground. Why did she not signal? Was the Sioux squaw from the other lodge listening? I could hear nothing but the tossings of the child.
"Miriam," I called, shoving my arm forward and feeling out blindly.
Thereupon, a woman's hand grasped mine and thrust it out, while a voice so low it might have been the night breeze, came to my ear—"We are watched."
Watched? What did it matter if we were? Had I not dared all? Must not she do the same? This was the last chance. We must not be foiled. My horse, I knew, could outrace any cayuse of the Sioux band.
"Miriam," I whispered back, lifting the canvas, "they will take you away to-morrow—my horse is here! Come! We must risk all!"
And I shoved myself bodily in under the tent wall. She was not a hand's length away, sitting with her face to the entrance of Diable's lodge, her figure rigid and tense with fear. In the half light I could discern the great, powerful, angular form of a giantess in the opening. 'Twas the Sioux squaw. Miriam leaned forward to cover the child with a motion intended to conceal me, and I drew quickly out.
I thought I had not been detected; but the situation was perilous enough, in all conscience, to inspire caution, and I was backing away, when suddenly the shadows of two men coming from opposite sides appeared on the white tent, and something sprang upon me with tigerish fury. There was the swish of an unsheathing blade, and I felt rather than saw Le Grand Diable and Louis Laplante contesting over me.
"Never! He's mine, my captive! He stole my saddle! He's mine, I tell you," ground out the Frenchman, throwing off my assailant. "Keep him for the warriors and let him be tortured," urged Louis, snatching at the Indian's arm.
I sprang up. It was Louis, who tripped my feet from under me, and we two tumbled to the bottom of the cliff, while the Indian stood above snarling out something in the Sioux tongue.
"Idiot! Anglo-Saxon ox!" muttered Louis, grappling with me as we fell. "Do but act it out, or two scalps go! I no promise mine when I say I help you, bah——"
That was the last I recall; for I went down head backwards, and the blow knocked me senseless.
When I came to, with an aching neck and a humming in my ears, there was the gray light of a waning moon, and I found myself lying bound in Miriam's tent. Her child was whimpering timidly and she was hurriedly gathering her belongings into a small bundle.
"Miriam, what has happened?" I asked. Then the whole struggle and failure came back to me with an overwhelming realization that torture and death would be our portion.
"Try no more," she whispered, brushing past me and making as though she were gathering things where I lay. "Never try, for my sake, never try! They will torture you. I shall die soon. Only save the child! For myself, I am pastcaring. Good-by forever!" and she dashed to the other side of the tent.
At that, with a deal of noisy mirth, in burst Laplante and the Sioux squaw.
"Ho-ho! My knight-errant has opened his eyes! Great sport for the braves, say I! Fine mouse-play for the cat, ho-ho!" and Louis looked down at me with laughing insolence, that sent a chill through my veins. 'Twas to save his own scalp the rascal was acting and would have me act too; but I had no wish to betray him. Striking at her captives and rudely ordering them out, the Sioux led the way and left Louis to bring up the rear.
"Leave this, lady," said Louis with an air that might have been impudence or gallantry; and he grabbed the bundle from Miriam's hand and threw it over his shoulder at me. This was greeted with a roar of laughter from the Sioux woman and one look of unspeakable reproach from Miriam. Whistling gaily and turning back to wink at me, the Frenchman disappeared in Diable's lodge. For my part, I was puzzled. Did Louis act from the love of acting and trickery and intrigue? Was he befooling the daughter of L'Aigle, or me?
They tore down Diable's tepee, stringing the poles on the bronchos stolen from me and leaving Miriam's white tent with the Sioux. I saw them mount with my horses to the fore, and they set out at a sharp trot. From the hoof-beats, I should judge they had not gone many paces,when one rider seemed to turn back, and Louis ran into the tent where I lay. I did not utter one word of pleading; but as he stooped for Miriam's bundle, he whisked out a jack-knife and my heart bounded with a great hope. I suppose, involuntarily, I must have lifted my arms to have the bonds severed; for Laplante shook his head.
"No—mine frien'—not now—I not scalp Louis Laplante for your sake,—no, never. Use your teeth—so!" said he, laying the blade of the knife in his own teeth to show me how; and he slipped the thing into hiding under my armpits. "The warriors—they come back to-day," he warned. "You wait till we are far, then cut quick, or they do worse to you than to La Robe Noire! I leave one horse for you in the valley beyond the beaver-dam. Tra-la, comrade, but not forget you. I pay you back yet all the same," and with a whistle, he had vanished.
I hung upon the Frenchman's words as a drowning sailor to a life-line, and heard the hoof-beats grow fainter and fainter in the distance, hardly daring to realize the fearful peril in which I lay. By the light at the tent opening, I knew it was daybreak. Already the Sioux were stirring in their lodges and naked urchins came to the entrance to hoot and pelt mud. Somehow, I got into sitting posture, with my head bowed forward on my arms, so I could use the knife without being seen. At that, the impertinent brats became bolder and swarming into the tent beganpoking sticks. I held my arm closer to my side, and felt the hard steel's pressure with a pleasure not to be marred by that tantalizing horde. There seemed to be a gathering hubbub outside. Indians, squaws and children were rushing in the direction of the trail to the Mandanes. The children in my tent forgot me and dashed out with the rest. I could not doubt the cause of the clamor. This was the morning of the warriors' return; and getting the knife in my teeth, I began filing furiously at the ropes about my wrists. Man is not a rodent; but under stress of necessity and with instruments of his own designing, he can do something to remedy his human helplessness. To the din of clamoring voices outside were added the shouts of approaching warriors, the galloping of a multitude of horses and the whining yells of countless dogs.
While all the Sioux were on the outskirts of the encampment, I might yet escape unobserved, but the returning braves were very near. Putting all my strength in my wrists, I burst the half-cut bonds; and the rest was easy. A slash of the knife and my feet were free and I had rolled down the cliff and was running with breathless haste over fallen logs, under leafy coverts, across noisy creeks, through the wooded valley to the beaver dam. How long, or how far, I ran in this desperate, heedless fashion, I do not know. The branches, that reached out like the bands of pursuers, caught and ripped my clothing to shreds. I had been bootless, when I started; but my feetwere now bare and bleeding. A gleam of water flashed through the green foliage. This must be the river, with the beaver-dam, and to my eager eyes, the stream already appeared muddy and sluggish as if obstructed. My heart was beating with a sensation of painful, bursting blows. There was a roaring in my ears, and at every step I took, the landscape swam black before me and the trees racing into the back ground staggered on each side like drunken men. Then I knew that I had reached the limit of my strength and with the domed mud-tops of the beaver-dam in sight half a mile to the fore, I sank down to rest. The river was marshy, weed-grown and brown; but I gulped down a drink and felt breath returning and the labored pulse easing. Not daring to pause long, I went forward at a slackened rate, knowing I must husband my strength to swim or wade across the river. Was it the apprehension of fear, or the buzzing in my ears, that suggested the faint, far-away echo of a clamoring multitude? I stopped and listened. There was no sound but the lapping of water, or rush of wind through the leaves. I went on again at hastened pace, and distinctly down the valley came echo of the Sioux war-whoop.
I was pursued. There was no mistaking that fact, and with a thrill, which I have no hesitancy in confessing was the most intense fear I have ever experienced in my life, I broke into a terrified, panic-stricken run. The river grew dark, sluggish and treacherous-looking. By the bloodflowing from my feet, Indian scouts could track me for leagues. I looked to the river with the vague hope of running along the water bed to throw my pursuers off the trail; but the water was deep and I had not strength to swim. The beaver-dam was huddled close to the clay bank of the far side and on the side, where I ran, the current spread out in a flaggy marsh. Hoping to elude the Sioux, I plunged in and floundered blindly forward. But blood trails marked the pond behind and the soft ooze snared my feet.
I was now opposite the beaver-dam and saw with horror there were branches enough floating in mid-stream to entangle the strongest swimmer. The shouts of my pursuers sounded nearer. They could not have known how close they were upon me, else had they ambushed me in silence after Indian custom, shouting only when they sighted their quarry. The river was not tempting for a fagged, breathless swimmer, whose dive must be short and sorry. I had nigh counted my earthly course run, when I caught sight of a hollow, punky tree-trunk standing high above the bank. I could hear the swiftest runners behind splashing through the marsh bed. Now the thick willow-bush screened me, but in a few moments they would be on my very heels. With the supernatural strength of a last desperate effort, I bounded to the empty trunk and like some hounded, treed creature, clambered up inside, digging my wounded feet into the soft, wet wood-rot and burrowing naked fingers through the punk of therounded sides till I was twice the height of a man above the blackened opening at the base. Then a piece of wood crumbled in my right hand. Daylight broke through the trunk and I found that I had grasped the edge of a rotted knot-hole.
Bracing my feet across beneath me like tie beams of raftered scaffolding, I craned up till my eye was on a level with the knot-hole and peered down through my lofty lookout. Either the shouting of the Sioux warriors had ceased, which indicated they had found my tracks and knew they were close upon me, or my shelter shut out the sound of approaching foes. I broke more bark from the hole and gained full view of the scene below.
A crested savage ran out from the tangled foliage of the river bank, saw the turgid settlings of the rippling marsh, where I had been floundering, and darted past my hiding-place with a shrill yell of triumph. Instantaneously the woods were ringing, echoing and re-echoing with the hoarse, wild war-cries of the Sioux. Band after band burst from the leafy covert of forest and marsh willows, and dashed in full pursuit after the leading Indian. Some of the braves still wore the buckskin toggery of their visit to the Mandanes; but the swiftest runners had cast off all clothing and tore forward unimpeded. The last coppery form disappeared among the trees of the river bank and the shoutings were growing fainter, when, suddenly, there was such an ominous calm, I knew they were foiled.
Would they return to the last marks of my trail? That thought sent the blood from my head with a rush that left me dizzy, weak and shivering. I looked to the river. The floating branches turned lazily over and over to the lapping of the sluggish current, and the green slime oozing from the clustered beaver lodges of the far side might hide either a miry bottom, or a treacherous hole.
A naked Indian came pattering back through the brush, looking into every hollow log, under fallen trees, through clumps of shrub growth, where a man might hide, and into the swampy river bed. It was only a matter of time when he would reach my hiding-place. Should I wait to be smoked out of my hole, like a badger, or a raccoon? Again I looked hopelessly to the river. A choice of deaths seemed my only fate. Torture, burning, or the cool wash of a black wave gurgling over one's head?
A broad-girthed log lay in the swamp and stretched out over mid-stream in a way that would give a quick diver at least a good, clean, clear leap. A score more savages had emerged from the woods and were eagerly searching, from the limbs of trees above, where I might be perched, to the black river-bed below. However much I may vacillate between two courses, once my decision is taken, I have ever been swift to act; and I slipped down the tree-trunk with the bound of a bullet through a gun-barrel, took one last look from the opening, which revealed pursuers notfifty yards away, plunged through the marsh, dashed to the fallen log and made a rush to the end.
A score of brazen throats screeched out their baffled rage. There was a twanging of bow-strings. The humming of arrow flight sung about my head. I heard the crash of some savage blazing away with his old flintlock. A deep-drawn breath, and I was cleaving the air. Then the murky, greenish waters splashed in my face, opened wide and closed over me.
A tangle of green was at the soft, muddy bottom. Something living, slippery, silky and furry, that was neither fish, nor water snake, got between my feet; but countless arrows, I knew, were aimed and ready for me, when I came to the surface. So I held down for what seemed an interminable time, though it was only a few seconds, struck for the far shore, and presently felt the green slime of the upper water matting in my hair.
Every swimmer knows that rich, sweet, full intake of life-giving air after a long dive. I drew in deep, fresh breaths and tried to blink the slime from my eyes and get my bearings. There were the howlings of baffled wolves from what was now the far side of the river bank; but domed clay mounds, mossy, floating branches and a world of willows shrubs were about my head. Then I knew what the furry thing among the tangle at the river bottom was, and realized that I had come up among the beaver lodges. The dam must have been an old one; for the clay houseswere all overgrown with moss and water-weeds. A perfect network of willow growth interlaced the different lodges.
I heard the splash as of a diver from the opposite side. Was it a beaver, or my Indian pursuers? Then I could distinctly make out the strokes of some one swimming and splashing about. My foes were determined to have me, dead, or alive. I ducked under, found shallow, soft bottom, half paddled, half waded, a pace more shoreward, and came up with my head in utter darkness.
Where was I? I drew breath. Yes, assuredly, I was above water; but the air was fetid with heavy, animal breath and teeth snarled shut in my very face. Somehow, I had come up through the broken bottom of an old beaver lodge and was now in the lair of the living creatures. What was inside, I cannot record; for to my eyes the blackness was positively thick. I felt blindly out through the palpable darkness and caught tight hold of a pole, that seemed to reach from side to side. This gave me leverage and I hoisted myself upon it, bringing my crown a mighty sharp crack as I mounted the perch; for the beaver lodge sloped down like an egg shell.
I must have seemed some water monster to the poor beaver; for there was a scurrying, scampering and gurgling off into the river. Then my own breathing and the drip of my clothes were all that disturbed the lodge.
Time, say certain philosophers, is the measureof a man's ideas marching along in uniform procession. But I hold they are wrong. Time is nothing of the sort; else had time stopped as I hung panting over the pole in the beaver lodge; for one idea and one only, beat and beat and beat to the pulsing of the blood that throbbed through my brain—"I am safe—I am safe—I am safe!"
How can I tell how long I hung there? To me it seemed a century. I do not even know whether I lost consciousness. I am sure I repeatedly awakened with a jerk back from some hazy, far-off, oblivious realm, shut off even in memory from the things of this life. I am sure I tried to burrow my hand through the clammy moss-wall of the beaver lodge to let in fresh air; but my spirit would be suddenly rapt away to that other region. I am sure I felt the waters washing over my head and sweeping me away from this world to another life. Then I would lose grip of the pole and come to myself clutching at it with wild terror; and again the drowse of life's borderland would overpower me. And all the time I was saying over and over, "I am safe! I am safe!"
How many of the things called hours slipped past, I do not know. As I said before, it seemed to me a century. Whether it was mid-day, or twilight, when I let myself down from the pole and crawled like a bedraggled water-rat to the shore, I do not know. Whether it was morning, or night, when I dragged myself under the fern-brake and fell into a death-like sleep, I do not know. When I awakened, the forest was a labyrinthof shafted moonlight and sombre shadows. All that had happened in the past twenty-four hours came back to me with vivid reality. I remembered Laplante's promise to leave a horse for me in the valley beyond the beaver dam. With this hope in my heart I crawled cautiously down through the silent shadows of the night.
At daybreak I found Louis had made good his promise, and I was speeding on horseback towards the trail, where Little Fellow awaited me.