That was a wild brant chase indeed! And although there were good trackers among us, the fleeing Canienga took to the mountain streams and travelled so, wading northward mile after mile, which very perfectly covered their tracks, and finally left us travelling in circles near Silver Lake.
I now think St. Sacrament must have mirrored their canoes—God and they alone know the truth!—for I never heard of any other Mohawks, or any Englishmen at all, or Frenchmen for that matter, who ever have heard of this Mohawk war party coming south to meet and rescue Sir John.[12]Nor do our own records, except generally, mention our measures taken to stop the Sacandaga trail, or speak of the fight at the Big Eddy as a separate and distinct combat.
It may be that this fight at the Big Eddy remained unnoticed because we sustained no losses. Also, we were losing our people all along the wilderness, from the ashes of Falmouth to the Ohio. I do not know. But my chiefest concern, then and later, was that the survivors among these Caniengas got clean away, which misfortune troubled my mind, although my Oneidas had a Dutch dozen of their scalps, all hooped and curing, when we limped into the Drowned Lands from our wild brant chase above.
Now, my orders being to stop the Sacandaga Trail, there seemed no better way than to cut this same trail with a ditch and plant in it a chevaux-de-frise; and then so dispose my men that even a scout might remain in touch by signal and be prepared to fall back behind this barrier if Sir John crept upon our settlements by stealth.
Fish House could provision us, or the Point, if necessary; and any scout of ours in the Drowned Lands ought to see smoke by day or fire by night from Maxon's nose to Mayfield.
My scout of four and I passed in wearily between the rough, low redoubts at Fish House, after sunset, and gave an account to Peter Wayland, the captain commanding the post, that the northward war-trail was now clean as far as Silver Lake, and that I proposed to block it and watch it above and below.
Twilight was deepening when we came to John Howell's deserted log-house on the Vlaie, and heard the owls very mournful in the tamarack forests eastward.
A few rods farther on the hard ridge and one of my men challenged smartly. In thick darkness he led us over hard ground along the vast wastes of bushes and reeds, to where a new ditch had been dug down to the Vlaie Water.
Thence he guided us through our chevaux-de-frise; and I saw my own people lying in the shadowy gleam of a watch-fire; and an Oneida slowly moving around the smouldering coals, chanting the refrain of his first scalp-dance:
SCALP SONG"Chiefs in your white plumes!When your Tall Cloud glooms,And we Oneidas wonderTo hear your thunder—And the moon pales,And the Seven Dancers wear veils,Is it your rain that wails?Is it the noise of hail?Is it the rush of frightened deerThat we Oneidas hear?"
SCALP SONG
"Chiefs in your white plumes!When your Tall Cloud glooms,And we Oneidas wonderTo hear your thunder—And the moon pales,And the Seven Dancers wear veils,Is it your rain that wails?Is it the noise of hail?Is it the rush of frightened deerThat we Oneidas hear?"
And the others chanted in sombre answer:
"It is the weeping of the Mohawk Nation,Mourning amid their desolation,For the scalpless headOf each young warrior dead.
"It is the weeping of the Mohawk Nation,Mourning amid their desolation,For the scalpless headOf each young warrior dead.
A Voice from the Dark"It is the cry of their women, who bewailTheir warriors dead,Not the east wind we hear!It is the noise of their women, who railAt those who fled,Not whistling hail we hear!It is the rush of feet that are afraid,Not the swift flight of deer!"
A Voice from the Dark
"It is the cry of their women, who bewailTheir warriors dead,Not the east wind we hear!It is the noise of their women, who railAt those who fled,Not whistling hail we hear!It is the rush of feet that are afraid,Not the swift flight of deer!"
Another Voice"Let them flee,—the East Gate Keepers—Whose dead lie still as sleepers!Let the Canienga fly before our wrath,Scatter like chaff,When we Oneidas laugh!Koué!"
Another Voice
"Let them flee,—the East Gate Keepers—Whose dead lie still as sleepers!Let the Canienga fly before our wrath,Scatter like chaff,When we Oneidas laugh!Koué!"
Tahioni"Holder of Heaven,And every Chief named in the Great Rite!Dancers Seven!And the Eight Thunders plumed in white!At dawn I was a young man,Who had seen no enemy die.But my foe was a deer who ran,And I struck; and let him lie."
Tahioni
"Holder of Heaven,And every Chief named in the Great Rite!Dancers Seven!And the Eight Thunders plumed in white!At dawn I was a young man,Who had seen no enemy die.But my foe was a deer who ran,And I struck; and let him lie."
The Screech-owl Dances"The Mohawk Nation has fled,But my war-axe sticks in its head!Koué!"
The Screech-owl Dances
"The Mohawk Nation has fled,But my war-axe sticks in its head!Koué!"
The Water-snake Dances"Let the Wild Goose keep to the skies!Where the Brant alights, he dies!Koué!"
The Water-snake Dances
"Let the Wild Goose keep to the skies!Where the Brant alights, he dies!Koué!"
Thiohero, their Prophetess"The Lodge poles crack in the East!The Long House falls.Who calls the Condolence Feast?Who calls?"
Thiohero, their Prophetess
"The Lodge poles crack in the East!The Long House falls.Who calls the Condolence Feast?Who calls?"
She Dances Very Slowly"Who calls the Roll of the Dead?Who opens the door?The Fire in the West burns red,But our fire-place burns no more!Thendara—Thendara no more!"
She Dances Very Slowly
"Who calls the Roll of the Dead?Who opens the door?The Fire in the West burns red,But our fire-place burns no more!Thendara—Thendara no more!"
It was plain to me that my Indians meant to make a night of it—even those who, dog weary, had but now returned with me from the futile brant chase and sat eating their samp.
The French trappers squatted in a row, smoking their pipes and looking on with that odd sympathy for any savage rite, which, I think, partly explains French success among all Indians.
Firelight glimmered red on their weather-ravaged faces, on their gaudy fringes and moccasins.
Near them, lolling in the warm young grass, sprawled Nick and Godfrey. I sat down by them, my back against a log. My Saguenay crept to my side. I gave him to eat, and, for my own supper, ate slowly a handful of parched corn, watching my young Oneidas around the fire, where they moved in their slow dance, singing and boasting of their first scalps taken.
The little maid of Askalege came and seated herself close to me on my right.
"I am weary," she murmured, letting her head fall back against the log.
"Tell me," said I in English, "is there any reason why this Saguenay, who has proved himself a real man and no wolf, should not sing his own scalp-song among our Oneidas?"
"None," she repeated. "The Yellow Leaf is a real man."
"Tell him so."
The girl turned her head and spoke to the Saguenay in his own gutturals. I also watched to see what effect such praise might have.
For a few minutes he sat motionless and without any expression upon his narrow visage, yet I knew he must be bursting with pride.
"Tahioni!" I called out. "Here, also, is a real man who has taken scalps in battle. Shall not ourbrother, Yellow Leaf, of the Montagnais, sing his first scalp-song at an Oneida fire?"
There was a pause, then every Oneida hatchet flashed high in the firelight.
"Koué!" they shouted. "We give fire right to our brother of the Montagnais, who is a real man and no wolf!"
At that the Saguenay hunter, who, in a single day, had became a warrior, leaped lightly to his feet, and began to trot like a timber wolf around the fire, running hither and thither as an eager, wild thing runs when searching.
Then he shouted something I did not understand; but Thiohero interpreted, watching him: "He looks in vain for the tracks of a poor Saguenay hunter, which once he was, but he can find only the footprints of a proud Saguenay warrior, which now he has become!"
Now, in dumb show, this fierce and homeless rover enacted all that had passed,—how he had encountered the Canienga, how they had mocked and stoned him, how we had captured him, proved kind to him, released him; how he had returned to warn us of ambuscade.
He drew his war-axe and shouted his snarling battle-cry; and all the Oneidas became excited and answered like panthers on a dark mountain.
Then Yellow Leaf began to dance an erratic, weird dance—and, somehow, I thought of dead leaves eddying in a raw wind as he whirled around the fire, singing his first scalp-song:
"Who are the Yanyengi,[13]that aSaguenay should fear them?They are but Mowaks,[14]andReal men jeer them!I am a warrior; I wear the lock!I am brother to the People of the Rock![15]Red is my hatchet; my knife is red;Woe to the Mengwe, who wail their dead!I wear the Little Red Foot and the Hawk;Death to the Maquas who stone and mock!Koué! Haï!"
"Who are the Yanyengi,[13]that aSaguenay should fear them?They are but Mowaks,[14]andReal men jeer them!I am a warrior; I wear the lock!I am brother to the People of the Rock![15]Red is my hatchet; my knife is red;Woe to the Mengwe, who wail their dead!I wear the Little Red Foot and the Hawk;Death to the Maquas who stone and mock!Koué! Haï!"
An Oneida"Hah!Hawasahsai!Hah!"
An Oneida
"Hah!Hawasahsai!Hah!"
The Saguenay"Who are the Yanyengi, thatReal men should obey them?We People of the Dawn wereBorn to slay them!I eat twigs in winter when there is no game;What does he eat, the Maqua? What means his name?To each of us a Little Red Foot! To each his clan!Let the Mengwe flee when they scent a Man!Koué! Haï!"
The Saguenay
"Who are the Yanyengi, thatReal men should obey them?We People of the Dawn wereBorn to slay them!I eat twigs in winter when there is no game;What does he eat, the Maqua? What means his name?To each of us a Little Red Foot! To each his clan!Let the Mengwe flee when they scent a Man!Koué! Haï!"
And
"Hah! Hawasahsai!"
"Hah! Hawasahsai!"
chanted the Oneidas, trotting to and fro in the uncertain red light, while we white men sat, chin on fist, a-watching them; and the little sorceress of Askalege beat her palms softly together, timing the rhythm for lack of a drum.
An hour passed: my Indians still danced and sang and bragged of deeds done and deeds to be accomplished; my young sorceress sat asleep, her head fallen back against me, her lips just parted. At her feet a toad, attracted by the insects which came into the fire-ring, jumped heavily from time to time and snapped them up.
An intense silence brooded over that vast wilderness called the Drowned Lands; not a bittern croaked, not a wild duck stirred among the reeds.
Very far away in the mist of the tamaracks I heard owls faintly halooing, and it is a melancholy sound which ever renders me uneasy.
I was weary to the bones, yet did not desire sleep. A vague presentiment, like a mist on some young peak, seemed to possess my senses, making me feel as lonely as a mountain after the sun has set.
I had never before suffered from solitude, unless missing the beloved dead means that.
I missed them now,—parents who seemed ages long absent,—or was it I, their only son, who tarried here below too long, and beyond a reasonable time?
I was lonely. I looked at the scalps, all curing on their hoops, hanging in a row near the fire. I glanced at Nick. He lay on his blanket, sleeping.... The head of the little Athabasca Sorceress lay heavy on my shoulder; she made no sound of breathing in her quiet sleep. Both her hands were doubled into childish fists, thumbs inside.
Johnny Silver smoked and smoked, his keen, tireless eyes on the Scalp Dancers; Luysnes, also, blinked at them in the ruddy glare, his powerful hands clasping his knees; de Golyer was on guard.
I caught Godfrey's eye, motioned him to relieve Joe, then dropped my head once more in sombre meditation, lonely, restless, weary, and unsatisfied....
And now, again,—as it had been for perhaps a longer period of time than I entirely comprehended,—I seemed to see darkly, and mirrored against darkness, the face of the Scottish girl.... And her yellow hair and dark eyes; ... and that little warning glimmer from which dawned that faint smile of hers....
That I was lonely for lack of her I never dreamed then. I was content to see her face grow vaguely; sweetly take shape from the darkness under my absent gaze;—content to evoke the silent phantom out of the stuff that ghosts are made of—those frail phantoms which haunt the secret recesses of men's minds.
I was asleep when Nick touched me. Thiohero still slept against my shoulder; the Yellow Leaf and the Oneidas still danced and vaunted their prowess, and they had set a post in the soft earth near the shore, and had painted it red; and now all their hatchets were sticking in it, while they trotted tirelessly in their scalping dance, and carved the flame-shot darkness with naked knives.
Wearily I rose, took my rifle, re-primed it, and stumbled away to take my turn on guard, relieving Nick, who, in turn, had replaced Godfrey, whom I had sent after Joe de Golyer.
They had dug our ditch so well that the Vlaie water filled it, making, with the pointed staves, an excellent abattis against any who came by stealth along the Sacandaga trail.
Behind this I walked my post, watching the eastern stars, which seemed paler, yet still remained clearly twinkling. And no birds had yet awakened, though the owls had become quiet in the tamaracks, and neither insect nor frog now chanted their endless runes of night.
Shouldering my rifle, I walked to and fro, listening, scanning the darkness ahead.... And, presently, not lonely; for a slim phantom kept silent pace with me as I walked my post—so near, at times, that my nostrils seemed sweet with the scent of apple bloom.... And I felt her breath against my cheek and heard her low whisper.
Which presently became louder among the reeds—a little breeze which stirs before dawn and makes a thin ripple around each slender stem.
Tahioni came to relieve me, grave, not seeming fatigued, and, in his eyes, the shining fire of triumph still unquenched.
I went back to the fire and lay down on my blanket, where now all were asleep save my Saguenay.
When he saw me he came and squatted at my feet.
"Sleep you, also, brother," said I. "Day dawns and the sunset is far away."
But the last time I looked before I slept I saw him still squatting at my feet like a fierce, lean dog, and staring straight before him.
And I remember that the fresh, joyous chorus of waking birds was like the loud singing of spirit-children. And to the sweet sound of that blessed choir I surrendered mind and body, and so was borne on wings of song into the halls of slumber-land.
The sun was high when our sentinel hailed a detail from Fish House, bringing us a sheep, three sacks of corn, and a keg of fresh milk.
I had bathed me in the Vlaie Water, had eaten soupaan, turned over my command to Nick, and now was ready to report in person to the Commandant at Summer House Point.
My Saguenay had slain a gorgeous wood-duck with his arrows; and now, brave in fresh paint and brilliant plumage, he sat awaiting me in the patched canoe which had belonged, no doubt, to John Howell.
I went down among the pinxter bushes and tall reeds to the shore; and so we paddled away on the calm, deep current which makes a hundred snake-like curls and bends to every mile, so that the mile itself becomes doubled,—nay, tripled!—ere one attains his destination.
It was strange how I was not yet rid of that vague sense of impending trouble, nor could account for the foreboding in any manner, being full of health and now rested.
My mind, occupied by my report, which I was now reading where I had written it in mycarnet, nevertheless seemed crowded with other thoughts,—how we would seem each to the other when we met again,—Penelope Grant and I. And if she would seem to take a pleasure in my return ... perhaps say as much ... smile, perhaps.... And we might walk a little on the new grass under the apple bloom....
A troubled mind! And knew not the why and wherefore of its own restlessness and apprehension. For the sky was softly blue, and the water, too; and a gentle wind aided our paddles, which pierced the stream so silently that scarce a diamond-drop fell from the sunlit blades.
I could see the Summer House, and a striped jack flying in the sun. The green and white lodge seemed very near across the marshes, yet it was some little time before I first smelled the smoke of camp fires, and then saw it rising above the bushes.
Presently a Continental on guard hailed our canoe. We landed. A corporal came, then a sergeant,—one Caspar Quant, whom I knew,—and so we were passed on, my Indian and I, until the gate-guard at the Point halted us and an officer came from the roadside,—one Captain Van Pelt, whom I knew in Albany.
Saluted, and the officer's salute rendered, he became curious to see the fresh scalps flapping at my Saguenay's girdle, and the new war-paint and the oil smelling rank in the sweet air.
But I told him nothing, asking only for the Commandant, who, he gave account, was a certain Major Westfall, lodging at the Summer House, and lately transferred from the Massachusetts Line, along with other Yankee officers—why?—God and Massachusetts knew, perhaps.
So I passed the gate and walked toward the lodge. Sir John's blooded cattle were grazing ahead, and I saw Flora at the well, and Colas busy among beds of garden flowers, spading and weeding under the south porch.
And I saw something else that halted me. For, seated upon a low limb of an apple tree, her two little feet hanging down, and garbed in pink-flowered chintz and snowy fichu, I beheld Penelope Grant, a-knitting.
And by all the pagan gods!—there in a ring around her strolled and lolled a dozen Continental officers in buff and blue and gold!
There was no reason why, but the scene chilled me.
One o' these dandies had her ball of wool, and was a-winding of it as he sat cross-legged on the turf, a silly, happy look on his beardless face.
Another was busy writing on a large sheet of paper,—verses, no doubt!—for he seemed vastly pleased with his progress, and I saw her look at him shyly under her dark lashes, and could have slain him for the smirk he rendered. Also, it did not please me that her petticoat was short and revealed her ankles and slim feet in silver-buckled shoon.
I was near; I could hear their voices, their light laughter; and, rarely, her voice in reply to some pointed gallantry or jest.
None had perceived me advancing among the trees, nor now noticed me where I was halted there in the checkered sunshine.
But, as I stirred and moved forward, the girl turned her head, caught a glimpse of me and my painted Indian, stared in silence, then slid from her perch and stood up on the grass, her needles motionless.
All the young popinjays got to their feet, and all stared as I offered them the salute of rank; but all rendered it politely.
"Lieutenant of Rangers Drogue to report to Major Westfall," said I bluntly, in reply to a Continental Captain's inquiry.
"Yonder, sir, on the porch with Lady Johnson," said he.
I bared my head, then, and walked to Penelope. She curtsied: I bent to her hand.
"Are you well, my lord?" she asked in a colourless voice, which chilled me again for its seeming lack of warmth.
"And you, Penelope?"
"I am well, I thank you."
"I am happy to learn so."
That was all. I bowed again. She curtsied. I replaced my mole-skin cap, saluted the popinjays, and marched forward. My Indian stalked at my heels.
God knew why, but mine had become a troubled mind that sunny morning.
I had been welcomed like a brother by Polly Johnson. Claudia, too, made a little fête of my return, unscathed from my first war-trail. And after I had completed my report to the Continental Major, who proved complacent to the verge of flattery, I was free to spend the day at the Summer House—or, rather, I was at liberty to remain as long a time as it took a well-mounted express to ride to Johnstown with my report and return with further orders from Colonel Dayton for me and my small command.
A Continental battalion still garrisoned the Point; their officers as I had been forced to notice in the orchard, were received decently by Lady Johnson.
And, at that crisis in her career, I think I admired Polly Johnson as entirely as I ever had admired any woman I ever knew.
For she was still only a child, and had been petted and spoiled always by flattery and attentions: and she was not very well—her delicate condition having now become touchingly apparent. She was all alone,—save for Claudia,—among the soldiery of a new and hostile nation; she was a fugitive from her own manor; and she must have been constantly a prey to the most poignant anxieties concerning her husband, whom she loved,—whatever were his fishy sentiments regarding her!—and who, she knew, was now somewhere in the Northern and trackless wilderness and fighting nature herself for his very life.
Her handsome and beloved brother, also, was roaming the woods, somewhere, with Walter Butler and McDonald and a bloody horde of Iroquois in their paint,—and, worse still, a horde of painted white men, brutes in man's guise and Mohawk war-paint and feathers, who already were known by the terrifying name of Blue-eyed Indians.
Yet this young girl, having resolved to face conditions with courage and composure, after her first bitter and natural outburst, never whimpered, never faltered.
Enemy officers, if gentlemen, she received with quiet, dignified civility, and no mention of politics or war was suffered to embarrass anybody at her table.
All, I noticed, paid her a deference both protective and tender, which, in gentlemen, is instinctive when a woman is in so delicate a condition and in straits so melancholy.
Claudia, however, I soon perceived, had been nothing tamed, and even less daunted by the errant arrows of adversity; for her bright eyes were ever on duty, and had plainly made a havoc of the Continental Major's heart, to judge by his sheep's eyes and clumsy assiduities.
For when he left the veranda and went away noisily in his big spurs, she whispered me that he had already offered himself thrice, and that she meant to make it a round half-dozen ere he received his final quietus.
"A widower," quoth she, "and bald; and with seven hungry children in Boston! Oh, Lord. Am I come to that? Only that it passes time to play with men, I'd not trouble to glance askance at your Yankee gentlemen, Jack Drogue."
"Some among them have not yet glanced askance at you," remarked Lady Johnson, placid above her sewing.
"Do you mean those suckling babes in the orchard yonder? Oh, la! When the Major leaves, I shall choose the likeliest among 'em to amuse me. Not that I would cross Penelope," she added gaily, "or flout her. No. But these boys perplex her. They are too ardent, and she too kind."
"What!" I exclaimed, feeling my face turn hot.
"Why, it is true enough," remarked Lady Johnson. "Yonder child has no experience, and is too tender at heart to resent a gallantry over-bold. Which is why I keep my eye upon these youngsters that they make not a fool of a girl who is easily confused by flattery, and who remains silent when dusk and the fleeting moment offer opportunities to impudent young men, which they seldom fail to embrace."
"And seldom fail to embrace the lady, also," added Claudia, laughing. "Youwere different, Jack."
"I saw that ensign, Dudley, kiss her behind the lilacs," added Lady Johnson, "and the girl seemed dumb, and never even upbraided the little beast. Had she complained to me I should have made him certain observations, but could not while she herself remained mute. Because I do not choose to have anybody think I go about eavesdropping."
"Penelope Grant appears to find their company agreeable," said I, in a voice not like my own, but a dry and sullen voice such as I never before heard issue out o' my own mouth.
"Penelope likes men," observed Lady Johnson, sewing steadily upon her baby's garments of fine linen.
"Penelope is not too averse to a stolen kiss, I fear," said Claudia, smiling. "Lord! Nor is any pretty woman, if only she admit the truth! No! However, there is a certain shock in a kiss which silences maiden inexperience and sadly confuses the unaccustomed. Wait till the girl gains confidence to box some impertinent's ear!"
I knew not why, yet never, I think, had any news sounded in my ears so distastefully as the news I now had of this girl, I remembered Nick's comment,—"Like flies around a sap-pan." And it added nothing to my pleasure or content of mind to turn and gaze upon that disquieting scene in the orchard yonder.
For here, it seemed, was another Claudia in the making,—still unlearned in woman's wiles; not yet equipped for those subtle coquetries and polished cruelties which destroy, yet naturally and innocently an enchantress of men. And some day to be conscious of her power, and certain to employ it!
Flora came, wearing a blue and orange bandanna, and the great gold hoops in her ears glittering in the sun.
Each day, now, it appeared, Lady Johnson retired for an hour's repose whilst Claudia read to her; and that hour had arrived.
"You dine with us, of course," said Lady Johnson, going, and looking at me earnestly. Then there was a sudden flash of tears; but none fell.
"My dear, dear Jack," she murmured, as I laid my lips against both her hands.... And so she went into the house, Claudia lingering, having shamelessly pressed my hand, and a devil laughing at me out of her two eyes.
"Is there news of Sir John to comfort us?" she whispered, making a caress of her voice as she knew so well how to do.
"And if I have any, I may not tell you, Claudia," said I.
"Oh, la! Aid and comfort to the enemy? Is it that, Jack? And if you but wink me news that Sir John is safe?"
"I may not even wink," said I, smiling forlornly.
"Aye? So! That's it, is it! A wink from you at me, and pouf!—a courtmartial! Bang! A squad of execution! Is that it, Jack?"
"I should deserve it."
"Lord! If men really got their deserts, procreation would cease, and the world, depopulated, revert to the forest beasts. Well, then—so Sir John is got away?"
"I did not say so."
"You wear upon your honest countenance all the news you contain, dear Jack," said she gaily. "It was always so; any woman may read you like a printed page—if she trouble to do it.... And so! Sir John is safe at last! Well, thank God for that.... You may kiss my cheek if you ask me."
She drew too near me, but I had no mind for more trouble than now possessed me, so let her pretty hand lie lightly on my arm, and endured the melting danger of her gaze.
She said, while the smile died on her lips, "I jest with you, Jack. But youaredear to me."
"Dear as any trophy," said I. "No woman ever willingly lets any victim entirely escape."
"You do not guess what you could do with me—if you would," she said.
"No. But I guess what you could do to me, again, if you had an opportunity."
"Jack!" she sighed, looking up at me.
But the gentle protest alarmed me. And she was too near me; and the fresh scent of her hair and skin were troubling me.
And, more than that, there persisted a dull soreness in my breast,—something that had hurt me unperceived—an unease which was not pain, yet, at times, seemed to start a faint, sick throbbing like a wound.
Perhaps I assumed that it came from some old memory of her unkindness; I do not remember now, only that I seemed to have no mind to stir up dying embers. And so, looked at her without any belief in my gaze.
There was a silence, then a bright flush stained her face, and she laughed, but as though unnerved, and drew her hand from my arm.
"If you think all the peril between us twain is yours alone, Jack Drogue," she said, "you are a very dolt. And I think youareone!"
And turned her back and walked swiftly into the house.
I took my rifle from where it stood against a veranda post, settled my war-belt, with its sheathed knife and hatchet, readjusted powder-horn and bullet pouch, and, picking up my cap of silver mole-skin, went out into the orchard.
Behind me padded my Saguenay in his new paint, his hooped scalps swinging from his cincture, and the old trade-rifle covered carefully by his blanket, except the battered muzzle which stuck out.
I walked leisurely; my heart was unsteady, my mind confused, my features, unless perhaps expressionless, were very likely grim.
I went straight to the group around the twisted apple-tree, where Penelope sat knitting, and politely made myself a part of that same group, giving courteous notice by my attitude and presence, that I, also, had a right to be there as well as they.
All were monstrous civil; some offered snuff; some a pipe and pouch; and a friendly captain man engaged me in conversation—gossip of Johnstown and the Valley—so that, without any awkwardness, the gay and general chatter around the girl suffered but a moment's pause.
The young officer who had writ verses, now read them aloud amid lively approbation and some sly jesting:
IN PRAISE"Flavilla's hair,Beyond compare,Like sunshine brightens all the earth!Old Sol, beware!She cheats you, there,And robs your rays of all their worth!"Impotent blaze!I shall not praiseYour brazen ways,Nor dare compareYour flaming gazeTo those sweet raysWhich play around Flavilla's hair."For lo, behold!No sunshine boldCan hope to gild or make more fairThe living gold,Where, fold on fold,In glory shines Flavilla's hair!"
IN PRAISE
"Flavilla's hair,Beyond compare,Like sunshine brightens all the earth!Old Sol, beware!She cheats you, there,And robs your rays of all their worth!
"Impotent blaze!I shall not praiseYour brazen ways,Nor dare compareYour flaming gazeTo those sweet raysWhich play around Flavilla's hair.
"For lo, behold!No sunshine boldCan hope to gild or make more fairThe living gold,Where, fold on fold,In glory shines Flavilla's hair!"
There was a merry tumult of praise for the poet, and some rallied him, but he seemed complacent enough, and Penelope looked shyly at him over lagging needles,—a smile her acknowledgment and thanks.
"Sir," says a cornet of horse, in helmet and jack-boots—though I perceived none of his company about, and wondered where he came from,—"will you consent to entertain our merry Council with some account of the scout which, from your appearance, sir, I guess you have but recently accomplished."
To this stilted and somewhat pompous speech I inclined my head with civility, but replied that I did not yet feel at liberty to discuss any journey I may have accomplished until my commanding officer gave me permission. Which mild rebuke turned young Jack-boots red, and raised a titter.
An officer said: "The dry blood on your hunting shirt, sir, and the somewhat amazing appearance of your tame Indian, who squats yonder, devouring the back of your head with his eyes, must plead excuse for our natural curiosity. Also, we have not yet smelled powder, and it is plain that you have had your nostrils full."
I laughed, feeling no mirth, however, but sensible of my dull pain and my restlessness.
"Sir," said I, "if I have smelled gun-powder, I shall know that same perfume again; and if I have not yet sniffed it, nevertheless I shall know it when I come to scent it. So, gentlemen, I can not see that you are any worse off in experience than I."
A subaltern, smiling, ventured to ask me what kind of Indian was that who enquired me.
"Of Algonquin stock," said I, "but speaks an odd lingo, partly Huron-Iroquois, partly the Loup tongue, I think. He is a Saguenay."
"One of those fierce wanderers of the mountains," nodded an older officer. "I thought they were not to be tamed."
"I owned a tame tree-cat once," remarked another officer.
My friend, Jack-boots, now pulls out a bull's-eye watch with two fobs, and tells the time with a sort of sulky satisfaction. For many of the company arose, and made their several and gallant adieus to Penelope, who suffered their salute on one little hand, while she held yarn and needles in t'other.
But when half the plague of suitors and gallants had taken themselves off to their several duties, there remained still too many to suit young Jack-boots. Too many to suit me, either; and scarce knowing what I did or why, I moved forward to the tree where she was seated on a low swinging limb.
"Penelope," said I, "it is long since I have seen you. And if these gentlemen will understand and pardon the desire of an old friend to speak privately with you, and if you, also, are so inclined, give me a little time with you alone before I leave."
"Yes," she said, "I am so inclined—if it seem agreeable to all."
I am sure it was not, but they conducted civilly enough, save young Jack-boots, who got redder than ever and spoke not a word with his bow, but clanked away pouting.
And there were also two militia officers, wrapped in great watch cloaks over their Canajoharie regimentals, and who took their leave in silence. One wore boots, the other black spatter-dashes that came above the knee in French fashion, and were fastened under it, too, with leather straps.
Their faces were averted when they passed me, yet something about them both seemed vaguely familiar to me. No wonder, either, for I should know, by sight at least, many officers in our Tryon militia.
Whether they were careless, or unmannerly by reason of taking offense at what I had done, I could not guess.
I looked after them, puzzled, almost sure I had seen them both before; but where I could not recollect, nor what their names might be.
"Shall we stroll, Penelope?" I said.
"If it please you, sir."
Sir William had cut the alders all around the point, and a pretty lawn of English grass spread down to the water north and west, and pleasant shade trees grew there.
While she rolled her knitting and placed it in her silken reticule, I, glancing around, noticed that all the apple bloom had fallen, and the tiny green fruit-buds dotted every twig.
Then, as she was ready, and stood prettily awaiting me in her pink chintz gown, and her kerchief and buckled shoon, I gave her my hand and we walked slowly across the grass and down to the water.
Here was a great silvery iron-wood tree a-growing and spreading pleasant shade; and here we sat us down.
But now that I had got this maid Penelope away from the pest of suitors, it came suddenly to me that my pretenses were false, and I really had nothing to say to her which might not be discussed in company with others.
This knowledge presently embarrassed me to the point of feeling my face grow hot. But when I ventured to glance at her she smiled.
"Have you been in battle?" she asked.
"Yes."
After a silence: "I am most happy that you returned in safety."
"Did you ever—ever think of me?" I asked.
"Why, yes," she replied in surprise.
"I thought," said I, "that being occupied—and so greatly sought after by so many gallants—that you might easily have forgotten me."
She laughed and plucked a grass-blade.
"I did not forget you," she said.
"That is amazing," said I, "—a maid so run after and so courted."
She plucked another blade of grass, and so sat, pulling at the tender verdure, her head bent so that I could not see what her eyes were thinking, but her lips seemed graver.
"Well," said I, "is there news of Mr. Fonda?"
"None, sir."
"Tell me," said I, smiling, "why, when I speak, do you answer ever with a 'sir'?"
At that she looked up: "Are you not Lord Stormont, Mr. Drogue?" she asked innocently.
"Why, no! That is, nobody believes it any more than did the Lords in their House so many years ago. Is that why you sometimes say 'my lord,' and sometimes call me 'sir'?"
"But you still are the Laird of Northesk."
"Lord!" said I, laughing. "Is it that Scottish title bothers you? Pay it no attention and call me John Drogue—or John.... Or Jack, if you will.... Will you do so?"
"If it—pleases you."
She was still busy with the grass, and I watched her, waiting to see her dark eyes lift again—and see that little tremor of her lips which presaged the dawning smile.
It dawned, presently; and all the unrest left my breast—all that heavy dullness which seemed like the flitting shadow of a pain.
"Tell me," said I, "are you happy?"
"I am contented. I love my Mistress Swift. I love and pity Lady Johnson.... Yes, I am happy."
"I know they both love you," said I. "So you should be happy here.... And admired as you are by all men...."
Again she laughed in her enchanting little way, and bent her bright head. And, presently:
"John Drogue?"
"I hear you, Penelope."
"Do you wish warm woolen stockings for your men?"
"Why—yes."
"I sent to Caydutta Lodge for the garments. They are in the house. You shall choose for yourself and your men before the Continentals take their share."
I was touched, and thanked her. And now, it being near the noon hour, we walked together to the house.
The partition which Sir John had made for a gun-room, and which now served to enclose Penelope's chamber, was all hung with stout woolen stockings of her own knitting; and others lay on her trundle-bed. So I admired and handled and praised these sober fruits of her diligence and foresight, and we corded up some dozen pair for my white people; and I stuffed them into my soldier's leather sack.
Then I took her hands and said my thanks; and she looked at me and answered, "You are welcome, John Drogue."
I do not know what possessed me to put my arm around her. She flushed deeply. I kissed her; and it went to my head.
The girl was dumb and scarlet, not resisting, nor defending her lips; but there came a clatter of china dishes, and I released her as Flora and Colas appeared from below, with dinner smoking, and clattering platters.
And presently Lady Johnson's door opened, and she stepped out in her silk levete, followed by Claudia.
"I invited no one else," said Lady Johnson, "—if that suits you, Jack."
I protested that it suited me, and that I desired to spend my few hours from duty with them alone.
As we were seated, I ventured a side glance at Penelope and perceived that she seemed nothing ruffled, though her colour was still high. For she gave me that faint, enchanting smile that now began to send a thrill through me, and she answered without confusion any remarks addressed to her.
Remembering my Indian outside, I told Flora, and Colas took food to him on the veranda.
And so we spent a very happy hour there—three old friends together once more, and a young girl stranger whom we loved already. And I did not know in what degree I loved her, but that I did love her now seemed somewhat clear to my confused senses and excited mind,—though to love, I knew, was one thing, and to beinlove was still another. Or so it seemed to me.
My animation was presently noticed by Claudia; and she rested her eyes on me. For I talked much and laughed more, and challenged her gay conceits with a wit which seemed to me not wholly contemptible.
"One might think you had been drinking of good news," quoth she; "so pray you share the draught, Jack, for we have none of our own to quench our thirst."
"Unless none be good news, as they say," said Lady Johnson, wistfully.
"News!" said I. "Nenni! But the sun shines, Claudia, and life is young, and 'tis a pretty world we live in after all."
"If you admire a marsh," says she, "there's a world o' mud and rushes to admire out yonder."
"Or if you admire a cabinful o' lonely ladies," added Lady Johnson, "you may gaze your fill upon us."
"I should never be done or have my fill of beauty if I sat here a thousand years, Polly," said I.
"A thousand years and a dead fish outshines our beauty," smiled Lady Johnson. "If you truly admire our beauty, Jack, best prove it now."
"To which of us the Golden Apple?" inquired Claudia, offering one of the winter russets which had been picked at the Point.
"Ho!" said I, "you think to perplex and frighten me?Non, pas!Polly Johnson shall not have it, because, if she ever makes me wise, wisdom is its own reward and needs no other. And you shall not have it, Claudia!"
"Why not?"
"Mere beauty cannot claim it."
"Why not? Venus received the apple cast by Eris."
"But only because Venus promised Love! Do you promise me the reward of the shepherd?"
"Myself?" she asked impudently.
"Venus," said Lady Johnson, "made that personal exception, and so must you, Claudia. The goddess promised beauty; but not herself."
"Then," said I, "Claudia has nothing to offer me. And so I give the apple to Penelope!"
She refused it, shyly.
"Industry is the winner," said I. "Thrift triumphs. I already have her gift. I have a dozen pair of woolen stockings for my men, knitted by this fair Penelope of today. And, as she awaits no wandering lord, though many suitors press her, then she should have at least this golden apple of Eris to reward her. And so she shall."
And I offered it again.
"Take it, my dear," said Claudia, laughing, "for this young man has given you a reason. Pallas offered military glory; you offer military stockings! What chance have Hera and poor Aphrodite in such a contest?"
We all were laughing while the cloth was cleared, and Flora brought us a great dish of wild strawberries.
These we sopped in our wine and tasted at our ease, there by the open windows, where a soft wind blew the curtains and the far-spreading azure waters sparkled in the sun.
How far away seemed death!
I looked out upon the mountains, now a pale cobalt tint, and their peaks all denting the sky like blue waves on Lake Erie against the horizon.
Low over the Vlaie Water flapped a giant heron, which alighted not far away and stood like a sentry, motionless at his post.
A fresh, wild breath of blossoms grew upon the breeze—the enchanting scent of pinxters. From the mainland, high on a sugar-maple's spire, came the sweet calling of a meadow-lark.
Truly, war seemed far away; and death farther still in this dear Northland of ours. And I fell a-thinking there that if kings could only see this land on such a day, and smell the pinxters, and hear the sweetened whistle of our lark, there would be no war here, no slavery, no strife where liberty and freedom were the very essence of the land and sky.
My Lady Johnson wished to rest; and there was a romance out of France awaiting her in gilt binding in her chamber.
She went, when the board was cleared, linking her arm in Claudia's.
Penelope took up her knitting with a faint smile at me.
"Will you tell me a story to amuse me, sir?" she said in her shy way.
"You shall tell me one," said I.
"I? What story?"
"Some story you have lived."
"I told you all."
"No," said I, "not any story concerning this very pest of suitors which plague you—or, if not you, then me!—as the suitors of the first Penelope plagued Telemachus."
Now she was laughing, and, at one moment, hid her face in her yarn, still laughing.
"Does this plague you, John Drogue?" she asked, still all rosy in her mirth.
"Well," said I, "they all seem popinjays to me in their blue and gold and buff. But it was once red-coats, too, at Caughnawaga, or so I hear."
"Oh. Did you hear that?"
"I did. They sat like flies around a sap-pan."
"Deary me!" she exclaimed, all dimples, "who hath gossiped of me at Cayadutta Lodge?"
"Penelope?"
"I am attentive, sir."
"I suppose all maids enjoy admiration."
"I suppose so."
"Hum! And do you?"
"La, sir! I am a maid, also."
"And enjoy it?"
"Yes, sir.... Do not you?"
"What?"
"Do not you enjoy admiration? Is admiration displeasing to young men?"
"Well—no," I admitted. "Only it is well to be armed with experience—hum-hum!—and discretion when one encounters the flattery of admiration."
"Yes, sir.... Are you so armed, Mr. Drogue?"
At a loss to answer, her question being unexpected—as were many of her questions—and answers also—I finally admitted that flattery was a subtle foe and that perhaps experience had not wholly armed me against that persuasive enemy.
"Nor me," said she, with serene candour. "And I fear that I lack as much in knowledge and experience as I do in years, Mr. Drogue. For I think no evil, nor perhaps even recognize it when I meet it, deeming the world kind, and all folk unwilling to do me a wrong."
"I—kissed you."
"Was that a wrong you did me?"
"Have not others kissed you?" said I, turning red and feeling mean.
But she laughed outright, telling me that it concerned herself and not me what she chose to let her lips endure. And I saw she was a very child, all unaccustomed, yet shyly charmed by flatteries, and already vaguely aware that men found her attractive, and that she also was not disinclined toward men, nor averse to their admiration.
"How many write you verses?" I asked uneasily.
"Gentlemen are prone to verses. Is it unbecoming of me to encourage them to verse?"
"Why, no...."
"Did you think the verses fine you heard in the orchard?"
"Oh, yes," said I, carelessly, "but smacking strong of Major André's verses to his several Sacharissas."
"Oh. I thought them fine."
"And all men think you fine, I fear—from that soldier who pricked your name on his powder-horn at Mayfield fort to Bully Jock Gallopaway of the Border Horse at Caughnawaga, and our own little Jack-boots in the orchard yonder."
"Only Jack Drogue dissents," she murmured, bending over her knitting.
At that I caught her white hand and kissed it; and she blushed and sat smiling in absent fashion at the water, while I retained it.
"You use me sans façon," she murmured at last. "Do you use other women so?"
Now, I had used some few maids as wilfully, but none worse, yet had no mind to admit it, nor yet to lie.
"You ask me questions," said I, "but answer none o' mine."
At that her gay smile broke again. "What a very boy," quoth she, "to be Laird o' Northesk! For it is cat's-cradle talk between us two, and give and take to no advancement. Will you tell me, my lord, if it gives you pleasure to touch my lips?"
"Yes," said I. "Does it please you, too?"
"I wonder," says she, and was laughing again out of half-shy eyes at me.
But, ere I could speak again, comes an express a-galloping; and we saw him dismount at the mainland gate and come swiftly across the orchard.
"My orders," said I, and went to the edge of the veranda.
The letter he handed me was from Colonel Dayton. It commended me, enjoined secrecy, approved my Oneidas and my Saguenay, but warned me to remain discreetly silent concerning these red auxiliaries, because General Schuyler did not approve our employing savages.
Further, he explained, several full companies of Rangers had now been raised and were properly officered and distributed for employment. Therefore, though I was to retain my commission, he preferred that I command my present force as a scout, and not attempt to recruit a Ranger company.
"For," said he, "we have great need of such a scout under an officer who, like yourself, has been Brent-Meester in these forests."
However, the letter went on to say, I was ordered to remain on the Sacandaga trail with my scout of ten until relieved, and in the meanwhile a waggon with pay, provisions, and suitable clothing for my men, and additional presents for my Indians, was already on its way.
I read the letter very carefully, then took my tinder-box and struck fire with flint and steel, blowing the moss to a glow. To this I touched the edge of my letter, and breathed on the coal till the paper flamed, crinkled, fell in black flakes, and was destroyed.
For a few moments I stood there, considering, then dismissed the express; but still stood a-thinking.
And it seemed to me that there was indecision in my commander's letter, where positive and virile authority should have breathed action from every line.
I know, now, that Colonel Dayton proved to be a most excellent officer of Engineers, later in our great war for liberty. But I think now, and thought then, that he lacked that energy and genius which meets with vigour such a situation as was ours in Tryon County.... God knows to what sublime heights Willett soared in the instant agony of black days to come!... And comparisons are odious, they say.... So Colonel Dayton occupied Johnstown, garrisoned Summer House Point and Fish House, and was greatly embarrassed what to do with his prisoner, Lady Johnson.... A fine, brave, loyal officer—who made us very good forts.
But, oh, for the dead of Tryon!—and the Valley in ashes from end to end; and the whole sky afire!—Lord! Lord!—what sights I have lived to see, and seeing, lived to tell!
My memories outstrip my quill.
So, when I came out of my revery, I turned and walked back slowly to Penelope, who lifted her eyes in silence, clasping her fair hands over idle needles.
"I go back tonight," said I.
"To the forest?"
"To the trail by the Drowned Lands."
"Will you come soon again?"
"Do you wish it?"
"Why, yes, John Drogue," she said; and I saw the smile glimmer ere it dawned.
And now comes my Lady Johnson and her Abagail for a dish of tea on the veranda, where a rustic table was soon spread by Colas, very fine in his scarlet waistcoat and a new scratch-wig.
Now, to tea, comes sauntering our precious plague of suitors, one by one, and two by two, from the camp on the mainland. And all around they sit them down—with ceremony, it's true, but their manners found no favour with me either. And I thought of Ulysses, and of the bow that none save he could bend.
Well, there was ceremony, as I say, and some subdued gaiety, not too marked, in deference to Lady Johnson's political condition.
There was tea, which our officers and I forbore to taste, making a civil jest of refusal. But there was an eggnog for us, and a cooled punch, and a syllabub and cakes.
Toward sundown a young officer brought his fiddle from camp and played prettily enough.
Others sang in acceptable harmony a catch or two, and a romantic piece for concerted voices, which I secretly thought silly, yet it pleased Lady Johnson.
Then, at Claudia's request, Penelope sang a French song made in olden days. And I thought it a little sad, but very sweet to hear there in the gathering dusk.
Other officers came up in the growing darkness, paid their respects, tasted the punch. Candles glimmered in the Summer House. Shadowy forms arrived and departed or wandered over the grassy slope along the water.
I missed Claudia. Later, I saw Penelope rise and give her hand to a man who came stalking up in a watch cloak; and presently they strolled away over the lawn, with her arm resting on his.
Major Westfall and Lady Johnson were conversing gravely on the north porch. Others, dimly visible, chatted around me or moved with sudden clank of scabbard and spur.
Penelope did not come back. At first I waited calmly enough, then with increasing impatience.
Where the devil had she gone with her Captain Spatter-dash? Claudia I presently discovered with men a-plenty around her; but Penelope was not visible. This troubled me.
So I went down to the orchard, carelessly sauntering, and not as though in search of anybody. And so encountered Penelope.
She and her young man in the watch-cloak passed me, moving slowly under the trees. He wore black spatter-dashes. And, as we saluted, it came to me that this was one of the officers from the Canajoharie Regiment; but in the starlight I knew him no better than I had by day.
"Strange," thought I, "that young Spatter-dashes seems so familiar to my eyes, yet I can not think who he may be."
Then, looking after him, I saw his comrade walking toward me from the well, and with him was Colas, with a lantern, which shined dimly on both their faces.
And, suddenly: "Why, sir!" I blurted out in astonishment, "are you not Captain Hare?"
"No, sir," said he, "my name is Sims, and I am captain in the Canajoharie militia." And he bowed civilly and walked on, Colas following with the lantern, leaving me there perplexed and still standing with lifted cap in hand.
I put it on, pondered for a space, striving to rack my memory, for that man's features monstrously resembled Lieutenant Hare's, as I saw him at supper that last night at Johnson Hall, when he came there with Hiokatoo and Stevie Watts, and that Captain Moucher, whom I knew a little and trusted less, for all his mealy flatteries.
Well, then, I had been mistaken. It was merely a slight resemblance, if it were even that. I had not thought of Hare since that evening, and when I saw this man by lantern light, as I had seen him by candles, why, I thought he seemed like Hare.... That was all.... That certainly was all there could be to it.
Near to the lilacs, where candle light fell from the south window of the little lodge, I stumbled once again upon Penelope. And she was in Spatter-dash's arms!
For a moment I stood frozen. Then a cold rage possessed me, and God knows what a fool I had played, but suddenly a far whistle sounded from the orchard; and young Spatter-dash kisses her and starts a-running through the trees.
He had not noticed me, nor discovered my presence at all; but Penelope, in his arms, had espied me over his shoulder; and I thought she seemed not only flushed but frightened, whether by the fellow's rough ardour or my sudden apparition I could not guess.
Still cold with a rage for which there was no sensible warrant, I walked slowly to where she was standing and fumbling with her lace apron, which the callow fool had torn.
"I came to say good-bye," said I in even tones.
She extended her hand; I laid grim and icy lips to it; released it.
There was a silence. Then: "I did not wish him to kiss me," said she in an odd voice, yet steady enough.
"Your lips are your own."
"Yes.... They were yours, too, for an instant, Mr. Drogue."
"And they were Spatter-dash's, too," said I, almost stifled by my jealous rage. "Whose else they may have been I know not, and do not ask you. Good night."
She said nothing, and presently picked at her torn apron.
"Good night," I repeated.
"Good night, sir."
And so I left her, choked by I knew not what new and fierce emotions—for I desired to seek out Spatter-dash, Jack-boots, and the whole cursed crew of suitors, and presently break their assorted necks. For now I was aware that I hated these popinjays who came philandering here, as deeply as I hated to hear of the red-coat gallants at Caughnawaga.
Still a-quiver with passion, I managed, nevertheless, to make my compliments and adieux to Lady Johnson and to Claudia—felt their warm and generous clasp, answered gaily I know not what, saluted all, took a lantern that Flora fetched, and went away across the grass.
A shadow detached itself from darkness, and now my Saguenay was padding at my heels once more.
As we two came to the mainland, young Spatter-dash suddenly crossed the road in front of my lantern. Good God! Was I in my right mind! Was it Stephen Watts on whose white, boyish face my lantern glimmered for an instant? How could it be, when it meant death to catch him here?... Besides, he was in Canada with Walter Butler. What possessed me, that in young Spatter-dash I saw resemblance to Stevie Watts, and in another respectable militia officer a countenance resembling Lieutenant Hare's?
Sure my mind was obsessed tonight by faces seen that last unhappy evening at the Hall; and so I seemed to see a likeness to those men in every face I met.... Something had sure upset me.... Something, too, had suddenly awakened in me new and deep emotions, unsuspected, unfamiliar, and unwelcome.
And for the first time in my life I knew that I hated men because a woman favoured them.
We had passed through the Continental camp, my Indian and I, and were now going down among the bushes to the Vlaie Water, where lay our canoe, when, of a sudden, a man leaped from the reeds and started to run.
Instantly my Indian was on his shoulders like a tree-cat, and down went both on the soft mud, my Saguenay atop.
I cocked my rifle and poked the muzzle into the prostrate stranger's ribs, resting it so with one hand while I shined my lantern on his upturned face.
He wore a captain's uniform in the Canajoharie Regiment; and, as he stared up at me, his throat still clutched by the Saguenay, I found I was gazing upon the blotched features of Captain Moucher!
"Take your hands from his neck-cloth, cut your thrums, and make a cord to tie him," said I, in the Oneida dialect. "He will not move," I added.
It took the Indian a little while to accomplish this. I held my rifle muzzle to Moucher's ribs. Until his arms were tied fast behind him, he had not spoken to me nor I to him; but now, as he rose to his knees from the mud and then staggered upright, I said to him:
"This is like to be a tragic business for you, Captain Moucher."
He winced but made no reply.
"I am sorry to see you here," I added.
"Do you mean to murder me?" he asked hoarsely.
"I mean to question you," said I. "Be good enough to step into that canoe."
The Indian and I held the frail craft. Moucher stepped into it, stumbling in the darkness and trembling all over.
"Sit down on the bottom, midway between bow and stern!"
He took the place as I directed.
"Take the bow paddle," said I to Yellow Leaf. "Also loosen your knife."
And when he was ready, I shoved off, straddled the stern, and, kneeling, took the broad paddle.
"Captain Moucher," said I, "if you think to overturn the canoe, in hope of escape, my Indian will kill you in the water."
The canoe slid out into darkness under the high stars.