We chatted carelessly about many things, as we rode slowly onward, our unguided horses following those in advance along the well-marked trail close beside the water along the sandy beach. Mademoiselle was full of life and bubbling over with good-humor; while De Croix, having found the essentials of his toilet safe, grew witty and light of speech, even interesting me now and then in the idle words that floated to my ears,—for he managed to monopolize the attention of the young girl so thoroughly that after a little time I sat silent in my saddle, scarce adding a word to their gay tilt, my eyes and thought upon the changing scene ahead.
I know not why, as I reflect calmly upon the incidents of that morning, I should have grown so confident that the savages meant us fair; yet this feeling steadily took possession of me, and I even began to regret that I had not stayed behind in quest of her for whom I had come so far. Surely it was hopeless for me to dangle longer beside Mademoiselle, for De Croix knew so well the little ins and cuts of social intercourse that I was like a child for his play. Moreover, it was clear enough that the girl liked him, or he would never presume so to monopolize her attention. That she saw through much of his vain pretence, was indeed probable; her words had conveyed this to me. Nevertheless, it was plain she found him entertaining; he was like a glittering jewel in that rough wilderness, and I was too dull of brain and narrow of experience to hope for success against him in a struggle for the favor of a girl so fair and gay as this Toinette.
I thought the matter all out as I rode on through the sunlight, my eyes upon the painted savages who trooped along upon our right in such stolid silence and seeming indifference, my ears open to the light badinage and idle compliments of my two companions. Yes, it would be better so. When the Indians left the column at the head of the lake, I would invent some excuse that might allow me to accompany them on their return, and I would remain in the neighborhood of the Fort until Elsa Matherson had been found.
Just in front of us, a large army wain struggled along through the yielding sand, drawn by a yoke of lumbering oxen. The heavy canvas cover had been pushed high up in front, and I could see a number of women and children seated upon the bedding piled within, and looking with curious interest at the stream of Indians plodding moodily beside the wheels. Some of the little tots' faces captivated me with their expression of wide-eyed wonder, and I rode forward to speak with them; for love of children is always in my heart.
As I turned my horse to draw back beside Mademoiselle, my eyes rested upon the stockade of the old Fort, now some little distance in our rear; and to my surprise it already swarmed with savages. Not less than five hundred Indians,—warriors, all of them, and well armed,—tramped as guards beside our long and scattered column, yet hundreds of others were even now overrunning the mound and pouring in at the Fort gates, eager for plunder. I could hear their shouting, their fierce yells of exultation, while the grim and silent fellows who accompanied us never so much as glanced around, although I caught here and there the glint of a cruel, crafty eye. The sight made me wonder; and I swung my long rifle out from the straps at my back down across the pommel of my saddle, more ready to my hand.
The trail we had been following now swerved nearer the lake, deflected somewhat by a long high ridge of beaten sand, separating the shore from the prairie. Here the two advancing lines of white and red diverged, the Indians moving around to the western side of the sand-ridge, while Captain Wells and his Miami scouts continued their march along the beach. There was nothing about this movement to awaken suspicion of treachery, for the beach at this point had narrowed too much for so great a number moving abreast, and it was therefore only natural that our allies should seek a wider space for their marching, knowing they could easily reunite with us a mile or so below, where the beach broadened again. Their passing thus from our sight was a positive relief; and so quiet did everything become, except for groaning wheels and the heavy tread of horses, that Mademoiselle glanced up in surprise.
"Why, what has become of the Indians?" she questioned. "Have they already left us?"
I pointed to the intervening sand-ridge.
"They move parallel with us, but prefer to walk upon the prairie grass rather than these beach pebbles. For my part, I would willingly dispense with their guard altogether; for in my judgment we are of sufficient strength to defend ourselves."
"Ay, strong enough against savages," interposed De Croix, his eyes upon the straggling line ahead; "yet if by any chance treachery was intended, surely I never saw military formation less adapted for repelling sudden attack. Mark how those fellows march out yonder!—all in a bunch, and with not so much as a corporal's guard to protect the wagons!"
I was no soldier then, and knew little of military formation; but his criticism seemed just, and I ventured not upon answering it. Indeed, at that very moment some confusion far in front, where Captain Wells led his scouts, attracted my attention. We must have been a mile and a half from the Fort by this time, and I recalled to memory the little group of trees standing beside the trail where we had halted on our journey westward to enjoy our earliest glimpse of Dearborn. At first I could make out little of what was taking place ahead; then suddenly I saw the squad of Miamis break hastily, like a cloud swept by a whirling wind, and the next instant could clearly distinguish Captain Wells riding swiftly back toward the column of infantry, his head bare, and one arm gesticulating wildly. In a moment the whole line came to a startled and wondering pause.
"What is it?" questioned Mademoiselle anxiously, shading her eyes."Have the Indians attacked us?"
"God knows!" I exclaimed, clinching my rifle firmly. "But it must be,—look there!"
Wheeling rapidly into line, as if at command, although we could hear no sound of the order, the soldiers poured one quick volley into the sand-ridge on their right, and then, with a cheer which floated faintly back to us, made a wild rush for the summit. This was all I saw of the struggle in front,—for, with a cry of dismay, the Miamis composing the rearguard broke from their posts beside the wagons and came running back past us in a panic of wild terror. I saw Sergeant Jordan throw himself across their line of flight, striking fiercely with his gun, and cursing them for a pack of cowardly hounds; but he was thrown helplessly aside in their blind rush for safety.
"Wayland! De Croix!" he shouted, staggering to his knees, "help me stop these curs, if you would save our lives!"
It was a fool thing, yet in the excitement I did it, and De Croix was beside me. Two or three of the settlers on foot rallied with us, and together we struck so hard against those cowering renegades that for the moment we held them, though their fear gave them desperation difficult to withstand. I recall noticing De Croix, as he pressed his rearing horse into the huddled mass, lashing at the faces of the fellows mercilessly with his riding-whip, as if thinking Mademoiselle would admire his reckless gallantry.
A wild yell, with the mad thrill of the war-whoop in it, suddenly assailed our ears; the Miamis broke to the left like a flock of frightened birds, and my startled glance revealed a horde of naked Indians, howling like maniacs, and with madly brandished weapons, pouring over the sand-ridge not thirty feet away from us. With a shout of warning, which was half a curse at my own mad folly, I drove the spurs deep into my horse's side in a vain endeavor to fling myself between them and the girl. Hardly had the startled animal made one quick plunge, when we were locked in that human avalanche as if gripped by a vise of steel. A dozen dark hands grasped my bridle or clutched at me, their swarthy faces fierce with blood-lust, the eyes that fronted me cruel with passion and inflamed by hate. I heard shots not far away; but we were all too closely jammed to do more than fight in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with club and knife.
The saddle is a poor place from which to swing a rifle, yet I stood high in my wooden stirrups and struck madly at every Indian head I saw, battering their faces till from the very horror of it they gave slowly back. I won a yard—two yards—three,—my horse biting viciously at their naked flesh, and lashing out with both fore-feet like a fiend, while I swept my gun-stock in a widening circle of death. For the moment, I dreamed we might drive them back; but then those devils blocked me, clinging to my horse's legs in their death agony, and laughing back into my face as I struck them down.
Once I heard De Croix swearing in French beside me, and glanced around through the mad turmoil to see him cutting and hacking with broken blade, pushing into the midst of the mêlée as if he had real joy in the encounter. While I thus had him in view, a knife whistled through the air, there was a quick dazzle in the sunlight, and he reeled backward off his horse and disappeared in the ruck below.
Never in a life of fighting have I battled as I did then, feeling that I alone might hope to reach her side and beat back these foul fiends till help should come to us. The stock of my rifle shattered like glass; but I swung the iron barrel with what seemed to me the strength of twenty men, striking, thrusting, stabbing, my teeth set, my eyes blurring with a mist of blood, caring for nothing except to hit and kill. I know not now whether I advanced at all in that last effort, though my horse trod on dead bodies. Only once in those awful seconds did I gain a glimpse of Mademoiselle through the mist of struggle, the maze of uplifted arms and striking steel. She had reined her horse back against a wheel of the halted wagon, and with white face and burning eyes was lashing desperately with the loaded butt of her riding-whip at the red hands which sought to drag her from the saddle.
The sight maddened me, and again my spurs were driven into my horse's flanks. As he plunged forward, some one from behind struck me a crushing blow across the back of the head, and I reeled from my saddle, a red mist over my eyes, and went hurling face downward upon the mass of reeling, tangled bodies.
The fierce plunging of my horse in his death agony, and his final pitching forward across my prostrate body, were doubtless all that saved my life. Yielding to their mad desire for plunder, the savages scattered when I fell, and left me lying there for dead. I do not think I quite lost consciousness in those first moments, although everything became blurred to my sight, and I was imprisoned by the weight above me so that the slightest effort to move proved painful; indeed, I breathed only with the greatest difficulty.
But I both heard and saw, and my mind was intensely occupied with the rush of thought, the horror of all that was going on about me. How I wish I might blot it out,—forget forever the hellish deeds of those dancing devils who made mock of human agony and laughed at tears and prayers! It was plain, as the wild cries of rejoicing rose on every side, that the Indians had swept the field. The distant sound of firing ceased, and I could hear the pitiful cries of women, the frightened shrieks of children, the shrill note of intense agony wrung from tortured lips. Close beside me lay a dead warrior, his hideously painted face, with its wide, glaring, dead eyes, so fronting me that I had left only a narrow space through which to peer. Within that small opening I saw murder done until I closed my eyes in shuddering horror, crazed by my own sense of helplessness, and feeling the awful fate that must already have befallen her I loved. God knows I had then no faintest wish to live; nor did I dream that I should see the sun go down that day. Death was upon every side of me, in its most dreadful forms; and every cry that reached my ears, every sight that met my eyes, only added to the frightful reality of my own helplessness. The inert weight of the horse stifled me so that I drew my short breath almost in sobs; nor did I dare venture upon the slightest attempt at release, hemmed about as I was by merciless fiends now hideously drunk with slaughter. Once I heard a man plead for mercy, shrieking the words forth as if his intensity of agony had robbed him of all manliness; I saw a young woman fall headlong, the haft of a tomahawk cleaving open her head, as a brawny red arm gripped her by the throat; a child, with long yellow hair, and face distorted by terror, ran past my narrow outlook, a naked savage grasping after her scarcely a foot behind. I heard her wild scream of despair and his shout of triumph as he struck her down. Then I lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the multiplying horrors of that field of blood.
It is hard to tell how long I lay there, or by what miracle of God's great mercy I had escaped death and mutilation. It was still day, the sun was high in the heaven, and the heat almost intolerable, beating down upon the dry and glittering sand. I could distinguish no sound near at hand, not even a moan of any kind. The human forms about me were stiffening in death; nor did any skulking Indian figures appear in sight.
From away to the northward I could hear the echo of distant yelling; and as I lay there, every faculty alert, I became more and more convinced that the savages who had attacked us had withdrawn, and that I alone of all that fated company was preserved, through some strange dispensation of Providence, for what might prove a more terrible fate than any on that stricken field. With this thought there was suddenly born within me a fresh desire for life, a mad thirsting after revenge on those red demons whose merciless work I had been compelled to see. Yet if I hoped to preserve my life, I must have water and air; a single hour longer in my present situation could only result in death. Fortunately, such relief, now that I felt free to exert myself and seek it, was not so difficult as it had seemed. The heavy horse rested upon other bodies as well as my own, so that, little by little, I succeeded in dragging myself out from beneath his weight, until I was finally able to lift my head and glance cautiously about me.
I pause now as I sit writing, my face buried in my hands, at the memory of that dreadful field of death. I cannot picture it, nor have I wish to try. I took one swift glimpse at the riven skulls, the mangled limbs, the mutilated bodies, the upturned pleading faces white and ghastly in the sunlight, the women and children huddled in heaps of slain, the seemingly endless line of disfigured, half-stripped bodies stretching far down the white beach; then I fell upon my face in the sand, sobbing like a baby. O God, how could such deeds be done? How could creatures shaped like men prove themselves such fiends, such hideous devils of malignity? It sickened me with horror, and I shrank from those dead bodies as if each had been a grim and threatening ghost.
Necessity presently overcame the dread possessing me; and slowly, seeking to see no more than I must of the awful scenes about me, I struggled to my knees, and peered around cautiously for signs of skulking Indians. Not a living creature was near enough to observe me. To the northward the savages were swarming about the Fort, and it was evident that they had left everything to search for plunder. My uncovered head throbbed under the hot sun, and my hair was thick with clotted blood; scarce a hundred feet away was the blue lake, and on my hands and knees I crawled across the beach to it, forgetful of everything else in my desire to roll in the cool sweet water.
I realized that it would be far safer for me to remain there until darkness shrouded my movements; but I felt so revived by the touch of the water that the old desire for action overcame considerations of personal safety. Before night came I must somehow gain possession of a rifle, with powder and ball; and I must discover, if possible, the fate of Mademoiselle. I cannot describe how, like a frightened child, I shrank from going again amid those mutilated corpses. I started twice, only to crawl back into the water, nerveless and shaking like the leaf of a cottonwood. I knew it must be done, and that the sooner I attempted it the safer would be the trial; so at last, with set teeth and almost superhuman effort, I crept up the beach among the silent, disfigured dead once more.
With little trouble I found the wagon against which I had seen Mademoiselle draw back her horse in that last desperate defence. It was overturned, scorched with flame, its contents widely scattered; while about it lay the bodies of men, women, and children. A single hasty glance at most of these was sufficient; but a few were so huddled and hidden that I was compelled to move them before I thoroughly convinced myself that Mademoiselle was not there. I finally found her horse, several rods away, lying against the sand-ridge; but she whose body I sought with such fond persistency was not among those mangled forms.
Faint and sick from the awful scene, with head throbbing painfully, I sank down upon a slope of sand where I was able to command a clear view in either direction, and thought rapidly. I was alone with the dead. Of all those lying silent before me, none would stir again. Not a savage roamed the stricken field,—though doubtless they would again swarm down upon it as soon as the sacking of the Fort had been completed. I must plan, and plan quickly, if I would preserve my own life and be of service to others. And life was worth preserving now, for there was a possibility,—faint, to be sure, yet a possibility,—that Toinette still lived. How the mere hope thrilled and animated me! how like a trumpet-sound it called to action! She had told me once of friendships between her and these blood-stained warriors; of weeks passed in Indian camps on the great plains, both with her father and alone; of being called the White Queen in the lodges of Sacs, Wyandots, and Pottawattomies. Perchance some such friendship may have intervened to save her, even in that fierce mêlée, that carnival of lust and murder. Some chief, with sufficient power to dare the deed, may have snatched her from out the jaws of death, actuated by motives of mercy,—or, more likely still, have saved her from the stroke of the tomahawk for a far more terrible fate.
This was the thought that brought me again to my feet with burning face and tightly clinched teeth. If she lived, a helpless prisoner in those black lodges yonder, there was work to be done,—stern, desperate work, that would require all my courage and resourcefulness. Firm in manly resolve, and rendered reckless now of contact with the dead, I crept back among the bodies in eager search for gun and ammunition. For a long time I sought vainly; the field had been stripped by many a vandal hand. At last, however, I turned over a painted giant of a savage whose head had been crushed with a blow, and beneath him discovered a long rifle with powder-horn half filled. As I drew it forth, uttering a cry of delight at my precious find, my eyes fell upon a pair of bronze boots, with long narrow toes, protruding from beneath a tangled mass of the slain. It was no doubt the tomb of De Croix; and without so much as a thought that he could be alive, I drew the bodies off him and dragged his form forth into the sunlight.
Merciful Heaven! his heart still beat,—so faintly, indeed, that I could barely note it with my ear at his chest. But life was surely there, and with a hasty glance about to assure me that I was unobserved, I ran to the lake shore. I returned with hat full of water, with which I thoroughly drenched him, rubbing his numbed hands fiercely, and thumping his chest until at last the closed eyes partially opened, and he looked up into my anxious face, gasping painfully for breath. His lips moved as I lifted his head in my arms; and I bent lower, not certain but he was dying and had some last message he would whisper in my ear.
"Wayland," he faltered feebly, "is this you? Lord, how my head aches!Send Sam to me with the hand-mirror and the perfumed soap."
"Hush!" I answered, almost angry at his flippant utterance. "Sam is no doubt dead, and you and I alone are spared of all the company. Do you suffer greatly? Think you it would be possible to walk?"
"I have much pain here in the side," he said slowly, "and am yet weak from loss of blood. All dead, you say? Is Toinette dead?"
"I know not, but I have not found her body among the others, and believe her to be a prisoner to the savages. But, come, De Croix," I urged, anxiously, "we run great risk loitering here; there is but one safe spot for us until after dark,—yonder, crouched in the waters of the lake. The Indians may return at any moment to complete their foul work; and for us to be found alive means torture,—most likely the stake,—and will remove the last hope for Mademoiselle. Think you it can be made if you lean hard on me?"
"Sacre! 't will not be because I do not try, Master Wayland," he answered, his voice stronger now that he could breathe more freely, and with much of his old audacity returned. "Help me to make the start, friend, for every joint in my body seems rusty."
His face was white and drawn from agony, and he pressed one hand upon his side, while perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. But no moan came from his set lips; and when he rested a moment on his knees, looking about him upon the dead, a look of grim approval swept into his eyes.
"Saint Guise, Wayland," he said soberly, "'t was a master fight, and the savages had it not all their own way!"
It made me sick to hear such boasting amidst the horror that yet overwhelmed me, and I drew the fellow up to his feet with but little tenderness.
"God knows 't is sad enough!" I answered, shortly. "Come, there are parties of Indians already straying this way from the Fort yonder, and it behooves us to get in hiding."
He made the distance between us and the water with far less difficulty than I had expected, and with a better use of his limbs at each step. In spite of vigorous protest on his part, I forced him out from the shore until the water entirely covered us, save only our faces; and there we waited for the merciful coming of the night.
The touch of the water brought renewed life to De Croix. This was shown by the brighter color stealing into his cheeks, as well as by the more careless tone that crept into his voice. The lake proved shallow for some considerable distance off shore, and I compelled the Frenchman to wade with me southward, and as far out as we dared venture, until we must have reached the extreme limit of the field of massacre. Indeed, I fully believed we had passed beyond the point where the attack had first burst upon Captain Wells's Miamis; for I could perceive no sign of any bodies lying opposite us against the white background of sand. As the night drew on, squads of savages wandered over the scene of slaughter, despoiling the stiffening corpses, and taking from the wagons whatever might suit their fancy. Yet we were now so far removed that we could distinguish little of their deeds, although the sound of their voices echoed plainly enough across the water to our ears.
As time passed, the numbness that had paralyzed my brain, either from the cruel blow that felled me or the terrible shock my nerves had experienced, gradually passed away, and our situation became more vivid to my mind. I thought again of all who had gone forth that morning filled with hope and life. I had, it is true, known none of them long, but there were many in that ill-fated company who had already grown dear to me, and one was among them who I now knew beyond all question was to remain in my heart forever.
I recalled the faces one by one, with some tender memory for each in turn. I thought of the brave Captain Wells, with his swarthy face, and Indian training, who had proved himself so truly my friend for my father's sake; of Captain Heald, the typical bluff soldier of the border, ready to sacrifice everything to what he deemed his duty; of Lieutenant Helm, grave of face and calm of speech, always so thoughtful of his sweet girl bride; and of young Ronan, loyal of heart and impetuous of deed, whose frank manliness had so drawn me to him. And now all these brave, true comrades were dead! Only five or six hours ago I had spoken with them, had ridden by their side; now they lay motionless yonder, stricken down by the basest treachery, their poor bodies hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition. I could scarcely realize the awful truth; it rested upon me like some horrible dream, from which I knew I must soon awaken.
But it was Mademoiselle,—Toinette, with the laughing eyes and roguish face, which yet could be so tender,—whose memory held me vibrating between constant dread and hope. Living or dead, I must know the truth concerning her, before I felt the slightest consideration for my own preservation. If I lived, it should be for her sake, not mine. Plan after plan came to me as I stood there, my face barely raised above the water level, praying for the westering sun to sink beneath the horizon. Yet all my plans were so vague, so visionary, so filled with difficulties and uncertainties, that at last I had nothing practical outlined beyond a firm determination in some way to reach the Indian camp and there learn what I could of its black secrets. I wondered whether this rash hare-brained Frenchman would aid or hinder such a purpose; and I glanced aside at him, curious to test the working of his mind in such a time of trial.
"Saint Guise!" he exclaimed, marking my look, but misinterpreting it; "the sun has gone down at last, and there seems a chill in the air where it strikes my wet skin. It is in my thought to wade ashore, Master Wayland, and seek food for our journey, as I can perceive no savages near at hand."
"It will be safer if we wait here another half-hour," I answered, almost inclined to smile at the queer figure he cut, with his long, wet hair hanging down his shoulders. Then I added, "What journey do you contemplate?"
He gazed at me, his face full of undisguised amazement.
"What journey? Why, Mon Dieu! to the eastward, of course! Surely you have no wish to linger in this pleasant spot?"
"And is that the way of a French soldier?" I asked, almost angrily. "I thought you made the journey westward, Monsieur, for the sake of one you professed greatly to admire; and now you confess yourself willing to leave her here to the mercy of these red wolves. Is this the way of it?"
I spoke the words coolly, and they cut him to the quick. His face flushed and his eyes flashed with anger; yet I faced him quietly, though I doubt not I should have felt his hand upon me had we been better circumstanced for struggle.
"How know you she lives?" he asked sullenly, eying the rifle I still held across my shoulder.
"I do not know, Monsieur, except that her body is not upon the field yonder; but I will know before I leave, or give my life in the search. And if you really loved her as you professed to do, you would dream of nothing less."
"Love her?" he echoed, his gaze upon the sand, now partially obscured in the descending twilight. "Sacre! I truly thought I did, for the girl certainly has beauty and wit, and wove a spell about me in Montreal. But she has become as a wild bird out here, and is a most perplexing vixen, laughing at my protestations, so that indeed I hardly know whether it would be worth the risk to stay."
Hateful and selfish as these words sounded, and much as I longed to strike the lips that uttered them so coolly, yet their utterance brought a comfort to my heart, and I stared at the fellow, biting my tongue to keep back the words of disgust I felt.
"So this is the measure of your French gallantry, Monsieur! I am sincerely glad my race holds a different conception of the term. Then you will leave me here?"
"Leave you?Sacre! how could I ever hope to find my way alone through the wilderness? 'T would be impossible. Yet why should we stay here? What can you and I hope to accomplish in so mad a search amid all these savages? You speak harsh words,—words that under other conditions I should make you answer for with the sword; but what is the good of it all? You know I am no coward; I can fight if there be need; yet to my mind no help can reach Toinette through us, while to remain here longer is no less than suicide."
I saw he was in earnest, and I felt there was much truth in his words, however little they affected my own determination.
"As you please, Monsieur," I answered coldly, turning from him and slowly wading ashore. "With me 't is not matter for argument. I seek Mademoiselle. You are at perfect liberty either to accompany me or to hunt for safety elsewhere, as you wish."
I never so much as glanced behind, as I went up the beach, now shrouded in the swift-descending night; but I was aware that he kept but a step behind me. Once I heard him swear; but there was no more speaking between us, until, in the darkness, I stumbled and partially fell over a dead body outstretched upon the sand.
"A Miami, judging from the fringe of his leggings," I said briefly, from my knees. "One of the advance guard, no doubt, brought down in flight. 'T is good luck, though, De Croix, for the fellow has retained his rifle. Perchance if you be well armed also, it may yield you fresh courage."
"Parbleu! 'tis not courage I lack," he returned, with something of his old-time spirit, "but I hate greatly to yield up a chance for life on so mad an errand. More, Master Wayland, had this firearm been in my hands when you flouted me in the water yonder, your words should not have been so easily passed over."
The stars gave me a dim view of him, and there was a look in his face that caused me to feel it would be best to have our trouble settled fully, and without delay.
"Monsieur," I said sternly, laying my hand upon his shoulder, and compelling him to front me fairly, "I for one am going into danger where I shall require every resource in order to preserve my life and be of service to others. I have already told you that I care not whether you accompany me or no. But this I say: we part here, or else you journey with me willingly, and with no more veiled threats or side looks of treachery."
"I meant no harm."
"Then act the part of a man, Monsieur, and cease your grumbling. The very life of Mademoiselle may hang upon our venture; and if you ever interfere or obstruct my purpose, I will kill you as I would a dog. You understand that, Monsieur de Croix; now, will you go or stay?"
He looked about him into the lonely, desolate shadows, and I could see him shrug his shoulders.
"I go with you, of course.Sacre! but I have small choice in the matter; 't would be certain death otherwise, for I know not east from west in this blind waste of sand."
I turned abruptly from him, and strode forward across the sand-ridge out into the short prairie grass beyond, shaping my course westward by the stars. However revengeful the Frenchman might feel at my plain speaking, I felt no hesitancy in trusting him to follow, as his life depended upon my guidance through the wilderness.
My mind by this time was fairly settled upon our first movement. The only spot that gave promise of a safe survey of the Indian camp, where doubtless such prisoners as there were would be held, I felt sure would be found amid the shadows of the west bank of that southerly stream along which the lodges were set up. From that vantage point, if from any, I should be able to judge how best to proceed on the perilous mission of rescue.
While we were feeling our way forward through the darkness, a great burst of flame soared high into the northern sky, the red light radiating far abroad over the prairie, until even our creeping figures cast faint shadows on the level plain.
"Saint Guise! They have set fire to the Fort!" exclaimed De Croix, halting and gazing anxiously northward.
"Ay, either to that or to the agency building," I answered. "It was not there I expected to find the prisoners, but rather hidden among those black lodges yonder whence all the shouting comes. 'T is torture, De Croix, which has so aroused those devils; and it will soon enough prove our turn to entertain them, if we linger long within this glare."
"You have a plan, then?"
"Only a partial one at present,—'t is to put the safeguard of the river between us and those yelling fiends. Beyond that it will all be the guidance of God."
The stream proved to be a narrow one, and the current was not swift. We crossed it easily enough, without wetting our stock of powder, and found the western bank somewhat darkened by the numerous groups of small stunted trees that lined it. I moved with extreme caution now, for each step brought us in closer proximity to those infuriated tribesmen who were holding mad carnival in the midst of their lodges. I felt sure that our pathway along the western shore was clear, for the most astute chief among them would hardly look for the approach of enemies from that quarter; but I was enough of a frontiersman not to neglect any ordinary precautions, and so we crept like snakes along at the water's edge, under the shadow of the bank, until much of the wild scene in the village opposite was revealed to our searching eyes.
It was a mad saturnalia, half light, half shadow, amid which the fierce figures of the painted warriors passed and repassed in drunken frenzy, making night hideous with savage clamor and frenzied gesticulations. I would have crept on farther, seeking a place for crossing unobserved, had not De Croix suddenly grasped me by the leg. As I turned, the play of the flames from across the water struck upon his white face, and I could read thereon a terror that held him motionless.
"For Christ's sake, let us go!" he urged, in an agonized whisper, "See what those demons are about to do! I fear not battle, Wayland, as you know; but the scene yonder unmans me."
It is hard for me to describe now what then I saw. The entire centre of the great encampment was brightly lit by a huge blazing fire, around which hundreds of Indians were gathered, leaping and shouting in their frenzy, while above the noise of their discordant voices we could distinguish the flat notes of the wooden drum, the dull pounding of which reminded me of the solemn tolling of a funeral bell. What atrocities had been going on, I know not; but as we gazed across at them in shuddering horror, forth from the entrance of a lodge a dozen painted warriors drove a white man, stripped to the waist, his hands bound behind him. As he stumbled forward, a bevy of squaws lashed him with corded whips. I caught one glimpse of his face in the light of the flames; it was that of a young soldier I recalled having seen the evening before within the Fort, playing a violin. He was a brave lad, and although his face was pale and drawn by suffering, he fronted the crazed mob that buffeted him with no sign of fear, his eyes roving about as if still seeking some possible avenue of escape. Once he sprang suddenly aside, tripping a giant brave who grasped him, and disappeared amid the lodges, only to be dragged forth a moment later and pushed forward, horribly beaten with clubs at every step.
On a sudden, that shrieking, undulating crowd fell away, and we could see the young man standing alone, bound to a stake, his body leaning forward as if held to its erect posture merely by the bonds. The limp drooping of his head made me think him already unconscious, possibly dead from some chance fatal blow; but as the flames burst out in a roar at his feet, and shot up, red and glaring, to his waist, he gave utterance to one terrible cry of agony, and it seemed to me I gazed fairly into his tortured eyes and could read their pitiful appeal. Twice I raised my rifle, the sight upon his heart,—but durst not fire. No consideration of my own peril held back the pressure of the trigger,—'twas the remembrance of Mademoiselle. It was beyond my strength of will to withstand such strain long.
"Come," I groaned to De Croix, my hands pressed tightly over my eyes to shut out the sight, "it will craze us both to stay here longer, nor dare we aid the poor fellow even by a shot."
He lay face downward on the soft mud of the bank, and I had to shake him before he so much as moved. We crept on together, until we came out through the thick bushes into the open prairie, and faced each other, our lips white and our bodies shaking with the horror of what we had just seen.
"Mon Dieu!" he faltered, "'twill forever haunt me."
"It has greatly undone me," I answered, striving to control my voice, for I felt the necessity of coolness if I hoped to command him; "but if we would save her from meeting a like fate, we must remain men."
"Then, for God's sake, find some spot where I may rest for an hour," he urged. "My brain seems reeling, and I fear it will give way it I remain in sight or sound of such horrors."
In spite of all I had seen, it was still my desire to creep in among the deserted lodges while darkness shrouded the outermost of them; but I felt that some safe hiding-place must first be found for my companion. To attempt to take him with me while in such a nervous state would be only to invite disaster.
"De Croix," I asked, "know you if the Indians have destroyed the house that stood by the fork of the north river, where the settler Ouilmette lived?"
"I marked it through Lieutenant Helm's field-glass yesterday. 'T is partially burned, yet the walls still stand."
"Then 't will serve us most excellently to hide in, for there will be naught left within likely to attract marauders. Think you that you could find it through the night?"
He looked at me, and it was easy to see his nerves were on edge.
"Alone?" he gasped brokenly. "My God, no!"
There was seemingly no way out of it, for it would have been little short of murder to leave him alone on that black prairie, nor would harsh words have greatly mended matters. We were fully an hour at it, creeping cautiously along behind the scattered bushes until we passed the forks and swam the river's northerly branch. The action did him good, and greatly helped to steady my own nerves, as the uproar of the savages died steadily away behind us.
At last we came out upon a slight knoll, and found ourselves close beside the low charred walls of what remained of Ouilmette's log-cabin. 'T was a most gloomy and desolate spot, but quiet enough, with never the rustle of a leaf to awake the night, or startle us.
"Have you got back your nerve, Monsieur?" I asked, as we paused before the dark outline, "or must I also help you to explore within?"
"'T is not shadows that terrify me," he answered, no doubt thoroughly ashamed of his weakness, and eager to make amends; "nor is it likely that anything to affright me greatly is behind these walls."
I lay prone in the grass at the corner of the cabin, my eyes fixed upon the distant Indian village, where I could yet plainly distinguish numberless black figures dodging about between me and the flames; while further to the east, the greater blaze of the Fort buildings lighted up, in a wide arc, the deserted prairie. I gave little consideration to De Croix's exploit,—indeed, I had almost forgotten it, when suddenly the fellow sprang backward out of the open door, a cry of wild terror upon his lips, and his hands outstretched as it to ward off some unearthly vision.
"Mon Dieu!" he sobbed hoarsely, falling upon his knees. "'T was the face of Marie!"
He acted so like a crazed man, grovelling face downward in the grass, that I had to hold him, fearful lest his noise might attract attention from our enemies.
"Be quiet, De Croix!" I commanded sternly, my hand hard upon him, my eyes peering through the darkness to determine if possible the cause for his mysterious fright. "What is it that has so driven you out of your senses?"
He half rose, staring back at the black shadow of the dim doorway, his face white as chalk in the starlight and faint glare of the distant fires.
"'T was the face of a dead woman," he gasped, pointing forward, "there, just within the door! I saw her buried three years ago, I swear; yet, God be merciful! she awaited me yonder in the gloom."
"Pish!" I exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted at his weakness, and rising to my feet. "Your nerves are unstrung by what we have been through, and you dream of the dead."
"It is not so!" he protested, his voice faltering pitifully; "I saw her, Monsieur,—nor was she once this day in my thought until that moment."
"Well, I shall soon know if there is a ghost within," I answered shortly, determined to make quick end of it. "Remain here, while I go into the house and see what I can find."
For a moment he clung to me like a frightened child; but I shook off his hands a bit roughly, and stepped boldly across the threshold. That was an age when faith in ghostly visitations yet lingered to harass the souls of men. I confess my heart beat more rapidly than usual, as I paused an instant to peer through the shadowy gloom within. It was a small, low room, with a litter of broken furniture strewing the earthen floor; but the log walls were quite bare. The flicker of the still blazing Fort illuminated the interior sufficiently to enable me to make out these simple details, and to see that the place was without living occupant.
There was only one other apartment in the building, and I walked back until I came upon the door which separated the two, and flung it open. As I did so I thought I saw a shadow, the dim flitting of a woman's form between me and the farther wall; but as I sprang hastily forward, grasping after the spectral vision, I touched nothing save the rough logs. Twice I made the circuit of that restricted space, so confident was I of my own eye-witness; but I found nothing, and could only pause perplexed, staring about in wonder.
It occurred to me that my own overtaxed nerves were at fault, and that if I was to accomplish anything before daylight I must say nothing likely to alarm De Croix further.
"Come, Monsieur!" I said, as I came out and shook him into attention, "there is naught within more dangerous than shadows, or perchance a rat. Nor have I any time longer to dally over such boyishness. I had supposed you a soldier and a brave man, not a nerveless girl to be frightened in the dark. Come, there is ample hiding-space behind the walls, and I purpose leaving you here to regain some measure of your lost courage while I try a new venture of my own."
"Where go you?"
"To learn if I may gain entrance to the Indian camp unobserved. There can be no better time than while they are occupied yonder."
He looked uneasily about him into the dark corners, shuddering.
"I would rather go with you," he protested, weakly. "I have not the heart to remain here alone."
"Nevertheless, here you stay," I retorted shortly, thoroughly exasperated by his continued childishness; "you are in no spirit to meet the perils yonder. Conquer your foolishness, Monsieur, for I know well 't is not part of your nature so to exhibit fear."
"'T is naught alive that I so shrink from; never have I been affrighted of living man."
"True; nor have I ever found the dead able greatly to harm. But now I go forth to a plain duty, and you must wait me here."
I did not glance back at him, although I knew he had sunk dejected on a bench beside the door; but with careful look at the priming of my rifle, I stepped forth into the open, and started down the slight slope leading to the river. A fringe of low, straggling trees hid my movements from observation by possible watchers along the southern bank; nor could I perceive with any definiteness what was going on there. The fires had died down somewhat, and I thought the savage yelling and clamor were considerably lessened.
I confess I went forward hesitatingly, and was doubtful enough about the outcome; but I saw no other means by which I might hope to locate Mademoiselle definitely, and I valued my own life now only as it concerned hers. The selfish cowardice of De Croix—if cowardice it truly was—served merely to stir me to greater recklessness and daring, and I felt ready to venture all if I might thereby only pluck her from the grasp of those red fiends. As I crept through the fringe of bushes which lined the bank, my eyes were on the darkened upper extremity of the Indian camp, and all my thoughts were concentrated upon a plan of entrance to it. I may have been somewhat careless, for I had no conception of any serious peril until after I had crossed the stream, and it certainly startled me to hear a voice at my very elbow,—a strange voice, beautifully soft and low.
"You have the movement of an Indian; yet I think you are white. What seek you here?"
I turned quickly and faced the speaker, my rifle flung forward ready for action. The light was poor enough there amid the shadows, yet the single glimpse I had told me instantly I faced the mysterious woman of the Indian camp. For a moment I made no response, held speechless by surprise; and she questioned again, almost imperatively.
"I asked, why are you here?"
"I am one, by the grace of God, spared from the massacre," I answered blindly. "But you?—I saw you within the Indian camp only last night. Surely you are not a savage?"
"That I know not. I sometimes fear the savage is part of all our natures, and that I am far removed from the divine image of my Master. But I am not an Indian, if that is what you mean. If to be white is a grace in your sight, I am of that race, though there are times when I would have been prouder to wear the darker skin. The red men kill, but they do not lie, nor deceive women. I remember you now,—you were with the White Chief from Dearborn, and tried to approach me when Little Sauk interfered. Why did you do that?"
Her manner and words were puzzling, but I knew no better way than to answer frankly.
"I sought Elsa Matherson,—are you she?"
The girl—for she could certainly have been little more—started perceptibly at the name, and bent eagerly forward, peering with new interest into my face.
"Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, dwelling upon the words as though they awoke memories. "It is indeed long since I have heard the name. Where knew you her?"
"I have never known her; but her father was my father's friend, and I sought her because of that friendship."
"Here?"
"At Fort Dearborn, where she was left an orphan."
"How strange! how very strange indeed! 'T is a small world. ElsaMatherson!—and at Dearborn?"
Was it acting, for some purpose unknown to me,—or what might be the secret of these strange expressions?
"Then you are not the one I seek?"
She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light.
"I have not said who I may be," she answered evasively. "Whatever name I may once have borne was long ago forgotten, and to the simple children about me I am only Sister Celeste. 'T is enough to live by in this wilderness, and the recording angel of God knows whether even that is worthy. But I have been waiting to learn why you are here, creeping through the bushes like a savage! Nor do I believe you to be altogether alone. Was there not one with you yonder at the house? Why did he cry out so loudly, and fall?"
"He imagined he saw a ghost within. He claimed to have recognized the face of a dead woman he once knew."
"A dead woman? What is the man's name? Who is he?"
"Captain de Croix, an officer of the French army."
She sighed quickly, as if relieved, one hand pressed against her forehead, and sat thinking.
"I know not the name, but it seems strange that the chance sight of my face should work such havoc with his nerves. Spoke he not even the name of the woman?"
"I think he cried some name as he fell, but I recall it not."
"And you? You are only seeking a way of escape from the savages?"
For a moment I hesitated; but surely, I thought, this strange young woman was of white blood, and seemingly an enthusiast in the religion I also professed, and I might safely trust her with my purpose.
"I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians."
"A maiden,—Elsa Matherson?"
"Nay, another; one I have learned to love so well that I now willingly risk even torture for her sake. You are a woman, and have a woman's heart; you exercise some strange power among these savages. I beg you to aid me."
She sat with clasped hands, her eyes lowered upon the grass.
"Whatsoever power I have comes from God," she said solemnly; "and there be times, such as now, when it seems as if He held me unworthy of His trust."
"But you will aid me in whatever way you can?"
"You are sure you love this maiden?"
"Would I be here, think you, otherwise?"
She did not answer immediately, but crept across the little space separating us until she could look more closely into my face, scanning it earnestly with her dark eyes.
"You have the appearance of a true man," she said finally. "Does the maid love you?"
"I know not," I stammered honestly, confused by so direct a question."I fear not; yet I would save her even then."
I felt her hand touch mine as if in sudden sympathy.
"Monsieur," she spoke gravely, "love has never been kind to me, and I have learned to put small trust in the word as it finds easy utterance upon men's lips. A man swore once, even at the altar, that he loved me; and when he had won my heart he left me for another. If I believed you were such a man I would rather leave this girl to her fate among the savages yonder."
"I am not of that school," I protested earnestly. "I am of a race that love once and forever. But you, who are you? Why are you here in the midst of these savages? You bear a strange likeness to her I would save, but for the lighter shade of your hair."
She drew back slightly, removing her hand from mine, but with gentleness.
"It would do you little good to know my story," She said firmly. "I am no longer of the world, and my life is dedicated to a service you might deem sacrifice. Moreover, we waste time in such idle converse; and if it be my privilege to aid you at all, I must learn more, so as to plan safely."
"You have the freedom of the camp yonder?"
"I hardly know," she responded sadly. "God has placed in my poor hands, Monsieur, a portion of His work amid those benighted, sin-stained creatures there. Times come, as now, when the wild wolf breaks loose, and my life hardly is safe among them. I fled the camp to-night,—not from fear, Christ knows, but because I am a woman, and too weak physically to bear the sight of suffering that I am helpless to relieve. It is indeed Christ's mercy that so few of your company were spared to be thus tortured; but there was naught left for me but prayer."
She stooped forward, her hands pressed over her eyes as though she would shut out the horror.
"Yet know you who among the whites have thus far preserved their lives?" I urged, in an agony of suspense. "Were any of the women brought alive to the camp?"
"It was my fortune to see but one; nor was I permitted to approach her,—a sweet-faced girl, yet she could not be the one you seek, for she wore a wedding-ring. She was saved through the friendship of Black Partridge, and I heard that she is a daughter of the Silver-man."
"Ay! Mrs. Helm! Thank God! But was she the only one?"
"Truly, I know not; for I was forced away from sight of much that went on. Little Sauk has a white maiden hidden in his lodge, who was brought from the battle. I have not seen the girl, but know this through others who were angry at his good-fortune."
"Could we reach there, think you, unobserved?"
She rose, and gazed anxiously across the stream, her face showing clear and fair in the faint light of those distant fires, while I caught the glimmer of a pearl rosary about her white throat and marked a silver crucifix resting against her breast.
"It will be life itself you venture in such an attempt," she said softly, "even its loss through torture; yet 't is a deed that might be done, for the Indians are fairly crazed with blood and liquor, and will pay small heed to aught save their heathen orgies."
"Then let us venture it."
She turned slightly and looked at me intently, her dark eyes filled with serious thought.
"Yes, we will go," she responded at last, slowly. "If through God's grace we may thus preserve a life, it will be well worthy the sacrifice, and must be His desire."
For another moment we waited there silently, standing side by side, gazing anxiously across the dark water, and listening intently to the varied discordant sounds borne to us on the night air. I know not what may have been in her thought; but upon my lips there was a silent prayer that we might be safely guided in our desperate mission. I wondered still who this strange young woman could be, so surrounded by mystery, a companion of savages, and still gentle and refined in word and manner. I dare not ask again, nor urge her confidence; for there was that of reserve about her which held me speechless. I glanced aside, marking again the clear pure contour of her face, and my look seemed instantly to arouse her from her reverie.
"I expect little trouble until we near the centre of the camp," she said, thoughtfully. "'T is dark amid the northern lodges, and we shall meet with no warriors there unless they be so far gone in intoxication as to be no longer a source of danger. But come, friend, the longer we tarry the less bright grows the hope of success."
A slender bark canoe rested close beneath the bank, and she motioned me into it, grasping the paddle without a word, and sending the narrow craft with swift, silent strokes across the stream. The other shore was unprotected; so, hesitating only long enough to listen for a moment, much as some wild animal might, she crept forward cautiously into the black lodge-shadows, while I instantly followed, imitating as best I could her slightest movement. We met no obstacle to our advance,—not even the snarls and barkings of the innumerable curs, usually the sleepless guardians of such encampments of savages. I soon saw that as we crept around lodge after lodge in our progress, the light of the blazing fires in our front grew constantly brighter and the savage turbulence more pronounced.
At last the girl came to a sudden pause, peering cautiously forward from beneath the shadow of the lodge that hid us; and as I glanced over her shoulder, the wild scene was revealed in each detail of savagery.
"'T is as far as you will dare venture," she whispered, her lips at my ear. "I know not the exact limit of our progress, but the lodge of Little Sauk lies beyond the fire, and I must make the rest of the distance alone."
"But dare you?" I questioned uneasily. "Will they permit even you to pass unharmed?"
She smiled almost sadly.
"I have many friends among them, blood-stained as they are, and little as I have accomplished for the salvation of their souls. I have been with them much, and my father long held their confidence ere he died. I have even been adopted into the tribe of the Pottawattomies. None are my enemies among that nation save the medicine-men, and they will scarce venture to molest me even in this hour of their power and crime. Too well they know me to be under protection of their chiefs; nor are they insensible to the sanctity of my faith. Ay, and even their superstition has proved my safeguard."
The expression of curiosity in my eyes appealed to her, and as if in answer she rested one hand upon her uncovered head, the hair of which shone like dull red gold in the firelight.
"You mean that?" I asked, dimly recalling something I had once heard.
She shook the heavy coiled mass loose from its bondage, until it rippled in gleaming waves of color over her shoulders, and smiled back at me, yet not without traces of deep sadness in her eyes.
"'T is an Indian thought," she explained softly, "that such hair as mine is a special gift of the Great Spirit, and renders its wearer sacred. What was often spoken most lightly about in other days has in this dread wilderness proved my strongest defence. God uses strange means, Monsieur, to accomplish His purpose with the heathen."
She paused, listening intently to a sudden noise behind us.
"Creep in here, Monsieur," she whispered, quickly lifting an edge of the skin-covering of the lodge. "A party is returning from the Fort, perchance with more prisoners. Lie quiet there until I return; it will not be long."
I crawled through the slight opening into that black interior, turning to hold open the flap sufficiently to peer forth once more. I knew not where she vanished, as she faded away like a shadow; but I had hardly secured refuge, when a dozen painted warriors trooped by, shouting their fierce greeting. In the midst of them, half-stripped, and bleeding as if from freshly inflicted wounds, staggered a white man; and as the firelight fell full upon his haggard face, I recognized De Croix.
What followed was so extraordinary and incredible that I hesitate to record it, lest there be those who, judging in their own conceit, and knowing little of savage Indian nature, may question the truth of my narration, Yet I am now too old a man to permit unjust criticism to swerve me from the task I have assumed.
The extreme of misery that overwhelmed me at the moment when I beheld my comrade driven forward like a trapped beast to a death by torture, found expression in a sudden moan, which, fortunately for me, was unnoted amid the shouts of greeting that arose around the fire when those gathered there caught sight of the new-comers. Instantly all was confusion and uproar; a scene of savage debauchery, unrelieved by a redeeming feature or a sign of mercy. It was as if poor De Croix had been hurled, bound and gagged, into a den of infuriated wolves, whose jaws already dripped with the blood of slaughter. Gleaming weapons, glaring and lustful eyes, writhing naked bodies, pressed upon him on every side, hurling him back and forth in brute play, every tongue mocking him, in every up-lifted hand a weapon for a blow.
The fierce animal nature within these red fiends was now uppermost, fanned into hot flame by hours of diabolical torture of previous victims, in which they had exhausted every expedient of cruelty to add to the dying agony of their prey. To this, fiery liquor had yielded its portion; while the weird incantations of their priests had transformed the most sober among them into demons of malignity. If ever, earlier in the night, their chiefs had exercised any control over them, that time was long since past; and now the inflamed warriors, bursting all restraint, answered only to the war-drum or made murderous response to the superstition of their medicine-men.
The entire centre of the encampment was a scene of drunken orgy, a phantasmagoria of savage figures, satanic in their relentless cruelty and black barbarity. Painted hundreds, bedecked with tinkling beads and waving feathers, howled and leaped in paroxysms of fury about the central fire, hacking at the helpless bodies of the dead victims of earlier atrocities, tearing their own flesh, beating each other with whips like wire, their madly brandished weapons flashing angrily in the flame-lit air.
Squaws, dirty of person and foul of mouth, often more ferocious in appearance and cruel in action than their masters, were everywhere, dodging amid the writhing bodies, screaming shrilly from excitement, their long coarse hair whipping in the wind. Nor were they all Pottawattomies: others had flocked into this carnival of blood,—-Wyandots and Sacs, even Miamis, until now it had become a contest for supremacy in savagery. 'T was as if hell itself had opened, to vomit forth upon the prairie that blood-stained crew of dancing demons and shock the night with crime.
A dead white man,—the poor lad whose early torture we had witnessed,—his half-burnt body still hanging suspended at the stake, was in the midst of them, a red glare of embers beneath him, the curling smoke creeping upward into the black sky from about his head like devil's incense. In front of this hideous spectacle, regardless of the mutilated body, sat the ferocious old demon I had seen the evening previous, his head crowned with a bison's horns, his naked breast daubed with red and yellow figures to resemble crawling snakes, his face the hideous representation of a grinning skull. Above all other sounds rang out his yells, inciting his fellows to further atrocities, and accompanied by the dull booming of his wooden drum.
It was into this pack of ravening beasts that poor De Croix staggered from the surrounding shadows; and they surged about him, clamoring for place, greeting their new-found victim with jeers and blows and hoots of bitter hatred, viciously slashing at him with their knives, so that the very sight of it turned me sick, and made me sink my head upon my arms in helplessness and horror. A sudden cessation in the infernal uproar led me to peer forth once more. They had dragged the charred and blackened trunk of the dead soldier down from the post where it had hung suspended, and were fastening De Croix in its place, binding his hands behind the support, and kicking aside the still glowing embers of the former fire to give him space to stand. It was brutally, fiendishly done, with thongs wound about his body so tightly as to lift the flesh in great welts, and those who labored at it striking cruel blows at his naked, quivering form, spitting viciously into his face, with taunting words, seeking through every form of ferocious ingenuity to wring from their helpless victim some sign of suffering, some shrieking plea for mercy. Once I marked a red devil stick a sharpened sliver of wood into the Frenchman's bare shoulder, touched it with fire, and then stand back laughing as the bound victim sought vainly to dislodge the torturing brand.
Whatever of shrinking fear De Croix may have exhibited an hour before, however he may have trembled from ghostly haunting and been made coward by contact with the dead, he was a man now, a soldier worthy of his uniform and of his manhood. Merciful God! but it made my heart swell to see the lad, as he faced those dancing devils and looked coolly into the eyes of death. His face was indeed ghastly white in the fire-glow, save where the red stains of blood disfigured it; but there was no wavering in the bold black eyes, no cowardly shrinking from his fate, no moan of weakness from between his tightly pressed lips. Scarce could I think of him then as being the same gentle exquisite that rode on the westward trail in powdered hair and gaudy waistcoat, worrying lest a pinch of dust might soil his faultless linen,—this begrimed, blood-stained, torn figure, naked to the waist, his small-clothes clinging in rags from his thighs, his head bare and with long black locks streaming to his shoulders. Yet it was now, not then, he won my respect and honor.
Once I saw him strain desperately at the cords in a mad endeavor to break free, his flashing eyes on the demons who were torturing him beyond endurance. Well I knew how he longed to lay hand on any weapon, and thus die, battling to the end; had he succeeded, I doubt not I should have been at his side, forgetful of all else in the struggle. The deer-skin thongs, as unyielding as iron, held him fast. I ground my teeth and dug my nails into the earth to hold me from leaping forward in hopeless attempt at rescue, as a huge brute struck him savagely with clinched hand across the lips.
Suddenly, as if in response to some low spoken order, the jostling horde fell aside from before him, leaving a narrow space unoccupied. I had no time to wonder at this movement before a tomahawk, whirling rapidly and flashing like a ruby in the red glare, went hurling forward, and buried its shining blade deep in the post an inch from the prisoner's head, the handle quivering with the force of impact. Again and again, amid yells of derision and encouragement, they threw, twice bringing token of blood from the grazed cheek and once cleaving the ear nearest me as if by a knife-blow. In spite of all, De Croix sneered at them, mocked their efforts, taunted them with their lack of skill, no doubt seeking to infuriate them and cause the striking of a merciful death-blow.
I trembled as I gazed, held there by a fascination I could not overcome, shading my eyes when I saw an arm uplifted to make a cast, and opening them in dread unspeakable as I heard the dull impact of the blow. Never in my life have I seen such marvellous nerve as this French gallant displayed in those awful moments; standing there motionless, with never a tremor, no twitching of a muscle, his scornful eyes following the deadly steel, his lips jeering at the throwers, as he coolly played the game whose stake was death. At last some savage cast from farther back amid the mass of howling contestants; I failed to see the upraised hand that grasped the weapon, but caught its sudden gleam as it sped onward, and De Croix was pinned helpless, the steel blade wedging his long hair deep into the wood.
A dozen screaming squaws now hustled forward the materials for a fire; I saw branches, roots, and leaves, piled high about his knees, and marked with a shudder the film of blue smoke as it soared upward ere the flame caught the green wood. Then suddenly some one kicked the pile over, hurling it into the faces of those who stooped beside it; and the fierce clamor ceased as if by magic.
I staggered to my knees, wondering what it could mean,—this strange silence after all the uproar. Then I saw. Out from the shadows, as if she herself were one, the strange girl who had been my companion glided forward into the red radius of the flame, and faced them, her back to De Croix.
Never shall I fail to recall her as she then appeared,—a veritable goddess of light fronting the fiends of darkness. With cheeks so white as to seem touched with death, her dark eyes glowed in consciousness of power, while her long, sweeping tresses rippled below her waist, gleaming in a wild red beauty almost supernatural. How womanly she was, how fair to look upon, and how unconscious of aught save her mission! One hand she held before her in imperious gesture of command; with the other she uplifted the crucifix, until the silver Christ sparkled in the light. "Back!" she said clearly. "Back! You shall not torture this man! I know him. He is a soldier of France!"