"You shall not torture this man he is a soldier of France!'"
"You shall not torture this man he is a soldier of France!'"
THE RESCUE AT THE STAKE
TTHE word uttered by the strange woman was one to conjure with even then in the Illinois country. Many a year had passed since the French flag ruled those prairies, yet not a warrior there but knew how the men of that race avenged an injury,—how swift their stroke, how keen their steel.
I watched the startled throng press closely backward, as if awed by her mysterious presence, influenced insensibly by her terse sentence of command, each dusky face a reflex of its owner's perplexity. Drunken as most of them were, crazed with savage blood-lust and hours of remorseless torture of their victims, for the moment that sweet vision of womanly purity held them motionless, as if indeed the figure of the Christ she uplifted before their faces had taught them abhorrence of their crimes.
But it was not for long. To hundreds of those present she was merely an unknown white woman; while even to those who knew her best, the Pottawattomies, she appeared only as one who came to balk them of their revenge. They may have held her person inviolate amid their lodges, and even have countenanced her strange teaching; but now she had ventured too far in attempting thus to stand between them and their victim. They held back a single moment, halted by her fearlessness, rendered cowardly by vague superstitions regarding her religious power; but after the first breathless pause of dumb astonishment and irresolution, voice after voice arose in hoarse cries of rage and shouts of disapproval. There was a surging forward of the straining red line, while in their front howled and gesticulated the hideous old medicine-man, his painted face distorted by passion, eager to grasp this auspicious moment to cast down forever one who had sought to end his superstitious rule among the tribe. I marked how she drew back as they advanced, retreating step by step,—not, in deed, as if she feared them, but rather as if some definite purpose led her movement. Her eyes never wavered, her hand still uplifted the gleaming cross, as she retreated slowly, until she stood directly before De Croix, where he hung helplessly staring at her with an expression of fear in his face strangely at variance with his late show of desperate courage.
"Back!" she cried again, but now in a deeper and fuller voice that sounded like a clear-toned bell above the uproar. "I tell you I will kill this man with my own hand before I permit you to put further torture upon him!"
An instant only did this threat halt the gathering rush. Some one voiced an Indian insult, and there came a fierce surging forward, although no warrior among them seemed eager to lead in the attack. I saw the woman lift her hand, and caught the glimmer of a steel blade; and even as I sprang erect, partially flinging aside the obstructing flap of the lodge, an Indian, stalking silently forth from the shadows, faced the mob, standing motionless within a foot of the desperate girl, and with his back toward her. One glance at that tall thin figure, the stern face, the long white hair, told me it was the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, Gomo; and I sank back trembling from the reaction of that moment's strain.
His words were calm, deliberate, commanding; but the angry roar with which they were greeted made me fear the horde he faced so resolutely was now beyond control. He smiled, his thin lips curling in derision as he gazed with contempt into the threatening faces pressing closer upon every side.
"Fear not," he murmured aside to the watchful woman, and resting one hand upon her arm. "Cut loose the prisoner!"
She turned instantly to her task, while he spoke briefly the names of his chiefs; and as each was called in turn, a warrior came from among the mass and silently stood beside him. A dozen came forth thus, stalwart, grim-faced braves, many with fresh scalps dangling at their belts.
Gomo now spoke again, using the French tongue, that all present might better grasp his meaning.
"Brothers," he said gravely, "this squaw is Pottawattomie. She was adopted by our people and lives in our lodges. Pottawattomies are friends to Frenchmen; there is no war between us. Why should Wyandots and Sacs wish to burn a Frenchman?"
For a moment no one ventured to reply; the mob stood halted now, robbed of its leaders and its courage, even the noisy medicine-man silenced before this stern array of protecting chiefs. Loose as was Indian discipline and tribal authority, even in drunkenness those desperate warriors dared not openly disregard such a display of power.
"Have the Pottawattomies spoken well?" questioned the old chief, sternly, "or have our words wronged our brothers?"
A giant of a fellow, whose broad face and huge head seemed disproportionate even to his big body, his long coarse hair profusely ornamented with shells and beads flashing gaudily in the firelight, pushed his way out from among the silent mass.
"Gomo, the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, has spoken well," he said in a deep voice that rolled like distant thunder. "The Wyandots did not know; they war not with Frenchmen, nor harm the women of the Pottawattomies. The Great Spirit hath made us brothers, and we have smoked together the pipe of peace."
Gomo moved forward with Indian dignity, and exchanged solemn greeting with the new-comer.
"It makes the hearts of the Pottawattomies light to hear the words of Sau-ga-nash," he said gravely. Then he turned and waved his hand to his clustered warriors. "Release the Frenchman, and place him for safety in the council lodge. Pass the woman free. It is the will of our chiefs."
The council lodge! I glanced about me apprehensively; surely this must be the same tepee in which Captain Heald and I had met the chiefs! There were no signs of ordinary Indian occupancy, and now as I looked about me the firelight from without revealed clearly the shading of those grotesque figures I recalled as having been sketched upon the outer covering. So it was here that De Croix was to be confined! I crept back hastily, dropping into place the loosened flap through which I had been peering. A skin or two were lying on the grassy floor; and I grasped the larger of these, drawing it over me while I rolled as closely as possible against the farther wall, hopingdesperately that no Indian guards would be posted within.
The uproar outside continued, as if there were still opposition to the commands of the chiefs; but presently, as I peeped through a hole in the skin held over me, I perceived a sudden flash of light as the flap covering the entrance was drawn aside. I saw a number of dark hands thrust within, a savage face or two peering for a moment about the darkened interior; but to my inexpressible relief only one body was thrust inside, with such violence, however, as to cause the man to fall face downward at full length. The next instant the lodge was again wrapped in utter darkness. By God's mercy I remained undiscovered, and was alone with De Croix.
For a short time, assured as I was of this fact, I did not venture to creep from my place of concealment, or make my presence known to my companion. What ears might be listening, I knew not; nor dared I trust too much to the Frenchman's already overtaxed nerves. He did not move from the position where he fell; but I could hear him groan and sob, with now and then a broken ejaculation. Without, the yelling and uproar grew perceptibly less, although an occasional outburst gave evidence that the carousal was not wholly ended. Finally I pushed back the robe that covered me, now grown uncomfortably warm, and crept cautiously toward the place where I knewhim to be lying. It was intensely dark, and I was still fearful lest he might cry out if I startled him.
"De Croix," I whispered, "make no alarm; I am Wayland."
"Wayland!" I could mark the amazement in his tone, as he instantly sat upright, peering through the gloom in the direction whence my voice came."Mon Dieu!You are here? You saw all of it?"
"Ay," I answered, reaching out and groping in the darkness until I grasped his hand. "You have had a hard time, my lad; but the worst is over, and hope remains for us both."
He shuddered so violently I could feel the spasm shake his body.
"'Twas not the dying," he protested; "but did you see her, Wayland? Merciful God! was it really a living woman who stood there, or a ghost returned from the other world to haunt me and make living worse than death?"
"You mean the sister who interposed to save you?" I asked. "' She was as truly alive as either of us. Think you she is not a stranger?"
He groaned, as if the confession was wrung from him by the terror of eternal torment.
"Mon Dieu!She is my wife!"
"Your wife?"
"Ay, my wife,—Marie Faneuf, of Montreal."
"But how comes she here, Monsieur, living inthe Pottawattomie camp? And how comes it that you sought another in this wilderness, if you were already long wedded?"
"Saint Guise! but I cannot tell you," and his voice shook with the emotion that swept him. "'Tis like a black dream, from which I must yet awaken. She died, I swear she died; the sisters told me so at the convent of the Ursulines, whither she fled to escape my unkindness,—for I did her wrong; and I stood by the grave as the body they called hers was lowered into the ground. For all these years have I thought it true; yet the girl yonder was Marie. But you, Wayland,—know you aught of her?"
"Only that she guided me hither in search of Mademoiselle. On the way we conversed, and she let me know that she had dedicated her life to the service of these Indians, seeking to save their souls."
"'Tis like enough; she was ever half a nun, and most religious. Yet made she no mention of me, and of my crying out at the house?—for I must indeed have seen her there!"
"She asked me your name, Monsieur, and when I told her she said she recalled it not. Knew she you by some other?"
He did not answer, though I could mark his heavy breathing, as if he strove with himself for mastery. Nor did I speak again, eager as I now was to arrangesome plan for the future; for this man was certainly in no condition to counsel with.
I know not how long I may have rested there in silence, seeking vainly in my own mind for some opening of escape, or means whereby I might communicate with Mademoiselle. Would the strange woman forget me now, or would she venture upon a return with her message? If not, I must grope forward without her, hampered as I should be by this unnerved and helpless Frenchman. Outside, the noise had almost wholly ceased,—at least, close to where we were,—and I could perceive that a slight tinge of returning day was already in the air, faintly revealing the interior of the lodge.
As I sat thus, drifting through inaction into a more despairing mood, the rear covering of the tepee moved almost imperceptibly, and I turned hastily to seek the cause, my heart in my throat lest it prove an enemy, perhaps some stealthy savage still seeking the life of De Croix. It was far from being light as yet, but there was sufficient to show me the faint outline of a woman's figure. The Frenchman had seemingly heard nothing; and I rose quickly and faced her eagerly.
"You have found her?" I questioned anxiously. "I beg you tell me that she yet lives!"
"Hush! you speak too loud," was the low reply. "The one you seek is, I think, confined within thelodge of Little Sauk, and thus far remains unharmed. I have not been able to reach her, but she has been described to me as young, with dark hair and eyes, and as having been dragged from a horse near the rear of the column. Think you she is the one you seek?"
"I do indeed!" I cried, in a rapture of relief. "Where is this lodge in which they hold her?"
She hesitated to answer, as if she somewhat doubted my discretion.
"It is the third from the fire, in the row west of this," she said at last. "But it is already daylight, and you must lie hidden amid these skins until another night, when I will strive to aid you. You will be safe here, if you only keep hidden; and I have brought with me food for you both."
I had quite forgotten De Croix, in my eagerness to learn news of Mademoiselle; but now I realized he had risen to his knees, and was gazing at our visitor through the dim shadows as if half fearful even yet that she was but a spectre. In that gray dawn his face was ghastly in its whiteness,—the dark lines under his eyes, his matted hair, and the traces of blood upon his cheek, yielding a haggardness almost appalling.
"Marie!" he sobbed, catching his breath between the words as if they choked him, "Marie, in God's name, speak one word to me!"
I saw the girl start, looking around at him witheyes widely opened, yet with an expression in them I could not fathom; it was neither hatred nor love, though it might easily have been sorrow.
"Marie," he urged, rendered despairing by her silence, "I have done you wrong, great wrong; but I thought you dead. They told me so,—they told me it was your body they buried. Will you not speak a word of mercy now?"
Dim as the light was, I saw her eyes were moist as she gazed down upon him; but there was no faltering in her voice.
"You were right, Monsieur le Marquis," she said slowly, "Marie Faneuf is dead. It is only Sister Celeste who has aided in the preservation of your life in the name of the Master. Make your acknowledgment to the Mother of Christ, not to me, for such mercy."
I knew not when she passed out, or how; but we were alone once more, and De Croix was lying with his face buried in the short grass.
A SEARCH, AND ITS REWARD
ISLEPT at last, soundly, for several hours, lying well hidden behind the skins at the back of the lodge. There seemed nothing else to do; for poor De Croix had no thought other than that of the woman who had just left us, and I was exhausted by hours of excitement and toil. He was asleep when I awoke, lying just as I had left him, his face still buried in the short trodden grass that carpeted the floor.
It was so quiet without that I listened in vain for a sound to indicate the presence of Indians. Silence so profound was in strange contrast with the hideous uproar of the preceding night, and curiosity led me finally to project my head from beneath the lodge covering and gain a cautious glimpse of the camp with out. The yellow sunshine of the calm summer afternoonrested hot and glaring on the draped skins of the tepees, and on the brown prairie-grass, trampled by hundreds of passing feet. I could perceive a few squaws working lazily in the shade of the trees near the bank of the river; but no other moving figures were visible. Several recumbent forms were within my sight, their faces toward the sun, evidently sleeping off the heavy potations of the night. Otherwise the great encampment appeared completely deserted; there were no spirals of smoke rising above the lodge-poles, no gossiping groups anywhere about.
It was plain enough to me. Those of the warriors capable of further action were elsewhere engaged upon some fresh foray, while the majority, overcome by drinking, were asleep within their darkened lodges. Surely, daylight though it was, no safer moment could be expected in which to establish communication with Toinette. With night the camp would be again astir; and even if I succeeded in reaching her at some later hour it would leave small margin of darkness for our escape. Every moment of delay now added to our grave peril, and there was much planning to be done after we met. Possibly I should have waited, as I had been told to do; but it was ever in my blood to act rather than reason, and I am sure that in this case no cause remains for regret.
I must confess that my heart beat somewhat faster, as I crept slowly forth and peered cautiouslyaround the bulging side of the big lodge I had just left, to assure myself no savages were stirring. It was not that I greatly feared the venture, nor that a sense of danger excited my nerves; but rather the one thought in my mind was that now my way lay toward Mademoiselle. How would she greet me? Should I learn my fate from her tell-tale eyes, or by a sudden gleam of surprise in her lovely face? These were the reflections that inspired me, for a new hope had been born within me through the forced confession of De Croix.
There was little danger of exposure while I advanced through the shelter of the lodges, for I was always under partial cover. But I waited and watched long before daring to pass across the wide open space in the centre of which the fire had been kindled. The torture-post yet stood there, black and charred, while the ground beneath was littered with dead ashes. The bodies of three white men, two of them naked and marked by fire, lay close at hand, just as they had been carelessly flung aside to make room for new victims; yet I dared not stop to learn who they might have been in life. The sight of their foul disfigurement only rendered me the more eager to reach the living with a message of hope.
I moved like a snake, dragging my body an inch at a time by firmly grasping with extended hands the tough grass-roots, and writhing forward as noiselesslyas if I were stalking some prey. There were times when I advanced so slowly it would have puzzled a watcher to determine whether mine was not also the body of the dead. At length, even at that snail's rate of progress, I gained the protection of the tepees upon the other side of the camp, and skulked in among them. The lodge just before me, blackened by paint and weather, must be the one I sought. I rested close within its shadow, striving to assure myself there was no possibility of mistake. As my eyes lifted, I could trace in dim outline the totem of the chief faintly sketched on the taut skin: it was the same I had noted on the brawny breast of Little Sauk.
Never did I move with greater woodland skill, for I felt that all depended upon my remaining undiscovered; a single false move now would defeat all hope. Who might be within, concealed by that black covering, was a mystery to be solved only by extremest caution.
Inch by inch I worked the skin-covering of the tepee entrance up from the ground, screwing my eye to the aperture in an effort to penetrate the shrouded interior. But the glare of the sun was so reflected into my eyeballs, that it left me almost blind in the semi-gloom beneath that dark roof, and I could distinguish no object with certainty. Surely, nothing moved within; and I drew myself slowly forward, until half my body lay extended upon the beaten dirt-floor. It wasthen that I caught a glimpse of a face peering at me from out the shadows,—the face of Toinette; and, alas for my eager hopes of surprising her heart and solving its secrets! the witch was actually laughing in silence at my predicament. The sight made my face flush in sudden indignation; but before I could find speech, she had hastily accosted me.
"Good faith, Master Wayland! but I greet you gladly!" she said, and her soft hand was warm upon mine; "yet it truly caused me to smile to observe the marvellous caution with which you came hither."
"It must have been indeed amusing," I answered, losing all my vain aspirations in a moment under her raillery; "though it is not every prisoner in an Indian camp who could find like cause for merriment."
Her eyes grew sober enough as they rested inquiringly on my face, for all that they still held an irritatingly roguish twinkle in their depths.
"It was the expression upon your face which so amused me," she explained. "I am not indifferent to all that your coming means, nor to the horrors this camp has witnessed. More than that, you appear to me like one risen from the dead. I have truly mourned for you, John Wayland. I lost all power, all desire for resistance, when I saw you stricken from your horse, and often since my eyes have been moist in thoughts of you. No doubt 'twas but the sudden reaction from seeing you again alive that made me so forgetful ofthese dread surroundings as to smile. I beg you to forgive me; it was not heartlessness, but merely the way of a thoughtless girl, Monsieur."
It had been impossible for me to resist her cajolery from the beginning; and now I read in her eyes the truth of all she spoke.
"There is naught for you to forgive, Mademoiselle," I answered, drawing myself wholly within the tepee and resting on my knees. "But are you quite alone here, and without guards?"
"For the present, yes. Little Sauk has been gone from the camp for some hours. They watch me with some care at night, yet of what use can their guarding be? If I should get without the lodge, escape would be hopeless for a girl like me. But now tell me about yourself. Are you also prisoner to the Indians? Surely I saw you struck down in that madmêlée. 'Twas then I lost heart, and gave up every hope of rescue."
"No, I am not a prisoner, Mademoiselle. I fell, stunned by a blow dealt me from behind, but was saved from capture by the falling of my horse across my body. I am here now of my own will, and for no other purpose than to save you."
"To save me! Oh, Monsieur! it would make me blush really to think I ranked so high in your esteem. Was it not rather that other girl you came to seek,—the one you sought so far through the wilderness,only to find hidden in this encampment of savages? Tell me, Monsieur, was she by any chance of fate the heroine who last night plucked Captain de Croix from the flames of torture?"
"You know, then, of his danger and deliverance?" I said, not feeling eager to answer her query. "'Twas a most brave and womanly act."
"A strange exercise of power, indeed, Monsieur," and she looked directly into my eyes; "and the savages tell me she claimed to have knowledge of him."
Surely I had a right to relate the whole story of De Croix's confession; yet somehow I did not deem it the manly thing to do. Rather, I would let her learn the truth in God's own time, and from other lips than mine. Perchance she would respect me more in the end for keeping silence now. But in this decision I failed to consider that hasty words of explanation might naturally lead her to believe the existing friendship mine instead of his.
"We met her across the river in the darkness last night," I answered. "At my request, she acted as my guide into the Indian camp."
The expression in her eyes puzzled me; nor could I interpret the sudden flush that lent color to her cheeks.
"You are frank, Monsieur," she said quietly, "and doubtless 'tis better so. But the strange situation of this young woman has much of romance about it, andinterests me greatly. How chances she to be here? Surely she cannot be of Indian blood?"
"She holds connection with some sisterhood of the Church, as I understand, and has lived for some time amid the Pottawattomies, seeking to win the heathen to Christ."
"A Catholic?" she asked, her eyes brightening with deeper interest.
"Such is my understanding, though in truth she never said as much to me. Indeed, we spoke little, Mademoiselle, for our path was in the midst of peril, even before the capture of poor De Croix upset all our plans."
"Doubtless," she answered with a slight trace of sarcasm in the soft voice. "But Captain de Croix,—he was not seriously injured, I trust? Where have the savages confined him? And know you what they in tend as to his future?"
"He will forever bear some scars, I fear," I answered, wondering dully at the calmness of her inquiry. "I have just left him sleeping quietly in the council tent. Know you anything of what fate has befallen other of our friends of the garrison?"
Her eyes grew sad. "Only what little I have learned through the taunting of my own captor," she answered, her voice trembling. "Captain Wells is dead, together with Ensign Ronan and Surgeon Van Voorhees. Both Captain Heald and his wife weresorely wounded, and they, with Lieutenant Helm, are prisoners somewhere in the camp; but the Lieutenant's wife is safe with the Silver-man's family across the river. The Indians hold these in hope of ransom, and wreak their vengeance upon the common soldiers who were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands alive. Yet few, I think, survived the massacre."
"You have doubtless guessed aright. I noted with what fearful spirit of revenge the savages dealt with some of their captives, while sparing others. Surely you, for instance, have met with but little hardship thus far at the hands of Little Sauk?"
She glanced up at me, with a touch of the old coquettishness in her dark eyes and a quick toss of her head, while one white hand smoothed her soft hair.
"Think you then, Monsieur, I do not look so ill?"
In spite of every effort at control, my heart swept into my eyes; she must have read the swift message, for her own drooped instantly, with a quick flutter of long lashes against her cheeks.
"I have already told you how greatly I admire you," I faltered, "and you make no less fair a picture now."
"Then I shall not tempt you to add to your compliment," she hastily responded, rising to her feet, "for I like loyalty in a man better than mere gallantry of speech. You ask me about Little Sauk. He holds me for ransom, although Heaven knows 'twill provebut waste of time, for I am aware of no one in all the East who would invest so much as a dollar to redeem me from Indian hands. Yet such is his purpose, as told to me this morning."
"Perchance, then," I urged, doubtfully, "you may prefer remaining quietly here rather than risk the peril of trying to escape?"
She looked at me keenly, as if in wonder at my words; and I could see that her eyes were moistening with the sudden rush of feeling.
"You are either dull of comprehension, John Wayland," she said, a bit pertly, "or else you understand me less than any man I ever knew. If I seem brave and light of heart amidst all this horror, 'tis merely that I may not utterly break down, and become an object of contempt. I feel, Monsieur, I am not devoid of heart nor of the finer qualities of womanhood. Prefer to remain here? Holy Mother of Christ! It would be my choice to die out yonder on the prairie, rather than stay here in these Indian lodges. There is no peril I would not face joyfully, in an effort to escape from this place of torture and barbarity. I confess that an hour ago I cared not greatly what my end might be; I had lost heart and hope. But now your coming, as of one risen from the dead, has brought back my courage."
"You will go, then, whenever and wherever I say?"
She stepped forward with her old frank confidence, resting both hands in mine, her eyes upon my face.
"Out yonder in the night, and amid the sand, John Wayland," she said earnestly, "I remember saying I would travel with you whithersoever you wished. I know you far better now than I did then, and I hesitate not at taking upon myself the same vow."
What power then sealed my lips, I know not. Doubtless there is a fate in such matters, yet 'tis strange the light of invitation in her eyes did not draw me to lay bare my heart. In naught else had I a drop of coward blood within my veins; while here I hesitated, fearful lest her pleading face might change to sudden roguishness, and she laugh lightly at the love that held my heart in thrall. Truly, the witch had puzzled me so sorely with her caprices, her quick change of mood, her odd mixture of girlish frankness and womanly reserve, that I knew not which might prove the real Toinette,—the one to trust, or the one to doubt. So I stood there, clasping her soft hands in mine, my heart throbbing, yet my tongue hesitating to perform its office. But at last the halting words came in a sudden, irrepressible rush.
"Toinette!" I cried, "Toinette! I could forget all else,—our danger here, the horrors of the night just passed, the many dead out yonder,—all else but you."
She gave a sudden startled cry, her affrighted eyes gazing across my shoulder. I wheeled, with quick intuition of danger; and there, just within the entrance of the tepee, the flap of which he had let fall behind him, in grave silence stood an Indian.
THE PLEDGE OF A WYANDOT
ASINGLE glance told me who our unwelcome visitor must be. That giant body, surmounted by the huge broad face, could belong to none other than the Wyandot, Sau-ga-nash,—him who had spoken for the warriors of his tribe before the torture-stake. He stood erect and rigid, his stern, questioning eyes upon us, his lips a thin line of repression. With a quick movement, I thrust the girl behind me, and faced him, motionless, but with every muscle strained for action. The Indian spoke slowly, and used perfect English.
"Ugh!" he said. "Who are you? A prisoner? Surely you cannot be that same Frenchman we helped entertain last night?"
"I am not the Frenchman," I answered deliberately, vainly hoping his watchful eyes might wanderabout the lodge long enough to yield me chance for a spring at his throat, "though I was one of his party. I only came here to bring comfort to this poor girl."
"No doubt she needs it," he replied drily, "and your way is surely a good one. Yet I doubt if Little Sauk would approve it, and as his friend, I must speak for him in the matter. Do you say you are also a prisoner? To what chief?"
"To none," I answered shortly, resolved now to venture all in a trial of strength. He read this decision in my eyes, and stepped back warily. At the same instant Toinette flung her arms restrainingly about my neck.
"Don't, John!" she urged, using my name thus for the first time; "the savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"
I saw the weapon as she spoke, and saw too the angry glint in the fellow's eye as he thrust the muzzle menacingly forward. As we stood thus, glaring at each other, a sudden remembrance made me pause. "Sau-ga-nash"?—surely it was neither more nor less than a Wyandot expression signifying "Englishman." That broad face was not wholly Indian; could this be the half-breed chief of whom I had so often heard? 'Twas worth the chance to learn.
"You are Sau-ga-nash?" I asked, slowly, Toinette still clinging to me, her face over her shoulder to front the silent savage. "A chief of the Wyandots?"
"Don't John! The savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"
"Don't John! The savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"
He moved his head slightly, with a mutter of acquiescence, his eyes expressing wonder at the question.
"The same whom the Americans name Billy Caldwell?"
"'Tis the word used by the whites."
I drew a quick breath of relief, which caused Mademoiselle to release her grasp a little, as her anxious eyes sought my face for explanation.
"Recall you a day twelve years ago on the River Raisin?" I asked clearly, feeling confident now that my words were no longer idle. "An Indian was captured in his canoe by a party of frontiersmen who were out to revenge a bloody raid along the valley of the Maumee. That Indian was a Wyandot and a chief. He was bound to a tree beside the river bank and condemned to torture; when the leader of the rangers, a man with a gray beard, stood before him rifle in hand, and swore to kill the first white man who put flint and steel to the wood. Recall you this, Sau-ga-nash?"
The stolid face of the listening savage changed, the expression of revengeful hostility merging into one of undisguised amazement.
"That which you picture has not left my memory," he answered gravely.
"Nor the pledge you gave to that white captain when he brought you safely to Detroit?" I queried, eagerly.
"Nor the pledge. But what has all this to do here?"
"Only, Sau-ga-nash, that I am Major David Wayland's son."
The Indian sprang forward, his eyes burning fiercely; and thinking his movement to be hostile, I thrust the girl aside that I might be free to repel his attack. But he did not touch me, merely peering eagerly into my face with a keen questioning look that read my every feature.
"You have the nose and forehead," he reflected aloud; "yes, and the eyes. Before the Great Spirit, I will redeem my pledge; a chief of the Wyandots cannot lie."
He paused, and I could mark the varied emotions that swayed him, so deeply was he moved by this strange discovery. Unconsciously my hand clasped Mademoiselle's, for now I felt that our fate hung on his decision.
"'Tis a hard task, Master Wayland," he admitted at length, almost wearily, "but for your father's sake it shall be done. I see only one way for it, and that by water. Know you anything about the management of boats?"
"Only as I have paddled upon the Maumee," I answered, doubtfully, "although I handled a small sail when a mere boy in the far East."
"'Twill suffice if the fair weather hold, as is likelyat this season. At least it may be risked. The land trails are crowded by Indians from far-off tribes, hastening hither in hope of fight and spoils. More than a hundred came in to-day, painted for war, and angry because too late. You could not escape encountering such parties, were you to flee by trail eastward; nor would they show mercy to any white. The Silver-man has returned to his home north of the river; but 'tis all that we who are friendly to him can do to keep these warriors from attacking even there. 'Tis the Indians from far away that make the trouble; and these grow more numerous and powerful each day. We keep a guard at the house to save the Silver-man and his family; and were more whites to seek refuge there, we should lose all control. There is still safety at the mouth of the Saint Joseph River, and 'tis there you must go. The venture must be made to-night, and by water. Is it known to any Indian that you are alive and within this camp?"
"To none."
"That is well; we can work best alone. Now listen. At midnight, Master Wayland, a boat, pre pared for the trip, will await you, hidden under the ruins of the Agency building. The river flows under the flooring deep enough for the purpose, and I will place the boat there with my own hand. Beyond that, all must rest upon your own skill and good fortune. You will wait here," and he glanced about anxiouslyfor some means of concealment, "lying behind those robes yonder, until the hour."
"Here?" I questioned, thinking instantly of my duty to De Croix. "But I would first have speech with the Frenchman. He is my friend, Sau-ga-nash. Besides, I have left my rifle in the council lodge."
The face of the savage darkened, and his eyes gleamed ominously as they roamed questioningly from my face to Toinette's.
"I said you were to stay hidden here," he answered shortly, his tone showing anger, and his hand pointing at the robes. "Many of the sleeping Pottawattomies are again astir without, and you could not hope to gain the council lodge undiscovered. What care I for this Frenchman, that I should risk my life to save him? I pledge myself only to Major Wayland's son; and even if I aid you, it is on condition that you go alone."
"Alone, say you?" and I rested my hand on Mademoiselle's shoulder. "I would die here, Sau-ga-nash, and by torture, before I would consent to go one step without this girl."
The half-breed scowled at me, drawing his robe about him in haughty indifference.
"Then be it so," he said mockingly. "'Tis your own choice. I have offered redemption of my pledge."
I started to utter some harsh words in answer; but before I could speak, Toinette pressed her soft palm upon my lips in protest.
"Refuse him not," she murmured hastily. "'Tis the only chance; for my sake, do not anger him."
What plan her quick wit may have engendered, I did not know; but I yielded to the entreaty in her pleading eyes, and sullenly muttered the first conscious lie of my life.
"I accept your terms, Sau-ga-nash, harsh as they are."
He looked from one to the other of us, his face dark with distrust and doubt.
"You are not mine to dispose of," he said sternly to the trembling girl, who visibly shrank from his approach, and clung once more to me. "You are prisoner to Little Sauk; nor will I release one thus held by the Pottawattomies. They and the Wyandots are brothers. But I trust you, and not the word of this white man. Pledge me not to go with him, and I will believe you."
She glanced first at me, then back into the swarthy, merciless face. Her cheeks were white and her lips trembled, yet her eyes remained clear and calm.
"I give you my word, Sau-ga-nash," she said quietly. "While I am held as prisoner by Little Sauk, I will not go away with John Wayland."
Little as I believed these words to be true at the time, the sound of them so dulled me with apprehension that I could only stare at her in speechless amazement.It seemed to me then as if the power of reason had deserted me, as if my brain had been so burdened as to refuse its office. I recall that Toinette almost compelled me to lie down against the farther side of the lodge, placing a pile of skins in front of me and assuming a position herself where she could occasion ally reach across the barrier and touch me with her soft hand. No doubt she realized the struggle in my mind, for she spoke little after the departure of the half-breed, as if anxious to permit me to figure out the future for myself. Little by little I faced it, and came to an irrevocable decision. It was to be Toinette or nothing. While it might be true that she was in no immediate danger, and possibly could be safely ransomed if I once escaped to civilization, yet the risk of such venture and delay was too great; nor would my love abide so vast a sacrifice on her part. I thought to say this to her; but there was a look of firm decision in her sweet face, as her dark eyes met mine, that somehow held me silent. I felt that in her own heart she must already know what action I would choose, and the final moment would prove sufficient test for her evident determination. Reassured here, my thoughts turned to De Croix; but that was useless. I could send no message to him; he was no longer in especial peril, and perhaps would not willingly desert his newly found wife even to escape the savages. Nay, it was to be Toinette and I, now and forever.
I do not clearly remember at this day what it was we spoke about in the brief whispering that passed between us while we waited there. Neither of us felt like voicing our real thoughts, and so we but dissembled, making commonplaces fill the gaps between our silences. The night found us undisturbed, and it shut down so darkly within the narrow confines of the lodge that I lost all trace of her presence, but for an occasional movement or the sound of her low voice. Without, the rapidly increasing noise indicated a return of many savages to the camp, until at last a fire was kindled in the open space, its red flame sending some slight illumination where we were, but not enough to reveal the interior of the lodge. An Indian brought the girl some food, entering and leaving without uttering a sound; and we two ate together, striving to speak lightly in order to make the coarse meal more palatable.
Suddenly I became aware of a faint scratching upon the skin of the lodge, at my back. At first I supposed it to be some wild animal, or possibly a stray dog; but the regularity of it showed a purpose of some kind. Could it be De Croix? Or was it the half-breed with some secret message he dared not deliver openly? I lifted the lodge covering slightly, and placed my lips to the aperture.
"Is some one there?" I whispered cautiously "Who is it?"
"I am Sister Celeste," came the immediate low reply. "Are you the white man I guided?"
"Ay," I answered, rejoicing at this rare good for tune, "and I beg you to listen to what I say. There will be a boat awaiting us beneath the old Agency building at midnight. You must be there with De Croix."
"De Croix?"
"Yes; I know not if that be his name to you, but I mean the Frenchman whose life you saved. Will you take him thither at midnight, together with the rifle I left in the council lodge?"
For a moment she did not answer. Doubtless it was a bitter struggle for her thus to agree even to meet the man again. At last she made reply, although I could plainly mark the faltering of her voice.
"The man of whom you speak shall be there," she said, "unless some accident make it impossible."
As I drew back my head, and sat upright, Mademoiselle spoke questioningly.
"With whom were you conversing just now, Monsieur?"
"The young woman of whom we have spoken so often," I answered thoughtlessly. "She has pledged herself to bring De Croix to the meeting-place."
"Indeed!" she exclaimed, with accent so peculiar I knew not how to interpret it. "It almost makes me desire to form one of your party."
AN INTERVENTION OF FATE
"F“FORM one of our party?" I echoed, believing I must have misunderstood her words. "Surely, Mademoiselle, you cannot mean that you take your promise to the half-breed so seriously as voluntarily to remain in captivity?"
"Yes, but I do, Monsieur!" and the tone in which she said it was firm with decision. "The Indian asked my pledge in all solemnity, and has gone away trusting to it. My conscience could never again be clear did I prove false in such a matter. You also made a pledge, even before mine was given; was it not your purpose to abide by it?"
"No," I answered, a bit shortly. "I merely agreed to his proposition at your expressed desire that I should, and because I believed you had framed some plan of escape. Have you such small respect for me, Mademoiselle, as to think I could consent to leave youhere alone and at the mercy of these red fiends? Have I risked my life in coming here for no other end than this?"
I felt her reach her arm across the pile of skins lying between us, and grasp my hand within her own.
"But, dear friend, you must!" she said, pleadingly, her softly modulated voice dwelling upon the words as if they came hard. "Truly you must, John Wayland, and for my sake as well as your own. I am comparatively safe here,—safe at least from actual physical harm, so long as the savages dream that the sparing of my life will yield them profit. You have no right to remain in such peril as surrounds you here, when by so doing you benefit no one. You have father and mother awaiting in prayer your safe return to them yonder on the Maumee; while I,—I have no one even to ask how sad my fate may be. Think you that because I am a girl I must therefore be all selfishness? or that I would ever permit you thus to sacrifice yourself unnecessarily for me? No, no, Monsieur! I will remain prisoner to Little Sauk, for my sacred word has been pledged; and you must go, because there are others to whom your life is of value. Nor need you go empty-handed, for the one you have sought so far and long seems now ready enough to travel eastward with you."
Scarcely had her voice ceased, leaving me struggling to find fit words to change her mad decision,when a rough hand flung back the entrance flap, and the naked body of an Indian, framed for a single instant against the light, lurched heavily through the opening. Even that brief glimpse told me the man had been drinking to excess; while for the moment, as I huddled down closer behind my robes, I was unable to make out his identity.
"Where white woman?" he ejaculated gruffly, as he paused, blinded by the darkness. "Why she not come help me?"
His quick ear evidently caught the slight rustle of the girl's skirt as she rose hastily to her feet, for with a muttered Indian oath the savage lurched forward. I could scarcely make out the dimmest shadow of them in the dense gloom, yet I seemed to know that he had grasped her roughly, though not the slightest sound of fear or pain came from her lips.
"Ugh! better come!" he muttered, a veiled savage threat growling in his tone. "You my squaw; cook in my lodge; get meal now."
"But where? and how?" she asked, her voice trembling perceptibly, yet striving to placate him by a seeming willingness to obey. "I have nothing here to cook, nor have I fire."
"Indian squaw no talk back!" he retorted angrily. "This way I show white squaw to mind chief!"
I heard plainly the brutal blow he struck her, though even as she reeled back she managed to stiflethe scream upon her lips, so that it was barely audible. With one bound I was over the barrier of robes and clutching with tingling fingers for the brute. I touched his feathered head-dress at last, and he must have supposed me his helpless victim, for with a grunt of satisfaction he struck once again, the blow meeting my shoulder, where he judged in the dark her face would be.
"White squaw mind now—"
I had him gripped by the throat before he ended, and we went down together for a death-struggle in the darkness, from which each realized in an instant both could never rise again. My furious grip sobered him, and he made desperate efforts to break free, struggling vainly to utter some cry for rescue. Once I felt him groping at his waist for a knife; but I got first clasp upon its hilt, though I twisted helplessly for some minutes before I could loosen his hold at my wrist so as to strike him with the blade. His teeth closed upon my hand, biting deep into the flesh like a wild-cat, and the sharp sting of it yielded me the desperate strength I needed to wrench my hand free, and with one quick blow the knife I clutched cut deep into his side, so that I could feel the hot blood spurt forth over my hand. I held him in a death grip, for I knew a single cry meant ruin to all our plans, until the last breath sped, and I knew I lay prostrate above a corpse. It had been so swift and fierce a contest thatI staggered half-dazed to my feet, peering about me as if expecting another attack. I was steadied somewhat by the sound of a low sob from the darkness.
"'Tis well over with, Toinette," I murmured hastily, my voice trembling from the strain that still shook me.
"Oh, John! John Wayland! And you are truly unhurt of the struggle?" It was scarcely her voice speaking, so agitated was it. "Have you killed him?"
"Yes," I answered, finding my way cautiously toward her, and speaking in whispers. "I had no other choice. It was either his life or yours and mine. Knew you the savage?"
"It was Little Sauk," she replied, clinging to me, and growing somewhat calmer from my presence. "Oh, what can we do now?"
"There remains but one thing, and that is to accept the chance that Providence has given us. There remains no longer a shadow of excuse for your staying here, even by your own reasoning. You are no longer prisoner to Little Sauk. Your pledge has been dissolved by Fate, and it must be God's will that you go forth with me. What say you, Mademoiselle?" And I crushed her hands in mine.
I could feel her slight form tremble as I waited her reply, and believed she peered across my shoulder through the darkness, imagining she saw the dead Indian's form lying there.
"Do you truly wish it?" she questioned at last, as though warring with herself. "Think you she would greatly care?"
'Tis a strangely perverse thing, the human mind. As there dimly dawned upon me a conception of her meaning,—a knowledge that this seemingly heart-free girl cared enough for me to exhibit such jealousy of another,—I would not undeceive her by a word of explanation.
"I certainly do wish it," was my grave answer, "nor does it greatly matter what the desire of any other may be. This is not an invitation to a ball, Mademoiselle. I beg you answer me; will you go?"
She looked toward me, wondering at my words.
"Yes," she said simply. "Has the time come?"
"I have no certain means of knowing; but it cannot be far from the hour, and we shall be much safer without."
I took the Indian's knife with me, wiping the long blade upon the pile of skins, and placing it convenient to my hand within the bosom of my hunting-shirt. It was dark enough back of the lodge away from the glare of the fires, and we rested there well within the shadow, for some time, while I scanned the surroundings and planned as best I might our future movements.
"Was it from dread of venturing once more upon the water that you held back so long?" I askedher, seeking rudely to delve into the secret of her reserve.
"Have you ever found me of cowardly heart, Monsieur?" she questioned in return, parrying with quick skill, "that you should think any bodily terror could hold me back? If I had reasons other than those already given, they were worthy ones."
"You are not afraid of the perils before us?"
"No," she answered; "my heart beats fast, but 'tis not from fear."
Only a few scattered lodges had been raised to the eastward of where we were, nor did these show any signs of life. We crept forward with painful slowness, partially hiding our movements by following a shallow, curving gully, until we had gained the extreme limits of the encampment, where we crawled out into the gloom of the surrounding prairie. Not until then did either of us venture to stand erect, or advance with any degree of freedom.
Directly ahead of us there was nothing by which I could safely guide our course. The flat sameness of the plain offered no landmarks, while the night sky was so thickly overcast as to leave no stars visible. Nor was there light of any kind, save that of the fires in the camp we had just left. I hesitated to risk the open prairie thus unaided, lest we should wander astray and lose much valuable time; so, although it measurably increased our peril of encountering partiesof savages, I turned sharply northward, keeping the bright Indian fires upon our left, and groping forward through the gloom toward where I knew the main branch of the river must lie. It was neither the time nor place for speech. I held her hand closely while we moved onward silently, carefully guarding each step lest by mischance it should bring betrayal. Once, after we had reached the river and were moving eastward again, a party of Indians passed us, coming so silently out of the black void, in their soft moccasins, that I had barely time to hold her motionless before they were fairly upon us. I counted nine of them, moving rapidly in single file, like so many black ghosts. We waited with wildly throbbing hearts, listening for fear others might follow in their trail.
We were almost beside the walls of the factory building before either of us was aware of its proximity. Even then, as I lay prone on the earth and studied its dim outlines, they possessed nothing of familiarity, for the high-pitched roof had fallen in and carried with it the greater portion of the upper walls, leaving a mere shell, shapeless and empty. I rested there, gazing at it, and wondering how best we might proceed to find our way beneath where the boat was to be moored, when I felt Mademoiselle's fingers press my arm warningly. Scarcely a yard away, on a ridge of higher ground, two dim figures came to a sudden pause.
"I perceive naught of the presence of your friendsas yet, Monsieur," spoke a soft voice, "but I will remain until certain of the outcome."
"Then your decision is unchanged?" asked the other, in deeper accent, full of earnest pleading. "All is to be over between us from this hour? And you deliberately choose to devote your life to the redemption of these savages?"
"We have discussed all this at length, Monsieur le Marquis, as we came along, and, as you fully know, my choice is made beyond recall. I am here to serve you to-night, because it seems to be a duty given unto me by some strange Providence; and I have relied upon your courtesy to make it as little unpleasant as possible. I pray you, beseech me no more. The girl I once was lives no longer; the woman I now am has been given a special mission by God, too sacred to be cast aside for aught that earth has to offer her of happiness. We part in kindness, Monsieur,—in friendship even; but that which was once between us may never be again."
There was no answer; even the reckless audacity of a courtier was silenced by that calm final dismissal. It was Mademoiselle who spoke in swift whisper, her lips at my ear.
"Speak! who is she?"
"The woman of whom you have heard so often,—the missionary in the Indian camp."
"Yes, I know," impatiently; "but I mean her name?"
"She calls herself Sister Celeste; I have indeed heard mention of another, but it abides not in my memory."
"You deceive me, Monsieur; yet I know, and will speak with her," was the quick decision. "Mother of God! 'tis a voice too dear ever to be forgotten."
She was beside them with a step, seeming no doubt a most fair vision to be born so instantly of the night-shadows.
"Marie Faneuf!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I know not by what strange fortune I meet you here, but surely you will not refuse greeting to an old friend?"
The girl drew hastily back a step, as if her first thought was flight; but ere such end could be accomplished, Mademoiselle had clasped her arm impetuously.
"Marie!" she pleaded, "can it be possible you would flee from me?"
"Nay," returned the other, her voice trembling painfully, as she struggled to restrain herself. "It is not that. Dear, dear friend! I knew you were among the few saved from Dearborn. The American hunter told me, and ever since have I tried to avoid you in the camp. 'Twas not for lack of the old love, yet I feared to meet you. Much has occurred of late to make the keeping of my vow most difficult. I have been weak, and grievously tempted; and I felt scarcestrong enough, even though protected by prayers, to withstand also my deep love for you."
Their voices insensibly merged into French, each speaking so rapidly and low that I could get little meaning of it. Then I noted De Croix, half lying upon the ground, his head hidden within his hands. With sudden remembrance of the work before us, I touched his shoulder.
"Come below, Monsieur, and help me search for the boat," I said, kindly, for I was truly touched by his grief. "It will help clear your mind to have some labor to accomplish."
"I dare not, Wayland!" he answered hoarsely, and the face he uplifted toward me was strangely white and drawn. "I must stay with her; I dare not leave her again alone, lest she escape me once more. She is mine, truly mine by every law of the Church,—my wife, I tell you, and I would die here in the wilderness rather than permit her longer to doom herself to such a fate as this."
His words and manner were so wild they startled me. Surely, in his present frame of mind he would prove useless on such a mission as that before us.
"Then remain here, Monsieur!" I said, "and do your best to win her consent to accompany us. No doubt Mademoiselle will aid you all that is in her power."
A STUMBLE IN THE DARK
GGLOOMY as the hole was, there was no help for it. I could perceive nothing below, not even my hand when held within a foot of my eyes; nor had I the slightest previous knowledge of the place to guide me, even had not the fire ruins above effectually blocked every passage-way with fallen debris. Listening however intently, my ears could distinguish only the faint lapping of the river as it crept about the log piling on which the house had been built; but beyond this dim guidance, I had to feel my way forward with extended hands and groping feet. Swinging to my back the rifle that De Croix had brought, and casting an inquiring glance backward at the little group huddled upon the bank, almost invisible even at that short distance, I grasped the piling nearest me and slid down into the unknown darkness.
My feet found solid earth, although as I reachedout toward the left my moccasin came in contact with water, which told me at once that only a narrow path divided the steep bank of the excavation from the encroaching river. The floor above was originally low, so that I could easily touch the heavy supporting beams; and I had felt my way scarcely a yard before coming in contact with a serious obstruction, where the weakened floor had sagged so as almost to close the narrow passage. This caused me to wade farther out into the water, testing each step carefully as I followed the sharp curving of the shore-line. I had no fear of meeting any living enemy within that silent cave, my sole doubt being as to whether the half-breed chief had fulfilled his promise and brought the boat, my gravest anxiety to discover it early and get my party safely away before the Indian encampment learned the truth.
I must have reached the apex of the little cove, moving so cautiously that not a ripple of the water revealed my progress, and feeling for each inch of way like a blind man along city streets, when my knee suddenly struck some obstacle, and seeking to learn what it might be, I muttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving as I touched the unmistakable sides of a boat. It was a lumping, awkward craft, rudely fashioned, yet of a seeming length of keel and breadth of beam that set my heart beating with new joy, as I wondered if it was not the same craft in which the Kinzie familyput forth upon the lake the morning of the massacre. This seemed very likely, for there could hardly be two such boats at hand, where the Indian water-craft were slender, fragile canoes, poorly fitted for serious battle with lake waves. Doubtless this was the only vessel Sau-ga-nash could find suitable for the venture, or he would never have chosen it for the use of a single man, as it was of a size to require the services of several paddles. Yet the thought meant much; for this very lack of water-craft was likely to render pursuit by the baffled savages impossible, if only once we got fairly away from the shore.
With these reflections driving swiftly through my brain, I ran one hand hastily along the thwarts of the boat, seeking to discover if paddles had been provided, or even a sail of any kind. I touched a coil of rope, a rude oar-blade so broad as to seem unwieldy, a tightly rolled cloth,—and then my groping fingers rested on the oddest-feeling thing that ever a startled man touched in the dark. It was God's mercy I did not cry out from the sudden nervous fit that seized me. The thing I touched had a round, smooth, creepy feeling of flesh about it, so that I believed I fingered a corpse; until it began to turn slowly under my hand like a huge ball, the loose skin of it twitching yet revealing no human features to my touch. Saint Andrew! but it frightened me! I knew not what species of strange animal it might prove to be, nor whence itsgrip or sting might come. Yet the odd feeling of it was strangely fascinating,—I could not let it go; the damp flesh-like skin seemed to cling to my fingers in a horrible sort of magnetism that bound me prisoner, the cold perspiration of terror bursting from every pore, even as my other hand, trembling and unnerved, sought in my shirt for the knife of Little Sauk.
As I gripped the weapon, the thing began to straighten out, coming up in the quick odd jerks with which some snakes uncoil their joints after the torpidity of winter. My hand, finding naught to grasp, slipped from the smooth round ball, and as it fell touched what seemed an ear, and then a human nose.
"Merciful God! 'tis a man!" I gasped, in astonishment and yet relief, as I closed upon his throat, madly determined to shut off his wind before he could give alarm.
"Cuss the luck!" he gasped hoarsely, and I let go of him, scarcely able to ejaculate in my intense surprise at that familiar voice.
"Burns? For Heaven's sake, Burns! can this indeed be you?"
For an instant he did not speak, doubtless as greatly perplexed as I at the strange situation.
"If ye're Injun," he ventured at last gravely, "then I'm a bloody ghost; but if by any chance ye're the lad, Wayland, which yer voice sounds like, then it's Ol' Tom Burns as ye're a-maulin' 'round, which seemster be yer specialty, a-jumpin' on unoffensive settlers in the dark, an' a-chokin' the life outer them."
The growling tone of his voice was growing querulous, and it was evident that his temper, never quite childlike, had not been greatly improved by his late experiences as an Indian captive.
"But Burns, old friend!" I persisted heartily, my courage returned once more, "it was surely enough to stir any man to violence to encounter such a thing in the dark! What in Heaven's name has happened to leave you with such a poll? What has become of your hair and beard? Is their loss a part of Indian torture?"
There was a low chuckle in the darkness, as if the old rascal were laughing to himself.
"Injun nuthin!" he returned with vehemence. "Thet's jist my way of sarcumventin' the bloody varmints. I shaved the hull blame thing soon as ever they let me loose, an' then played loony, till thar ain't no Injun 'long the shore as 'd tech me fer all the wampum in the Illini country. 'Tain't the fust time I saved my scalp by some sech dern trick. I tell ye, it's easy 'nough ter beat Injuns if ye only know how. By snakes! I'm sacred, I am,—specially teched by the Great Spirit. I tell ye, ter be real loony is dern nigh as good in an Injun camp as ter hev red hair like thet thar little Sister Celeste with the Pottawattomies. She knows her business, you bet; an' so does Ol' Burns know him!"
His mention of her name instantly recalled me to the little group waiting above us, and doubtless already worried at my prolonged absence.
"Burns," I interrupted, "this is no time for reminiscences. I am here seeking some means of escape out of this place of horror. What were you doing down here?"
"Sorter contemplatin' a sea v'yage," he said, dryly. "'Twas rec'mended by my doctor fer the growth o' my har. So, snoopin' 'round yere in the dark, an' not over fond o' Injun com'any, I found this yere boat. Jest got in ter see how 'twas fixed, when ye jumped down yonder. Reckon I'd kinder like ter wet 'er up an' see wot she's like."
"Good! so would I. This boat was placed here for that very purpose. Now listen. The young woman you just mentioned, that Indian missionary with the auburn hair, is above yonder, together with another young white girl rescued from the massacre, and the Frenchman, De Croix. We have come here, on pledge of a half-breed chief that this boat would be ready for our escape. And we have no time to waste, for we may be followed at any moment."
"They ain't seen ye stealin' outer the camp?"
"No, but in doing it I was compelled to kill Little Sauk, and the others may find his body at any time."
For a moment the sly old borderer made no response,and I knew he was quietly turning over the complicated situation in his own mind preparatory to intelligent action. I heard him step from the boat into the shallow water.
"All right, lad! I understand," he said heartily, his former indifference vanished. "Derned if I wouldn't jist as soon leave that Parley-Voo behind; but I'm with ye, an' I reckon Ol' Burns'll give them thar redskins another dern good jolt. Take hold here, boy, an' we'll run this yere man-o-war outside, where we kin ship the rest o' her crew."
The back-water rippling among the old piling was shallow, but the boat had little aboard and floated free, so that we worked it forward with little difficulty until we succeeded in rounding the slight promontory and held its bulging sides close against the mud wall. Leaving Burns to keep it in place, I crept silently up the bank.