A Little Girl in Old Detroit Part 39

"I am not afraid. I am glad I came, though it was with such a desperate purpose. Here is my ring," and she slipped it on Jeanne's finger. "Give it to Wanita when you are landed. He is faithful to me and this is our seal."

She unlocked the door. Noko was in a little heap on the mat, snoring.

"Go straight over. Never mind the men. You will see the plank, and then go round the little point. Adieu. I wish thee a safe voyage home."

Jeanne pressed the hands again. She was like one in a dream. She felt afraid the men would question her, perhaps order her back. Two of them were asleep. She tripped down the plank, turned the corner of the dock and saw the clump of trees. Still she hardly dared breathe until she had pa.s.sed it and found the canoe beached, and a slim young Indian pacing up and down.

"Wanita, Wanita!" she exclaimed, timorously.

He studied her in surprise. Yes, that was her blanket. "Mistress--"

going closer, and then hesitating.

"Here is her ring, Owaissa's ring. And she bade me--she stays on the boat. Louis Marsac comes with a priest."

"Then it was a lie, an awful black lie they told my mistress about his marrying a French girl! By all the moons in a twelvemonth she is his wife. And you--" studying her with severe scrutiny.

"I am the French girl. It was a mistake. But I must get away, and she sends me to the White Chief. She said one could trust you to the death."

"I would go to the death for my beautiful mistress. The White Chief--yes."

Then he helped her into the canoe and made her comfortable with the blankets.

"I wish it were earlier," he exclaimed. "The purple spirits of the night are stretching out their hands. You will not be afraid? It is a long pull."

"Oh, no, no!" She drew a relieved breath, but every pulse had been so weighted with anxiety for days that she could not realize her freedom.

Oh, how good the blessed air felt! All the wide expanse about her brought a thrill of delight, still not unmixed with fear. A boat came bearing down upon them and she held her breath, but the canoe moved aside adroitly.

"They were drunken fellows, no doubt," said Wanita. "It is told of the Sieur Cadillac that he weakened the rum and would allow a man only so much. It is a pity there is no such strictness now. The White Chief tries."

"Is he chief of the Indians?" she asked, vaguely.

"Oh, no. He is in the great council of the fur traders, but he has ever been fair to the Indians; strict, too, and they honor him, believe in him, and do his bidding. That is, most of them do. He settles many quarrels. It is not now as it used to be. Since the coming of the white men tribes have been split in parts and chiefs of the same nation fight for power. He tries to keep peace between them and the whites. There would be many wars without him."

"But he is not an Indian?"

"Oh, no. He came from Canada to the fur country. He had known great sorrow. His wife and child had been ma.s.sacred by the red men. And then he married a beautiful Indian princess somewhere about Hudson Bay. He had so many men under him that they called him the White Chief, and partly, I think, because he was so n.o.ble and large and grand. Then he built his house on the island where one side is perpendicular rocks, and fortified it and made of it a most lovely home for his beautiful wife.

She has everything from all countries, it is said, and the house is grand as the palaces at Montreal. They have two sons. They come over to Fort St. Ignace and Michilimackinac, and he has taken her to Quebec, where, it is said, she was entertained like a queen. He is very proud of her and adores her. Ah, if you could see him you would know at once that he was a grand man. But courageous and high spirited as he is, he is always counseling peace. There is much bitter feeling still between the French and English, and now, since the Americans have conquered, the English are stirring up strife with the Indians, it is said. He advises them to make homes and settle peaceably, and hunt at the north where there is still plenty of game. He has bought tracts of land for them, but my nation are not like the white men. They despise work." Jeanne knew that well.

Then Wanita asked her about Detroit. He had been up North; his mistress had lived at Mackinaw and St. Ignace. All the spring she had been about Lake Superior, which was grand, and the big lake on the other side, Lake Michigan. Sometimes he had cared for M. Marsac's boat.

"M. Marsac was your lady's lover."

"Oh, Mam'selle, he was devoted before he went to Detroit. He is rich and handsome, you see, and there are many women smiling on him. There were at Mackinaw. The white ladies do not mind a little Indian blood when there is money. But Owaissa is for him, and she will be as grand a lady as the White Queen."

Wanita wished in his secret soul Louis Marsac was as grand as the White Chief. But few men were.

And now the twilight was gone and the broad sheet of water was weird, moving blackness. The canoe seemed so frail, that used as she was to it Jeanne drew in fear with every breath. If there were only a moon! It was cold, too. She drew the blanket closer round her.

"Are we almost there?" she inquired.

"Oh, no, Mam'selle. Are you tired? If you could sing to pa.s.s away the time."

Jeanne essayed some French songs, but her heart was not light enough.

Then they lapsed into silence. On and on--there was no wind and they were out of the strongest current, so there was no danger.

What was Owaissa doing, thinking? Had Louis Marsac returned with the priest? Was it true she had come to kill her, Jeanne? How strange one should love a man so deeply, strongly! She shuddered. She had only cared for quiet and pleasant wanderings and Pani. Perhaps it was all some horrid dream. Or was it true one could be bewitched?

Sometimes she drowsed. She recalled the night she had slept against the Huron's knee. Would the hours or the journey ever come to an end? She said over the rosary and all the prayers she could remember, interspersing them with thanksgivings to the good G.o.d and to Owaissa.

Something black and awful loomed up before her. She uttered a cry.

"We are here. It is nothing to be afraid of. We go around to this side, so. There is a little basin here, and a sort of wharf. It is almost a fort;" and he laughed lightly as he helped her out on to dry ground, stony though it was.

"I will find the gate. The White Chief has this side well picketed, and there are enough within to defend it against odds, if the odds ever come. Now, here is the gate and I must ring. Do not be frightened, it is always closed at dusk."

The clang made Jeanne jump, and cling to her guide.

There was a step after a long while. A plate was pushed partly aside and a voice said through the grating:--

"What is it?"

"It is I, Wanita, Loudac. I have some one who has been in danger, a little maid from Detroit, stolen away by Indians. My mistress Owaissa begs shelter for her until she can be returned. It was late when she was rescued from her enemies and we stole away by night."

"How many of you?"

"The maid and myself, and--our canoe," with a light laugh. "The canoe is fastened to a stake. And I must go back, so there is but one to throw upon your kindness."

"Wait," said the gate keeper. There were great bolts to be withdrawn and chains rattled. Presently the creaking gate opened a little way and the light of a lantern flared out. Jeanne was dazed for an instant.

"I will not come in, good Loudac. It is a long way back and my mistress may need me. Here is the maid," and he gave Jeanne a gentle push.

"From Detroit?" The interlocutor was a stout Canadian and seemed gigantic to Jeanne. "And 'scaped from the Indians. Lucky they did not spell, it with another letter and leave no top to thy head. Wanita, lad, thou hadst better come in and have a sup of wine. Or remain all night."

But Wanita refused with cordial thanks.

"Here is the ring;" and Jeanne pressed it in his hand. "And a thousand thanks, tell your brave mistress."

With a quick adieu he was gone.

"I must find shelter for you to-night, for our lady cannot be disturbed," he said. "Come this way."

The bolts and chains were put in place again. Jeanne followed her guide up some steps and through another gate. There was a lodge and a light within. A woman in a short gown of blue and a striped petticoat looked out of the doorway and made a sharp inquiry.

"A maid who must tell her own story, good dame, for my wits seem scattered. She hath been sent by Owaissa the Indian maiden and brought by her servitor in a canoe. Tell thy story, child."

"She is shivering with the cold and looks blue as a midwinter icicle.

She must have some tea to warm her up. Stir a fire, Loudac."