A Little Girl in Old Quebec Part 38

The Commandant ordered that a party be formed at once to rescue him.

They could not allow him to perish there in the wilderness. He might be ill.

"He might die," Rose said to herself. And then an intense ungovernable longing came over her to see him once again. Women could minister to him better than men. And if Wanamee and Pani would go. Pani had been so much with women that he had lost many of the virile Indian traits.

Yes, they would go, but Wanamee did not quite approve of the journey. No one could tell how deep a snow would set in.

"But it will be only a six days' journey, and most of it through the forests. Savignon will be an excellent guide. And no one must speak of the great sorrow that awaits him here."

M. de Champlain opposed the plan. It was too severe for women. But curiously enough Savignon said--"The blossom of Quebec is no dainty flower, to be crushed by wind and storm. If she wants to go, I am on her side."

When Rose heard this she flew out to thank him, catching one hand in both of hers, her eyes luminous with gladness.

"Oh, I cannot truly thank you, Monsieur. I must go, even if I ran away and followed on behind. And I am no delicate house-plant."

"Thou art a brave girl," admiringly. "Thou hast been used to woods and rocks, and art strong and courageous."

To be called monsieur was one of Savignon's great delights. He had tired not a little of the roughness of savage life, and though he had caressed pretty Indian maidens he had never been much in love with them. And this girl was different from most of the white women. The courage in every line of her face, the exuberant bounding life that flushed her veins, her straight lithe figure, and the grace of every movement, appealed strongly to him.

"Thou wilt find it hard going, Mam'selle, keeping step to the men, and sleeping in the woods. But three days are soon spent, and we need not march back so hastily. Our women have stood more than that."

"You will see how much I can stand," she answered proudly. She believed the admiring eyes were for her courage alone.

Go she must. She did not stop to question. There was only one thing uppermost in her mind. If he died she must see him; if he lived, she must wait upon him, comfort him in his sorrow, for although in a vague way she knew he had not come up to the highest joy in his marriage, any more than her dear Sieur de Champlain, he had cared very tenderly for miladi, and would sorrow to know her shut out of life. And it had been so quiet at the last, just falling asleep. Her arms had been around her, her voice the last sound miladi had heard. He would rejoice in his sorrow that all had been so tranquil.

Rose and Wanamee came down in their robes of fur, with their deerskin frocks underneath. Rose's cap had its visor turned up and it framed in her beautiful face. Her hair fell in loose curls, the way she had always worn it, and the morning sun sent golden gleams amongst it. There was a small crowd to wish them G.o.d-speed.

The horses that De Champlain had brought over and a few mules that had been at Cape Tourmente were carried off in the English raid. True, they would not have been of much account in the overgrown brush of the wilderness.

"Mam'selle," Savignon said, after an hour or two, "do not hurry ahead so. You will tire before night."

"I feel as if I could run, or fly," she made answer, and she looked so.

CHAPTER XVI

A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS

The weather was splendid, the sky cloudless, the air scented with the resinous fragrance of cedar, fir, and pine. They paused for a midday lunch and then kept on until dark. In a clearing in an almost impenetrable forest they paused, built a fire, and prepared to camp.

Savignon drew some young saplings together and filled up the interstices with boughs, ordering smaller ones inside that a sort of bed should be raised off the ground. One of the men had shot some squirrels, and their broiling over the coals was appetizing.

"You and Wanamee will be quite safe," the guide said. "We shall wrap in our blankets and sleep about the fire. If you hear the cry of wolves, do not be alarmed."

"How good you are," Rose returned, her eyes glorious with grateful emotions. "M. Destournier will never forget your service. It cannot be rewarded."

"Mam'selle, a man would give his life for your pleasure. Sleep well and do not fear."

And sleep she did, with the slumber of youth and health. Naught came to alarm them.

Their second day's journey was uneventful, though it was not so clear and sunny, and again they camped for the night. Was there only one day more? Rose's heart beat with alternate fear and joy. Indeed, they might meet the cavalcade on the way.

She would not admit fatigue, indeed she did not feel it. Her grand hope gave lightness to her step and color to her cheeks, which were like a delicious opening rose, and you were fain to declare they had the same fragrance. When she talked to Wanamee, Savignon did not listen for any girlish secrets, but simply the music of her voice. That day some bird astray in the forest gave his whistle, perhaps to his mate, and she answered it with the most enchanting music. He came so near they could hear the flutter of his wings. Cadotte started up with his gun.

"You shall not kill it!" she cried. "Do you think I would lure a bird to such a cruel, treacherous death!"

Her face was bewitching in its indignation. What spirit, what strength of purpose shone in it!

"He will freeze before spring, Mam'selle," Cadotte returned sullenly.

"Then let him die as the good G.o.d intends."

"Mam'selle, I never heard a human voice so like a bird's," Savignon declared, in a tone of admiration. "Do you know other voices that range in Quebec?"

She laughed, her present anger vanishing.

"I used to tame them when I was a child. They would come at my call. I loved them so. And a tame deer knew my voice and followed me."

"As anything would. Mam'selle, sing or whistle, and it will make our steps lighter. Among the Bostonnais they march to music not as sweet as thine."

She was glad to give them pleasure.

The last day seemed long indeed, to her. Once they mistook the path and had to pick their way back. Savignon's acute eyes told him another party had crossed it, and he went on warily.

Presently, in the coming darkness, two scouts ran on ahead.

"Art thou tired, Mam'selle?" asked the well-modulated voice that had lost the guttural Indian tone.

"Not tired, but impatient. Do you suppose we have missed them? What if they should have started in some other direction?"

"I hardly think that. I have expected to meet them. M. Destournier must have been more disabled than we supposed. But we shall soon know."

Oh, what if he were dead! A blackness fell over everything. She caught Wanamee's arm for support. It was growing so dark they kept closer together. The dead leaves rustled under their feet, now and then in an opening they saw the sky in the soft, whitish-gray tints before it turns to blue.

There was a shrill, prolonged whistle.

"They are coming back with news." Savignon guessed it was not cheering.

He answered through his fingers.

The two scouts came hurrying forward.

"They are gone. They must have taken some other road. The campfire is out, the stones are missing. What shall we do?"

Rose gave a soft, appealing cry, that she vainly strove to restrain.

"We had better go on. We must stop for the night. It is too dark to find their trail."

It seemed to Rose as if she would sink to the ground with indescribable terror.