Lords of the North Part 41

"Full of soldiers!" I thundered. "There are not a hundred in the gang."

Thereupon I gave the caitiff a toss that sent him reeling against the wall, and dashed up-stairs for the papers. All was darkness, and I nigh broke my neck over a coffin-shaped rough box made for one of the trappers, who had died in the fort. Why was the thing lying there, anyway? The man should have been put into it and buried at once without any drinking bout and dead wake, I reflected with some sharpness, as I rubbed my bruised shins and shoved the box aside. Shouts rang up from the courtyard. Heavy feet trampled in the hall below. Hamilton, as a Hudson's Bay man, and Father Holland, I knew, were perfectly safe. But I was far from safe. Why were they not there to help me, I wondered, with the sort of rage we all vent on our friends when we are cornered and they at ease. I fumbled across the apartment, found the right desk, pried the drawer open with my knife, and was in the very act of seizing the doc.u.ments when I saw my own shadow on the floor. Lantern light burst with a glare through the gloom of the doorway.

CHAPTER XXVI

FATHER HOLLAND AND I IN THE TOILS

Behind the lantern was a face with terrified eyes and gaping mouth. It was the priest, his genial countenance a very picture of fear.

"What's wrong, Father?" I asked. "You needn't be alarmed; you're all right."

"But I am alarmed, for you're all wrong! Lord, boy, why didn't ye stay with that peppery Scotchman? What did Frances mane by lettin' you out to-night?" and he shaded the light of the lantern with his hand.

"I wanted these things," I explained.

"Ye want a broad thumpin', I'm thinkin', ye rattle-pate, to risk y'r precious noodle here to-night," he whispered, coming forward and fussing about me with all the maternal anxiety of a hen over her only chicken.

"Listen," said I. "The whole mob's coming in."

"Go!" he urged, pushing me from the desk over which I still fumbled.

"Run for those dogs of mercenaries!" I protested.

"Ye swash-buckler! Ye stiff-necked braggart!" bawled the priest. "Out wid y'r nonsense, and what good are y' thinkin' ye'll do--? Stir your stumps, y' stoopid spalpeen!"

"Listen," I urged, undisturbed by the tongue-thrashing that stormed about my ears. In the babel of voices I thought I had heard some one call my name.

"Run, Rufus! Run for y'r life, boy!" urged Father Holland, apparently thinking the ruffians had come solely for me.

"Run yourself, Father; run yourself, and see how you like it," and I tucked the doc.u.ments inside my coat.

"Divil a bit I'll run," returned the priest.

"Hark!"

The De Meurons' leaders were shouting orders to their men. Above the screams of people fleeing in terror through pa.s.sage-ways, came a shrill bugle-call.

"Go--go--go--Rufus!" begged Father Holland in a paroxysm of fear. "Go!"

he pleaded, pushing me towards the door.

"I won't!" and I jerked away from him. "There, now." I caught up a club and loaded pistol.

The Nor'-Westers had no time to defend themselves. Almost before my stubborn defiance was uttered, the building was filled with a mob of intoxicated De Meurons. Rushing everywhere with fixed bayonets and cursing at the top of their voices, they threatened death to all Nor'-Westers. There was a loud scuffling of men forcing their way through the defended hall downstairs.

"Go, Rufus, go! Think of Frances! Save yourself," urged the priest.

It was too late. I could not escape by the hall. Noisy feet were already trampling up the stairs and the clank of armed men filled every pa.s.sage.

"Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee! Seven Oaks!" bawled a French voice from the half-way landing, and a mult.i.tude of men with torches dashed up the stairs. I took a stand to defend myself; for I thought I might be charged with implication in the ma.s.sacre.

"Jee-les-pee," roared the voices. "Where is Gillespie?" thundered a leader.

"That's you, Rufus, lad! Down with you!" muttered the priest. Before I knew his purpose, he had tripped my feet from under me and knocked me flat on the floor. Overturning the empty coffin-box, he clapped it above my whole length, imprisoning me with the snap and celerity of a mouse-trap. Then I heard the thud of two hundred avoirdupois seating itself on top of the case. The man above my person had whisked out a book of prayers, and with lantern on the desk was conning over devotions, which, I am sure, must have been read with the manual upside down; for bits of the _pater noster_, service of the ma.s.s, and vesper psalms were uttered in a disconnected jumble, though I could not but apply the words to my own case.

"_Libera nos a malo--ora pro n.o.bis, peccatoribus--ab hoste maligno defende me--ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me--peccator videbit et irascetur--desiderium peccatorum peribit_----" came from the priest with torrent speed.

"Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee!" roared a dozen throats above the half-way landing. Then came the stamp of many feet to the door.

"Wait, men!" Hamilton's voice commanded. "I'll see if he's here!"

"_Simulacra gentium argentum et aurum, opera manuum hominum_," like hailstones rattled the Latin words down on my prison.

"One moment, men," came Eric's voice; but he could not hold them back.

In burst the door with a rush, and immediately the room was crowded with vociferating French soldiers.

"_Ma.n.u.s habent, et non palpabunt; pedes_----"

"Is Gillespie here?" interrupted Hamilton, without the slightest recognition of the priest in his tones.

"_Pedes habent et non ambulabunt; non clamabunt in gutture suo_,"

muttered the priest, finishing his verse; then to the men with a stiffness which I did not think Father Holland could ever a.s.sume--

"How often must I be disturbed by men seeking that young scoundrel? Look at this place, fairly topsy-turvy with their hunt! Faith! The room is before you. Look and see!" and with a great indifference he went on with his devotions.

"_Similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea_----"

"Some one here before us?" interrupted an Englishman with some suspicion.

"Two parties here before ye," answered the priest, icily, as if these repeated questions rumpled ecclesiastical dignity, and he gabbled on with the psalm, "_similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea, et omnes_----"

"If we lifted that box," interrupted the persistent Englishman, "what might there be?"

"If ye lift that box," answered Father Holland with ma.s.sive solemnity--and I confess every hair on my body bristled as he rose--"If ye lift that box there might be a powr--dead--body," which was very true; for I still held the c.o.c.ked pistol in hand and would have shot the first man daring to molest me.

But the priest's indifference was not so great as it appeared. I could tell from a tremor in his voice that he was greatly disturbed; and he certainly lost his place altogether in the vesper psalm.

"_Requiescat in pace_," were his next words, uttered in funereal gravity. Singularly enough, they seemed to fit the situation.

Father Holland's prompt offer to have the rough box examined satisfied the searchers, and there were no further demands.

"Oh," said the Englishman, taken aback, "I beg your pardon, sir! No offence meant."

"No offence," replied the priest, reseating himself. "_Benedicite_----"