Montlivet Part 11

I drew myself up reluctantly. "Well?"

He stood with arms akimbo, his head to one side. "It is as plain as a pikestaff. In this dress I can go where you cannot. I can reconnoitre for you. In your man's coat I should be grotesque, for it is twice my size. I should be noticeable and draw comment on us. As it is, I can go un.o.bserved."

Now this was partly true. "But the presence of a woman would discredit our canoes," I objected.

He turned this over. "A woman would discredit your party?"

"Of course."

"But no one sees you but the Indians."

"They report to the priests."

"And you care what the priests think?"

"I care for the good name of my company. Monsieur, do you like to wear a squaw's dress?"

He laughed. "Why not? I like women. Why scorn their garb? But I see your reasons, monsieur. They are better than mine. So get out the clothing,--though I shall look like an eel in a bear's skin."

But I had lost my haste. Mock woman that he was, he was yet somewhat pleasant to the eye. I had noticed more than once the picture that he made as he came and went among the trees. Yet I thought lightly of myself for enjoying the deceit of my eyesight. I rose.

"Wear your skirts, then, for a few days longer," I said coldly. "It is too dark to find what I want. Come now. We must sleep early, and be up betimes, for we shall take up our journey in the morning."

We were astir at daybreak. It was a red morning, and the birds were singing. The air was keen, but the fire snapped cheerfully, and the sky gave promise of a warm day. We carried the bales to the beach, and were ready for the canoes. Then I missed the Englishman. He had been aloof and moody during breakfast, and I searched for him with some alarm.

I found him in the hollow where he slept at night; he would not sleep near the rest of us, saying that we disturbed him with our snoring. He was on his back, his gaze on the tree-tops, and he was frowning heavily.

I broke through the bushes. "You are ill!"

He jumped to his feet. "No, no, monsieur! Ill only in mind.

Monsieur, I have failed you."

I had never seen his aplomb so shaken. "Why were you lying on the ground?"

"To find out whether I could see again what I saw last night. Do you see that balsam,--the one with the forked top? Monsieur, I saw an Indian's face in that tree last night."

I took his hands, which were cold. "Now tell me."

He drew his hands away. "I am often awake in the night. Last night the moon was clear. All at once I saw an Indian's face looking out from that tree."

"And you did not call me!"

"Monsieur, I thought it must be fancy. I have troubled dreams. I often--since my capture--think I see an Indian, and it proves to be nothing but a bush. So I distrust my eyes, especially at night. Then Francois was on watch, and several times he walked this way. If it had really been an Indian would not Francois have seen?"

I pointed him to the forest. "Do you see anything? We seem alone, yet there are countless eyes watching us, from the squirrel over your head to the Indian who may be listening now. When you lay on your back just now did you see anything that looked like a face?"

He shook his head. "No, the s.p.a.ce was open. But, monsieur, I have been over the ground. I can find no track."

I went to the balsam and examined it. Then I called the Englishman and pointed to a patch of rubbed lichen on the bark above our heads. "His foot slipped. What was he like? How was his hair dressed?"

He gasped a little. "Monsieur, it could not have been a real Indian.

The rubbed moss,--why, an animal could have done that. As to his appearance, it was strange. His head was shaved on one side, and he had long braided hair on the other. Surely it was a dream."

I laughed. "Come, Starling, the canoes are waiting."

"Monsieur, did you ever see an Indian shaved in that way?"

I nodded. "Many times."

"Monsieur, monsieur! What kind of Indians?"

"It is a Huron mode."

"Then we have been followed?"

I shrugged. "Evidently. I do not understand their game, but they will declare it soon enough. Come, Starling."

But he lingered. "Monsieur, I blundered. I should have waked you."

I stopped to lay a hand on his shoulder. "And you will blunder again if you waste strength in regrets. Come, a hangdog look means a divided mind, and I need your wits. Keep what watch you can, and we shall say nothing of this."

The men had carried the canoes to the beach, and now sat beside them, drumming their heels in idleness. This gave me excuse for rating them, and I did it with force of lung. Thinking that there were Indians--or, at least, an Indian--in hiding, I hoped to draw them from cover in this fashion. But my brave periods rattled uselessly. The forest kept its springtime peace, and all that I got out of my display of spirit was the excitement of playing my part well to an unseen audience. We were allowed to load our canoes in peace.

And more, we were allowed to depart. I was prepared for a flight of arrows as a parting courtesy, but none came. Well, I could make nothing of the situation. I stored the incident away as something to remember, but not to distress myself about. The men sang as they dipped their blades. I sang, too, when I could get the tune. It was a fine morning, and my blood was astir. I saw the Englishman's color rise under the whip of the quick motion and the keen air. He did not speak unless I addressed him, but his look was almost happy. I could not help liking it in him that he should enjoy the freedom of our journeying, and should feel the majesty of the untraveled waters. I saw that he was trying, as he promised, not to intrude upon my notice, and I wondered a little what he would be saying to me now if I had answered him otherwise, and had said that we could be friends. Perhaps I had cut myself off from pleasant intercourse. He certainly had gayety of spirit, even if he somewhat lacked in strength of head.

We paddled only till mid-afternoon. I was as eager to meet the western Indians as I had been anxious to avoid those we left behind, and now my object was to invite attention. It was the season for beaver and otter trapping, and I hoped to encounter hunting parties, so we landed, made camp in the open, and piled our fire till the smoke blurred the sky.

The spirit of the afternoon was toward idleness. We fished some, but loitered more, and I had no word of reproof for the men for using hours of good daylight playing the dish game they had learned among the Ottawas. I heard them stake their patrimony in this world, and their hopes of the next, on the throw of the black and yellow b.a.l.l.s, but I smoked my pipe, and let them brag and squabble. The bees were droning, the sun lay warm on my back, and the forest was at peace. Two years before, I remembered, I had worn lace and periwig on this day, and had stood in his majesty's antechamber. Now I was gaunt and rusty as a bear in spring. I looked at the secret forest, the uncharted water, and at my smoke-grimed men squatting like monkeys over a savage game, and I smote my knee with content. Truly it was a satisfying thing to live while the world afforded such contrasts! And if I played my present cards with skill, there might be a still greater contrast in store for me when next I stood in that ante-chamber and heard my name carried within. But that thought made me restless, and I went in search of the Englishman.

The Englishman had sat apart from us since we landed, and now I found him with his back against a rock ledge looking at the water. I was in a mood when I had to wag my tongue to some one and ease myself of some spreading fancies. So I dropped down beside him.

"Monsieur," I began by way of introduction to my theme, "are you indeed a yeoman?"

He looked up with an excess of solemnity. "No, monsieur."

This was not the answer I had expected,--though, in truth, I had given the matter little thought. "Then you are a gentleman?" I asked, deflected from my intended speech.

He shook his head. "No, monsieur, no gentleman."

I did not like his hidden play with words, although I understood it.

"That is a farce!" I said unkindly. "It is folly to say that in your Colonies you will have no caste. You cannot change nature. Can you make a camel of a marmoset? I asked you what you were born?"

He smiled. "I was born an English subject. Monsieur, I have answered three questions. You owe me three in turn. Did you ever know Robert Cavelier?"

I stared. "The Seigneur de la Salle?"

"The same."

I stared again. "He has been dead for eight years. What do you, an Englishman, know of him?"