Montlivet Part 15

I rose. "Spare your scorn, mademoiselle. This is no joust of wits. I would sell everything--except the honor of my sword--rather than lose six weeks of time."

"Then you have a mission?"

"A self-sent one, mademoiselle."

"But you can come again next year."

"Next year will be too late."

She threw out her hands. "Monsieur, try me. Let me travel with you as a man. I will be a man. I will be Monsieur Starling in truth. Try me once more."

I took her hand. "Mademoiselle, mademoiselle," I said, "think a moment. Would I force you to this marriage--would I suggest it even--if it did not seem a necessity, a necessity for my own ends? For I must have my head and hands clear. It is a selfish view. I know that. It is crushingly selfish. But it is for a large purpose. I am a small man fitted to a great undertaking, and I can permit no divided interests. I need an unhampered mind."

She walked a few steps. "And if I should travel with you as a woman and yet not marry you," she asked over her shoulder, "what then?"

I looked away. "I should be obliged to fight every man of my company first, then every white man that we might meet. It would hardly leave me with an unhampered mind, mademoiselle."

She made no comment with word or eye, and going back to the place where we had been sitting, she dropped upon the sand. I covered her shoulders with the red blanket, and again sat beside her. I would be silent till she chose to speak. After a time I went back into the forest to search fresh fuel for our fire.

When I returned with my arms laden, she turned her face toward me; her sorrowful eyes looked as if she could never again know sleep or forgetfulness. "I am a coward," she said, "yet I thought that cowardice and my desire for life had both died together. I did not draw back from the knives of the Indians, but now I am afraid of a loveless marriage. We are young. We may live many years. Oh, monsieur, I have not the courage!"

I piled the wood on the fire and did not answer. I stirred the red coals and marked how the flames slipped along the dried branches in festoons of light. Pierre was snoring, and I kicked him till he rolled over and swore in b.a.s.t.a.r.d French. Then I went to the woman.

"You have won," I said, and I laughed a little,--a mean, harsh laugh, my ears told me, not the laugh of a gentleman. "Mademoiselle, you have won. We start toward Montreal tomorrow. Then marry--whom you will."

She looked into my eyes. "Wait a moment;" she stopped. "Monsieur, how much time have you spent in learning the Indian dialects and preparing for this expedition?"

"Two years."

"And next year will indeed be too late?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "We waste good hours," I suggested.

"Mademoiselle, may I say 'good-night'?"

She stepped toward me. "Monsieur, do not spoil your courtesy," she begged. "I asked you a question."

I smiled at her. "The answer has lost pith and meaning. Yes, mademoiselle, next year will indeed be too late."

She put her hands before her eyes. "Then I will change my answer.

Monsieur, I will marry you when we reach Father Nouvel."

But I would not reply. I walked to the beach where there were dark and stars. I ground my heel into the pebbles, and I did not hear her moccasined step behind me. She had to touch my arm.

"I meant it, monsieur," she whispered.

I raised her fingers, and laid them back against her side. "Why tempt me?" I said rudely. "Happily for you my word is a man's word. We start toward Montreal to-morrow."

"Monsieur, I beg you. Go west to-morrow."

"No, mademoiselle."

"Then--then--monsieur, I give you warning. If we start toward Montreal to-morrow I shall escape you at the first opportunity, and try my fortune alone in the woods."

"You threaten me?"

She stood in front of me. "I would bring you to reason. Yes, I threaten you, in that I shall do what I say. Come, monsieur, I will follow you westward. Your years of preparation, your great opportunity, shall not be wasted because of me."

I took her hand. "You are a strange woman. A sage and a child; a woman and a warrior. But I will not marry you, mademoiselle."

"Why not, monsieur?"

"Because I will not hoodwink you. So long as I took you blindly against your will, I felt no shame at going about my own ends. But now that you have turned the tables on me and come without force, I cannot let you be a tool. I would not take you without telling you my plans,--and then you would not come."

"I know your plans, monsieur."

"You know that I hunt beaver."

"I know that you hunt men. Monsieur, are all the women of your nation puppets, that you should think me blind? Listen. You plan a coalition of the western tribes. La Salle's plan--with changes. You hope to make yourself a dictator, chief of a league of red men that shall control this western water-way. Is not this so, monsieur?"

"I---- Yes, mademoiselle."

"You intend to form your league this summer and advance upon the Iroquois in the autumn before the ice locks the lakes. You are in haste, for if you delay another twelvemonth you are convinced that the Iroquois will make a treaty with the Hurons at Michillimackinac, ma.s.sacre your garrison there, cow the western tribes, and so wrest this country from the French. Is not this so, monsieur?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"You see that I understand all this, monsieur. Yet, I will go with you."

I did not stir. "You are acute. Yet there is one point in my plan that you did not mention," I said dully.

She turned away. "I hoped to spare us both," she returned in a tone as lifeless as my own. "Yet, if you wish words, take them. Monsieur, the Iroquois are allies of the English. Your warfare with them is but a step in pursuit of larger game. In founding an empire for your own land you would take one away from mine. You hope in the end to crush the English on this continent. Have I stated you correctly, monsieur?"

I bowed.

She laughed--a laugh more bitter than my own had been. "I am indeed the plaything of Fate," she said a little wildly. "But I will marry you. You saved my life. Yes, more. You threw your career into the balance for an unknown man, your foe. You jeopardized all that you hoped for, and you never whined nor lost sleep. You are a superb gamester, monsieur."

I smiled. "Not enough of a gamester to accept your sacrifice, mademoiselle."

She clenched her hands. "I will marry you," she retorted. "You shall follow out your purpose. Though, after all, you cannot succeed. Who are you? A dreamer, a soldier of fortune, a man without place or following. You think slowly, and your heart rules your head. How can you hope to wrest an empire from--from us? You cannot do it. You cannot. But you shall have your chance. You gave me mine and you shall have yours. We go west. Otherwise--I have warned you, monsieur."

I seized her wrist, and made her meet my look. "That is a coward's threat," I said contemptuously.

I could not daunt her. "I mean it. I mean it, monsieur," she repeated quietly.

I stood and looked at her. "You have a man's equity," I said. "You are determined to give me my chance. Well, I will take it,--and remember that you gave it to me. But, would you have me in any way weaken my purpose, mademoiselle?"

She looked up with a flash of anger. "Am I a child or an intriguing woman? No, no. Do your best, or your worst, or I shall despise you for your weakness. I have told you that I have scant hopes for your success, monsieur."

What could I say? I stood before her awkwardly. "Mademoiselle, may I tell you something of myself and my people? You should know what sort of name you are to bear."