The Rose of Old St. Louis Part 15

At the door of the house, Black Hawk and Yorke branched off to the servants' quarters, and I followed them to see what had become of Fatima, for I had left her standing beside the gallery when I ran back to meet the savage. I found her standing patiently by the stable door waiting to be let in, and she whinnied with delight as she heard my step. I called to Yorke to come and take care of her (for I was in haste to get back to the house), and at the sound of my voice Leon came rushing, in great bounds. Together we walked down to the well, that I might wash the blood from my face before presenting myself to the ladies. The well was in a low part of the grounds, some little distance from the house, and it was while I was vigorously splashing my hands and face that I heard a low growl from Leon. I looked up quickly and thought I caught the glimpse of a gun, and instinctively I sprang to one side, that if any one was aiming at me I might cheat him of his aim. At the same moment Leon sprang with a terrible roar straight at the spot where I had fancied I saw the metal shining and where now I was sure I heard the rustle of some one fleeing. I followed quickly after, for the thought of any human creature in the power of that great beast in rage was awful to me. Enemy or no, I would if possible save him from being torn to pieces by a furious dog.

As I ran, I called to him as I had heard his mistress call, and in French, lest he might not understand English:

"a bas, Leon! Tais-toi, mon ange!" But the words had no meaning for him in my gruff voice: it was the soft music of his mistress's tones he understood and obeyed. I heard another furious roar, a wild shriek as of a creature in mortal fear or pain, and then a shot. I was on the spot almost before the shot had ceased to ring in my ears. There lay Leon on the white snow, a dark ma.s.s writhing in what I feared was a death-struggle, and above him stood the chevalier, his smoking pistol in his hand. I knew as soon as I saw him in Indian costume that he was the savage who had been the foremost of his band, who had followed us so closely and had disappeared when I had gone to seek him. It was in the doctor's garden he had disappeared and lain in hiding to accomplish the capture or execute a revenge later.

My own pistol was in my hand, and I covered him with it. In that moment of rage when Leon, whom I had learned to love and who loved me,--Leon, _her_ dog,--great, beautiful, tried and trusty companion and friend,--lay dying from a shot from that villain's hand: in that moment of rage I came near putting an end at once and forever to a life that I believed could never be anything but a curse to any mortal a.s.sociated with it. But the words of Pelagie rang in my ears and stayed my hand:

"If it is in your power, save the chevalier!"

His own pistol was empty and he knew himself to be at my mercy, and that his life was worth no more than the snuffing out of a candle; yet, to do him justice, he held his ground and returned my gaze as fearlessly as he might have done had we stood with drawn swords, each ready for the thrust and parry.

The old moon had but lately risen, and, hanging low in the eastern sky, her level rays fell full on the chevalier's face. It was white enough, but that might have been the effect of her sickly light reflected from the ghostly snow; the daredevil in his eyes said plainly as words, "Do your worst!"

For a full half-minute I kept him covered, and for a full half-minute he returned my steady gaze. Then suddenly there arose from the house the noise of doors opening and shutting and the hurried tramp of feet.

I knew what it meant. The shot had been heard and they were coming to see what had happened. In a moment they would all be upon us,--my captain, the doctor, young Papin, yes, and Yorke and Black Hawk too,--and there would be no possibility of saving the chevalier.

He heard the noise, also, and he too knew what it meant. For one instant his eyes wavered and he looked as if he would turn and run, spite of my threatening pistol. Only for an instant, and then he drew himself up proudly and threw back his head.

"Fire, Monsieur," he said: "Why do you wait to let others share the glory?"

For answer I lowered my pistol.

"Monsieur," I said, "you richly deserve death, and for a moment you were in deadly peril; but Mademoiselle Pelagie, whom you would basely wrong, pleads for you, and I spare your life at her intercession. If you will turn and run directly south, there is a low place in the wall, and on this side a pile of logs by which you may easily scale it, and almost directly opposite a narrow opening in the stockade through which you can force your way. But you must run for your life.

I will remain here and do what I can to prevent pursuit; 'twill be no easy matter to keep Black Hawk off your trail."

Yet he did not start at once. He hesitated and his eyes fell; then he looked up quickly and half extended his hand.

"Monsieur, you have been a generous foe; will you permit that I clasp your hand?"

But a flood of memories rushed over me: his unswording me in the dance; his attempt to steal mademoiselle at the picnic and to poison her mind against her friends; this second attempt, where it was through no fault of his that we were not all dead men and mademoiselle far on her way to Cape Girardeau, in the power of savages and a villain more to be dreaded than they. I put my hand behind me and said coldly:

"My hand belongs to my friends and to a foe whom I can honor.

Monsieur, if you tarry longer, I will not be responsible for your life."

Even in the pale light I could see the deep flush sweep his cheek and his hand spring involuntarily to his sword-hilt. But he thought better of it, turned, and strode quickly away toward the low spot in the stone wall.

Then I had leisure to think of poor Leon. I knelt down beside him, where a dark pool was rapidly widening in the white snow. I could see where the red fountain gushed from a wound in his shoulder. It was possible no vital part had been touched and he might be saved could that gushing fountain of life-blood be stanched. As it was, his eyes were already glazing and his limbs stiffening and his breath coming in long-drawn sobs, like a man in extremity. He was like to breathe his last before even those hurrying feet, fast drawing near, should reach him. I knew enough of surgery to know that I must apply a tight bandage above the wound; but where should I find a bandage? My flimsy lace handkerchief was worse than useless. There was no help for it: the purple silken sword-sash, of which I was mightily proud, whose long fringed ends, tied in a graceful knot, fell almost to my knees, must be sacrificed. I hastily unknotted it, and tenderly as possible, that I might not hurt the poor fellow more than needs must (for his flesh quivered under my touch), I bound it round the shoulder and with all my strength drew it tight. Quickly the gushing fountain stayed, and then taking from my pocket a flask that my mother herself had always bid me carry, I forced a few drops into his fast-setting jaws.

I knew I had done the right thing when, by the time they had all come up, Leon had lifted his head and was feebly licking my hand.

Their first exclamations of horror were followed by a hail of questions:

"Who has done this?" "Where is he?" "Did you see him?" "How did it happen?"

To all their questions I made but one answer:

"I heard the shot, and ran up to find Leon lying on the ground, dying as I believed, and I have done what I could to help him."

"And you have saved his life, or, at least, if he lives, he will have only you to thank," said Dr. Saugrain, who had been on his knees beside Leon, examining him.

"You and your silken sash," he added, with the old twinkle of his eye.

"'Twas a n.o.ble sacrifice, and we all appreciate how great a one."

The good doctor was ever twitting me on what he was pleased to call my love of dress; but I made him no answer this time, for I was watching Black Hawk, who, with an Indian's cunning, had at once discovered the footprints in the snow and that there was but one pair of them, and was stealing off after them. That would never do.

"Great Chief," I cried, "'tis no use following the Red Dog; he has had too long a start. Will you help us to carry the dog of La Pet.i.te to the house, where we can put him in a warm bed? 'Twill never do to let him lie in the snow, and 'twill take us all to carry him comfortably."

Black Hawk hesitated, and then grunted out an unwilling consent. I think it seemed to him somewhat beneath the dignity of a great chief to carry a dog, and only because of his love for La Pet.i.te did he bring his mind to it. Nor did my little fiction about the Red Dog deceive him.

"No Red Dog," he grunted. "White Wolf! Trail fresh. Black Hawk bring his scalp to La Pet.i.te."

But the doctor saved me the necessity of arguing further with him.

"Red Dog or White Wolf, Black Hawk," he said, "n'importe! 'Tis the mastiff we must look to now. A sad day 'twould be for all of us should he die; so lend a hand, vite, vite!"

And this from the doctor, who had told me when I first met him he would not have cared had I killed Leon, for he loved him not. The truth was that the doctor's devotion to Leon and Leon's to him were second only to the devotion of the dog and his mistress to each other, though, owing to the fact that Leon often stalked into his laboratory at inopportune moments, sometimes spoiling the most delicate experiment by poking his great inquisitive muzzle where it did not belong, the doctor's patience was sometimes tried almost beyond the limit of endurance.

The doctor's exhortation, uttered in a sharp and clipping way peculiar to him when excited, was effectual. Very tenderly between us all we managed to lift the mastiff, and bore him to the negroes' quarters, where, in Narcisse's cabin, we made him a warm bed and washed and dressed his wound, and left him in a fair way to recovery.

I was a little behind the others in reaching the house, for I had delayed about some last arrangements for Leon's comfort, and then it had been necessary that I should make a hasty toilet. Hands and face were soiled with blood and grime (my purple velvets I feared were ruined forever, but I would not take the time to change them), and my hair was in much disorder. A hasty scrubbing of hands and face and a retying of my hair-ribbon to try to confine the rebellious yellow curls that were tumbling all over my head, and that I so much despised, were all I permitted myself time for. Yet the few minutes I had lingered had been long enough for the launching of a thunderbolt, and I arrived just at the moment to see the havoc it had made.

Mademoiselle in her ball-dress had thrown herself on her knees beside madame, her white arms flung around madame's neck, her face buried in her motherly bosom, sobbing piteously. Madame gently stroked the dark curls, saying over and over only the same words, "My child, my child, my poor child!" while the tears flowed down her own cheeks all unnoticed.

The doctor stood beside her, patting as he could her white arm or dark curls or tender cheek, and saying helplessly:

"Voila, voila! Quoi donc! N'importe, n'importe!" and many other as senseless words, and growing every moment more hopeless and helpless as mademoiselle but wept the more bitterly.

On the other side of the room stood young Papin, pale and rigid as if carved in stone, his eyes fixed on mademoiselle. I feared that for him too it had been a bitter blow, for I could not doubt that it was the announcement of mademoiselle's departure on the morrow that had created such consternation.

The captain had discreetly turned his back and was looking out of the window. At the sound of my entrance he turned and beckoned me to him.

"I fear 'twill never do," he whispered; "the maiden is breaking her heart."

As if she had heard his words, mademoiselle lifted her head, and though her face was tear-stained and her hair hanging in disheveled locks about it, it was still the most beautiful face I had ever seen.

At sight of me she flung her head back, and her eyes flashed. She extended one round white arm toward me, and in tones of bitter scorn she exclaimed:

"It is you, you, Monsieur, who have done this! I will not leave my guardians and my home and go away with you! You would not hear of my going with the chevalier, yet he was a French gentleman, and not merely a pretty boy!"

Madame and the doctor tried in vain to stop her tirade. She was in a fury; such blazing eyes, such crimson cheeks, and voice quivering with scorn. For a moment I was abashed and would have liked to slink out of sight. But when she was so ungenerous as to call me "a pretty boy,"

the fire returned to my heart, and I too drew myself up proudly.

"Mademoiselle, listen to me!" I said sternly. "I have but a few minutes ago spared the chevalier's life when I had him at my mercy, and shown him the way to escape from your friends here, who were running at the sound of his shot, and who, had they found him in Dr.

Saugrain's grounds, would have made short work with him, I fear." (I could not but note out of the corner of my eye while I was speaking the quick start of young Papin at this announcement, the eager interest of my captain, and the doctor's look of dismay.)

"I spared him, and I told him that I spared him, only because you had begged me to do my utmost to save him if he should ever fall into my power. I cannot believe that he would have treated me or any one of your friends with the like courtesy. He is now well on his way to Cape Girardeau, but I think he is not gone so far but that he can be easily overtaken. Black Hawk is ready to set out at once; indeed, it is with much difficulty that I have restrained him from so doing. Then, if you desire it, and Dr. Saugrain and madame approve, you can return to France under the chevalier's protection."

I lifted my hand as the doctor and his wife both started to speak.