When Wilderness Was King Part 32

"A strange exercise of power, indeed, Monsieur," and she looked directly into my eyes; "and the savages tell me she claimed to have knowledge of him."

Surely I had a right to relate the whole story of De Croix's confession; yet somehow I did not deem it the manly thing to do.

Rather, I would let her learn the truth in G.o.d's own time, and from other lips than mine. Perchance she would respect me more in the end for keeping silence now. But in this decision I failed to consider that hasty words of explanation might naturally lead her to believe the existing friendship mine instead of his.

"We met her across the river in the darkness last night," I answered.

"At my request, she acted as my guide into the Indian camp."

The expression in her eyes puzzled me; nor could I interpret the sudden flush that lent color to her cheeks.

"You are frank, Monsieur," she said quietly, "and doubtless 'tis better so. But the strange situation of this young woman has much of romance about it, and interests me greatly. How chances she to be here?

Surely she cannot be of Indian blood?"

"She holds connection with some sisterhood of the Church, as I understand, and has lived for some time amid the Pottawattomies, seeking to win the heathen to Christ."

"A Catholic?" she asked, her eyes brightening with deeper interest.

"Such is my understanding, though in truth she never said as much to me. Indeed, we spoke little, Mademoiselle, for our path was in the midst of peril, even before the capture of poor De Croix upset all our plans."

"Doubtless," she answered with a slight trace of sarcasm in the soft voice. "But Captain de Croix,--he was not seriously injured, I trust?

Where have the savages confined him? And know you what they intend as to his future?"

"He will forever bear some scars, I fear," I answered, wondering dully at the calmness of her inquiry. "I have just left him sleeping quietly in the council tent. Know you anything of what fate has befallen other of our friends of the garrison?"

Her eyes grew sad. "Only what little I have learned through the taunting of my own captor," she answered, her voice trembling.

"Captain Wells is dead, together with Ensign Ronan and Surgeon Van Voorhees. Both Captain Heald and his wife were sorely wounded, and they, with Lieutenant Helm, are prisoners somewhere in the camp; but the Lieutenant's wife is safe with the Silver-man's family across the river. The Indians hold these in hope of ransom, and wreak their vengeance upon the common soldiers who were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands alive. Yet few, I think, survived the ma.s.sacre."

"You have doubtless guessed aright. I noted with what fearful spirit of revenge the savages dealt with some of their captives, while sparing others. Surely you, for instance, have met with but little hardship thus far at the hands of Little Sauk?"

She glanced up at me, with a touch of the old coquettishness in her dark eyes and a quick toss of her head, while one white hand smoothed her soft hair.

"Think you then, Monsieur, I do not look so ill?"

In spite of every effort at control, my heart swept into my eyes; she must have read the swift message, for her own drooped instantly, with a quick flutter of long lashes against her cheeks.

"I have already told you how greatly I admire you," I faltered, "and you make no less fair a picture now."

"Then I shall not tempt you to add to your compliment," she hastily responded, rising to her feet, "for I like loyalty in a man better than mere gallantry of speech. You ask me about Little Sauk. He holds me for ransom,--although Heaven knows 'twill prove but waste of time, for I am aware of no one in all the East who would invest so much as a dollar to redeem me from Indian hands. Yet such is his purpose, as told to me this morning."

"Perchance, then," I urged, doubtfully, "you may prefer remaining quietly here rather than risk the peril of trying to escape?"

She looked at me keenly, as if in wonder at my words; and I could see that her eyes were moistening with the sudden rush of feeling.

"You are either dull of comprehension, John Wayland," she said, a bit pertly, "or else you understand me less than any man I ever knew. If I seem brave and light of heart amidst all this horror, 't is merely that I may not utterly break down, and become an object of contempt. I feel, Monsieur, I am not devoid of heart nor of the finer qualities of womanhood. Prefer to remain here? Holy Mother of Christ! It would be my choice to die out yonder on the prairie, rather than stay here in these Indian lodges. There is no peril I would not face joyfully, in an effort to escape from this place of torture and barbarity. I confess that an hour ago I cared not greatly what my end might be; I had lost heart and hope. But now your coming, as of one risen from the dead, has brought back my courage."

"You will go, then, whenever and wherever I say?"

She stepped forward with her old frank confidence, resting both hands in mine, her eyes upon my face.

"Out yonder in the night, and amid the sand, John Wayland," she said earnestly, "I remember saying I would travel with you whithersoever you wished. I know you far better now than I did then, and I hesitate not at taking upon myself the same vow."

What power then sealed my lips, I know not. Doubtless there is a fate in such matters, yet 't is strange the light of invitation in her eyes did not draw me to lay bare my heart. In naught else had I a drop of coward blood within my veins; while here I hesitated, fearful lest her pleading face might change to sudden roguishness, and she laugh lightly at the love that held my heart in thrall. Truly, the witch had puzzled me so sorely with her caprices, her quick change of mood, her odd mixture of girlish frankness and womanly reserve, that I knew not which might prove the real Toinette,--the one to trust, or the one to doubt.

So I stood there, clasping her soft hands in mine, my heart throbbing, yet my tongue hesitating to perform its office. But at last the halting words came in a sudden, irrepressible rush.

"Toinette!" I cried, "Toinette! I could forget all else,--our danger here, the horrors of the night just pa.s.sed, the many dead out yonder,--all else but you."

She gave a sudden startled cry, her affrighted eyes gazing across my shoulder. I wheeled, with quick intuition of dangers and there, just within the entrance of the tepee, the flap of which he had let fall behind him, in grave silence stood an Indian.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE PLEDGE OF A WYANDOT

A single glance told me who our unwelcome visitor must be. That giant body, surmounted by the huge broad face, could belong to none other than the Wyandot, Sau-ga-nash,--him who had spoken for the warriors of this tribe before the torture-stake. He stood erect and rigid, his stern, questioning eyes upon us, his lips a thin line of repression.

With a quick movement, I thrust the girl behind me, and faced him, motionless, but with every muscle strained for action. The Indian spoke slowly, and used perfect English.

"Ugh!" he said. "Who are you? A prisoner? Surely you cannot be that same Frenchman we helped entertain last night?"

"I am not the Frenchman," I answered deliberately, vainly hoping his watchful eyes might wander about the lodge long enough to yield me chance for a spring at his throat, "though I was one of his party. I only came here to bring comfort to this poor girl."

"No doubt she needs it," he replied drily, "and your way is surely a good one. Yet I doubt if Little Sauk would approve it, and as his friend, I must speak for him in the matter. Do you say you are also a prisoner? To what chief?"

"To none," I answered shortly, resolved now to venture all in a trial of strength. He read this decision in my eyes, and stepped back warily. At the same instant Toinette flung her arms restrainingly about my neck.

"Don't, John!" she urged, using my name thus for the first time; "the savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"

I saw the weapon as she spoke, and saw too the angry glint in the fellow's eye as he thrust the muzzle menacingly forward. As we stood thus, glaring at each other, a sudden remembrance made me pause.

"Sau-ga-nash"?--surely it was neither more nor less than a Wyandot expression signifying "Englishman." That broad face was not wholly Indian; could this be the half-breed chief of whom I had so often heard? 'Twas worth the chance to learn.

"You are Sau-ga-nash?" I asked, slowly, Toinette still clinging to me, her face over her shoulder to front the silent savage. "A chief of the Wyandots?"

He moved his head slightly, with a mutter of acquiescence, his eyes expressing wonder at the question.

"The same whom the Americans name Billy Caldwell?"

"'T is the word used by the whites."

I drew a quick breath of relief, which caused Mademoiselle to release her grasp a little, as her anxious eyes sought my face for explanation.

"Recall you a day twelve years ago on the River Raisin?" I asked clearly, feeling confident now that my words were no longer idle. "An Indian was captured in his canoe by a party of frontiersmen who were out to revenge a b.l.o.o.d.y raid along the valley of the Maumee. That Indian was a Wyandot and a chief. He was bound to a tree beside the river bank and condemned to torture; when the leader of the rangers, a man with a gray beard, stood before him rifle in hand, and swore to kill the first white man who put flint and steel to the wood. Recall you this, Sau-ga-nash?"

The stolid face of the listening savage changed, the expression of revengeful hostility merging into one of undisguised amazement.

"That which you picture has not left my memory," he answered gravely.

"Nor the pledge you gave to that white captain when he brought you safely to Detroit?" I queried, eagerly.