"With ammunition, and food?"

"Ample to eat, so far as I know, but Boisrondet tells me with scarce a dozen rounds per man. The Iroquois are at the gates, and will attack at daylight."

"You know this?"

"The signs are plain. We passed one party clambering up the cliff—no less than fifty warriors, naked and painted for war. Tuscaroras, Madame said from the words she overheard as they slipped past where we hid. 'Tis not likely they made reconnoissance alone. The fiends have been a week in this valley, and have swept all clear of our Indian allies; now they can bring their full force against the fort."

"No doubt you are right."

"'Twas my judgment, at least, and we sought help when we ran into you. What Indians have you?"

"Illini, mostly, with a handful of Miamis and Kickapoos. We met them at the crossing, hiding in the hills. They were sadly demoralized, and filled with horror at what they had seen, yet agreed to return here under my leadership."

"Who is their chief?"

"Old Sequitah—you know him?"

"Ay, a real warrior. 'Tis better than I dared hope, for I have been in battle with him before. Do you number a hundred?"

"And fifty more, though indifferently armed. Never have I seen the Illini in action, De Artigny; they seem to me a poor lot, so frightened of the wolves as to be valueless."

"So they are if left to themselves, but under white leadership they stiffen. They will fight if given the Indian style. They will never stand in defense, but if we lead them to a surprise, they'll give good account of themselves. That is my plan La Forest—that we creep up through the woods behind the Iroquois lines. They will expect no attack from the rear, and will have no guard. If we move quickly while it remains dark, we ought to get within a few yards of the red demons without discovery. They will fight desperately, no doubt, for their only hope of escape would be to either plunge down the rocky banks on either side, or cut a way through. You have been at the fort?"

"Twice before."

"Then you know the nature of the ground. 'Tis all woodland until within a few hundred yards of the gates. You recall the great rock beside the trail?"

"Ay, and the view from the top."

"My plan would be to creep up that far, with flanking parties on the slopes below. In front, as you may remember, there is an open space, then a fringe of forest hiding the clearing before the stockade. The Iroquois will be gathered behind that fringe of trees waiting daylight. Is my thought right?"

"'Tis the most likely spot."

"Then listen; I have thought this all out. You and I, with Sequitah, will take a hundred of your Indians, cross the small river, and advance up the trail. That leaves fifty warriors to creep through the woods on either slope, twenty-five to a side, led by your two couriers de bois. We will wait at the great rock, and give the signal."

La Forest stood silent a moment, thinking; then rested his hand on De Artigny's shoulder.

"It looks feasible enough, but the flanking parties may not reach their positions in time."

"The one from the west will not have as far to travel as we do. The other does not make so much difference, for if the Iroquois break they will come in this direction—the other side of the trail is sheer rock."

"True; and what about the lady?"

"I shall go with you, Messieurs," I said quietly. "There will be no more danger there than here; besides you would not leave me alone without a guard, and you will need every fighting man."

I felt the grip of Rene's hand but it was La Forest's voice that spoke.

"The right ring to that, hey, De Artigny! Madame answers my last argument. But first, let us have word with the chief."

He addressed a word into the crowd of indistinguishable figures, and an Indian came forward. Dim as the light was I was impressed with the dignity of his carriage, the firm character of his facial outline.

"I am Sequitah, Chief of the Mascoutins," he said gravely, "for whom the white chief sent."

De Artigny stepped forth, standing as erect as the other.

"Sequitah is great chief," he said quietly, "a warrior of many battles, the friend of La Salle. We have smoked the peace-pipe together, and walked side by side on the war-trail. Sequitah knows who speaks?"

"The French warrior they call De Artigny."

"Right; 'tis not the first time you and I have met the Iroquois! The wolves are here again; they have burned the villages of the Illini, and killed your women and children. The valley is black with smoke, and red with blood. What says the war chief of the Mascoutins—will his warriors fight? Will they strike with us a blow against the beasts?"

The chief swept his hand in wide circle.

"We are warriors; we have tasted blood. What are the white man's words of wisdom?"

Briefly, in quick, ringing sentences, De Artigny outlined his plan. Sequitah listened motionless, his face unexpressive of emotion. Twice, confused by some French phrase, he asked grave questions, and once a courier de bois spoke up in his own tongue, to make the meaning clear. As De Artigny ceased the chief stood for a moment silent.

"We leap upon them from cover?" he asked calmly, "and the white men will sally forth to aid us?"

"'Tis so we expect—M. de Tonty is never averse to a fight."

"I believe in the Iron Hand; but 'tis told me others command now. If they fail we are but few against many."

"They will not fail, Sequitah; they are Frenchmen."

The Indian folded his hands across his breast, his eyes on the two men facing him. There was silence, but for the slight rustle of moving bodies in the darkness.

"Sequitah hears the voice of his friend," he announced at last, "and his words sound wise. The warriors of the Illini will fight beside the white men."

There was no time lost although I know but little of what occurred, being left alone there while La Forest and De Artigny divided the men, and arranged the plans of advance. The dense night shrouded much of this hasty preparation, for all I could perceive were flitting figures, or the black shadow of warriors being grouped together. I could hear voices, never loud, giving swift orders, or calling to this or that individual through the gloom.

A party tramped by me, and disappeared, twenty or more naked warriors, headed by a black-bearded Frenchman, bearing a long rifle—the detachment, no doubt, dispatched to guard the slope east of the trail, and hurried forth to cover the greater distance. Yet these could have scarcely advanced far through that jungle when the others were also in line, waiting the word.

The very silence in which all this was accomplished, the noiseless bodies, the almost breathless attention, scarcely enabled me to realize the true meaning of it all. These men were going into battle, into a death grapple. They meant to attack five times their own number. This was no boy's play; it was war, savage, relentless war. The stern horror of it seemed to suddenly grip me as with icy fingers. Here was what I had read of, dreamed of, being enacted before my very eyes. I was even a part of it, for I was going with them to the field of blood.

Yet how different everything was from those former pictures of imagination. There was no noise, no excitement, no shrinking—just those silent, motionless men standing in the positions assigned them, the dim light gleaming on their naked bodies, their ready weapons. I heard the voices of the white men, speaking quietly, giving last instructions as they passed along the lines. Sequitah took his place, not two yards from me, standing like a statue, his face stern and emotionless.

It was like a dream, rather than a reality. I was conscious of no thrill, no sense of fear. It was as though I viewed a picture in which I had no personal interest. Out of the darkness came De Artigny, pausing an instant before the chief.

"All is well, Sequitah?"

"Good—'tis as the white chief wishes."

"Then we move at once; La Forest will guide the rear; you and I will march together. Give your warriors the word."

He turned and took my hand.

"You will walk with me, dear one; you are not afraid?"

"Not of the peril of coming battle," I answered. "I—I think I hardly realize what that all means; but the risk you run. Rene! If—if you win, you will be a prisoner condemned to death."

He laughed, and bent low, so I felt his lips brush my cheek.

"You do not understand, dear girl. A moment and I will explain—once we are beyond the stream. Now I must see that all move together."



CHAPTER XXXIV

WE WAIT IN AMBUSH

We advanced through the woods down a slight incline, the Indians moving like so many phantoms. Not a branch rattled as they glided silently forward, not a leaf rustled beneath the soft tread of moccasined feet. De Artigny led me by the hand, aiding me to move quietly over the uneven ground, but made no effort to speak. Beside us, not unlike a shadow, strode the chief Sequitah, his stern face uplifted, shadowed by long black hair, a rifle gripped in his sinewy arms. We crossed the little river, De Artigny bearing me easily in his grasp, and, on the opposite shore, waited for the others to follow. They came, a long line of dark, shadowy forms, wading cautiously through the shallow water, and ranged themselves just below the bank, many still standing in the stream. What light there was flickered over naked bodies, and revealed savage eyes gleaming from out masses of black hair.

De Artigny stepped forward on the exposed root of a tree to where he could see his dusky followers, and La Forest climbed the bank, and joined him. A moment the two men conferred, turning about to question Sequitah. As they separated I could distinguish De Artigny's final words.

"Very well, then, if it is your wish I take command. Sequitah, a hundred warriors will follow you along the trail—you know it well. Have your best scouts in advance, and circle your braves so as to make attack impossible. Your scouts will not go beyond the great rock except on my order. M. la Forest will accompany them. This is clear?"

The Indian muttered response in his own tongue; then spoke more sharply, and the mass of warriors below changed formation, the greater number climbing the bank, and grouping themselves in the darker shadow of the woods.

"Who has charge of the others?" asked De Artigny.

"Bastian Courtray," replied La Forest. "He is yonder."

"Then Courtray, listen; you follow the stream, but do not venture from cover. Post your men below the stockade and wait to intercept fugitives. We will do the fighting above. Are the warriors with you armed?"

"All but ten have rifles, Monsieur, but I know not if they be of value."

"You must make the best use of them you can. Above all things be quiet, and do nothing to alarm the Iroquois. You may go."

I leaned forward watching them as they waded down stream, and then climbed the bank, disappearing in the undergrowth. Sequitah had moved past me, and I heard his voice speaking in Indian dialect. Along the forest aisles his warriors glided by where I stood, noiselessly as shadows. In another moment De Artigny and I were alone, the black night all about us, and not a sound reaching our ears to tell of those vanished allies. He took my hand, a caress in his touch, a suggestion of pride in his voice.

"The old chief is warrior still," he said, "and, unless all signs fail, the Iroquois will long remember this day. Come, Adele, 'twill not do for us to be far behind, and we have walked this trail before together."

Had I not tested it with my own ears never would I have believed a hundred men could have made way so noiselessly in the dark, through such thick forest, rock strewn and deeply rutted. Yet not a sound of their stealthy passage was wafted back to us on the wind—no echo of voice, no rasping of foot, no rustle of leaves. Ghosts could not have moved more silently. Some way the very thought that these grim savages were thus creeping forward to attack, and kill, their hearts mad with hate, wild beasts of prey stalking their victims, yielded me a strange feeling of horror. I clung to De Artigny's arm, shrinking from the shadows, my mind filled with nameless fear.

"Adele," he whispered, tenderly, "you still fear for me in this venture?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"There is no need. You heard La Forest say he bore orders of the King which gave De Tonty command once more of Fort St. Louis."

"Yes, Monsieur; but you have already been tried and condemned. Even if they have not authority to shoot you here, they have power to transport to Quebec."

"There would be battle first, if I know my old comrades well. No, as to that there is no cause to fear. I shall be given fair trial now, and welcome it. My fear has been for you—the vengeance of Cassion, if ever you came within his grasp again. But that also is settled."

"Settled? What is it you would tell me?"

"This, sweetheart; you should know, although I would that some other might tell you. La Forest whispered it to me while we were alone yonder, for he knew not you were estranged from your husband. He bears with him the King's order for the arrest of M. Cassion. Captain de Baugis is commissioned by La Barre to return him safely to Quebec for trial."

"On what charge?"

"Treason to France; the giving of false testimony against a King's officer, and the concealing of official records."

"Mon Dieu! was it the case of my father?"

"Yes; the truth has been made clear. There is, as I understand from what La Forest told me, not sufficient evidence against La Barre to convict, yet 'tis believed the case will cost him his office. But M. Cassion was his agent, and is guilty beyond a doubt."

"But, Monsieur, who made the charges? Who brought the matter to the attention of Louis?"

"The Comte de Frontenac; he was your father's friend, and won him restoration of his property. Not until La Forest met him in France was he aware of the wrong done Captain la Chesnayne. Later he had converse with La Salle, a Franciscan once stationed at Montreal, and two officers of the regiment Carignan-Salliers. Armed with information thus gained he made appeal to Louis. 'Tis told me the King was so angry he signed the order of arrest with his own hand, and handed it to La Forest to execute."

"The Governor knows?"

"Not yet. La Forest felt it best to keep the secret, fearing he might be detained, or possibly ambushed on the way hither."

I cannot describe my feelings—joy, sorrow, memory of the past, overwhelming me. My eyes were wet with tears, and I could find no words. De Artigny seemed to understand, yet he made no effort to speak, merely holding me close with his strong arm. So in silence, our minds upon the past and the future, we followed the savages through the black night along the dim trail. For the time I forgot where I was, my weird, ghastly surroundings, the purpose of our stealthy advance, and remembered only my father, and the scenes of childhood. He must have comprehended, for he made no attempt to interrupt my reverie, and his silence drew me closer—the steady pressure of his arm brought me peace.

Suddenly before us loomed the shadow of the great rock, which rose a mighty barrier across the trail, its crest outlined against the sky. The Indians had halted here, and we pressed forward through them, until we came to where the chief and La Forest waited. There was a growing tinge of light in the eastern sky, enabling us to perceive each other's faces. All was tense, expectant, the Indians scarcely venturing to breathe, the two white men conversing in whispers. Sequitah stood motionless as a statue, his lips tightly closed.

"Your scouts ventured no further?" questioned De Artigny.

"No, 'twas not safe; one man scaled the rock, and reports the Iroquois just beyond."

"They hide in covert where I suspected then; but I would see with my own eyes. There is crevice here, as I remember, to give foothold. Ay, here it is, an easy passage enough. Come, La Forest, a glance ahead will make clear my plans."

The two clambered up noiselessly, and outstretched themselves on the flat surface above. The dawn brightened, almost imperceptibly, so I could distinguish the savage forms on either side, some standing, some squatting on the grass, all motionless, but alert, their weapons gleaming, their cruel eyes glittering from excitement. La Forest descended cautiously, and touched the arm of the chief.

"You see?"

The Indian shook his head.

"Sequitah know now; he not need see. We do what white chief says."

La Forest turned toward me.

"And you, Madame, De Artigny would have you join him."

Surprised at the request I rested my foot in his hand, and crept forward along the smooth surface until I lay beside Rene. He glanced aside into my face.

"Do not lift your head," he whispered. "Peer through this cleft in the stone."

Had I the talent I could sketch that scene now from memory. It must ever abide in my mind, distinct in every detail. The sky overcast with cloud masses, a dense mist rising from the valley, the pallid spectral light barely making visible the strange, grotesque shapes of rocks, trees and men. Before us was a narrow opening, devoid of vegetation, a sterile patch of stone and sand, and beyond this a fringe of trees, matted with underbrush below so as to make good screen, but sufficiently thinned out above, so that, from our elevation, we could look through the interlaced branches across the cleared space where the timber had been chopped away to the palisades of the fort. The first space was filled with warriors, crouching behind the cover of underbrush. Most of these were lying down, or upon their knees, watchfully peering through toward the fort gates, but a few were standing, or moving cautiously about bearing word of command. The attention of all was in front riveted upon the silent, seemingly deserted fort. Not a face did I note turned in our direction, not a movement to indicate our presence was suspected. It was a line, in many places two deep, of naked red bodies, stretching down the slope on either side; the coarse black hair of the warriors gave them savage look, while here and there a chief sported gaudy war bonnet, and all along was the gleam of weapons. The number of them caused me to gasp for breath.

"Monsieur," I whispered timidly, "you can never attack; there are too many."

"They appear more numerous than they are," he answered confidently, "but it will be a stiff fight. Not all Tuscaroras either; there are Eries yonder to the right, and a few renegade Mohawks with them. Look, by the foot of that big tree, the fellow in war bonnet, and deerskin shirt—what make you of him?"

"A white man in spite of his paint."

"'Twas my guess also. I thought it likely they had a renegade with them, for this is not Indian strategy. La Forest was of the same opinion, although 'twas too dark when he was here for us to make sure."

"For what are they waiting, and watching?"

"The gates to open, no doubt. If they suspect nothing within, they will send out a party soon to reconnoiter the trail, and reach the river below for water. It is the custom, and, no doubt, these devils know, and will wait their chance. They urge the laggards now."

We lay and watched them, his hand clasping mine. Those warriors who had been lying prone, rose to their knees, and weapons in hand, crouched for a spring; the chiefs scattered, careful to keep concealed behind cover. Not a sound reached us, every movement noiseless, the orders conveyed by gesture of the hand. De Artigny pressed my fingers.

"Action will come soon," he said, his lips at my ear, "and I must be ready below to take the lead. You can serve us best here, Adele; there is no safer spot if you lie low. You have a bit of cloth—a handkerchief?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Then watch the fort gates, and if you see them open drop the cloth over the edge of the rock there in signal. I will wait just below, but from where we are we can see nothing. You understand?"

"Surely, Monsieur; I am to remain here and watch; then signal you when the fort gates open."

"Ay, that is it; or if those savages advance into the open—they may not wait."

"Yes, Monsieur."

His lips touched mine, and I heard him whisper a word of endearment.

"You are a brave girl."

"No, Monsieur; I am frightened, terribly frightened, but—but I love you, and am a Frenchwoman."

He crept back silently, and I was left alone on the great rock, gazing out anxiously into the gray morning.



CHAPTER XXXV

THE CHARGE OF THE ILLINI

It seemed a long time, yet it could scarcely have exceeded a few moments, for the light of early dawn was still dim and spectral, making those savage figures below appear strange and inhuman, while, through the tree barrier, the more distant stockade was little more than a vague shadow. I could barely distinguish the sharp pointed logs, and if any guard passed, his movements were indistinguishable.

Had I not known where they were even the position of the gates would have been a mystery. Yet I lay there, my eyes peering through the cleft in the rock, every nerve in my body throbbing. All had been entrusted to me; it was to be my signal which would send De Artigny, La Forest, and their Indian allies forward. I must not fail them; I must do my part. Whatever the cost—even though it be his life—nothing could absolve me from this duty.

The Iroquois were massing toward the center, directly in front of the closed gates. The change in formation was made with all the stealthiness of Indian cunning, the warriors creeping silently behind the concealing bushes, and taking up their new positions according to motions of their chiefs. Those having rifles loaded their weapons, while others drew knives and tomahawks from their belts, and held them glittering in the gray light. The white leader remained beside the big tree, paying no apparent heed to anything excepting the stockade in front. The daylight brightened, but mist clouds overhung the valley, while floating wreaths of fog drifted between the great rock and the fort gates, occasionally even obscuring the Iroquois in vaporous folds. There was no sound, no sight, of those hidden below, waiting my word. I seemed utterly alone.

Suddenly I started, lifting myself slightly, on one arm so as to see more clearly. Ay, the gates were opening, slowly at first as though the great wooden hinges made resistance; then the two leaves parted, and I had glimpse within. Two soldiers pushed against the heavy logs, and, as they opened wider, a dozen, or more men were revealed, leaning carelessly on their rifles. Boisrondet, bearing gun in the hollow of his arm stepped forward into the opening, and gazed carelessly about over the gray, mist shrouded scene.

It was evident enough he felt no suspicion that anything more serious than the usual Indian picket would be encountered. He turned and spoke to the soldiers, waiting while they shouldered their rifles, and tramped forth to join him. His back was toward the fringe of wood. The arm of the white renegade shot into the air, and behind him the massed Iroquois arose to their feet, crouching behind their cover ready to spring. I reached over the rock edge, and dropped the handkerchief.

I must have seen what followed, yet I do not know; the incidents seem burned on my memory, yet are so confused I can place them in no order. The white renegade seemed waiting, his arm upraised. Ere it fell in signal to dispatch his wild crew to the slaughter, there was a crash of rifles all about me, the red flare leaping into the gray mist—a savage yell from a hundred throats, and a wild rush of naked bodies.

I saw warriors of the Iroquois fling up their arms and fall; I saw them shrink, and shrivel, break ranks and run. Surprised, stricken, terrified by the war-whoops of the maddened Illini, realizing only that they were caught between enemies, their one and only thought was escape. Two of their chiefs were down, and the white renegade, stumbling and falling as though also hurt, dived into the underbrush.

Before they could rally, or even comprehend what had occurred, their assailants were upon them. Leaping across the open, over rock and sand, yelling like fiends, weapons gleaming in the dull light, the frenzied Illini, enflamed with revenge, maddened with hate, flung themselves straight at them. Rifles flashed in their faces, tomahawks whirled in the air, but nothing stopped that rush. Warriors fell, but the others stumbled over the naked bodies. I saw De Artigny, stripped to his shirt, and that in rags from the bushes he had plunged through, his rifle barrel gripped, a yard in front of them all. I saw La Forest, bareheaded, and Sequitah, his Indian stoicism forgotten in mad blood lust.

Then they struck and were lost in the fierce maelstrom of struggle, striking, falling, red hands gripping at red throats, rifle butts flung high, tomahawks dealing the death blow, knives gleaming as sinewy arms drove them home. I could no longer distinguish enemy from friend; they were interlocked, struggling like mad dogs, fighting as devils might, a wild tangled mass of bodies, of waving hair, of blazing eyes, of uplifted steel.

The Iroquois had rallied from their first shock; already they realized the small number of the attackers. Those who had fled were turning back; those on either flank were running toward the scene of fight. I saw the white renegade burst from the press, urging these laggards forward. Scarcely had he attained the outer edge, when De Artigny fought his way forth also, tearing the mass asunder with sweep of rifle. They stood face to face, glaring into each other's eyes.

The rifle in De Artigny's hand was but a twisted bar of iron; this renegade's only weapon was a murderous knife, its point reddened with blood. What word was said, I know not, but I saw De Artigny fling his bar aside, and draw the knife at his belt. Mon Dieu! I could not look; I know not how they fought; I hid my eyes and prayed. When I glanced up again both were gone, the fighting mass was surging over the spot—but the Iroquois were in flight, seeking only some means of escape, while out through the fort gates the soldiers of the garrison were coming on a run, pouring volleys of lead into the fleeing savages. I saw De Tonty, De Baugis, De la Durantaye—ay! and there was M. Cassion, back among the stragglers, waving his sword gallantly in the air. It was all over with so quickly I could but sit and stare; they ran past me in pursuit, wild yells echoing through the woods, but all I thought of then was M. de Artigny. I scrambled down the rock, falling heavily in my haste, yet once upon my feet again, rushed forth, reckless of danger. The ground was strewn with dead and wounded, the victorious Illini already scattered in merciless, headlong pursuit. Only a group of soldiers remained at the edge of the forest. Among these were De Tonty and La Forest. Neither noticed my approach until I faced them.

"What, Madame," exclaimed De Tonty, "you here also?" he paused as though in doubt, "and the Sieur de Artigny—had he part in this feat of arms?"

"A very important part, Monsieur," returned La Forest, staunching a wound on his forehead, yet bowing gallantly to me. "'Twas indeed his plan, and I permitted him command as he knows these Illini Indians better than I."

"But does he live, Monsieur?" I broke in anxiously.

"Live! ay, very much alive—see, he comes yonder now. Faith, he fought Jules Lescalles knife to knife, and ended the career of that renegade. Is that not a recommendation, M. de Tonty?"

The other did not answer; he was watching De Artigny approach, his eyes filled with doubt. I also had scarce thought otherwise, and stepped forward to greet him, with hands outstretched. He was rags from head to foot, spattered with blood, an ugly wound showing on one cheek, yet his lips and eyes smiled.

"'Twas good work, well done," he said cheerily. "'Twill be a while before the Iroquois besiege this fort again. Is that not your thought, M. de Tonty?"

"I appreciate the service rendered," replied the other gravely. "But you are in peril here. M. Cassion is yonder, and still in command."

De Artigny glanced inquiringly at La Forest, and the latter stepped forward, a leather bound packet in his hands.

"Your pardon, M. de Tonty," he said. "I had forgotten my true mission here. I bear orders from the King of France."

"From Louis? La Salle has reached the King's ear?"

"Ay, to good results. These are for you, Monsieur."

De Tonty took them, yet his thought was not upon their contents, but with his absent chief.

"You saw Sieur de la Salle in France? you left him well?"

"More than well—triumphant over all his enemies. He sails for the mouth of the Great River with a French colony; Louis authorized the expedition."

"And is that all?"

"All, except it was rumored at the court that La Barre would not for long remain Governor of New France."

The face of the Italian did not change expression; slowly he opened the papers, and glanced at their contents; then folded them once more, and lifted his eyes to our faces.

"By Grace of the King," he said simply, "I am again in command of Fort St. Louis. I see the order is countersigned by La Barre."

"Yes, Monsieur; he had no choice—'twas not done happily."

"I presume not. But Messieurs, it may be well for us to return within the fort. Madame, may I have the pleasure of escorting you?"

We made our way slowly through the fringe of woods, and across the open space before the fort gates which still stood open. The dead bodies of savages were on all sides, so horribly mutilated, many of them, that I hid my eyes from the sight. De Tonty tried to speak of other things, and to shield me from the view, but I was so sick at heart I could hardly answer him. De la Durantaye, with a dozen men to aid, was already busily engaged in seeking the wounded, and I caught sight of De Baugis far down the western slope clambering up, a body of Indians at his heels. Cassion had disappeared; indeed there was not so much as a single guard at the gate when we entered, yet we were greeted instantly by his voice.

"'Tis well you return, M. de Tonty," he said loudly. "I was about to call those soldiers yonder, and close the gates. 'Tis hardly safe to have them left thus with all these strange Indians about."

"They are Illini, Monsieur—our allies."

"Pah! an Indian is an Indian to my mind; bid M. de la Durantaye come hither." He stared at De Artigny and me, seeing us first as he stepped forward. A moment he gasped, his voice failing; then anger conquered, and he strode forward, sword in hand.

"Mon Dieu! What is this? You here again, you bastard wood ranger? I had hopes I was rid of you, even at the cost of a wife. Well, I soon will be. Here, Durantaye, bring your men; we have a prisoner here to stretch rope. De Tonty, I command you in the name of France!"



CHAPTER XXXVI

THE CLEARING OF MYSTERY

The point of his sword was at De Artigny's breast, but the younger man stood motionless, his lips smiling, his eyes on the other's face.

"Perchance, Monsieur," he said quietly, "it might be best for you first to speak with this friend of mine."

"What friend? Sacre! What is the fellow to me? Who is he? another one of La Salle's spawn?"

La Forest, still bareheaded, his forehead bleeding, pressed down the swordblade.

"The company is a good one," he said bluntly enough, "and just now well worth belonging to. I am Francois de la Forest, Monsieur, one time commandant at Detroit; at present messenger from the King of France."

"King's messenger—you! Mon Dieu! you look it. Come, man, what mummery is this?"

"No mummery, Monsieur. I left France two months since, bearing the King's own word to M. la Barre. 'Tis with his endorsement I journeyed hither to restore Henri de Tonty to his rightful command of Fort St. Louis."

"You lie!" Cassion cried hotly, eyes blazing hatred and anger, "'tis some hellish trick."

"Monsieur, never before did man say that to me, and live. Were you not felon, and thief I would strike you where you stand. Ay, I mean the words—now listen; lift that sword point and I shoot you dead. Monsieur de Tonty, show the man the papers."

Cassion took them as though in a daze, his hand trembling, his eyes burning with malignant rage. I doubt if he ever saw clearly the printed and written words of the document, but he seemed to grasp vaguely the fact of La Barre's signature.

"A forgery," he gasped. "Ah, De Baugis, see here; these damned curs of La Salle would play trick on me. Look at the paper."

The dragoon took it, and smoothed it out in his hands. His face was grave, as his eyes searched the printed lines.

"'Tis the great seal of France," he said soberly, looking about at the faces surrounding him, "and the signature of the governor. How came it here?"

"By my hand," returned La Forest proudly. "You know me—Monsieur Francois la Forest."

"Ay, I know you, ever a follower of La Salle, and friend of Frontenac. 'Twas through his influence you got this. 'Tis little use for us to quarrel, M. Cassion—the order is genuine."

"Mon Dieu, I care not for such an order; it does not supersede my commission; I outrank this De Tonty."

"Hush, do not play the fool."

"Better the fool than the coward."

"Wait," said La Forest sharply, "the matter is not ended. You are Francois Cassion, of Quebec?"

"Major of Infantry, Commissaire of the Governor La Barre."

"So the titles read in this document. I arrest you by King's order for treason to France, and mutilation of official records. Here is the warrant, M. de Baugis, and your orders to convey the prisoner to Quebec for trial."

Cassion's face went white, and he struggled madly for breath. De Baugis grasped the paper, so startled at this new development as to be incapable of comprehension.

"Under arrest? for what, Monsieur? Treason, and mutilation of official records? What does it mean?"

"This—the man knows, and will not deny the charge. False testimony sworn to, and signed by this Francois Cassion, charged Captain la Chesnayne with cowardice and treason. In consequence the latter was broken of his command, and his estates forfeited to the Crown. Later, through the efforts of Frontenac, the King was convinced of injustice, and the estates were restored by royal order. This order reached Quebec, but was never recorded. This Cassion was then private secretary to the governor, and the paper came into his hands. Later, to hush up the scandal, he married Captain la Chesnayne's daughter against her will. The day this was accomplished the lost order was placed on file."

"You saw it?"

"Yes, I had the files searched secretly. The order was dispatched from France five years ago, but was stamped as received the day Cassion departed from Quebec."

My eyes were upon the speaker and I failed to note how the accused man met this damning charge. It was his voice which drew my attention—high pitched, harsh, unnatural.

"Mon Dieu! 'twas not I—'twas La Barre!"

"Tell that in Quebec; though little good 'twill do you. M. de Baugis, in the King's name I order this man's arrest."

I saw De Baugis step forward, his hand outstretched; then all was confusion and struggle. With the hoarse snarl of a beast, Cassion leaped forward, struck La Forest with his shoulder, and drove sword point into De Artigny. De Tonty gripped him, but was hurled aside by insane strength, reeling back so that the weight of his body struck me to my knees. The next instant, his sword-point dripping blood, the runner was beyond reach, speeding for the open gate. What followed I know from word of others, and no view I had of it.

De Artigny had fallen, huddled in a heap on the grass, and I dragged myself across to him on my knees. I heard oaths, a shuffling of feet, a rush of bodies, a voice I did not recognize shouting some order—then the sharp crack of a rifle, and silence. I cared not what had occurred; I had De Artigny's head in my arms, and his eyes opened and smiled up at me full of courage.

"You are badly hurt?"

"No, I think not; the thrust was too high. Lift me, and I breathe better. The man must have been mad."

"Surely yes, Monsieur; think you he had hope of escape?"

"'Tis likely he thought only of revenge. Ah, you are here also, De Tonty."

"Yes, lad; there is small use for me yonder. You are not seriously struck?"

"I bleed freely, but the thrust was in the shoulder. I could stand, I think, with your aid."

On his feet he leaned heavily on us both, yet would not be led away, until La Forest joined us. He held in his hand some papers, yet neither of us questioned him.

"Monsieur de Tonty," he said, "I would have private word with you."

"When I help De Artigny to his bed, and have look at his wound. Yet is it not matter of interest to these as well?"

"I take it so."

"Then speak your message—M. Cassion is dead?"

"The sentry's bullet found his heart, Monsieur."

"I saw him fall. Those papers were upon him—are they of value?"

"That I know not; they possess no meaning to me, but they were addressed to the man killed at St. Ignace."

"Hugo Chevet?" I exclaimed. "My uncle; may I not see them, Monsieur?"

De Tonty placed them in my hands—a letter from a lawyer in Quebec, with a form of petition to the King, and a report of his search of the archives of New France. The other document was the sworn affidavit of Jules Beaubaou, a clerk of records, that he had seen and read a paper purporting to be a restoration from the King to the heirs of Captain la Chesnayne. It was signed and sealed. I looked up at the faces surrounding me; startled and frightened at this witness from the dead.

"They are papers belonging to Chevet?" asked De Tonty.

"Yes, Monsieur—see. He must have known, suspected the truth before our departure, yet had no thought such villainy was the work of M. Cassion. He sought evidence."

"That is the whole story, no doubt. La Barre learned of his search, for he would have spies in plenty, and wrote his letter of warning to Cassion. The latter, fearing the worst, and desperate, did not even hesitate at murder to gain possession of these documents. Fate served him well, and gave him De Artigny as victim. I wonder only that he did not long ago destroy the papers."

"There is always some weakness in crime," commented La Forest, "and the man has paid penalty for his. It would be my guess he desired to place them in La Barre's hands in proof of his loyalty. But, Messieurs, De Artigny needs to have his wound dressed. We can discuss all this later."

* * * * *

It was two days later, and the bright sunshine rested on Fort St. Louis flecking the sides of the great rock with gold, and bridging the broad valley below. De Artigny, yet too weak to rise unaided, sat in a chair Barbeau had made beside the open window, and to his call I joined him, my arm on his shoulder as I also gazed down upon the scene below. It was one of peace now, the silvery Illinois winding hither and yon among its green islands, the shadowy woods darkening one bank, and the vast meadows stretching northward from the other. Below the bend an Indian village, already rebuilt and occupied, slept in the sun, and I could see children and dogs playing before the tepees.

Down the sharp trail from the fort a line of Indian packers were toiling slowly, their backs supporting heavy burdens which they bore to two canoes resting against the bank. About these were grouped a little party of white men, and when at last the supplies were all aboard, several took their places at the paddles, and pushed off into the stream.

There was waving of hands, and shouts, and one among them—even at that distance I could tell La Forest—looked up at our window, and raised his hat in gesture of farewell. I watched until they rounded the rock and disappeared on their long journey to Quebec, until the others—exiles of the wilderness—turned away and began to climb upward to the fort gates. De Artigny's hand closed softly over mine.

"You are sad, sweetheart; you long too for New France?"

"No, Dear One," I answered, and he read the truth in my eyes. "Wherever you are is my home. On this rock in the great valley we will serve each other—and France."



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