MACMILLAN S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
< {t l would have you read this document. " 
 
 See page 226. 
 
ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 A STORT OF THE GREAT 
 WILDERNESS 
 
 BY 
 
 CAROLINE BROWN 
 
 Ts Destiny, unshunnabk, like death" 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 BY MAX KLEPPER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1903, 
 BY THE .MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1903. Reprinted 
 May, lyoo. 
 
 J. 8. Cashing & Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mas*., U.S.A. 
 

 Dedicated 
 
 to 
 The Sons and Daughters of the Revolution 
 
 The Colonial Dames 
 
 and 
 
 The Daughters of the American Revolution 
 Whose Fore-fathers and Fore-mothers 
 
 Were the Pioneers 
 
 P582841 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAOTK 
 
 I. CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 II. WITHIN THE FOREST . . 
 
 III. IN THE CABIN . ., . 
 
 IV. THE MEDICINE-MAN * . 
 V. AT THE SPRING . * . 
 
 VI. WITH THE SAVAGES 
 
 VII. WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 VIII. LE COUREUR DE Bois . . .* 
 
 IX. LE DONNE .... 
 
 X. THE PRIEST S GUEST . . 
 
 XL IN THE GARDEN 
 
 XII. IN THE PlANKESHAW VILLAGE 
 
 XIII. THE WARDSHIP ... 
 
 XIV. THE NEW HOME . 
 
 XV. THE RETURN OF LANCASTER 
 
 XVI. MADE CAPTIVE . . . 
 
 XVII. THE ESCAPE . . . . 
 
 XVIII. IN HIDING .... 
 
 XIX. CLARK S GUIDE . . . 
 
 XX. "BEWILDERED" . . 
 
 XXL CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT 
 
 XXII. A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE . 
 
 XXIII. THE APPARITION . 
 
 XXIV. A QUIET INTERVAL 
 
 vii 
 
 PACK 
 
 I 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 21 
 27 
 31 
 38 
 42 
 48 
 
 57 
 66 
 
 74 
 
 86 
 
 96 
 
 106 
 
 112 
 II 9 
 I 3 
 136 
 146 
 
 154 
 164 
 
 175 
 184 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAfTBR FACE 
 
 XXV. THE CIDER MAKING 190 
 
 XXVI. THE GRAPE GATHERING 200 
 
 XXVII. THE COUREUR S OPPORTUNITY . . . .213 
 
 XXVIII. AT THE TAVERN 218 
 
 XXIX. OPPOSITE THE "MAMMELLE" . . . .230 
 
 XXX. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 239 
 
 XXXI. THE PANCAKE TURNING 253 
 
 XXXII. THE "HAIR-BUYER" GENERAL . . .268 
 
 XXXIII. THE CHRISTMAS FETE 276 
 
 XXXIV. MIDWINTER 295 
 
 XXXV. A GAME OF PIQUET 301 
 
 XXXVI. AT LAST!. . - 317 
 
 XXXVII. UNDER THE WHITE FLAG . . . .322 
 
 XXXVIII. A SUSPENSION OF HOSTILITIES . . . 327 
 
 XXXIX. THE END OF AH-MAH-NAC-O .... 334 
 
 XL. " A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE " 340 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " I would have you read this document " Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 < : There, there, my girl ! Don t, don t cry ! " . 8 
 
 " He was fingering enviously the long red-brown 
 
 locks" 34 
 
 "Away he dashed in mighty plunges" . . . 122 
 " I want, and will have, the woman I choose . 194 
 
 " He lurched forward . . . and sprawled on all 
 
 fours " . . . ... . . 236 
 
 "Watching . . . the sweeping courtesies of the 
 
 dancers " . . ... ... . 286 
 
 " She gently wiped his face, and kissed him once 
 
 on the lips" . . ... . . 320 
 
ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 THE leaf-storm was ended. The sky was washed 
 clear of every cloud and hung blue and brilliant 
 above a little clearing in the Great Wilderness 
 which the forest girdled with its primeval trees 
 and boscage of yesterday. In this spot stood a 
 small cabin. It was situated within gunshot of 
 the puny stockade at the foot of the fall into 
 which the creek at hand tumbled and foamed on 
 its way to the great Ouibache, miles farther on 
 toward the west. On this spring day the cabin 
 door again stood wide, and framed in its va 
 cancy was the figure of a young, slender girl 
 not yet developed to the full contours of woman 
 hood. She had paused on the threshold, with 
 her face turned back over her shoulder, toward 
 the interior of the room. Her voice of that rare 
 timbre, a combination of pleasant double tones 
 was raised loudly in talking to some one within. 
 
 "Yes, granny," she said, as if in answer to a 
 cautioning ; " I ll surely get it." 
 
2 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " And dog s-bane, too, don t forget that ! " qua 
 vered granny, in the uncertain volume of the deaf. 
 " I m poorly to-day. See my feet ! " 
 
 The girl returned to her grandmother s side 
 to look at the swollen members; smoothed the 
 bandages on them gently, and said : 
 
 "I ll get some white-man s-foot too, it s big 
 enough to use now, granny, and that will soothe 
 them. Let me fill your pipe again, and then I ll 
 go to the patch and gather the greens for dinner ; 
 the poke is up already." 
 
 Granny emptied the "dottle" into her palm, in 
 ured to the hot ash by long practice, and watched 
 the girl with senile interest while she crumbled 
 to powder the dry leaf of home-grown tobacco, 
 and deftly whisked it into the pipebowl, making a 
 dent in the middle with a slim brown finger for 
 the embers on the old woman s hand. The pipe 
 alight, the girl set off to the little field enclosed 
 by tall pickets set side by side to keep out forest 
 vermin unconscionable robbers. Bordering this 
 tiny plot, the poke-root grew in abundance ; and 
 its pale green spires, scarcely pricking through 
 the brown mould, were eagerly eaten by the pio 
 neers after the winter regimen of jerked venison 
 and corn-pone. 
 
 The girl s quest soon brought her to the side 
 
CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 3 
 
 of the field nearest the forest. There was a rush 
 and a scamper, and with a great bound over the 
 palings a dog landed at her side ; it greeted her 
 noiselessly but with an extravagant grin of joy, 
 with wrinkled muzzle and brown lips rolled back, 
 displaying its strong young teeth; a gulping 
 sound in its throat betrayed how hard it was not 
 to give voice to the loud bay natural to its breed ; 
 but it had been trained to silence and well knew 
 that one loud bark would carry far into the forest 
 and bring the Indians upon them. 
 
 "Why, Juno, good girl, where s your master?" 
 cried the maid, fondling the dog. 
 
 " Not far off, as you might guess, Ferriby," 
 answered a bold, gay voice. With a scramble 
 for the top and a spring down, a young man 
 cleared the barrier that parted them. He was a 
 tall, spare youth, clad in the deerskin breeches 
 and jerkin worn by the frontiersmen. On his 
 head was a coonskin cap darkly striped, with 
 the tail hanging jauntily down behind. His feet 
 were shod with buffalo-hide buskins such as the 
 Indians wore in winter. 
 
 His face was one of striking beauty, and just 
 now wore its finest look ; for his black eyes were 
 brilliant with a happy light and his red lips were 
 curled in a smile ; the color of his olive skin flushed 
 
4 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 crimson, like the blush of a girl, through the tan 
 of his cheek, at sight of the maid. His hair, with 
 locks parted like Samson s, hung to his shoulders, 
 straight, thick, and lustreless as dead coals, and 
 showed deep blue shadows. It framed a thin, 
 eager face, wherein were set eyes deep and dark, 
 and so watchful as to be almost furtive in expres 
 sion. His strong chin, a trifle too heavy, was 
 relieved by " Apollo s cleft " down the middle. 
 His lips, beautifully curved, yet almost too thin, 
 made their line of junction sharply and firmly, as 
 if at the very door of manhood he had learned 
 over-early how hard a thing life is. An aquiline 
 nose completed the harmony of his lineaments. 
 Nature had sent him forth a perfect model of 
 what her sons of the wilderness should be : slight 
 of frame yet tough as a hickory sapling ; lithe and 
 active, cautious and fearless. He was master of 
 every faculty, as those must be who dwell in the 
 Great Wilderness where the crackle of a twig 
 conveys a warning ; the flutter of a leaf a message. 
 He was pioneer first, and lover afterward. De 
 spite the blush there was nothing humble in his 
 bearing toward the girl. Manifestly Nature had 
 brought these two together in her solitudes, as 
 she had paired the birds now contentedly building. 
 " If you would only greet me as kindly as you 
 
CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 5 
 
 did my dog, I d be a happy man, Ferriby ! " cried 
 the youth, boldly ; " but since the log-rolling here 
 in the winter I ve scarcely had the chance to speak 
 to you. Now you ve got to hear me, willy- 
 nilly ! " 
 
 The girl was disconcerted at thus being taken 
 unawares, and felt a sweet alarm; instinctively 
 she knew him as a seeking lover, whom she had 
 long shunned with the inscrutable coyness of 
 maidenhood. She felt that now there was no 
 escape. The eagerness of his ardent eyes, the 
 triumph of his smile, betrayed his amorous in 
 tention. Bold and warm he was, and she shrank 
 at his approach with a thrill of dread. Few words 
 were needed between them, children of the wil 
 derness, as they were, where silence has many 
 tongues. With a quick movement he drew her 
 to his breast in a close embrace and pressed pas 
 sionate kisses on her quivering lips. 
 
 " Now, Ferriby Benhem, you are my sweet 
 heart," he said imperiously; "and the first man 
 that dares covet you will feel my fist! If that 
 will not suffice him, then " and he nodded 
 meaningly toward his flint-lock rifle that leaned 
 against the forest side of the pickets. 
 
 " You needn t make such wicked threats, Robert 
 Lancaster ; no one wants me but you ! " she replied 
 
6 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 with a sweet humility that conveyed to him her 
 joy in that preference. 
 
 "What! not Ah-mah-nac-o, the Yellow Wolf? 
 Hasn t he brought you presents of fur and feather 
 lately ? " he demanded teasingly. 
 
 " You know we must keep friendly with the 
 wandering Miamis, Robert ; and it is not kind in 
 you to tease me about Ah-mah-nac-o. I dare not 
 refuse his presents. He is in high favor with the 
 tribe ; to offend him is to offend them, as you well 
 know. No ; it isn t kind of you ! " She flashed 
 a vexed glance at him as she moved away a few 
 steps and began to gather up the greens, which, 
 with the basket, had fallen to the ground on the 
 sudden embrace of her lover. 
 
 " I dare swear the very basket in your hand 
 was a love-token from him!" cried Lancaster, 
 roguishly. 
 
 Ferriby bit her lip to still its quivering, pro 
 phetic of an unwilling smile; for, in truth, the 
 gaudily stained basket of birch splints had been 
 one of the young warrior s offerings, which were 
 varied and odd. Now and then he would bring 
 her the gay feathers of the redbird, or the brush 
 of a fox, or the wing of a wild turkey, or the earli 
 est fuzzy catkins, the meaning of which the girl 
 fully understood but dared give no sign. 
 
CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 7 
 
 " Ah, I thought so ! " he said suspiciously, with 
 that quick change of mood peculiar to young 
 lovers. " You tell me one thing and do another ! 
 Did he give you the basket?" he insisted, as he 
 saw Ferriby s face change, hurt at his mistrust. 
 But he thought her annoyed because found out ! 
 
 "Yes; he brought it full of calamus-root and 
 maple sugar to make a syrup for granny s 
 cough ! " she explained so haltingly shamed 
 at Yellow Wolfs fancy for her that his sus 
 picion flamed into anger. 
 
 "Granny, granny!" he laughed derisively; 
 " catch an Indian buck looking at a toothless 
 old dame when the White Rose is by ! " 
 
 " He brought them to me then ! " she cried 
 defiantly ; " and what if he did ? Didn t I just 
 tell you " overcome by vexation she hid her 
 face in her coarse, hempen apron to hide the 
 tears of chagrin that sprang to her eyes. 
 
 Robert was pale with anger, into which most 
 primal passion his untrained nature was easily 
 apt to lapse, but her tears soon brought him to 
 repentance. He was distressed at them, and felt 
 as if he had wounded a brocket in the velvet, 
 or had trod on a nest of leverets snugly hidden 
 in mother s fur. 
 
 He threw an arm about her shoulders, and 
 
8 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 tried to draw her apron from her face, saying 
 remorsefully, the while : 
 
 " There, there, my girl ! Don t, don t cry ! I m 
 only a panther myself, and don t know how to 
 treat a fawn ! " 
 
 When she thought him sufficiently repentant, 
 she disclosed her face. Tender and moving it 
 was ! Her great blue eyes swam in tears, and a 
 pair fell upon his hand. He felt as if seared by 
 a branding-iron, and tenderly soothed her till a 
 loud, dissonant sound roused them from their 
 sweet forgetfulness. 
 
 " Oh, that s granny blowing the horn. She 
 needs me ! " cried Ferriby, starting from his arms. 
 
 " It must be good-by, then, Ferriby ; for in an 
 hour I leave for Detroit, to barter off my winter 
 peltry. I can get double prices there. The 
 French traders offer me passage in their batteau, 
 and it s too good a chance to lose. I want to 
 leave Juno with you!" As he spoke he drew 
 from his doeskin pouch a length of leather 
 string which he tied to the dog s collar. 
 
 " When I come back, I ll blaze the trees for our 
 cabin ; they shall be sweet maple, all the same size. 
 And as soon as it s built we ll follow the We-a 
 Trail to O Poste and be married by the Notary, 
 there ! " 
 
There, there, my girl ! Don t, don t cry ! : 
 
CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS O 
 
 But this happy forecast did not cheer the girl. 
 
 " It is a long, dangerous journey to Detroit, 
 Robert ; I can t bear to let you go. Who knows 
 that we ll ever meet again ! " she cried sorrowfully. 
 
 They parted with many endearments and 
 promises, but with heaviness of heart neither 
 could hide from the other; for the trail of six 
 hundred miles over prairies, through forests, by 
 wild watercourses was hard and dangerous, and 
 many never found their way back. Another 
 loud blare, and they were compelled to part. 
 
 Robert watched Ferriby till she passed beyond 
 the thicket of leafless paw-paws, the unwilling 
 dog dragging at her heels, her heart with her 
 master, too, then he leaped the pickets, secured 
 his rifle, and disappeared into the forest. 
 
 Keen of ear and quick of eye as he was, the 
 grief of parting had dulled his faculties, for he 
 neither heard nor saw the crafty red-man who 
 peered at him from behind a huge oak, circling 
 the tree like a squirrel to keep him in sight. 
 The savage grunted once, looked back toward 
 the cabin, and said aloud : 
 
 " The White Rose belongs to the son of the 
 forest ! Ah-mah-nac-o will find a way ! " 
 
 And he followed Lancaster into the wilderness 
 noiselessly as a dying wind. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 WITHIN THE FOREST 
 
 LANCASTER hurried onward to the stockade, 
 heedless of the noise he made. His feet bore his 
 body onward swiftly, but his heart remained 
 behind. So strong was his longing that he 
 stopped short to cast backward one look in hope 
 of seeing Ferriby again, if but for the briefest 
 glimpse. There was an irrepressible movement 
 somewhere near him, as if some inquisitive squir 
 rel had leaped and set a limb vibrating, a fact 
 his subconsciousness warned him of instantly 
 and recalled his wandering mind to ever present 
 danger. He cast a swift look around, and from 
 behind a tree caught the glint of steel that a tiny 
 sun-flash betrayed. Instinctively he swerved a 
 little to one side, and a bright, new hatchet hurtled 
 through the space where he had paused but an 
 instant before. 
 
 " Ah, a savage ! The hatchet is grounded, but 
 not for peace ! " 
 
 He coolly walked forward, and drew the instru 
 ment, meant for his death, from the earth where 
 
 10 
 
WITHIN THE FOREST II 
 
 it was embedded deeply, looked at it narrowly, 
 and muttered : 
 
 " New, and of English make ! Then the rumors 
 of the arming of the tribes are true ! " 
 
 While he spoke a stealthy form was slipping 
 from bush to bush, attempting to escape. This 
 was what Lancaster had wished for, that he might 
 give chase, which he instantly did, once convinced 
 the savage was alone ; and his lover s instinct 
 told him who that was. 
 
 He began a wild race after the fugitive, and 
 because of his superior length of limb and train 
 ing as a schoolboy, he soon gained upon him. 
 
 The Indian once in plain view, his suspicion 
 was confirmed. It was the Yellow Wolf! He 
 had been spying on him and Ferriby ; his savage 
 jealousy had been roused, on which followed 
 the desire for swift revenge. He would have 
 murdered him. He deserved sharp punishment ! 
 This conclusion seemed to lend strength to 
 Lancaster. His wild leaps lengthened ; his speed 
 increased, so that the space between the two 
 diminished rapidly. In another moment he 
 would have his hand on the miscreant s throat. 
 He stretched it forth to clutch the fluttering 
 fringes of his garments. On the instant, the 
 savage squatted so that Robert was toppled head 
 
12 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 over heels. Quick as a flash, before Ah-mah- 
 nac-o could regain his feet, Lancaster rolled 
 against him, threw him down, and locked him 
 in an embrace that nearly snapped his ribs. In 
 spite of the stoical endurance to which the savage 
 had been bred, he could not subdue a stifled cry 
 of acute pain ; and he gasped for breath. Lan 
 caster reached for his knife, tore it from its 
 sheath, and thus disarmed him. He then arose, 
 and dragged the savage upright. Though mad 
 with rage, caution whispered that in this case 
 murder might not be done upon a warrior of a 
 tribe professedly at peace with the " Big Knives." 
 He must take revenge in some other form one 
 that would be an indignity which the savage 
 would deeply feel but never confess. Lancaster 
 stepped back a pace from his adversary, and 
 glared at him with as cruel a look as the savage s 
 own. He doubled up his fists, and indicated to 
 the red-man that he must fight as the white man 
 fought. Ah-mah-nac-o regarded him with proud 
 scorn. By a nod of the head he refused, and 
 motioned to the knife at Lancaster s side, stuck 
 there beside his own. 
 
 " There ll be no fight with these, you hound ! 
 You re not to be trusted ! I honor you to fight 
 you as a white man ! Ready ! " 
 
WITHIN THE FOREST 13 
 
 They flew at each other like two panthers. 
 Lancaster had the advantage of training, the 
 savage, of agility ; so that many of Robert s blows 
 fell foul, but enough landed to punish the Indian 
 well. 
 
 They fought till their breath grew short, 
 their chests heaved. Then Lancaster s superior 
 strength began to tell. Ah-mah-nac-o sobbed for 
 breath, a bloody foam rose to his lips; but he 
 fought desperately on till there was hardly a spot 
 on his naked shoulders that did not show a 
 deeper tint than nature s copper hue. Suddenly 
 Robert s arm shot out in a tremendous blow that 
 sent him reeling. For an instant he lay like 
 dead. Then he rose upon his elbow, and, through 
 the red mist of hate which swam before his eyes, 
 he gave to his foe such a look of malignity as 
 might well make Robert fear some new treachery. 
 
 Lancaster held out a hand to help him, but the 
 Indian disdained it and struggled to his feet alone. 
 He pointed to the northwest, indicating that Yel 
 low Wolf must follow the trail to the distant 
 village on the Ouibache, on pain of further punish 
 ment. And the disarmed savage sullenly made off 
 down the trail. In his wild passion of fighting 
 Lancaster had not noticed his own wounds. He 
 had not come off unscathed, for the savage had 
 
14 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 torn his hands with cruel nails like sharp briers, 
 and had bitten him like a wolf ; but he was none 
 the worse for these, and he hastened to the stock 
 ade to join his fellows, for the long, long journey 
 to Detroit. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 IN THE CABIN 
 
 SEVERAL years before the advent of the Benham 
 family, the little stockade had been built by the 
 French traders and trappers from O Poste, and 
 the freedom of the place was given to the friendly 
 Piankeshaws, who had their village opposite Fort 
 Sackville on the Ouibache. Here during the 
 winter season, the harvest-time of the trapper, 
 they lived in perfect amity. 
 
 When Lancaster, a high-mettled youth, moved 
 by the spirit of the time, came among them, from 
 the distant colony of Virginia, they unquestion- 
 ingly gave him food and shelter, and later trained 
 him in the hunter s and trapper s craft. When 
 they returned to their homes in the village at the 
 post on the Ouibache, the trapping season over, 
 he remained alone in the little stockade ; the spell 
 of the wilderness had fallen upon him, and he 
 could not leave it. One day, late in July, now 
 two years past, he had discovered a small flatboat 
 making way upstream, and was amazed to behold 
 
1 6 ON THE WE^A TRAIL 
 
 upon it women and children as well as men. 
 While isolated families were not unknown in the 
 wilderness, they were rare ; they usually dwelt 
 nearer one or another of the posts invested by 
 British soldiers. When the flatboat made a land 
 ing and all came ashore, glad of a roofs shelter 
 for the night, and of a break on the terrible soli 
 tude of the abandoned river, Lancaster could 
 hardly contain his joy. They were the first 
 women he had seen in two years. 
 
 After carefully considering the advantages of 
 the place, Benham decided to settle there, and 
 the family had lived safely and happily, till at the 
 end of the first year the mysterious " milk sick 
 ness " carried off the mother and two children. 
 Another year had gone since then. 
 
 On the day that Robert and Ferriby parted in 
 the clearing, the stockade would be deserted for 
 the summer by the last trapper, who would 
 scatter far and wide on their several errands to 
 remain away till the next snow should call them 
 back again. 
 
 When Ferriby reached the cabin, she found the 
 patient granny fallen into senile slumber, and 
 little Jack seated on the floor by her side playing, 
 his pet possum cuddled on his frock asleep. 
 The child was busily building a blockhouse, 
 
IN THE CABIN 17 
 
 breathlessly watching the structure grow higher, in 
 pleasant dread lest each added cob would tumble 
 the whole into a heap. Against the deep blue of 
 his tow frock, his long, flaxen hair seemed almost 
 as white as the ancient dame s time-bleached locks. 
 His azure eyes were intent on his task, and he 
 hardly raised them when Ferriby paused at the 
 door. The possum roused when it scented the 
 dog, and shambled off like a little bear to hide 
 under the bed. Granny dozed on with many a 
 guttural snore that waked her briefly ; her shrivelled 
 lips parted, then closed again with her sibilant 
 breathing. Her abundant hair, divested of the 
 customary cap, was as white as the wax berries 
 that grew beside the door, from the morning s 
 washing that Ferriby had given it. The girl 
 lingered for a moment to watch the two, at the 
 extremes of life, age and infancy. She tied the 
 dog to a peg outside the door, entered and crossed 
 the room to deposit her greens on the puncheon 
 table near the fireplace. In her passage she 
 interrupted granny and the child in their dream 
 ing and playing. 
 
 " See, sister," called out the boy, with a pretty 
 air of protection ; " I ve built a great big blockhouse, 
 and I won t let the Injuns get you and granny!" 
 
 " The Indians won t get us, Jack. They re 
 
1 8 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 good Indians ! " Ferriby replied ; for she never 
 encouraged the child to fear the savages who came 
 to the cabin almost daily in the hunting season. 
 
 " Ah-mah-nac-o likes us, don t he, sister ? He 
 brings nice berries strung on grass, and pretty 
 feathers, an an Don t he ? " 
 
 At the name of the young warrior a look of 
 irritation flitted over the young girl s face ; for 
 during the previous summer he had crossed her 
 path at most unexpected times and in unlikely 
 places, pressing trifling gifts upon her. Once 
 she heard a faint fluting, and looked up to see 
 Yellow Wolf piping on a rustic flute made from 
 a tender twig of paw-paw. At first she accepted 
 these odd tributes laughingly, but after a time 
 they became painfully significant, and caused her 
 great anxiety. When Lancaster returned from a 
 trip to the Kentucky hunting-grounds, she ceased 
 to laugh, for the savage showed his true nature 
 by ugly scowls and fierce gestures, which Ferriby 
 with womanly guile pretended not to comprehend. 
 But Lancaster rashly flouted openly the devotion 
 of the young warrior, and the two youths came to 
 hate each other as heartily as if both were of the 
 same race. The Yellow Wolf had shown his 
 rending teeth till Ferriby was afraid for her lover. 
 It was a great relief when he returned to O Poste 
 
IN THE CABIN 19 
 
 for the winter, and as spring advanced she dreaded 
 each day to see his reappearance. 
 
 The fire was low ; she threw cobs and chips 
 on it, and set the dinner-pot, suspended from 
 the crane, into loud bubbling, diffusing abroad a 
 savory vapor. She washed the " greens," and 
 added them to its contents ; then she mixed the 
 corn-bread, and turned it into the long-legged 
 skillet, and set it on a pile of coals at one side of 
 the hearth slowly to bake into the sweetest, tooth- 
 somest morsel ever eaten by hungry hunter. She 
 set the table neatly with burnished pewterware, 
 and when her preparations were thus far com 
 pleted, she stepped to the door, glanced skyward, 
 and saw that the sun had reached mid-heaven, 
 and then, that the slender sycamore in the door- 
 yard had all but swallowed up its own shadow, 
 by which tokens she knew it was noon. She 
 blew a blast on the cow-horn to warn her father 
 of the dinner-hour. He was planting corn in 
 one of the natural pastures, now turned into a 
 field, which were often found in the heart of the 
 forest. 
 
 " Granny, dear, watch the bread while I go to 
 the spring. Don t let it burn. You know father 
 hates the taste of scorched bread. By the time 
 I m back, he ll be here." 
 
20 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " He s here now," cried a loud, cheerful voice 
 from outside, " and as hungry as a hunter. So 
 hurry off, Ferriby ! " 
 
 The girl tripped away down the path to the 
 spring house, below the long, steep hill, Juno 
 straining at her rope in vain effort to follow. 
 
 Benham rested his rifle against the cabin wall, 
 took off his shot-pouch and powder-horn, and 
 seated himself on the bench outside the door, 
 threw his coonskin cap on the ground at his feet, 
 and leaned restfully back against the logs. As 
 he did so his vigilant eyes rested on the fringe of 
 trees, impinging on the clearing, to the north. 
 
 " What have we here ? Who are they ? " he 
 said aloud ; and he peered steadily at the ob 
 jects an untrained eye could not have discovered. 
 Juno pointed, silent as a bronze figure. 
 
 "Indians! What tribe can they be? Not 
 Piankeshaws, for they are at the shoals. They 
 are in paint and feathers, too! What can that 
 mean ? " 
 
 A band of savages emerged from the forest, 
 and came toward him in a long, single file. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE MEDICINE-MAN 
 
 As the Indians crossed the small space of 
 cleared ground, between the forest and the cabin, 
 Benham scanned them closely, and by certain 
 small, infallible signs, he knew they were not 
 altogether friendly, although they attempted to 
 convey by gestures that their errand was a peace 
 ful one. He suspected they were foraying out of 
 their lawful hunting-grounds. He surmised that 
 they were a war-party, as they were in fighting 
 trim, in paint and feathers, and from their otter- 
 skin belts dangled scalping-knives and bright, 
 new tomahawks of steel. No friendly tribe went 
 abroad thus equipped. 
 
 The warrior chief of the band stepped forward, 
 and began speaking to Benham in a dialect that was 
 unfamiliar to him ; it was unlike either Mascoutin 
 or Piankeshaw, which he understood sufficiently 
 to grasp their meaning. But here was a language 
 he did not comprehend at all, whose rough gutturals 
 trailed off into soft sibilants. 
 
 21 
 
22 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Benham shook his head to signify that he did 
 not understand him; and waved his hand toward 
 the open door in invitation to enter. He bade 
 them welcome, at a venture, in a few words of the 
 Piankeshaw tongue, and raised his hands with the 
 palms down to show that all he had was theirs. 
 
 Juno strained at the end of her tether, with 
 bristling back, and quivering flank, showing her 
 teeth, protesting against them with all her might. 
 
 The war chief, a magnificent son of the wilder 
 ness, began to speak, and to Benham s surprise 
 the interpreter repeated it to him in the dialect 
 he himself had just used. 
 
 " Vo-ka-nom-ik, the mighty war chief of the 
 Puans, asks food, not for himself, whom the Great 
 Spirit sustains with the breath of heaven he blows 
 through the wilderness, but for these his children 
 who are weak and faint with hunger. For many 
 sets of sun we have journeyed from where the 
 broad waters meet. We are people from the sun 
 rise, and have followed the trail, finding no game ; 
 for the beasts of the forest fled before us in fear, 
 and the wolf, hunger, gnaws, and we would eat ! " 
 
 He accompanied this high-flown speech with 
 such pertinent signs that Benham, well versed in 
 the language of gesture, had no difficulty in under 
 standing him. He motioned to the chief to enter 
 
THE MEDICINE-MAN 23 
 
 the house. An old, withered, pock-fretted medi 
 cine-man, who stood high among them, followed 
 next (for they were as jealous of precedence as 
 princes-royal), who chewed between his worn 
 teeth a bit of "she-she-note" plant, a charm 
 against the bite of rattlesnakes. The others 
 followed in due order, but the humbler, younger 
 members of the band squatted on their heels out 
 side the cabin, and waited for the remnants like 
 hungry dogs. 
 
 The savory contents of the dinner-pot were 
 poured on the great trencher, and the chief dipped 
 first into the scalding mass with his fingers, then 
 the others likewise, all wincing with pain, but so 
 ravenous as not to heed it. Granny looked on 
 with the brief interest of age, while little Jack 
 gazed with open mouth, dismayed at the dis 
 appearance of his dinner. He stood shyly at his 
 father s elbow, his round eyes staring at the 
 splendid chief, his long hair, silky and fine as 
 thistle-down, making an auriole around his tenderly 
 tinted little face, in vivid contrast to the dark- 
 hued savages. 
 
 With surprising haste they appeased a not in 
 considerable appetite, when the lowlier savages 
 were given the scanty remnants. 
 
 Ferriby had not yet returned from the spring 
 
24 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 which tempted her to linger so beautiful the spot, 
 so fascinating the fair water. It was an ideal spot 
 to think of her lover; and deep in dreams she 
 lingered longer than she knew. 
 
 When Vo-ka-nom-ik and Mah-moust, the medi 
 cine-man, had finished their repast, the chief 
 lighted his calumet of red pipe-stone, with its 
 long, reed stem. Carved in high relief on its 
 bowl was an antelope s head, the totem of his 
 tribe. The chief gave one great puff, and the 
 blue smoke rose in a gauzy veil about his painted 
 features ; then he passed the calumet to Benham, 
 saying : 
 
 " The Great Spirit once threw the blood of a 
 captive maiden of our tribe upon the sun s rays. 
 They fell far upon her people, and led them 
 to the spot where she was burned at the stake by 
 our enemies, the Illinois. And, lo ! the stones she 
 stood upon were reddened with her blood. Of 
 this stone the Puans ever since have made the 
 calumet, and with none but brothers do they 
 smoke it." 
 
 He placed the long, reed stem in the hand of 
 Benham, who gravely drew one whiff and handed 
 it back to Vo-ka-nom-ik, who passed it on to 
 Mah-moust, the medicine-man. As he drew the 
 strong vapor of mingled willow bark and tobacco 
 
THE MEDICINE-MAN 25 
 
 his features were wreathed in so dense a cloud, 
 that none could see the expression of devilish 
 hate that agitated them for a moment. In pass 
 ing back the pipe to the war chief, it fell and 
 shivered to atoms. 
 
 Vo-ka-nom-ik gave a grunt, stepped back from 
 his white brother, and bent a look of suspicion 
 upon him ; for had not the Great Spirit broken 
 the sacred peace-pipe, and was it not a sign of his 
 displeasure ? 
 
 Granny, sitting near by, spoke quaveringly to 
 her son, dispelling the portentous silence that fol 
 lowed the accident : 
 
 " John, maybe the medicine-man can cure my 
 feet. If I could only get round on them, then I 
 could help Ferriby, poor girl ! " 
 
 She stooped and unrolled the bandages from 
 about them, removed the soothing plantain, 
 " white-man s-foot," as the Indians called it, and 
 revealed the members, ghastly white, swollen to 
 bursting. Benham motioned to Mah-moust to 
 look at them. The man looked down sullenly, 
 then stooped over the old dame, who raised faded, 
 trustful eyes to his cruel face, to see if she could 
 gain anything of hope from it. His countenance 
 was as stolid as the carven image on the pipe he 
 had just now wilfully destroyed, the fragments of 
 
26 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 which the little child was gleefully gathering up, 
 his long locks sweeping the floor in stooping. 
 
 Mah-moust fumbled at his belt, uttered a great 
 war-whoop, and before his intention could flash 
 upon the brain, his hatchet came down with a 
 frightful crash. There was a gleam of twirling 
 knife-blade, and the old woman fell back dead, 
 while her slayer held aloft a scalp-lock of long, 
 silvery hair. His wild cry acted as a signal to 
 those outside ; there was a rush of feet, and Ben- 
 ham and the child were brained and scalped 
 before they could realize the horror of their fate. 
 
 The flaxen locks of little Jack, dripping with 
 his hot, young blood, were suspended from the 
 belt of the warrior chief, who grunted with satis 
 faction as he stroked the soft strands, and said : 
 
 " Many presents great White Father give ! " 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 AT THE SPRING 
 
 IN the pleasant privacy of the spring Ferriby 
 was lulled into dreamy forgetfulness, lost in rem 
 iniscent revery of her lover. Suddenly the smile 
 was frozen on her parted lips; her blood paused 
 in its gleeful pulsing, and left her cheek as white 
 as the clover abloom near by. Her eyes 
 widened with terror. The tocsin of the wilder 
 ness had sounded, the death-telling war-whoop. 
 
 For an instant she was incapable of motion ; 
 rousing herself, she crept noiselessly up the path, 
 careful to disturb neither pebble nor twig. 
 When within her own height of the top of the 
 bluff, she paused, raised on tiptoe, and peered 
 within the cabin. The sight she saw struck her 
 motionless ; choked her with horror, so she could 
 not cry aloud. She strove to rush forward, but 
 her limbs refused her bidding. Agony nearly 
 burst her eyeballs, but no tear would come when 
 she saw the gray scalp-lock flourished aloft 
 exultantly. She heard and felt the crash of the 
 
 27 
 
28 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 blows that ended her father s life, and the shrill 
 scream of the little one cut through her heart 
 like a stab. How long she stared in a coma of 
 horror, she did not know, but at last Nature put 
 into operation in her the first great law, self- 
 preservation. Driven, not by sentience, but by 
 instinct, she retreated stealthily down the path 
 to the creek, launched the bark canoe, and fled 
 from the place of blood. Every stroke of the 
 oar, so slow and difficult, seemed made by 
 leaden arms. She despaired of reaching the 
 stockade. At last she arrived to find it 
 deserted ! 
 
 She knew water was the only trail that left no 
 track to give clew to the subtle red-man, and 
 again she set off in the frail little boat. Below 
 the fall the creek flowed calmly between the 
 walls of the great forest. She saw the startled 
 deer leap into its depths at her approach; and 
 wavering crinkles showed where the otter fled 
 before her, the turtles dived in panic, a snake 
 sunning slid into the water. Everything seemed 
 possessed of fear and fled for life. 
 
 A dim design evolved itself from out her dis 
 traction. She would seek the friendly French 
 in their village on the great Ouibache. All the 
 streams emptied into it, and she knew the town 
 
AT THE SPRING 29 
 
 lay to the north forty miles away. She rowed 
 on, helped by the current, now swift, now slowed 
 by shallows, till she came to where the great 
 We-a 1 Trail, which lead southward to the free 
 hunting-grounds of the Kentucky country, and 
 northward to the wide We-a plains, crossed the 
 stream. She was appalled to see there an en 
 campment of Indians. But they wore neither 
 paint nor feathers, a token they were not a hostile 
 party. The bucks were lolling at ease; the 
 squaws were busied about the servile duties of 
 the camp. Pappooses were slung on saplings and 
 swung idly in their little bark baskets. Before 
 Ferriby could retreat behind the bend of the 
 stream that had hidden her, the Indians discov 
 ered her, and gave a wild shout. One splendid, 
 brawny youth beckoned for her to come to shore, 
 but she only urged on the canoe faster. She 
 could make no headway, for the water at the ford 
 was shallow, or impeded by great boulder-stones, 
 and thwarted her design. 
 
 At the young buck s discomfiture the others 
 laughed aloud. Angered, he rushed into the 
 water where it was waist-deep among the boul 
 ders, and with one hand drew the canoe after 
 him to the shore. When Ferriby realized that 
 
3O ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 the worst had befallen her, a merciful apathy 
 came upon her, the languor of complete 
 exhaustion. 
 
 The exultant brave beckoned to his two young 
 squaws to support her to the shade of an oak. 
 She could feel the cold water they flung over 
 her, and taste the hot liquor from the dinner-pot; 
 they tried to force her to swallow. Her brain 
 refused to take but the most confused cognizance 
 when they bound her with bark ropes. She 
 dimly heard guttural sounds; then silence. 
 Nothingness ! 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 WITH THE SAVAGES 
 
 DURING Ferriby s stupor, the young hunters 
 who had been sent out for game returned and 
 reported to the chief that their most implacable 
 foes, the Puans, were ravaging the wilderness. 
 They, Piankeshaws, were cumbered with squaws 
 and pappooses on a peaceful hunting trip, and 
 their only recourse was immediate flight. Ferriby 
 roused to find the camp in commotion. The 
 squaws were hastily lading ponies. Pappooses 
 were bound to their mother s backs. Everything 
 portended fear and flight. 
 
 The squaws had hardly started on the north 
 ward trail which led to their village on the 
 Ouibache, opposite Fort Sackville, when remote, 
 stealthy sounds became audible ; the crackling of 
 a twig, the brushing by a shrub, warned of the 
 approach of their enemy. The savages had not 
 unbound Ferriby, leaving that for the last ; and 
 without waiting to do so they fled as noiselessly 
 as a bevy of sere leaves before the wind. 
 
 31 
 
32 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 When the young warrior, who had made 
 Ferriby prisoner, got well within the screening of 
 a hazel copse, he looked back, paused irresolutely, 
 then with a grunt, expressive of some emotion, 
 sent his hatchet flying through the space between 
 them. Swift and sure it came, making the air 
 whisper of its sinister purpose. The girl saw it, 
 and her dull wits grasped the purport of its 
 errand ; she cringed instinctively, and the weapon 
 buried its shining edge deep in the bole of the 
 tree that sustained her, severing a tress of her 
 hair. The shock of the impact, the horror of her 
 narrow escape, prevented her from seeing what 
 presaged far greater evil, the hideous, painted 
 band of savages, who now broke from covert. 
 With yells and cries of rage they burst into the 
 deserted camp. When they beheld the forlorn 
 girl, they glared savagely, and one fierce, young 
 warrior rushed upon her, brandishing a gleaming 
 knife ; but he was restrained by the stern com 
 mand of the war chief. Vo-ka-nom-ik walked in 
 a stately fashion toward her, followed closely by 
 the medicine-man, Mah-moust. He uttered half- 
 articulate sounds of satisfaction, and gathered 
 together the severed lock of hair, which had 
 fallen in burnished threads across her shoulder, 
 and made it fast to his head-dress. Overstrained 
 
WITH THE SAVAGES 33 
 
 to the last degree, Ferriby was seemingly as stolid 
 as the savage himself. She had reached a state 
 of physical and mental torpor, where nothing 
 mattered. Her mood incensed the Indian, and 
 he snatched from the belt of the medicine-man a 
 long, white, dangling fringe, and flung it at her 
 in a rage. Her eyes grew wild with terror. Her 
 dull senses revived, and recalled the ghastly 
 tragedy ; she faintly moaned. No power remained 
 in her to give other sign. 
 
 It was now nearly sunset. After unbinding 
 their captive the Indians forced her to follow on 
 foot, lead by a bark rope, like an animal. When 
 she lagged, they lashed her smartly with tough 
 whips of leatherwood. It happened that her 
 guard, Te-te-box-ke (the Twisting Vine), was one 
 of the younger braves in whom yet remained 
 some sense of pity. He dropped to the end of 
 the file, and when she stumbled, paused to give 
 her a moment s rest; when faint, he fetched 
 her a draught of water in a sweet, faint- 
 scented, young sycamore leaf. After a march 
 of many miles to the northward they reached 
 their encampment. 
 
 Te-te-box-ke imperiously beckoned to a young 
 squaw sitting within a lodge of green branches 
 suckling her pappoose, regarding it with the 
 
34 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 jealous fondness of a wild animal. She came 
 obediently at his beck, like a well-trained dog, and 
 shot a quick glance at his captive, and her face 
 fell to a wayward and sullen look ; for had she not 
 been Te-te-box-ke s first squaw but twelve short 
 moons ? Already another ! 
 
 " Te-te-box-ke wills that Mah-no lead to her 
 wigwam the white maiden, Ken-che-se-way ! " 
 
 Mah-no shot fiery glances at her master, which 
 he did not see, for he was fingering enviously 
 the long red-brown locks that fell to Ferriby s 
 waist, one of which floated from the head-dress 
 of the great chief Vo-ka-nom-ik, his father. As 
 the long strands slipped through his fingers the 
 girl cowered, and threw a look of appeal to the 
 young squaw. It told plainly of dread and loath 
 ing for her lord, and did much to dispel the 
 savage jealousy of Mah-no. She conducted 
 Ferriby to her lodge where she made her fast, 
 and left an old grandam to stand guard while 
 she joined the other squaws that were busily pre 
 paring a great feast in honor of the braves who 
 had come in with scalps. 
 
 Ferriby could lie at ease, and almost at once 
 heavy slumber fell upon her. The old squaw 
 sat upon the ground, and nodded and dozed, to 
 wake again with starts ; the pappoose sprawling 
 
He was fingering enviously the long red-brown locks." 
 
WITH THE SAVAGES 35 
 
 on a silky beaver skin, stared with beadlike eyes 
 at the leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze. 
 
 The forest sank into silence. The dull sky, 
 stained a faint primrose in the west, brought 
 into high relief the small flame-lit circle. The 
 warriors sprawled on the ground, or sat with 
 their knees bunched, their slim hands clasped 
 upon them, on the windward side of the fire, 
 impassive and saturnine, smoking or drowsing. 
 Now and then they sucked their lips when the 
 veering wind brought a whiff of savory steam 
 from the kettle. 
 
 Night prowlers lurked fascinated outside the 
 radiant circle, peeping with glowing eyes from 
 snug hiding-places. A squaw threw fresh fuel 
 on the fire ; instantly tranquillity departed. The 
 ashes were knocked from pipes. The young 
 braves stretched and grunted and leaped to their 
 feet. The kettle was swung from the fire and set 
 upon the ground. The hungry braves gathered 
 round it, and fell to eating greedily, till appetites 
 were sated. 
 
 The night air began to chill ; moist breezes 
 crept from the forest; the squaws piled logs on 
 the heap of red embers, and around it basked the 
 warriors, staring fixedly, dreaming dreams and 
 seeing visions, till at last each form fell back 
 
36 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 supinely in slumber. Then the humble squaws 
 sought rest. 
 
 Ferriby roused with a great start, and almost 
 shrieked aloud at a touch ; but a small, firm hand 
 crushed her lips against her teeth. In the gleam 
 of the now westering moon she saw the young 
 Indian girl, Mah-no, bending over her. Re 
 moving her hand, the squaw signed to her to 
 rise, and with painful effort Ferriby accomplished 
 it. Mah-no held in her hand a keen scalping- 
 knife, which Ferriby saw with dull thankfulness; 
 but the Indian girl shook her head, as if she 
 read her thoughts, and cut the bark rope that 
 bound her. She rubbed her chafed wrists and 
 ankles with a soothing unguent, removed her 
 worn moccasins, and replaced them with stout 
 ones of buffalo hide. Bending her back, she 
 motioned for her to mount. Wondering much, 
 Ferriby did so, and clasped the squaw around 
 the neck. Mah-no, used to burden-bearing, 
 threaded her way with noiseless step, aloof from 
 the sleeping warriors. One or two turned un 
 easily, but none awoke. Mah-no neither paused 
 nor hesitated till she reached the stream, where 
 she stepped into the chill water and waded some 
 rods down it ; then she set the dazed girl on her 
 feet in the little river. She motioned with a 
 
WITH THE SAVAGES 37 
 
 sweeping gesture to the northwest, and uttered 
 softly the first words Ferriby had heard her 
 speak : 
 
 "Ouibache O Poste." 
 
 Dulness fell away as hope revived, and Ferriby 
 comprehended that she was to follow the stream 
 to the great river and from thence to the French 
 settlement at O Poste. She, who a few moments 
 before would have welcomed death, was now eager 
 to live. She longed for the protection of the 
 whites, and no hardship was too great to secure it, 
 no chance too small to use, that might lead to it. 
 
 She pressed the little tinted hand fervently be 
 tween hers. Mah-no s cold eyes softened ; she 
 almost smiled ; she motioned to indicate haste, 
 and glided away, leaving Ferriby to pursue her 
 desolate way through the trackless water. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 THE kindly clock-stars by their rising and 
 setting told off the hours to the forlorn wanderer. 
 The moon grew paler till it was but a wan spot 
 in the blue overhead ; the glory of night-light 
 began to fade into colorlessness in the western 
 sky. Slowly the misty dawn came through the 
 gloomy forest. Cold dew dripped from the tips 
 of the leaves. The birds chirped timidly at first, 
 but as the sun flung aside the dull drapery of fog, 
 they broke into brave rejoicing. 
 
 To Ferriby the hours of the night had seemed 
 endless. She had followed the stream till her 
 body was numbed by the chill water. Her 
 wearied body pleaded for rest, and she clambered 
 painfully up a steep bluffside to find sanctuary 
 where the savage might not come. Halfway up 
 its face she found a shallow cave, and before it 
 sassafras and spicewood made a fragrant ambus 
 cade. She crept into it, and threw herself down 
 upon the dry leaves a beneficent wind had stored 
 
 38 
 
WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS 39 
 
 there in readiness for some weary creature. 
 Sleep fell upon her instantly, so deathlike as to 
 hardly keep the creature animate. She slept and 
 woke briefly, to slumber again the round of 
 twenty-four hours. When she was thoroughly 
 awake, Memory, refreshed, laid hold on her and 
 tortured her anew. What was left to her in life ? 
 her kindred perished ; her lover gone, perhaps 
 slain on the trail by the same murderous band. 
 All were swept away by a fearful stroke of Fate. 
 Through these anguished reflections pierced the 
 words of the squaw: " Ouibache O Poste ! " 
 How could she hope to find it ? Her wanderings 
 had taken her miles to the northward ; the very 
 creek below her was unknown to her, but she 
 knew that sooner or later all the streams in the 
 wilderness, however devious, found the great river. 
 A sickening hunger prostrated her; all about 
 her was food for bird and beast, but none for her. 
 It was too soon for the wild strawberries, and the 
 blackberries were but tangles of snowy bloom. 
 Thirst parched her lips, and she descended to the 
 stream to drink. She bathed her face and hands 
 and swollen feet, and threaded her matted hair 
 with her fingers to plait it into braids. Her form 
 had changed none in the hours of her flight ; but 
 her face what sad changes can befall the human 
 
4O ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 countenance in a short time from grief and terror ? 
 There was a look of old, hopeless sorrow upon it. 
 Her smooth forehead was drawn to wrinkles be 
 tween the arched brows ; her eyes beneath were 
 dark and dull with pain uneased by tears. Her 
 lips had lost their charming curves, and were 
 pressed together in a straight, faded line. Her 
 cheeks had lost their bloom, and were as white 
 as the rounds of elder blossoms, growing by the 
 stream. Her step had lost its buoyancy, and she 
 crept along with the feeble caution of age. Re 
 freshed by the draught of water she took up the 
 weary march and passed on into the rolling land 
 when a sudden cry roused her to danger. It was 
 the gobble of a wild turkey. She well knew that 
 the savage decoyed his victim with this cry so 
 lifelike as to deceive the very wood-rangers them 
 selves. She plunged into the forest with frantic 
 haste, and kept on till suddenly it came to an end. 
 Before her lay a dazzling plain that stretched 
 endlessly till it climbed afar to the very heavens. 
 Visible loneliness ! As she stared out upon the 
 vast green prairie something strange happened to 
 her. It was as if a great hand had blinded her 
 and spun her swiftly round and round, as children 
 play, then freed her, to find that she had lost all 
 sense of direction. Desperate moment ! She ad- 
 
WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS 41 
 
 vanced a few steps in one direction only to retrace 
 them. She hastened in another, to pause terrified. 
 The loud beating of her heart, the humming in 
 her ears, silenced other sounds. She sternly at 
 tempted to regain self-control and calm. Again 
 she heard the wild turkey s cry. She turned to 
 follow the sound, hoping to find its nest and in it 
 food. She advanced but a few yards when she 
 came upon what she had desperately feared to 
 encounter, a swarthy man. His head was 
 reared above the tufts of long weeds which had 
 hidden him. His rifle was aimed ready, as she 
 came in range. Her last vestige of strength fled ; 
 she slipped to the ground lifelessly. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LE COUREUR DE BOIS 
 
 " By all the holy saints in heaven ! what have 
 we here ? " cried the man, when he beheld a 
 woman fall to the ground before his amazed eyes. 
 His rifle slid from his hands ; he leaped from 
 covert to her side to see what manner of creature 
 it might be. When he bent over her, his surprise 
 knew no bounds. A girl, alone in the great wil 
 derness, where, possibly, no being of her sex had 
 trod before, in a spot to which he, familiar with 
 its mazes, had never penetrated hitherto. He who 
 knew the great woods and plains stretching from 
 Omee to La Belle Riviere as few did. It was 
 incredible ! 
 
 " Oh ! thou poor little one," he cried with ten 
 der compassion as he looked into her wan young 
 face ; " it is well for thee thou fell at the feet of 
 Hillaire St. Vrain, rude barbarian, coureur of the 
 woods as he is, than before those two-legged red 
 beasts that ravage the forest. For he has not 
 
 42 
 
LE COUREUR DE BOIS 43 
 
 forgot what he once was, and, by the blood of his 
 ancestors, will succor the weak." 
 
 He spoke aloud volubly in French his own 
 tongue while he busied himself in trying to re 
 suscitate the girl by every means he could recall. 
 He even poured a few drops of brandy between 
 her white lips ; but the rigid muscles refused to 
 swallow, and it dribbled from the corners of her 
 mouth. He shook her gently at first, then 
 smartly to no purpose. Terror held her in 
 a coma. 
 
 " Dieu des dieux ! She will perish utterly 
 here ! Those beasts, those devilish beasts, they 
 have driven her forth ! Oh, poor White Dove ! 
 How young she is ! " 
 
 He gently parted the lids of the closed eye and 
 looked into the orb earnestly. 
 
 " Oh, blessed be the Good One, she lives ! 
 What now ? The poor little one cannot remain 
 here. But how to remove her ? " 
 
 He pondered deeply while he gently stroked 
 one of the girl s slim brown hands scratched by 
 briers, stung by nettles with fingers as dark as 
 if stained with walnut juice. He laid her hand 
 down across her breast as we do those of the dead 
 and looked at her wayworn feet, bruised and swol 
 len, on which the ragged moccasins scarcely held 
 
44 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 together, and at her gown torn by the clutching 
 briers and slashing bush. 
 
 " Ah, heaven ! the poor one has wandered far, 
 and she has not eaten. No ! Miserable ! mise 
 rable ! " and he gazed pitifully again into her 
 sunken face, and let fall two large tears upon it, 
 at which Ferriby stirred, then became motionless 
 again. 
 
 But St. Vrain, the boldest coureur between 
 Detroit and Kaskaskia, was not a man without 
 resources; he had not ranged the forest for 
 naught. He stripped a shrub of its tough bark, 
 by means of which he slung his rifle across his 
 back, first withdrawing the load. He then raised 
 the girl in his arms so that her head fell inertly 
 over his shoulder. He groaned sympathetically 
 at the lightness of his load. 
 
 The coureur turned about and walked half a 
 league within the thin fringe of the forest, pausing 
 now and then to rest. He crossed a short arm of 
 the great prairie, the magnitude of which had 
 overwhelmed Ferriby, had smitten her with fear, 
 and had mazed her senses. Before him lay the 
 broad, brown sheet of the stately Ouibache. It 
 was fringed along the margin with green willows 
 and young sycamores, whose vernal leaves gave out 
 a faint, sweet odor from their fuzzy under sides. 
 
LE COUREUR DE BOIS 45 
 
 The banks of the river were shallow at this 
 point and for the most part muddy, but here and 
 there were patches of shingle. On one of these, 
 sheltered by the long, drooping branches of a wil 
 low, he lay down his burden. 
 
 He drew from its hiding-place the smallest 
 and frailest of birch-bark canoes. Its dark red 
 tone showed it to be of winter-stripped bark, 
 more highly valued than the light-hued summer 
 bark. Its trim gunwales were of dark red aro 
 matic cedar, and its long oar, which the coureur 
 generally used, was of the same odorous wood. 
 A pair of slight paddles lay in brackets on each 
 side. 
 
 St. Vrain looked narrowly to see if the little 
 boat s contents had been tampered with, a 
 small metal despatch box, which he had carried 
 safely thus far from the governor at Detroit, down 
 the Maumee, across the nine miles of portage at 
 Ke-ki-on-ga, thence by the great Ouibache, pass 
 ing in safety and without incident the Indian vil 
 lage Keth-tip-pe-ka-nunk and the We-a towns on 
 his way to O Poste. The small remnant of the 
 journey was comparatively safe. There were few 
 unfriendly savages to molest if he kept to the 
 great waterway till he reached Fort Sackville. 
 Tempted by the prospect of finding game, he had 
 
46 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 made landing at this spot, and had wandered on 
 and on to the place where he had found Ferriby. 
 
 Now his fragile craft must bear an added bur 
 den, which, though slight, might well overtax its 
 feeble strength, nicely calculated and suited to 
 the coureur s purpose. It must be risked. It was 
 the only means of rescue. How to accomplish 
 this must be pondered well. At last he settled it 
 to his satisfaction. His black brows unknit, his 
 tightened lips relaxed pleasantly. He drew the 
 canoe up on the shallow bank a little way. Then 
 he lifted Ferriby and placed her gently in the 
 bottom of the boat, leaving a tiny space at the 
 stern in which to wedge himself. Over her face 
 he laid twigs of sycamore, whose fanlike leaves 
 made a grateful screen from the sun. When all 
 was done he gazed at the motionless figure, sighed 
 softly, pushed the craft gently into the water, and 
 by a dexterous movement was aboard, while the 
 little canoe dipped and danced perilously like a 
 dry pod, for a moment, on the bosom of the broad 
 river. 
 
 He dipped the long oar gently, as he stood 
 upright, that no sprightly trick of the canoe 
 should disturb the girl. Now he watched cau 
 tiously, where once he had been the most reckless 
 of oarsmen, that not the smallest wavelet might 
 
LE COUREUR DE BOIS 47 
 
 leap aboard to dampen her garments. From time 
 to time he looked down at her anxiously; her 
 silence was so like death. 
 
 "The tender one," he murmured softly; "it 
 is but the kindness of le bon Dieu that keeps her 
 senses sealed till she reach safety." 
 
 The coureur was wise in forest-lore, and knew 
 that terror and exhaustion left a torpor like death, 
 which shrouded the senses for days like a great 
 obscuring cloud above an active volcano, and 
 many times it never lifted. 
 
 They tranquilly progressed down-stream; for 
 Ferriby s wanderings had taken her to the north 
 of the village she sought: sometimes propelled 
 by the oar through shallows so lifeless, the water 
 scarcely bore along a leaf fallen from an over 
 hanging willow ; sometimes over chattering riffles. 
 
 At last, near sunset, the fluttering of a barred 
 red and white flag came in view when they 
 reached the outermost rim of a great bend in the 
 river. An inward sweep of three miles brought 
 the canoe under the northern blockhouse of a 
 strong, well-built log fortress, a-top of which flut 
 tered languidly the British ensign, and safety and 
 help were at hand. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LE DONNE 
 
 GASTON BEVARD was walking along the narrow 
 foot-path, on top of the low river bank, which 
 shelved gently to the water s edge. But he was 
 not looking at the setting sun in his declining 
 magnificence of gold and scarlet that stained the 
 sky deeply, streamed far across the green plain 
 athwart the river, and cast a transient glow on 
 the eastern heavens. 
 
 Nor was his look consistent with his prior occu 
 pation, nor with his garb ; for he had been con 
 ning a breviary, and he wore the gown of a 
 donne. From one slender tinted hand dangled 
 the beads he had been counting. 
 
 He was watching the play of a troop of Indian 
 girls swimming near the west shore of the river, 
 where the Piankeshaw village was situated. It 
 lay opposite the old French post, St. Vincent, 
 shortened by the villagers into O Poste, and thus 
 commonly called by the French. To the right 
 lay the fort, flaunting in French faces its hated 
 
 4 8 
 
LE DONNfi 49 
 
 cross-bars, where a score of years ago had floated 
 the lilies of France over this broad domain of the 
 Illinois country, which had been cozened from 
 them. 
 
 Bevard was a singular creature the illicit off 
 spring of an English officer and an Indian girl. 
 Like many such he had fallen to the care of 
 the Jesuit fathers, and as a " donne " was liter 
 ally " given to the church," to be devoted to her 
 service a matter in which he had no voice, a 
 calling for which he had little aptitude. For such 
 purpose he had been trained from the day his 
 young mother drowned herself on the departure 
 of the troop, and her consequent desertion. His 
 tongue spoke French, but his soul was savage. 
 The dark stain of his skin, the delicately curved 
 nose, the straight black hair hanging on his 
 shoulders, the lithe, slender figure, with its noise 
 less following feet that trod in a straight line; 
 the striking light blue eye told unmistakably of 
 the admixture of Indian and English blood. 
 While his figure was slightly built, a certain 
 squareness and breadth of jaw and chin and 
 thickness of neck were had from his white ances 
 try. From his eyes shone the libertine passion 
 of the white as he gazed on the innocent frolic of 
 the red maidens. At the moment of his utmost 
 
5O ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 absorption when his cheek had reddened and his 
 moist lips had fallen slightly apart, he was roused 
 by a shout from up the river. At once he re 
 sumed his sedate pacing and fell to reading 
 piously. Then rang out a second, more impa 
 tient call, and thrusting beads and book into his 
 breast, he hastened to the river s brink. 
 
 At that moment a birch-bark canoe had run its 
 slender nose aground. A man jumped quickly 
 ashore, grasped it by the prow, and dragged it 
 out of the water. Glancing upward he recog 
 nized the youth approaching rapidly. 
 
 " The devil ! Tis surely one of his imps, or 
 the evil bird that ever flutters about him ! " ex 
 claimed the oarsman. St. Vrain raised the 
 green veiling from the face of his passenger. 
 " It seems an omen of ill that that foul coward 
 should be the first to see her," he muttered dis 
 contentedly. " My poor White One ! Hilaire St. 
 Vrain has his own sins, which the good God 
 forgive," and he crossed himself piously, then 
 started in surprise at the long-neglected act. 
 " It must have been her, sweet saint, who brought 
 me to do that," and he looked reverently on the 
 still face. 
 
 Gaston was now within hail, and the coureur 
 called: 
 
LE DONNE 51 
 
 " Ho, there, Gaston ! I would have your help. 
 Does the good Father Gibault happen to be at 
 O Poste this day?" 
 
 " Yes, he is even now in his cabinet in the 
 cabin of Manette Tache." 
 
 The young man spoke in the pure, simple 
 French the settlers at O Poste habitually used, 
 interspersed with English military phrases. His 
 shining eyes fastened upon the prostrate form in 
 the little canoe. 
 
 " Up to your old tricks, eh, St. Vrain ? You 
 are a bold one to bring her here." 
 
 " Beast ! Unclean pig ! " raged the coureur. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! A miracle ! A coureur de bois 
 turned virtuous. Tis as good as the devil fillip 
 ing the blessed sign with holy water," and 
 Bevard laughed mockingly. 
 
 " Thou priest s cub, lend a hand and cease 
 thy vile clack! You, a servant of the holy 
 church ! Better join thy bastard kind across the 
 river," and St. Vrain jerked a thumb contemp 
 tuously toward the Indian village. 
 
 A deep red ran swiftly over the donne s 
 smooth brown cheeks, and wild hate flashed 
 from his pale eyes, his lips curled savagely from 
 his white teeth in ferine rage ; he fumbled at 
 his belt, but no knife was there. The coureur 
 
52 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 on guard watched him coolly and laughed 
 tauntingly. 
 
 " Not even a priest s cub will take insult 
 from the lowest of men a coureur de bois, a 
 wood ranger ! Outcast ! Vermin ! Later you 
 will settle with me. Keep thy squaw to 
 thyself." 
 
 " Squaw ! squaw ! it is no squaw, as you could 
 see had you not the evil eye that can only see 
 in blackness. Tis a White Dove ! an Ameri 
 can ! " Pity made him lose his anger, his voice 
 softened, and he spoke more to himself than to 
 Gaston. 
 
 " She would have perished miserably but for 
 the good God directing my steps to her. More 
 than that I know not." 
 
 His mood changed again when he looked up 
 at Bevard s sneering face, and he said curtly : 
 
 " Lay hold, there ! Help me carry her to the 
 good father. He will know what to do. Beast ! 
 Pig ! " he wound up abruptly, as Gaston moved 
 negligently off with a derisive laugh. 
 
 " Not I ! " he flung over his shoulder. " A 
 black buzzard may not company with a White 
 Dove. Tis against the purpose of the good 
 God himself," and he sprang lightly up the 
 bank, his scant student s robe scarcely giving 
 
LE DONNE 53 
 
 him room for his long, swift strides, as the 
 coureur rushed upon him with doubled fists. 
 
 " It is strange," St. Vrain said to himself, " how 
 I loathe yonder beast. Toad ! Pig ! Never 
 do I meet him by chance but at once we fall 
 a-quarrelling. Why, it would be hard to say." 
 
 His antagonism was that of an intrinsically 
 fine nature toward an essentially coarse one, 
 coupled with the instinctive aversion of the male 
 for its illicit, outcast progeny ; but the coureur 
 was not well enough versed in the occult phases 
 of human nature to know it. Of the gentle 
 blood of the old noblesse of France, but of the 
 gross, hard nurturing of the New World, he knew 
 little of the fine spiritual unlikenesses of human 
 character, which clash discordantly at contact. 
 Strong and sturdy, fearless and intrepid, taking 
 his pleasures none too delicately, like his kind, 
 yet in his soul were stowed tender sensibilities 
 he scarcely was aware of, and which his life was 
 not calculated to awaken. This was almost the 
 first exercise of that fine chivalry of his forebears, 
 his by inheritance; and he was roused to a 
 pitch of anger and disgust he had never before 
 reached, to be thus vilely accused by one whom 
 he thought all brute, that was not all hypocrite. 
 
 As he bent over Ferriby and wistfully looked 
 
54 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 into her face, his throat swelled painfully, so that 
 great tears were forced into his eyes, and he 
 brushed them off without a particle of that 
 shamefacedness one of another race would have 
 shown at thus yielding to emotion. 
 
 " Thou poor, deserted, innocent one," he mur 
 mured pityingly. 
 
 At that moment a pirogue put into shore be 
 neath the walls of the southern blockhouse, some 
 distance below, and the solitary rower disem 
 barked. 
 
 " For the love of the Virgin, lend a hand 
 here ! " called St. Vrain. 
 
 The man approached quickly, and when close 
 enough for recognition, St. Vrain removed his 
 gaudy wool cap with its quivering gold tassel, 
 and made a courteous obeisance. 
 
 " Monsieur Vigo, how happy I am to behold 
 you ! See what Destiny has dropped before 
 
 me." 
 
 Monsieur Vigo, a spouse of a few weeks, a 
 widower of some years, looked timidly down 
 upon the gentle freight of the canoe. 
 
 " A strange bestowal, I think. And of all men, 
 on thee St. Vrain ! The most reckless, daring, 
 loose coureur in the great Northwest." 
 
 " Not as he is," said the coureur, answering the 
 
LE DONNE 55 
 
 last implication, nodding toward the fast disap 
 pearing donne; "I have one little shred of 
 decency and compassion left ! " 
 
 A look of contempt crossed the swarthy face 
 of the Sardinian. " God ever defend you from be 
 coming such as he," said he with fervor. " But 
 what s to be done with the maid ? " he questioned. 
 " I cannot take her to my bachelor quarters here, 
 nor have you, St. Vrain, so much as a thatch to 
 cover your head." His eye turned commiserat- 
 ingly to the face of the girl. 
 
 " Monsieur, I had thought to bear her to Ma- 
 nette s. Yon talking beast has just told me that 
 Father Gibault is now on his visitation to 
 O Poste, and I would consult with him." 
 
 " Tis surely a miracle. I would see him my 
 self. I have but just arrived from Biloxi with 
 news from France which I must impart to him 
 straightway, and had thought to set out across 
 the Drowned Lands for Kaskaskia on the mor 
 row, after my business here was despatched. Yes, 
 yes ; that is the best thing to do. The good 
 father will surely provide something for the poor 
 little one. But what will you have of me ? " 
 
 " If you will lend a hand, we will bear her in 
 the canoe to Manette s house." 
 
 " It is a good thought," answered Vigo, and he 
 
56 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 showed his willingness by at once laying hold on 
 the end of the canoe nearest him. Thus it was 
 that the whole village was startled at the spectacle 
 of Sieur Vigo, and that most devil-may-care of 
 all wood rangers, entering the house of Madame 
 Tache, carrying a small birch-bark canoe between 
 them, as gently, Manette said, as if it were filled 
 with roc s eggs, to a chorus of shrill ejaculations 
 and questions from that worthy dame peeping 
 from her own door. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE PRIEST S GUEST 
 
 GOOD Father Gibault raised startled eyes from 
 his plate, for he was at his frugal supper, a morsel 
 of dried venison, a bit of bread, and a cup of 
 native wine, which Manette had served to him, as 
 it was now fully six o clock in the evening. St. 
 Vrainhad thrown the door wide, without ceremony, 
 and pushed through it with his strange cargo. 
 
 " At your old tricks, eh, my son ? " the priest 
 cried with an indulgent smile, for St. Vrain was 
 as prankish as an ill-trained puppy. " You, too, 
 Monsieur Vigo ? " he continued, but with a change 
 of tone from indulgence to surprise, as Vigo 
 entered. " What have you here ? " 
 
 " Father, we bring a poor forlorn one ; barely 
 escaped from the savages, we think." 
 
 Father Gibault arose hastily, and bent over the 
 girl, examining her narrowly. 
 
 " I fear she s past shriving," he murmured. 
 
 Father Gibault had lived long enough in the 
 Great Wilderness to know all its perils for the 
 
 57 
 
58 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 hardy women who followed the fortunes of 
 the frontiersmen. He knew of the dangers that 
 menaced from the wild beasts of the forest; but 
 held to be far worse, unspeakably more terrible, 
 the tortures and outrages inflicted by savages. 
 Here was but another victim added to the num 
 berless slain. He lifted the tangled braid of soft 
 brown hair, expecting to find it matted with 
 blood, parted the pallid eyelids, and said : 
 
 "No; she lives an American who has 
 escaped from the savages by the guidance of le 
 bon Dieu. She has evidently not been in cap 
 tivity long, if at all, for there are no marks of 
 violence upon her." 
 
 " None, father. When I found her she mis 
 took me for a foul savage and fell all of a heap 
 senseless. And thus she has been ever since." 
 
 " It is not uncommon," said the priest, " that 
 such torpor follows on great terror or extreme 
 fatigue. The good God sometimes orders it that 
 the brain be sealed so that the tortures of memory 
 may not sap the wearied body to death. If this 
 brain were active, it could doubtless recall, and 
 this tongue tell of horrors at which we strong 
 men would blench. The merciful One will in 
 good time remove this insensibility. And if 
 never, His will be done, for it is righteous," 
 
THE PRIEST S GUEST 59 
 
 The priest stepped to the door between the 
 two rooms of the cabin and called : " Manette ! 
 Manette ! " to the woman without. 
 
 " Yes," acquiesced Vigo to Father Gibault s 
 former observation, "yes, I have seen cases 
 like this among strong men after a long-forced 
 march or a fierce engagement. But with such 
 extreme delicacy of physique I fear " and he 
 shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 St. Vrain looked from one to the other, both 
 of whom, it was evident, he considered superior 
 beings. His face twitched with feeling: now 
 blanching in pity, then clearing with hope, every 
 emotion of his volatile nature passing over his 
 visage like shadows across a mirror. 
 
 " For the love of the Holy Mother, don t tell 
 me she will die," he faltered. 
 
 Gaston Bevard suddenly entered by the con 
 necting door as he spoke. The coureur, true to 
 his nature, found relief for his feelings in action, 
 and fell to pacing the floor. As he neared the 
 priest s pupil, Gaston observed sneeringly, aside: 
 
 "Has not had reprisal yet? White maids are 
 not such easy game as red, it would seem." 
 
 Low as the sneer was spoken, Father Gibault 
 overheard it, looked at the youth sternly, and 
 said bitterly : 
 
60 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " Will you never be able to conquer the savage 
 in you, Gaston? Go to the church and pray 
 before the altar an hour that the good God will 
 cleanse thy foul heart." 
 
 For an instant Gaston looked fierce and rebel 
 lious; but seeing no wavering of purpose in the 
 priest s face, he turned and departed so swiftly 
 his beads cracked loudly against the door-jamb. 
 
 " He is a born savage," observed Vigo, " despite 
 his noble English blood. A pretty legacy the 
 honorable captain left you, father." 
 
 " God s will be done. He has been my heavy 
 cross these ten years. Alas ! that I should forget 
 that there was One who bore a heavier without a 
 plaint," and he raised his crucifix and gazed 
 remorsefully on the piteous image of the cruci 
 fied One. " I sometimes fear that Gaston may be 
 among the lost. But saved he shall be if the 
 Holy Church can accomplish it," he concluded 
 with unexpected energy, while the light of fanat 
 icism leaped to his dark eyes, that died out the 
 next moment before the gentle pity with which 
 he regarded the girl, as his downcast glance fell 
 upon her. 
 
 Just then Manette entered, fat and fussy, and 
 broke into voluble chatter. 
 
 " And didst thou bring this little one, Hilaire ? " 
 
THE PRIEST S GUEST 6 1 
 
 she asked of the coureur. " And where did you 
 find her? And who may she be?" She 
 stooped over her, then started back. " By all the 
 Saints, she s dead! The pretty one is dead/" 
 and she buried her face in her apron with loud 
 moanings of pity, and rocked her huge bulk from 
 side to side. 
 
 " Control thyself," said Father Gibault, sharply. 
 " She is not dead, but will be if thy good offices be 
 not brought into operation soon. Go, heat wine 
 and milk, that we may give her a little nourish 
 ment. For I doubt not she is famished, and 
 much of her condition is due to that." 
 
 They removed the girl to a low couch covered 
 with fine skins, gifts to the father from the red 
 converts who lived in the village opposite. This 
 apartment in Manette s log house was always 
 held in readiness for Father Gibault on his visita 
 tions, when he came a wearisome journey of two 
 hundred miles from Kaskaskia, the seat of his 
 charge which extended over the whole southern 
 part of the Illinois country to the Ouibache. 
 
 Manette bustled about, elated with the impor 
 tance of being the only one who could really 
 minister to the girl, an unheeded tear sliding now 
 and again over her red, globular cheek. She 
 moved as heavily in her deer-hide moccasins as in 
 
62 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 the thick wooden sabots of her native province of 
 France, which she wore in the winter. Indeed, 
 her whole habit was copied as nearly as possible 
 from the one worn in her youth. 
 
 The French in the Great Wilderness had little 
 or no commerce with the " Americans," as they 
 were now being called, and their habits were not 
 in the least influenced by them; they held to the 
 customs of their ancestors. 
 
 Manette went to the kitchen and soon re 
 turned with hot milk and wine. But the priest 
 would not permit her clumsy hand to mix and 
 administer it. He took down from its place on an 
 old mahogany chiffonniere an antique silver cup, 
 and deftly commingled the posset in it, then 
 motioned to St. Vrain to raise the supine head 
 from the pillow. The bold, lawless coureur trem 
 bled, and colored through his thick tan, as he 
 lifted the inert form in his arms, and pillowed the 
 languid head upon his broad breast. Vigo, 
 shrewd widower of middle age, could not forbear 
 a smile at these signs of passionate youth when 
 the very blood speaks. Nor could he help but 
 feel again the thrill that had made his own form 
 tingle in the embrace of his young bride, death- 
 smitten, almost in the honeymoon, and his smile 
 changed to a sigh. 
 
THE PRIEST S GUEST 63 
 
 The Jesuit, well schooled, saw nothing but a 
 sacred chance for ministry, and with skilful, gentle 
 hand introduced spoonfuls of the posset between 
 the closed lips. Will was in abeyance, and with 
 out it the muscles refused their office. She could 
 not swallow it. The good father pressed her 
 nostrils tight between his thumb and finger. 
 Instinctively she gasped, and a few drops of the 
 liquid trickled down her throat, rousing her to 
 open her eyes ; but they were vacant and heavy 
 with fatigue. She feebly swallowed two or three 
 doses and lapsed again into slumber. 
 
 "It is sufficient," said Father Gibault, "she 
 will recover. But we must be prepared for any 
 course nature may take here," and he touched 
 gently the broad forehead, pallid under its bands 
 of roughened hair. 
 
 Manette had made haste to prepare the little 
 cabinet back of her sitting room, which was 
 kitchen as well, for the priest s guest. She 
 announced all in readiness and St. Vrain and 
 Sieur Vigo bestowed her on the high bed 
 therein, and, for the time, left her to the doubtful 
 care of Manette, who was rather more likely to 
 kill her with much kindness than to cure her, so 
 easily flurried, so maladroit was the bontee 
 Tache. 
 
64 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 On returning to the priest s apartment, Vigo 
 said to him : 
 
 " I would like a few moments of private 
 speech with you, father, if our friend here 
 be not offended by this implied dismissal," 
 and he turned to St. Vrain with a courteous 
 smile. 
 
 That creature of impulse started mightily, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 u By all the Saints ! I d forgotten it." 
 
 "Forgotten what?" asked Vigo. "To de 
 liver the latest news from France ? " 
 
 He questioned in so knowing a tone that the 
 priest regarded Vigo steadfastly. But St. Vrain 
 seemed to know nothing more than that he 
 carried despatches which must be delivered to the 
 commander at Fort Sackville, as, in truth, he did 
 not. He never read them, even when they were 
 unsealed, as once in a while it happened ; for it 
 was too hard to decipher the crabbed writing. 
 He took no personal interest in the war then rag 
 ing on the seaboard between the colonists and 
 the English. He was merely a bearer of de 
 spatches for the English, and was no more of a 
 partisan than was a packhorse. 
 
 He made hasty adieux, telling the priest that, 
 with his permission, he would come again on the 
 
THE PRIEST S GUEST 65 
 
 morrow to consult with him about the disposition 
 of the stranger. Calling a couple of " panis " l to 
 carry his canoe to the river, he hurried to the 
 fort. 
 
 1 Indian slave. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 IN THE GARDEN 
 
 No sooner had St. Vrain departed than Father 
 Gibault observed to Vigo : 
 
 " Would it not be better to talk apart in the 
 garden ? I fear not the whisperings of the trees 
 and shrubs, but the woman " a suggestive 
 shrug filled out the pause more forcibly than 
 words. Both laughed at the Adam-old . slander 
 implied, and walked toward the garden. It lay 
 behind the house, and, to bar out intruders, was 
 surrounded by a rough fence of wattles whose 
 rusticity in summer would be hidden by wreath 
 ing vines of wild clematis and humble pea-vine, 
 natives of the wilderness. 
 
 This garden was the delight of old Manette ; 
 on it she lavished the care of a devotee. Here, 
 on serene summer days, Nature held revels. All 
 day long the butterflies pitched gamesomely over 
 it; the birds sang their sweetest above it; 
 the ante built their tiny palaces in its paths ; the 
 moles dug tunnels under it and waylaid the 
 
 66 
 
IN THE GARDEN 67 
 
 enemies of the flowers who worked mischief in 
 the darkness. Here Aurora, with her sprightly 
 lover Tithonus in her train, was announced at 
 dawn by blasts from the fragile horns of the 
 scarcely untwisted morning-glories in a strain so 
 fine as to be inaudible to all but her chosen 
 votaries. Their office done, they faded into noth 
 ingness before the painted ladies, who fluttered 
 on their long green stems and danced with 
 Zephyrus before her till the fervor of the Sun 
 God reduced their silken robes to faded rags 
 before the noon hour came. The deep-toned 
 bees, high-voiced humming-birds, and shriller 
 pitch of tiny insects formed a constant chorus. 
 Violets stared like surprised children at their 
 antics, and the homely gillyflowers looked on 
 stiffly. Tall w r hite lilies genuflected like pious 
 maidens at the passage of these garden spirits. 
 The rose, first favorite of Mother Nature, 
 attended sedately from dawn through all the 
 hours to burst into sweeter fragrance in the dim 
 dewfall before she dropped to earth to be gath 
 ered up by old Tache and put to homely uses. 
 Hollyhocks, like sturdy soldiers, stood sentry in 
 a retired spot all day long, waiting patiently the 
 coming of the four-o -clocks to tell them their 
 hours of service neared the end. At sunset the 
 
68 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 sweet-breathed primrose, which had slept the hot 
 hours through, opened languid eyes at the touch 
 of the cool fingers of the dew, to take the night 
 vigil. In the mists of the morning and the dews 
 of the evening the clove pinks were the censer- 
 swingers, flinging incense so sweet that the gaudy 
 butterflies were enthralled into settling there 
 longer than otherwhere ; and by night dull-hued 
 moths took their places. The great brown toad 
 came at dusk to ward off destroyers from the 
 spot, and fire-flies lit his way. Then came head 
 long bats. And the whirring ladybird unrolled 
 her circling tongue to suck the drops of melligo 
 left by her greedy brothers, the bees and hum 
 ming-birds. 
 
 But this plot was not altogether devoted to 
 flowers. The cool spring breeze brought to them 
 the scent of thyme, parsley, sage, and rue, which 
 furnished Manette her cherished kitchen bouquet, 
 and gave a savory tincture to the " pot-au-feu." 
 The greater part of the ground was laid off in 
 squares with narrow paths between, in which 
 were planted the homely vegetables, that would 
 fill her dinner pot, all in good time. There was 
 also a square planted in cherished cantaloups, from 
 seeds brought from France. 
 
 The sun had departed for another day, but had 
 
IN THE GARDEN 69 
 
 thrown on the horizon great, diverging, yellow 
 shafts of light which fell far to the east and 
 brightened the low-lying hills back of the com 
 mon. Above sprang the tremendous vault so 
 awesome to the solitary dwellers in the forest who 
 see no more of it at a look than a patch as large 
 as a man s hand through the latticed limbs of the 
 trees. Little stars were lingeringly pointing the 
 blue, and the lonely moon, now waning, shone 
 with serene splendor. Some loitering swallows 
 were uttering their rapid " tweet " in the joy of 
 flight. Bats, made more awkward by their envy 
 of the fleet swallow, dashed clumsily about. The 
 ladybird s soft whirring fell pleasantly on the ear, 
 from a bed of early violets over against the flaunt 
 ing scentless tulips ; for it was the last of May, 
 and not many flowers were in bloom, since the 
 earliest, scentless beauties of spring had departed. 
 The priest and Sieur Vigo paced the narrow 
 paths slowly till they reached the limit of the 
 garden. Both paused and listened. The lapsing 
 of the river, the tinkle of the bell of a packhorse 
 afar on the We-a Trail, the sharp barking of a play 
 ing dog, now and then a burst of song from the 
 revellers in the tavern, where the villagers and 
 chance coureurs were wont to congregate, to play 
 at piquet with some favorite companion, or at 
 
70 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 dicing, or at billiards (strangely enough this 
 wilderness hostel possessed two tables which had 
 been brought there on batteaux by the river), and 
 they drank taffia, home-brewed beer, and native 
 wine, becoming as drunken as if on rarer liquors. 
 
 "Je suis jeune et belle, 
 Je veux m engage 
 Un amant fidele." 
 
 a mellow tenor, of great carrying power, was sing 
 ing with spirit. 
 
 "Ah, St. Vrain, truly he is expeditious. 
 One moment, tears dripping ; the next, his sides 
 splitting with laughter," observed Vigo. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the priest; "but the lad is what 
 he is, and his good blood tells, and at no time 
 more strongly than in this, his last adventure. 
 He has the heritage of a noble name. You know 
 he is the third son of Le Comte de Boisvert. 
 His elder brother is a favorite at the court of the 
 king." 
 
 The good father meant not the English 
 George, whom all French ignored as a monarch, 
 in the Illinois country, but the French Louis. 
 
 " Strange things come to pass in this New 
 World," observed Vigo. 
 
 "Yes, yes," assented Father Gibault; "none 
 
IN THE GARDEN 71 
 
 stranger than, that a scion of the noble house of 
 Boisvert, whose sons took so glorious a part at 
 Crecy, should now be a runner of errands for an 
 English despot, his hereditary foe." 
 
 He took from the breast of his black robe a 
 gold snuff-box, politely handed it to his guest, 
 then he took a pinch himself, as a slight solace 
 for so great a lapse of one of the noblesse from 
 the traditions of his fathers. Changing the pain 
 ful subject, he observed : 
 
 " Monsieur Vigo, you may have weighty news to 
 
 tell?" 
 
 i 
 
 " News ! aye, that I have. News that will set 
 that tyrant, Hamilton, by the ears. As you know, 
 I am but come from Biloxi, and as luck would 
 have it, while there, the Antoinette made port, 
 bringing such tidings as must be whispered only 
 on the wide prairie, lest it should carry too far. 
 // is rumored that France will soon acknowledge 
 the independence of the Americans, and a fleet will 
 be sent to their aid. Since Burgoyne s defeat " 
 
 The priest stopped him by an exclamation of 
 surprise. 
 
 " What ! Had not that news yet reached you ? 
 Yes, tis true. After four months hard cam 
 paigning he surrendered to the Americans so 
 long ago as last October." 
 
72 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " It augurs much," said the priest. " You 
 know, since the revolt of the seaboard colonies, 
 the messengers who cross the mountains with 
 news and fall into the hands of the savages are 
 destroyed. Perhaps it was thus we failed to 
 hear of it. This espousal of the rebels cause 
 by France is likely to make great change in the 
 fortunes of the Americans." He looked about 
 cautiously, then, leaning toward Vigo, said in a 
 vehement whisper: 
 
 " I pray the good God may rid us of these 
 wicked English heretics." 
 
 " Pigs all of them ! " said Vigo, scornfully ; 
 "but they have come to their sticking at last, I 
 think." 
 
 " But these American rebels, the English tell 
 us, they are more savage than the Indians ; that 
 they spare neither young nor old ; scalp men, 
 ravish women, and brain the babe at the breast." 
 
 " Lies ! All lies ! " cried Vigo, hotly. " I know 
 them well, these hardy pioneers. They love 
 liberty and justice, and for them will die. There 
 is not a jot of truth in the base slander." 
 
 " I judge your news has not reached there," 
 observed Father Gibault, pointing with one long 
 finger toward the fort, whose flag could be seen 
 flapping gently a black blotch against the sil 
 vered sky. 
 
IN THE GARDEN 73 
 
 " No ; not yet." 
 
 " I think it wise not to be the first to proclaim 
 it," observed the priest. 
 
 " My own thought, father," said Vigo, then 
 he continued reluctantly ; " for they are suspi 
 cious of you lately. Let it be a secret between 
 us. It will reach them in due time." 
 
 Father Gibault smiled slightly, and Vigo re 
 sumed, " Now I must leave you, as I have busi 
 ness elsewhere." 
 
 " May I ask you to meet me here again in the 
 morning, after early mass ? I would consult you 
 about the welfare of this maid." 
 
 Vigo assented, and with courteous adieux they 
 parted the gentleman of Sardinia and the gen 
 tleman of the wilderness : the one an opulent 
 trader and one-time soldier; the other a poor 
 priest ; both men of kindest heart, finest human 
 ity, and straightest walk in life. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 
 
 ALL the known details of the finding of the 
 maiden by the coureur convinced Vigo, shrewd 
 pioneer and Indian trader as he was, that some 
 unknown mischief of a serious nature was about 
 to culminate, in which the savages were vitally 
 concerned. The girl s comatose condition pointed 
 convincingly toward two things : a terrible mental 
 shock, and extreme physical exhaustion. He 
 had roved the boundless wilderness through and 
 traversed the broad prairies from end to end, in 
 the Illinois country, voyaged her meandering 
 streams from the portage at Omee to the fort 
 at the falls of La Belle Riviere ; from the mouth 
 of the greater Mississippi to the great northern 
 lakes. He knew the sturdy stock of the Ameri 
 can pioneer, and he was convinced that no chance 
 meeting with the savage had caused the horror 
 under whose spell the girl lay. 
 
 He strongly suspected, nay, doubted not, that 
 the English, defying all the laws of conventional 
 
 74 
 
IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 75 
 
 warfare and humanity, had secretly sent round 
 the " bloody belt." Therefore, when he discovered 
 that the Miamis and their implacable foes, the 
 Puans, were marauding in the, to them, forbidden 
 territory of the Illinois tribes, his surmise became 
 a conviction. 
 
 The Piankeshaws, dwelling peacefully under 
 the very shadow of the fort, may not have been 
 attainted, as they were avowedly friendly to all 
 whites, and thoroughly under the influence of the 
 French. 
 
 To determine the truth or falsity of his conjec 
 ture, Vigo set out very early next morning for the 
 village of the great chief, " Grand Door," ostensi 
 bly to bargain for peltry, ginseng, barks, or such 
 small wares as the Indians bartered for his beads 
 and trinkets. In going thither, Vigo passed the 
 fort, and found it in that orderly confusion which 
 marks the movement of troops. He soon learned 
 that the commander, Lieutenant-governor Abbott, 
 was just embarking for the long voyage to Detroit, 
 recalled on important secret business. A fleet of 
 batteaux lay ready, on one or two of which were 
 mounted two small pieces of ordnance. English 
 and Indians were busy lading these craft with 
 supplies of all kinds. Their spirits were high. 
 Coarse jests and laughter, though subdued, 
 
76 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 sounded above the clash and clatter of arms. 
 The soft lap, lap, of the descending water made 
 a pleasant accompaniment to the chatter of the 
 men ; for Abbott was the sternest of martinets, 
 and forbade all unnecessary bustle and noise. 
 
 Monsieur Vigo watched them till nearly all 
 were away, then he approached the governor and 
 asked genially: " How now, Monsieur Abbott. 
 Are you off for a pleasure trip ? " 
 
 " Yes," growled Abbott, " a pleasure trip that is 
 likely to cost some one dear." 
 
 " Might a discreet man ask how far your Excel 
 lency is journeying ? " 
 
 " Oh, to the seat of the territorial government, 
 Detroit." 
 
 " Ah ! a goodly journey. I wish you bon voy 
 age, monsieur," and Vigo lifted his hat politely, 
 as the governor stepped aboard and the com 
 mand " forward " was given. A gun in the fort 
 boomed. They were off, and only a handful of 
 English soldiers and Indians, under the command 
 of a young lieutenant, were left to garrison Sack- 
 ville, so great was their reliance on the neutral 
 ity of the French and their confidence in their 
 savage allies. 
 
 Vigo watched the fleet fall into an orderly line, 
 and saw the British ensign set afloat on the gov- 
 
IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 77 
 
 ernor s batteau. He gazed till all disappeared 
 behind the great bend. 
 
 " The coureur s despatches must have been 
 important," he said to himself. " Tis likely our 
 secret s out." He boarded his own craft, and a 
 few skilful strokes sent it like a low-flying bird 
 across the broad, murky channel to the western 
 shore, above which lay the Piankeshaw village. 
 It was on a flat plain which was reached by a 
 shallow bank, so low as to furnish little protection 
 from the floods which poured down the channel 
 in the spring, not infrequently overflowing the 
 prairie five miles westward. The river bank was 
 set thick with a natural grove of willows that 
 waved welcoming arms to the lightest breeze, or, 
 in calm, fell into melancholy drooping. A stretch 
 of native grass, darkly green as an overclouded 
 sea, made a fine, thick sward between it and the 
 village. Upon this level, set sparsely, were oak, 
 sycamore, and wild cherry trees. 
 
 In common with the French and the Spanish, 
 in whose army he had served, Vigo hated the 
 English. More than all, he hated the name of 
 Hamilton, the " Hair-buyer General," who from 
 far Detroit ordered the destruction of the frontiers 
 man, who gave no quarter, who felt no pity, who 
 paid for the scalps of men, women, and children, 
 
78 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 that the Indians fell upon stealthily and tortured 
 in every horrible way that they could invent. So 
 cold, so cruel, so implacable was he, that in time 
 he became a horror to the very savage. 
 
 The French reduced to timid subjection, nomi 
 nally neutral, hated, and feared, but could take no 
 step against Hamilton beyond giving a boundless 
 hospitality and tender ministry to any chance sur 
 vivor. Secretly they adopted the pioneer s name 
 for him, and called him the Hair-buyer General. 
 
 Pondering these things Vigo reached the outer 
 lodges. The village was a goodly collection of 
 bark huts, thatched with grass, with now and then 
 a wigwam of skins. The most pretentious was 
 the sachem s, which occupied the centre of the 
 encampment. It was fairly neat and orderly ; for 
 association with the whites, such as this converted 
 tribe enjoyed, could not but modify their savage 
 habits, and they were perhaps the most civilized 
 of all the tribes in the Illinois country, where the 
 French wielded so kindly an influence. 
 
 The dying breakfast fires were now tiny hil 
 locks of pale ashes. The women were busy at 
 various menial tasks, while the men lounged in 
 idleness, smoking. As Vigo strolled leisurely 
 through these narrow lanes, he nodded sedately 
 to the elderly men, and once or twice he took a 
 
IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 79 
 
 whiff from a pipe gravely offered him. But he 
 asked no questions; for to have done so from the 
 lesser warriors would have been detrimental to 
 the business in hand, so jealous of authority was 
 the great chief. Vigo had traded with the tribe 
 for years, indeed, since the retirement of the last 
 commandant at Fort St. Vincent, now Sackville. 
 His tact, bonhomie, fairness, caused him to be 
 trusted and respected by all. 
 
 As he neared the central lodge, where dwelt 
 " Tobacco s Son," otherwise the " Grand Door," 
 he espied in the distance a slender man, wrapped 
 in a blanket, making his way with evident secrecy 
 to some wigwam. His quick suspicions were 
 aroused, and he stepped aside that he might not 
 be seen by him. The young man gave a stealthy 
 look around and disappeared into the lodge of 
 Mous-wah, the old medicine-man, a creature as 
 withered as a mummy, and as soulless, but not 
 before Vigo recognized him as the priest s pupil. 
 
 " Ah, the wild blood calls to its own," mused 
 Vigo. " The donne, what business has he with 
 the medicine-man? I much mistrust that youth 
 for something of a hypocrite, if nothing worse." 
 
 The lodge of Tobacco s Son was larger than 
 those of the lesser warriors. Before the entrance 
 hung a gaudy blanket which shut out curious 
 
80 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 eyes. Within, the chief reclined at ease on the 
 silky pelt of a half-grown buffalo calf, smoking 
 beatifically a cunningly carven pipe of the sacred 
 pipe-stone. When he detected strange footsteps 
 approaching, which paused at his threshold, he 
 rose to the full height of his magnificent stature, 
 and called to the newcomer to enter, an invita 
 tion at once accepted by Vigo, and he again 
 subsided to his couch. 
 
 The Grand Door was a handsome savage in 
 the prime of young manhood. His succession to 
 his father, Chief Tobacco, was recent, therefore 
 he was the more exacting of every observance 
 due his station. His features were finely aquiline, 
 without excessive prominence of cheek-bone. 
 His eyes were dark and bright with intelligence. 
 His skin was clear, tinted, and fine, without a 
 taint of alien blood. His straight black hair 
 hung in parting locks about his shoulders, with 
 his insignia of rank, a single eagle feather, thrust 
 through it on the crown ; for he wore no scalp- 
 lock. His mouth closed firmly; but his thin lips 
 were just now drawing the smoke through the 
 long, feather-trimmed reed stem of his calumet. 
 As June was young, the early mornings were 
 chilly from the mists of the river, and he wore a 
 shirt of velvety doeskin richly embroidered with 
 
IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 8 1 
 
 porcupine quills and beads. His leggings were 
 of stouter buckskin, elaborately fringed and 
 tagged with bright feathers. His shapely, slender 
 feet were thrust into moccasins crusted with tiny 
 shells and gaudy beads. He was entirely un 
 armed, for he and his tribe lived in almost 
 brotherly amity with the French villagers, and 
 had been converted to the Holy Church by 
 Father Gibault himself. Yet he was wise enough 
 to know that the English were in power, and to 
 maintain a strict neutrality. His love and fealty 
 were given to the French ; his awe and obedi 
 ence, to the English. 
 
 He received Vigo with every sign of pleasure. 
 He gave him his hand, and called to a squaw, 
 " Fetch a calumet for the white brother ! " 
 
 Vigo was perfect master of the Shewanee lan 
 guage, a dialect of which the Piankeshaws spoke, 
 and he entered into conversation with him after 
 a draw or two of the pipe, while standing in the 
 presence of the now half-reclining chief. 
 
 " Are the ears of Tobacco s Son, the noblest of 
 all sons of the red-men, into whose hands the 
 Great Father has committed the watch and ward 
 of the Great Door of the Ouibache, open to the 
 speech of the white brother ? " 
 
 The Indian regarded him gravely and atten- 
 
82 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 lively an instant, then nodded acquiescently ; but 
 when Vigo would have proceeded, he waved his 
 fine, slight hand to command silence. Again 
 calling the squaw, he bade her " Send to me 
 Ah-mah-nac-o." 
 
 She departed on the errand, but soon returned 
 and said : 
 
 " The Yellow Wolf left the village before the 
 morning star had risen, to hunt the great buffalo, 
 on the Drowned Lands." 
 
 The chiefs forehead drew into a wrinkle 
 between the eyes the sole expression of his dis 
 pleasure. 
 
 " See you, then, Men-quat-we, that none lingers 
 near, and keep you to the windward side." 
 
 After the squaw had withdrawn he signified to 
 Vigo to proceed, and motioned him to a seat at 
 his side on the mat of rushes. 
 
 " Last night, O noble red brother, a coureur 
 brought to Father Gibault a beautiful white maiden, 
 whom he had found within calling distance of 
 the We-a Trail. You know, O favorite son of the 
 Great Spirit, that the American woman does not 
 show fear on the approach of white men, nor in 
 the presence of the friendly Piankeshaw. This 
 fairest of maidens, white as winter snows on the 
 prairies, with the gold of sun-flashes in April 
 
IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 83 
 
 showers in her hair, was bereft of all her senses, 
 she scarce drew breath; her very soul had 
 seemingly flown to its most sacred retreat nighest 
 the Great Manitou. It was from terror, horrid 
 fear, O great Tobacco s Son, that she had come 
 to this. We have dwelt in peace these many 
 years. The northern tribes were forbidden the 
 hunting in the Illinois country. What does 
 it mean, wisest of red-men, thou only canst tell 
 thy trusting, dull white brother." 
 
 The chief was stolidly silent for a time. Turn 
 ing his head from side to side, like a listening 
 buck, then said in a tone as quiet as the down 
 ward fall of an owl s feather : 
 
 " It means the Great Father from over the sea 
 has sent around the bloody belt." 
 
 " I thought as much. Are you certain of 
 this? " said Vigo, sharply, forgetting Indian amen 
 ities. 
 
 " Yes," said the Grand Door ; " that renegade, 
 Ah-mah-nac-o, came to my lodge last night when 
 the clock stars told midnight, and warned me it 
 was true. Indeed, he bore two belts, which he had 
 from the Great Father s servant at Detroit, one 
 the bloody belt of war; the other the white belt 
 of peace." He paused with face as impassive as 
 the sandstone cliffs below the village. 
 
84 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Vigo gazed at him with nervously twitching 
 lips, his deep-set black eyes eagerly questioning 
 that blank, stony visage, as if he would read there, 
 graven in minutest characters, his choice ; but the 
 sachem s tongue was silent. 
 
 Instead of speaking, the chief took from a 
 leather pouch at hand a long belt woven of 
 white shells and porcupine quills unstained by 
 the fatal red. 
 
 Vigo seized his hand. 
 
 " O Tobacco s Son, thou art indeed a noble 
 friend ; a sachem who keeps his word to his 
 white brother; thou art indeed a Christian." 
 Making the sign of the cross, he raised his eyes 
 heavenward. " May the true God keep you un 
 tainted, and the Saints invisible attend that you 
 fall not. It means border war, then ? The 
 English, not satisfied by war with the colonies, 
 would bring it to the very frontier, and exter 
 minate by massacre the long-suffering, valiant 
 pioneer in the Great Wilderness itself. Ah, 
 God, how cruel is man ! " 
 
 Both arose to their feet, and Vigo took from 
 the pocket of his leather surtout a small package 
 and pressed it into the hand of the chief a 
 packet of the finest tobacco to be had in New 
 Orleans, and a small flask of the best French 
 
IN THE PIANKESHAW VILLAGE 8$ 
 
 brandy, so rare there as to be invaluable. For 
 the first time the fixed visage of the chief re 
 laxed into something like a smile as he took 
 these, rarest and choicest of treasures and 
 smelled at them with loud sniffing. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE WARDSHIP 
 
 WHEN Sieur Vigo left the Indian village, he 
 went at once to keep the appointment, made 
 overnight, with Father Gibault. He found him 
 pacing the garden paths with no sign of aught 
 in his manner but gentle pleasure in his sur 
 roundings. 
 
 Father Gibault was scarcely middle-aged ; but 
 the privations, dangers, and sicknesses of frontier 
 life, which had fallen abundantly to his lot during 
 the last decade, had worn him so that he ap 
 peared well on in life, as he walked with eyes 
 downcast and hands clasped behind him in 
 serene meditation. But when those eyes were 
 lifted, what a change ! It was like flooding a 
 dark house at black midnight with myriad wax- 
 lights so brilliant a flame illumined them ; his 
 sweet, emaciated visage showed young vigor, 
 passionate enthusiasm, fervent love, lit by their 
 fire. At times a smile charming as a child s 
 morning smile to its mother softened his lips 
 
 86 
 
THE WARDSHIP 87 
 
 and attested to the beneficence of his heart tow 
 ard all creatures. He was the sympathetic 
 brother rather than the dominant priest in this 
 wilderness of savages and reckless whites, the 
 harbinger proclaiming the coming of peace and 
 humaneness. His figure was tall and meagre, 
 which leanness his black soutane emphasized. 
 His face was long and narrow, with a slightly 
 prominent chin ; a gentle mouth which closed 
 firmly but without that severity at the line of 
 junction so habitual to one of his calling. His 
 eyes were set in deep hollows under a brow that 
 was high and narrow ; hollows were in his cheeks 
 as well, and at his temples. His nose was long, 
 delicately thin and curved. His small head was 
 fringed with sparse black hair in the midst of 
 which the tonsure glistened like ivory, the tint 
 of his skin. While his manner entirely lacked 
 Gallic vivacity, it had but a hint of that aloofness 
 from his kind bred by his calling. Force he 
 never used ; finesse of the finest, gentleness of 
 the blandest quality were the means he employed 
 to win men. All respected, loved, and appealed 
 to him for help and guidance, which he never 
 withheld from believer or heretic. 
 
 As Vigo approached down the allee between 
 the beds, laid out in the fashion of France, square 
 
88 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 and trim, Father Gibault paused until he joined 
 him, and together they walked to the bottom of 
 the garden, where a seat encircling a sycamore, a 
 stray from the bottom-glades, furnished them a 
 resting-place. 
 
 When they were seated, Sieur Vigo waited 
 respectfully for Father Gibault to speak. A true 
 lover of Nature sits silent while she unfolds her 
 old, but ever new, mysteries, the opening flower, 
 the evaporating dew, the rousing of her humble 
 creatures ; and the priest a lover solely hers 
 sat speechless, engrossed with the modest beauty 
 of the spot. After a few moments contemplation, 
 he roused and said : 
 
 " Monsieur Vigo, I would consult with you 
 about the young maid who was brought to us 
 last night, so evidently God-given. I know you 
 to be a man of honor and good heart, and I 
 would have you advise with me." 
 
 " You know, father, it was wholly by accident 
 that I met St. Vrain at the landing, and I really 
 had no part in the matter save to help carry the 
 girl to your door. Is not the coureur the man 
 who rightfully should be consulted ? " 
 
 " A coureur, monsieur, consulted on such a 
 delicate question ! No, no ! " 
 
 " But St. Vrain can be trusted to act honorably 
 
THE WARDSHIP 89 
 
 in such a case, I think, mon pere, wild, reckless 
 fellow as he is ! " 
 
 " It might * be well to do him this act of 
 courtesy, consult him, and let him feel re 
 sponsibility in so great a matter," answered the 
 priest, reflectively. 
 
 " How is the maid this morning?" asked Vigo. 
 
 " She has never roused the whole night through, 
 so Manette informs me." 
 
 " I have seen strong men affected similarly, 
 who, after complete rest, were fully restored." 
 
 " True ! but with this sensitive organism be 
 neath," said the priest, tapping his forehead, " I 
 fear all is not right, a something terror caused, 
 not mere fatigue." 
 
 " You are only too right in your conjecture ; the 
 cursed English have sent round the bloody belt. 
 Even to the village over yonder! Evidently 
 St. Vrain s despatches, which he delivered last 
 night, bore on that devilish business. I doubt it 
 not ! As I came up the Ouibache I heard that 
 the Miamis and Puans had been harrying the 
 settlers between here and the Great Falls ! " 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " groaned the priest, " that means 
 bloody massacre ! I may be able to restrain my 
 own tribes, but these outer barbarians, what 
 can I do with them ? The emissary must have 
 
QO ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 arrived very recently, for I have been here two 
 days myself, and have heard nothing of it." 
 
 " I strongly suspect the emissary to be that 
 renegade Ah-mah-nac-o, from a hint dropped un 
 intentionally by the Grand Door himself." 
 
 " I had hoped to set out for Kaskaskia to-day, 
 but this matter must be looked into. I must speak 
 to Tobacco s Son. Then, too, I must see this 
 young maid placed in a suitable home, which I 
 have reason to hope will be thrown open to 
 her, the first victim of this horrible brutality, I 
 doubt not. Do you know what answer the chief 
 made to the British agent ? " 
 
 " He chose the white belt," said Vigo, impres 
 sively. 
 
 " Blessed be God ! " cried the priest, fervently. 
 
 Vigo related to him the particulars of his morn 
 ing visit to the village. 
 
 " It was a sad day that when King Louis re 
 signed the Illinois country, the rightful domain of 
 the French, to their hereditary foes, the British," 
 said Vigo, bitterly. 
 
 " True, my son. But that can never be altered. 
 It can only be borne with patience," Father 
 Gibault forbearingly replied. 
 
 " But, father, may not patience be carried 
 too far?" 
 
THE WARDSHIP 91 
 
 " There speaks the soldier. Never, my son. It 
 was by patience that the sons of Loyola pushed 
 through the pathless forests, from one end of the 
 Great Wilderness to the other, and bore the cross 
 to the savage. It is through perfect patience we 
 look for perfect reward." 
 
 Vigo said no more, but abruptly changed the 
 subject to the girl again. 
 
 " You said, father, that you had been planning 
 for the girl what have you fixed upon ? " 
 
 " I arranged with Colonel Dubois and his wife, 
 last night, to take her into their family. The pres 
 ence of other young people, like his three demoi 
 selles, will hearten her, when she comes to herself, 
 more than could Manette. Moreover, from her 
 appearance, I think the maid one who would need 
 gentler nurture, more refined associates, than the 
 good Tache could furnish her. Does it meet 
 your approval ? " 
 
 " A most happy solution of the problem, father. 
 None but you could so felicitously have done it," 
 said Vigo, heartily. " When will you place her 
 in their care ? " 
 
 " I think it best to remove her before she comes 
 to herself, and am even now awaiting the colonel s 
 caleche." 
 
 As he spoke, the sound of crunching and 
 
92 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 squeaking was heard. The expected vehicle 
 drew up in front of Manette s house, which 
 abutted the roadway, with only a narrow foot-path 
 between it and the wagon track. 
 
 Father Gibault and Sieur Vigo hastily left the 
 garden, to greet the colonel, who had accom 
 panied the conveyance himself, attended by two 
 Panis, one of whom led the fiery Spanish horse 
 that restively tossed its head and pawed with im 
 patient feet, sending abroad showers of sandy 
 loam. The caleche was a two-wheeled affair, the 
 wheels being mere disks cut from a log ; the bed 
 was a raised platform with side-boards kept in 
 place by wooden pins ; but it was made comforta 
 ble for the girl s removal by a lining of buffalo 
 pelts and pillows. 
 
 While they were examining these arrangements, 
 St. Vrain hurriedly appeared. He greeted all re 
 spectfully, but without a trace of servility; he 
 seemed to recognize in them only the superiority 
 of years. He looked fresh and buoyant, notwith 
 standing he had spent the greater part of the 
 night at the tavern, dicing, playing billiards, sing 
 ing songs none too delicate, and drinking taffia in 
 astonishing quantities. As he said, it took a good 
 deal to lay him on the carpet. 
 
 " Good day, gentlemen, all ! " he cried with loud 
 
THE WARDSHIP 93 
 
 cheerfulness ; for a coureur either bawled like a 
 buffalo-bull or whispered like the pines. " How 
 do you find yourself, mon pere ? and the poor 
 little one, how goes it with her ? " 
 
 " With me it goes well," answered the priest 
 gently. " But alas, for the poor maid ! There is 
 no change for the better. Your coming now, 
 Hilaire, is a happy chance. Monsieur Dubois 
 and I sought to speak with you last night, but my 
 messenger could not find you." 
 
 St. Vrain had the grace to look ashamed, but 
 he made no explanation ; he only said : " Well, 
 father, I am here now ! What may it be that you 
 would consult me about ? " 
 
 " As it was altogether owing to your courage 
 and good heart that the maid was brought here, 
 and her life saved, it is only right that you should 
 be consulted as to her future, and share our ward 
 ship. Colonel Dubois as commandant of the 
 village has the right legally; I have it by the 
 authority of the Holy Church ; you, by the right 
 of the finder." 
 
 The bold ranger looked almost frightened, and 
 stammered hastily : 
 
 "I a guardian to a young girl! Monsieur, it 
 cannot be ! I am not fit I mean I know 
 nothing about girls ! " with a gesture of repudia- 
 
94 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 tion, and an expression of ludicrous dread of the 
 responsibility. He cried forcibly : " I leave it all 
 to you, gentlemen. I resign all authority on the 
 spot ! " stamping energetically, as if to mark it. 
 
 His hearers could hardly restrain a smile at his 
 panic. In truth wardship was rather an inappro 
 priate office to his years, for he was not above 
 six and twenty. 
 
 " As you will ! " said Father Gibault " Colonel 
 Dubois and I will assume entire charge of the 
 maid, since both you and Sieur Vigo decline. 
 But you may be of assistance now in removing 
 her to the colonel s house." 
 
 The men followed the priest into the house, 
 and soon came out again carrying Ferriby in a 
 gaudy patchwork quilt, a man at each corner. 
 Madame Tache followed, gabbling incessantly, and 
 when the cart started she shaded her eyes with 
 one hand, a tear overflowing from each, and said, 
 looking after it as it moved off slowly, 
 
 " But it was poor Tache who took her in first, 
 and she will never know ! " 
 
 As St. Vrain and Vigo walked away to the 
 tavern, the latter said to the coureur : " You had 
 words with the priest s pupil last night ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he s such easy game ! So hot a fool ! " 
 
THE WARDSHIP 95 
 
 Vigo smiled, and thought the truth were the 
 other way, but he only remarked : 
 
 " I warn you ! I saw him over in the village 
 at daybreak this morning, entering the lodge of 
 Nah-moust, the medicine-man. Then, too, I saw 
 him last night with Ah-mah-nac-o. Beware, thou, 
 of both ! " 
 
 "One at a time I fear them not! Together, 
 the devil himself might blench, but " vauntingly, 
 "not the coureur St. Vrain!" and he laughed 
 loudly. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE NEW HOME 
 
 THE fort and little church occupied the centre 
 of the village of one street, which straggled along 
 the water front for perhaps a mile; there were 
 also several cross lanes. Colonel Dubois s house 
 was situated a quarter of a mile north of the 
 fort, far from the lowlands to the south. It stood 
 well back from the river, yet faced the great 
 waterway. The grounds to the rear ran back to 
 the commons, a great glebe of many hundred 
 acres, enclosed with palings of split saplings to 
 the height of ten feet, over which neither beast nor 
 savage might easily climb. It was the common 
 pasture ground for the entire populace, who shut 
 Zf their cattle and left their fields open. 
 
 The house itself was the most pretentious in 
 the village, two full stories in height, built of the 
 native rough stone, with a clapboard roof, from 
 which peeped two dormer windows toward the 
 west, and two toward the east, lighting the garret. 
 It had been completed about five years, and it 
 
 96 
 
THE NEW HOME 97 
 
 had taken as many to get together the building 
 materials, brought as they were by batteaux from 
 New Orleans. 
 
 The Dubois family had taken up residence at 
 O Poste when the present head of the house was 
 a youth of twenty. His father Toussaint Dubois, 
 a man of gentle birth and breeding, was comman 
 dant of Post St. Vincent under the French king 
 Louis. Dubois the elder, mortified at the British 
 acquisition of the territory, died of a stroke. 
 Fran9ois, the son, remained at the Post where 
 they had acquired much land and little money, 
 and took up the headship of the family. He 
 quickly married off his three sisters; for maids 
 were scarce and men plentiful. This duty done, 
 he himself looked about for a wife, and wedded 
 Rosalie Bouche, the daughter of the richest trader 
 at Kaskaskia. The Bouches were once clog- 
 wearing peasants in Normandy, while the Dubois 
 were of the noblesse. But what matter in a new 
 country when the " dot " is large ? The Bouches 
 had joined the exodus to New France and had 
 followed the trail of the French explorers farther 
 south till they had stranded in the Illinois 
 country. The Dubois had been sent to govern 
 them. Destiny had united them, bourgeois and 
 noblesse, and filled the scanty purse of the latter, 
 
98 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 as often happens. Just how wandering human 
 atomies take root after floating hither and yon, 
 idly as thistle-down, guided only by a vagrant 
 breeze, then in a moment of stagnant wind drop 
 to become rooted in the most unlikely place 
 before they are aware, no one knows. 
 
 Such was the village of O Poste in 1778, a 
 rooting of roving humanity; a community num 
 bering nearly six hundred souls, made up of waifs 
 and strays from the great world ; French traders, 
 voyageurs, trappers, Indian converts, panis (or 
 captured Indian slaves), a few blacks, and a hand 
 ful of American pioneers from the Virginia and 
 Kentucky countries more restless than the 
 wolves of the forest! 
 
 In the course of half a century the village 
 had grown from a settlement of bark lodges and 
 tepees to a town of comfortable log-cabins and 
 a few pretentious stone houses. On the occu 
 pancy of the British the name of the fort had been 
 changed from St. Vincent to Sackville. It had 
 been enlarged, its palisades strengthened, and 
 each of its four blockhouses provided with 
 sufficient armament for the time. 
 
 Colonel Dubois s house was the mansion of 
 the village. It was of stone, and a little por 
 tico shaded the front door, over which vines 
 
THE NEW HOME 99 
 
 from the forest clambered, making it a veritable 
 bower. 
 
 A large hall, with a door at either end opening 
 to the outer world, ran through the centre of the 
 edifice. A huge fireplace was on one side and 
 the stairway ascended the other. At either hand 
 were two large apartments ; the grande cham- 
 bre, or parlor ; behind it a cabinet, or guest- 
 chamber. Opposite these were a general sitting 
 room and the salle a manger, or dining room. 
 The upper floor was similarly divided into four 
 sleeping apartments. 
 
 Two years before Colonel Dubois had taken 
 his family on a grand voyage to New Orleans, 
 when the fleet of batteaux had carried down a 
 cargo of deer-hides, peltries, bear oil, roots, and 
 barks to trade for domestic wares. Then for the 
 first time the young demoiselles even madame 
 herself had indulged in the ineffable bliss of 
 shopping, and had brought home many elegant 
 articles of household furnishing conveyed in the 
 ships from France, so that the interior of the 
 mansion was fine to behold. 
 
 The fireplace in the hall was now filled with 
 feathery stalks of asparagus. Over the mantel- 
 tree hung an immense pair of buck s antlers, 
 showing twenty prongs, on which rested sundry 
 
100 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 fire-arms and the elegantly jewel-hilted sword 
 of the late commandant. Rush mats, woven by 
 the Indians, were scattered here and there, as 
 well as in all the rooms, in place of carpets. 
 
 In the dining room was a cabinet with glass 
 doors, behind which madame disported her best 
 porcelain cups and saucers imported from France. 
 On a spindle-legged mahogany buffet sundry 
 silver posset-cups and hand-servers were conspicu 
 ously placed. The pewter ware, for everyday 
 use, scoured to emulating brightness, was 
 tucked away in a great cupboard in the shadowy 
 alcove made by the projection of the huge chim 
 ney. The fireplace itself was not the least orna 
 mental thing in the room; in summer, as now, it 
 billowed over with long asparagus plumes ; in 
 winter, within it, comfort-bringing flames leaped 
 and flashed, avidly devouring logs of beech and 
 hickory, thick as a man s body. A large buffalo 
 hide lay in front of it. Rush-bottomed chairs 
 were set precisely around the wall. 
 
 In the grande salle a couch had been con 
 trived, and over it was spread a gay chintz cover 
 in a pattern of bright, wreathing roses, much 
 esteemed, it was said, by her gracious Majesty, 
 Antoinette, to whom they all secretly bowed down 
 from afar. A striking silhouette of madame 
 
THE NEW HOME IOI 
 
 hung above the fireplace, its black outlines 
 mercifully ignoring most of her facial defects. 
 Opposite it, between the two broad front win 
 dows, was suspended " The Passion," a copper 
 plate of much excellence. On the outer wall-space 
 was a superb half-length portrait of Monsieur 
 Dubois, done in the prime of young manhood 
 while on a tour in France. It represented him 
 as elegantly habited in a coat of velvet, heavily 
 embroidered with gold, with deep lace ruffles 
 pendent from the sleeves ; a shirt of finest lawn 
 beruffled with lace, flowed over upon a waistcoat 
 of flowered silk. His own dark locks were roached 
 high and tied with a ribbon behind. It was the 
 likeness of a remarkably personable man, dis 
 figured in later years by the fat of idleness and 
 good living. 
 
 This apartment had also its capacious fireplace, 
 which bore no small part on winter nights toward 
 illuminating it, helping out the candles in the 
 high silver candle-sticks, and the sconces dis 
 posed about on the wall. The guest-chamber 
 lay behind the grande salle. Half a dozen 
 yards to the rear of the mansion was a brick 
 boulangere, or bakehouse, where all the cook 
 ing and baking was done at the great fireplace 
 hung with cranes, and in the big oven. The 
 
IO2 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 food was carried across the intervening space to 
 the dining room by the panis, of whom Colonel 
 Dubois had many, twice enslaved ; for Peggy, the 
 negro cook, herself a chattel, held them under 
 most despotic rule. 
 
 Ferriby was borne to the guest-chamber, which 
 was large and airy. The high-post bed, with its 
 snowy valance, was piled full of feather ticks, the 
 plumage of wild geese and ducks having been 
 ravaged to fill them. Over them was spread 
 sheets of homespun linen, made from the wild 
 flax which grew abundantly there, scented sweet 
 with dried rose-leaves, ready to receive her into 
 their cool cherishing. 
 
 They laid her down tenderly, and madame 
 came forward, full of kindness, to take upon 
 herself as a matter of course, the care of this 
 stranger. Into this home Ferriby was received 
 with the boundless hospitality of the pioneer, who 
 never stopped to calculate what the return might 
 be. That the wayfarer was poor and needy, was 
 sufficient to establish a claim on his good offices ; 
 it was only right to share his better lot with him. 
 
 The girl had hardly made a motion of life, 
 except for a faint flutter of her eyelids, and an 
 evanid stain on her cheeks as her hand fell against 
 the sharp edge of the bed, so utterly bound in 
 
THE NEW HOME IO3 
 
 weariness of the flesh, and spent in grief was 
 she. 
 
 Madame straightened the bedclothes and said : 
 " Poor little one ! Is it long she has been like 
 this ? Much she needs tender care ! " 
 
 Father Gibault replied : " Your compassion 
 pleases me, Madame Dubois ; for I perceive that 
 le bon Dieu has touched your heart, and this 
 poor wanderer will be well cared for. She has 
 lain as you see her now for about six and thirty 
 hours. Be not alarmed. It is only the tempo 
 rary heaviness which follows too great stress of 
 mind and body." 
 
 The priest was something of a physician, as all 
 Jesuits were, and he gently smoothed the pallid 
 brow of the girl as he spoke. " The shock which 
 reduced her to this has been something great. 
 Be prepared, madame. She may awake in full pos 
 session of her powers ; and she may, by the will 
 of the good God, be mercifully bereft of all, and 
 remain a cretin to the end of her days." 
 
 " The Saints forbid ! " fervently ejaculated 
 madame. 
 
 " Should that prove the case, we will take her to 
 the good nuns at Quebec. There she will find 
 asylum if we fail to discover her friends." Ma- 
 dame s three daughters were standing in a group 
 
104 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 aside, listening ; Elise with haughty coldness far 
 too pronounced for her nineteen years; Jeanne 
 with sad but resigned air, strongly at variance 
 with her youthful face, as if she had long since 
 made up her mind that sorrow constituted the 
 most of life, a nun at seventeen; Suzanne, her 
 twin, had stinging tears running down her red 
 puffy cheeks, entirely quenching the light of mis 
 chief which usually blazoned her bright black 
 eyes. 
 
 " She shall be my sacred charge," murmured 
 Jeanne ; " I will put up a petition for her night 
 and morning." 
 
 "Good child!" said Father Gibault, gently, 
 " Heaven grants the prayers of the sincere." 
 
 " And I, father will run my feet off, waiting 
 on her ! " cried Suzanne, eagerly. 
 
 " And forget what you re running for on the 
 way, while stopping to play some teasing trick," 
 said Elise aside, scornfully. 
 
 But Father Gibault overheard her, and turned 
 to her reprovingly and said : 
 
 " It is the spirit of holy charity, Elise, that is good 
 in the child, no matter if performance fall short. 
 But thou, my daughter, seem to have none for the* 
 forlorn one nor for thy sister." 
 
 It was as stern a rebuke as the gentle priest 
 
THE NEW HOME 10$ 
 
 was capable of, and Elise s scornful face flushed 
 red, and her eyes flashed resentfully as they rested 
 on the face of the newcomer. 
 
 " Tis another girl in the house, and there 
 were enough already ! " she muttered. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE RETURN OF LANCASTER 
 
 LANCASTER disposed of his peltries to the 
 traders at Detroit to such good advantage that 
 he felt well repaid for the long, perilous journey 
 he had taken. On a bright June morning he 
 set off to return to the spot in the far wilder 
 ness where dwelt the woman he loved. But the 
 thought of her on whom his passionate hopes 
 centred filled him with unwonted misgivings, 
 fears that never before had troubled his bold 
 mind. The way was long, the perils many. 
 Would he ever see her again? He had safely 
 made the portage at O-mee, had floated down 
 the pellucid, sea-green waters of the upper 
 Ouibache, and had hailed with joy the cluster 
 ing We-a villages at the mouth of the Tip-pe- 
 cha-nunk. Here he parted company with the 
 French traders who had set him on his way 
 thus far, and here he took to the We-a Trail 
 through the forest, which would bring him to 
 within a half-day s journey of the cabin. 
 
 1 06 
 
THE RETURN OF LANCASTER IO/ 
 
 Across the fen-like portage, down the long 
 sweep of the river, had lurked menacing possi 
 bilities, now all safely passed. But alone in the 
 still solitude of the forest intangible fear again 
 assailed him. Life had a distinct value now, be 
 cause it held the priceless possession of Ferriby s 
 love. As he pushed on through thick umbra 
 geous dusk his heart would sink like lead, and 
 his pace slacken. In the sunny glades his spirits 
 would rise with the buoyancy of the milkweed 
 down, and he would speed forward with joy and 
 eagerness. 
 
 After three days journeying by the trail he 
 began to recognize the landmarks. Here was 
 the towering elm wreathed with wild grape-vine, 
 which, when he set out, had flung its redolence 
 abroad; so sweet, it seemed to him, with new 
 wonder, to be love etherealized ! Now grapes had 
 formed, large as buck-shot, set amid young leaves. 
 His ear was trained to hear the slightest sounds, 
 and to distinguish between them. To the fron 
 tiersman, hearing is a more potent sense than 
 sight; for sound carries its message through 
 material barriers that would baffle the eye ; stone 
 walls are its unwilling agents ; wind is its faith 
 ful servitor; it can interpret where sight and 
 smell and touch would be defeated. The rush 
 
108 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 of falling water, far out of sight, told him that 
 the little cataract at the stockade was near, and 
 that in a few lagging moments he would behold 
 it. He climbed the high hill that shut it off 
 from view toward the north. Half a mile beyond 
 lay the cabin. Here he left the We-a Trail and 
 followed the path downward, crossed the stream, 
 and climbed the steep bluff to the level above. 
 He pushed on eagerly, now flinging aside the 
 long limb of a beech, now crashing through 
 thickets to shorten the way. His eager feet 
 soon brought him to the spot where he knew 
 he could catch first sight of the cabin. Here 
 he halted, as if checked suddenly by a long-flung 
 lasso. He pressed his hand over his eyes, as if 
 they were cheated with horrid visions. He 
 looked again ! Before him lay a ruined home ! 
 He crashed through every impediment till he 
 reached the spot. The cabin was partly de 
 stroyed by fire, and pitying nature had already 
 tried to mask its devastation by entwining it 
 with bindweed and wild-cucumber vine. Every 
 thing in the garden had grown rank and tall. 
 High weeds closed in the place with a green 
 wall, as if to hide the sorrowful wreck, and keep 
 it sacred for his coming. Lancaster recalled his 
 self-control, and went forward trembling with 
 
THE RETURN OF LANCASTER 1 09 
 
 fear, sweating with terror, at thought of the awful 
 horrors awaiting him within that ravaged home. 
 He pushed through the outer phalanx of high 
 weeds, gorgeous yellow mustard that had truly 
 grown tall enough to shelter the fowls of the air; 
 he trod upon the great jimsons, loaded with pur 
 ple trumpets, which, crushed by his heel, blew 
 him a blast of fetid odor. He tore from the 
 doorway where the door hung forlornly on one 
 leather hinge the vines that criss-crossed it 
 like a great web, and looked within. The worst 
 confronted him ! Desolation ! For a time he was 
 stupefied, and stood staring, dull and motionless. 
 A fluttering roused him. A swallow beat its 
 wings in wild circling about the enclosure, then 
 darted up the chimney with shrill, sharp cries of 
 fear. He mechanically looked up the stack, 
 as one does do strange acts under calamitous 
 conditions, and saw a shelf -like nest full of 
 fledglings stuck against the chimney. The 
 mother-cry roused the brood to loud clamoring. 
 And it tore its way through Lancaster s dull 
 senses ; a wail broke from his lips. Nature told 
 him by these small creatures that this home had 
 been desolate for many days. He wept aloud. 
 But his tears were soon dried by awful anger 
 and fierce desire for revenge. With portentous 
 
110 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 calmness he looked about him. Blank ruin met 
 him everywhere. His searching eye caught a 
 stain of red on the smooth log near the door. 
 He walked over to it, and saw written there 
 roughly with keel, these words: 
 
 " All in this house perished by the hand of the 
 Indians. A party of hunters found the bodies of 
 an old woman, a middle-aged man, and a child. 
 All had been scalped. They were buried in one 
 grave beneath the big pine tree under the ridge 
 north of the cabin, on the 5th day of May, 1778. 
 Their innocent blood calls for vengeance ! " 
 
 Lancaster read it again, dully realizing through 
 his despair that no mention was made of a girl. 
 Hope stirred in his soul, and for an instant grief 
 was banished by wild joy at the possibility of 
 Ferriby s escape. Saner thoughts brought with 
 them the awful conviction, that if she were a pris 
 oner among the savages, hers was the more ter 
 rible fate ; worse, far worse, than death ! 
 
 As he hurried to the doorway, his foot struck 
 some small object and sent it spinning before him, 
 with a sharp tinkling that attracted his attention. 
 He stooped to look at it; then snatched it up 
 eagerly. 
 
 It was the broken bowl of a calumet, and on it 
 was carven, roughly but spiritedly, the head of an 
 
THE RETURN OF LANCASTER III 
 
 antelope ! Therein lay a clew, for he knew the 
 antelope was the Manitou of the Puans, and that 
 the murderers must be of that tribe. He stowed 
 it in his hunting-pouch, and quickly sought the 
 place of sepulture. It was only an arrow-shot s 
 distance from the spot where he had parted with 
 Ferriby not two months ago. It was marked by 
 a heap of green logs piled over it to balk the 
 ravening wolves. Above this grave of a house 
 hold, mortal grief was dried up by an infuriate 
 burning for revenge. 
 
 Lancaster looked down upon it a moment, then 
 raised his right hand to heaven, and cried : " If 
 there is a God in heaven, help me to find her, and 
 avenge them ! The rest of my life I will spend 
 to this end." 
 
 With a despairing look around he left the 
 place, and followed the little stream which would 
 bring him to the crossing of the trail. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MADE CAPTIVE 
 
 LANCASTER S terrible discovery made him for 
 getful of the forest foe, the scourge of the white 
 man, and he moved recklessly along the path 
 he had chosen till it crossed the We-a Trail. He 
 had formed no plan, but the human mind insen 
 sibly shapes a course, purpose once taken, 
 and sooner or later it is followed. He dimly 
 recalled that a new post had been established on 
 La Belle Riviere, far southward, at the junction 
 of the Ouibache. An inward monitor urged him 
 to go there. The Ouibache once reached, he 
 hoped to fall in with French traders bound for 
 Biloxi or New Orleans, who would give him pas 
 sage to the new fort in their batteaux. 
 
 He followed the trail for a few miles, then 
 turned to the west, pursuing his course till he 
 came to a place where numerous tracks crossed, 
 traversing the forest, worn hard by the passage of 
 the tribes on peaceful errands. He chose one 
 and followed it with no uncertainty, assured by 
 
 112 
 
MADE CAPTIVE 113 
 
 minute signs known to the woodsman and the 
 savage. It was not terrifying to Lancaster to 
 thread the mazes of the wilderness, nor did he 
 fear hunger. He could provide for his wants as 
 unfailingly as the birds of the air, the buffalo on 
 the prairie, the deer in the coppice. Now a hand 
 ful of wild berries, or the rich overflow of a bee- 
 tree betrayed by a homing bee, or a fish caught 
 by his deft hand from the stream, gave him sus 
 tenance. A man of the wilderness is not the 
 helpless creature of the town. 
 
 With a mind so distracted, bodily fatigue was 
 nothing to him. When he reached the broad, 
 tawny stream, no creature was in sight ; it 
 rolled in solemn loneliness through the forest. 
 His disappointment was bitter. Failing the 
 Frenchmen, he had hoped to meet with a hunt 
 ing-party of friendly Indians, from whom he 
 might hear of the Puans. He retreated into the 
 wood to find shelter and a lookout from which 
 he could observe the river and plain. As he 
 pushed through the tangle of paw-paw and hazel 
 to the gentle slope, sly faces peeped at him from 
 the coppice and from behind tree-boles, circling 
 like squirrels sighting him. When he reached 
 the summit, he drew a long spent breath that 
 acted like a signal; for from covert sprang a 
 
114 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 band of a score of savages. Their faces were 
 horribly smeared with ochre and keel. Some 
 were naked ; others wore a clout of buckskin. 
 Their heads were pranked out with feathers, 
 token they were on the war-path. All were 
 furnished with scalping-knives and steel hatchets. 
 Some were armed with rifles and had shot 
 pouches of otter-skin, and buffalo horns for 
 powder that swung against their bare rumps 
 with every motion. They were a party of fierce 
 Shewanees, allies of the English, in peaceful 
 times, sworn enemies of the strong Puans ; in 
 war against the whites, their brothers. Both 
 tribes were out of their own hunting-grounds, and 
 Lancaster much mistrusted that their business 
 was other than a peaceful migration to the com 
 mon grounds of the Kentucky country. 
 
 A young warrior rushed upon Lancaster, bran 
 dishing a hatchet. He involuntarily blenched at 
 the quick thought of the blade crashing through 
 his skull. But the blow was stayed by the stern 
 command of the warrior chief. The young 
 brave dropped his weapon to his arm s length 
 and glared at Lancaster with a concentration of 
 rage and hate that had directed the hatchet. It 
 was Ah-mah-nac-o, the Yellow Wolf ! renegade 
 from the friendly We-as, joined to the hired 
 
MADE CAPTIVE 1 15 
 
 assassins of the British. Lancaster well knew 
 it was for vengeful murder he was attacked, not 
 for the reward offered for a scalp. He had taken 
 care while in Detroit to have his blue-black locks 
 sheared to the skin, that they might not offer 
 temptation to the scalp-hunter ; for he had heard 
 ugly rumors there which had put him on his guard. 
 Yellow Wolf scowled fiercely, and muttered: 
 " The White Rose, where is she ? " 
 " You red devil ! You tell me where she is or, 
 by Heaven, I ll brain you ! " cried Lancaster, en 
 raged, swinging aloft the butt of his rifle to bring 
 it down in a crushing blow on the fellow s head. 
 Instantly he was bound with bark ropes, soon to 
 be the tortured plaything of the savages, as he 
 well knew. 
 
 " Tell me, Ah-mah-nac-o, is Ferriby alive ? " he 
 demanded, while they were securing him. 
 
 The only answer the savage made was to draw 
 the rope tighter till it buried itself deep in Lan 
 caster s flesh. Not a sound did he utter, for he 
 knew the cruel act was an affirmative answer, 
 the petty revenge of a thwarted man. 
 
 The savages retired to their camp, not far off, 
 cunningly hidden in a thicket, where they found 
 preparation for supper going forward. Though 
 the sun had not set on the prairie, it was rapidly 
 
Il6 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 growing dusky in the forest, and the camp-fire 
 sent abroad a wide cheerful glow, that reached 
 as far as the sapling to which Lancaster was 
 bound. All was bustle and hurry ; but the supper 
 was not forthcoming as speedily as the warriors 
 wished, and they became hungrier and more 
 irritable, tantalized by the clouds of savory steam. 
 Ah-mah-nac-o, with fiendish insight, perceived that 
 soon, without some diversion, contentions would 
 arise, if nothing worse. He approached the chief 
 and made some request. The braves standing 
 near by laughed, clapped their hands, and jumped 
 for joy. Some snatched up fallen limbs and 
 reduced them to clubs ; others tore off long 
 brambles ; some broke stout stems of coppice, 
 bristling at the top with wiry twigs; others 
 trusted to their brawny fists, which they knotted 
 and relaxed in trial. All this had sinister meaning 
 to Lancaster. 
 
 The Indians formed in two long lines down one 
 of the natural aisles of the forest, torn out in 
 primeval times by a savage wind that left it 
 vacant for always. Wide apart they stood, devil 
 ish satisfaction on their dark visages. One came 
 to Lancaster and unbound him, stripped him to 
 the skin, and he knew that the fearful ordeal of 
 " running the gantlet," was before him. 
 
MADE CAPTIVE I \J 
 
 At the far end of this murderous lane Ah-mah- 
 nac-o was stationed, his lips parted in a wicked 
 smile of triumph ; for if the victim eluded the 
 others, he could not escape the Yellow Wolf. 
 
 To Lancaster the lines appeared to stretch 
 endlessly and the space between to be hopelessly 
 narrow. But he was wiry, agile, and fleet; 
 and made valiant by the hope that Ferriby was 
 alive, he trusted to gain life and liberty in the 
 end. The race began. One tweaked his flesh 
 with fingers of nipping steel ; another slashed 
 him to the raw with a withe of leather-wood ; one 
 laced a pattern in blood on his cheeks with wiry 
 twigs; snakelike briers twined round his legs 
 and left a spiral of red welts ; a great oak cudgel 
 just missed cracking his skull ; one ear-lobe was 
 torn from the cheek by a cruel jerk ; his feet were 
 crushed by billets of wood. 
 
 When a savage missed his aim, derisive yells 
 spurred on the next to do his utmost. Smeared 
 with blood, Lancaster flashed by them, twisting 
 and writhing this way and that, ducking and 
 leaping under and over. Perfect master of his 
 body, he escaped many a hurt. The end was 
 reached. With the sweat of agony washing his 
 scarred cheeks, blood smearing his vision, he 
 saw his vengeful foe the last of the line. In 
 
Il8 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 a wild bound he leaped sideways toward the 
 Yellow Wolf, threw himself on the ground, rolled 
 over and over, like a ball, from out the murderous 
 line ; and Ah-mah-nac-o s hatchet barred on 
 such occasions fell impotent in a miscalculated 
 blow, directed with such terrific force as to topple 
 over the would-be assassin. 
 
 Shouts of laughter greeted Yellow Wolf s mis 
 chance, and put the war chief, " Big Hand," 
 who had been a spectator at this amazing show, 
 in so fine a humor that he declared the sport 
 over. He grunted his approval when the blood- 
 smeared ball stood upright a man ! 
 
 Fearful need of courage made Lancaster dumb, 
 and oblivious to pain, panting and gasping, it 
 is true, but silent. His escape was so marvellous 
 that the savages regarded him with awe. The 
 war chief cried with admiration : 
 
 " White man good brave ! He shall be one of 
 Big Hand s warriors ! He shall be a son of the 
 Shewanees ! " 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 AT the conclusion of the feast, gorged to sati 
 ety, the savages threw themselves down to sleep, 
 but not before they secured their prisoner for 
 the night. Lancaster had mistrustfully observed 
 Ah-mah-nac-o, usually the most indolent of sav 
 ages, busy preparing two stakes from saplings 
 which he had cut near by. After driving them 
 into the earth, he and two other bucks took up 
 Lancaster by head and heels, and laid him on the 
 ground near a small haw tree. 
 
 They bound his feet to the stakes, which were 
 set widely apart, passed a bark rope around his 
 neck and made it fast to the little tree in such a 
 way that if he strove to free himself, his efforts 
 would end in strangling. His arms were ex 
 tended, and a pole was laid across his breast to 
 their extreme length ; and these members were 
 lashed to it with strips of green leather-wood 
 bark. On either hand lay a warrior to guard 
 him, one of whom was the Yellow Wolf. Thus 
 
 119 
 
120 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Lancaster lay till morning, his muscles twitching 
 and cramping with the strain until the pain be 
 came agonizing, and he could scarcely restrain 
 shrieks of agony. It was succeeded by a merci 
 ful numbness; but sleep did not visit him the 
 night through. 
 
 His wounded, naked body was chilled with the 
 mists of the morning till his teeth rattled like the 
 tail of the venomous " she-she-note." Thirst tor 
 tured him, and his mouth lay open with the 
 crowding of his swollen tongue. It seemed as if 
 the rope around his neck cut off his wind, and 
 his chest heaved in the effort to breathe. Not a 
 groan nor cry escaped him ! He knew that yield 
 ing to the tortures of pain would incite the sav 
 ages to further cruelty. 
 
 At last the deep blackness of the forest, which 
 neither the few glancing stars nor the late-rising 
 moon could lighten, began to change to a gauzy 
 gray haze as fine as a lady s veil. Birds com 
 menced a tentative twittering; now and then a 
 swift pair of wings whirred as the timid grouse left 
 their nesting places. The cub squirrels played in 
 the early dawn, running, leaping, chattering, un 
 mindful of the heavy sleepers. Far and faint, the 
 rustling in the hazel thickets, the sharp stamp 
 and snort that sent the herd off in swift flight, 
 
THE ESCAPE 121 
 
 warned him that the deer had left covert for an 
 other timorous day. He could hear the ponies 
 cropping the crisped grass. But the glutted sav 
 ages slept on, despite these signs of dawn. Not 
 one awoke till a long shaft fell across a warrior s 
 eyes, and he roused with a grunt and groan. He 
 rolled over and all were awakened. 
 
 As there was nothing left over from the feast 
 to eat, they at once prepared for the day s journey. 
 When all was in readiness for the march, Lancas 
 ter who had begun to think he was to be left 
 behind to die in the forest, as no notice had been 
 taken of him was approached by two young 
 bucks, who untenderly cut the rasping cords sunk 
 deep in his swollen flesh. By signs they ordered 
 him to rise, and laughed uproariously at his ef 
 forts; for his stiffened muscles refused his bid 
 ding. He clinched his teeth, that no groan might 
 shame him before them, and tried again and again, 
 until at last he was on his feet, ready, as he sup 
 posed, to take up the march. 
 
 While he was trying to overcome his inertness, 
 three or four savages were engaged in capturing 
 a young stallion which followed the herd peace 
 fully enough, but was fierce and unbroken, a 
 very demon. With lassos and long goads they 
 so far subdued him as to tie him with thongs of 
 
122 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 bull-hide to a sapling. With ears laid flat, lips 
 rolled, teeth snapping, eyes flashing with rage, 
 heels lashing, he presented a picture of uncon 
 querable fury. At last they threw him down 
 upon his knees, and on the back of this raging 
 beast they bound Lancaster. His feet were tied 
 together under the brute s belly, his arms were 
 fastened securely to his sides at the elbows, and 
 moccasins were thrust over his hands and secured 
 with strings, that he might not shield himself from 
 the lashing of brush and bramble. Another rope 
 was passed round his neck, one end of which was 
 tied to the horse s head, the other to the tail ; 
 still another bound his thighs and lashed his 
 body to the animal. 
 
 While the Indians were at this fiendish employ 
 ment they leaped and gibed, and uttered shrieks 
 of delight at the fierce resistance of the beast. 
 The victim was passive. When all was done, they 
 turned the stallion loose. Away he dashed in 
 mighty plunges. Blinded by rage, leaping over 
 fallen timber, barely escaping destruction from 
 the great boles of the standing trees; shaking, 
 rearing, pawing in vain effort to dislodge his 
 burden ; crashing through thickets till the withes 
 lashed the wounds of the wretched man into a 
 thousand bleeding stripes ; leaping gullies that 
 
Away he dashed in mighty plunges. 
 
THE ESCAPE 123 
 
 yawned wide for their destruction ; flying like an 
 arrow shot from a bow through grassy glades, 
 for long the beast fled, sides heaving, breath 
 sobbing, in a fearful race whose goal was destruc 
 tion. 
 
 At first Lancaster was stupefied with despair. 
 Having the use of neither arms nor legs, he re 
 signed himself to a speedy end. When the rage 
 and terror of the stallion subdued as fatigue 
 overcame him, Lancaster s hope revived. He 
 began to use his voice, and by pressure of his legs 
 on the animal s side, to exercise control ; and the 
 horse for the first time yielded to the mastery of 
 a human will. He settled into a dejected walk, 
 then came to a halt, and turned his flaming eyes 
 toward Lancaster in piteous submission. Instinct, 
 that quality which men lack that would place them 
 among the gods, came into play in the animal, 
 and he sought his herd. Turning, he took a 
 new direction, which Lancaster knew to be north 
 by the long sun-seeking limbs of the crowded 
 saplings. The weary horse walked steadily on 
 with lowered crest, now and then stopping to 
 drink from the shining cold streams that trickled 
 from the deep gorges which cleft the forest. 
 
 The man endured torture while the beast 
 swilled long, refreshing draughts. Hunger was 
 
124 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 forgot in raging thirst. At last they struck the 
 We-a Trail, and at sunset the exhausted horse 
 whinnied feebly as they entered a little dell, shut 
 in by paw-paws and arrow-wood and twisting 
 vines. He left the beaten track and forced an 
 entrance through the thick boscage. 
 
 Lancaster, somewhat revived by the weakling 
 hope he had cherished, now gave up utterly to 
 despair. He felt indeed forsaken of God and 
 man. The animal s instinct had been infallible. 
 Before him lay the camp of his torturers, and 
 near at hand browsed the herd. 
 
 The savages could hardly recognize the man ; 
 but of the identity of the beast they had no 
 doubt. With wild shouts they rushed toward 
 them ; but the war chief, Big Hand, ordered 
 them back, and selecting two young braves, bade 
 them unbind Lancaster. 
 
 They lifted him from the stallion more dead 
 than alive. He was past caring what further 
 fate might visit upon him. Big Hand regarded 
 his apathy with favor ; it was proof of a warrior s 
 spirit. 
 
 One youth, of kindlier nature than his fellows, 
 helped him to a wigwam. His naked body was 
 a mass of welts and bruises laid over his old 
 wounds, now turning to green and purple 
 
THE ESCAPE 125 
 
 blotches. The savage bathed him, gave him 
 water, and saw him fall back in deathlike ex 
 haustion with complacency. Was it not the test 
 of a warrior, which he himself had undergone be 
 fore he was fit to be numbered among the braves ? 
 Lancaster was again securely bound, and he sank 
 into a coma of weariness, so that neither sleeping 
 nor waking thoughts troubled him. 
 
 He was roused at dawn, and so tremendously 
 vital was his forest-nurtured strength that he felt 
 refreshed despite his cruel hurts. His minister 
 ing friend gave him bears grease to dress his 
 wounds, and brought him a morsel of food, 
 which he devoured ravenously. The fever in 
 his wounds had subsided, and youth responded 
 in him, and made him able to endure the long 
 march of that day. They filed through the 
 sombre forest, full of flitting birds and wildly 
 fleeing beasts, and came to a great stretch of 
 prairie, now brilliant with myriad June flowers, 
 set in tall seeding grasses. At last a flash daz 
 zled them from out the far green. The war 
 chief grunted with satisfaction. It was the 
 stately Ouibache. A few leagues above this 
 point lay hidden snugly their canoes, and a raft 
 for the ponies which would bear them back to 
 their village. 
 
126 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Lancaster s heart sank, for the last hope of 
 escape fled at sight of the river. They would 
 take him to the village and practise unnameable 
 horrors on him, or make him the meanest of 
 slaves. His sole chance of escape had lain in 
 their camping that night. 
 
 When they reached the brink of the river, a 
 herd of startled deer flashed their red sides by 
 them ; not so swiftly but that a brocket fell dead 
 at the crack of Yellow Wolf s rifle. Jaded and 
 hungry after the long day s march, they could 
 not resist the chance to gorge. In the gathering 
 dusk the inferior braves built a fire of drift-wood 
 and dead grasses. They spitted gobbets of yet 
 warm flesh on bending green withes, and not 
 waiting to more than sear, devoured them ; some 
 ate their portions raw. So drowsily content did 
 they become afterward, they resolved to camp 
 again instead of seeking the boats five miles far 
 ther up-stream. They replenished the fire and 
 capered about the flames in a fantastic fire-dance, 
 groaning a barbaric chant, now and then dis 
 charging a gun to add to the uproar. The old 
 warriors looked on impassively, smoking their 
 willow bark. Lancaster, to whom they had be 
 come accustomed, was carelessly guarded by 
 one young brave, who was completely absorbed 
 
THE ESCAPE 1 27 
 
 in watching the fire-dance, in which he could 
 not take part 
 
 As the flames leaped higher, the dance grew 
 madder ; a frenzy, an ecstasy ! When the moon 
 came lingeringly, she threw the sad light of her 
 flattened orb on as mad a scene as ever Eblis 
 saw. The river at this point flowed strongly 
 between its clay banks. In the centre a brawl 
 ing current swept swiftly, turbulently, as if im 
 peded by deeply bedded boulders; but close to 
 the shore the water spread calm as a mill-pond. 
 
 Lancaster, whose hands and feet were still 
 bound with bark rope, looked on apathetically. 
 Chanting had resolved into wild, incoherent 
 shrieks, to which now and again an old warrior 
 added a deep guttural note. Oblivious to all else, 
 they were possessed of a mania for noise and 
 motion. One young buck in mad excitement 
 twirled his scalping-knife high. It flew over the 
 heads of the revellers and buried itself in the 
 earth near Lancaster; he alone saw it. He bit 
 the bark from his wrists, tearing at it like a rend 
 ing beast till his hands were loose. He snatched 
 up the knife, slashed the rope on his feet. He 
 was free ! amid a band of savages, a stretch of 
 prairie behind, a raging torrent before. Not an 
 instant did he lose ; he crept to the margin and 
 
128 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 plunged into the tossing current mid-stream. 
 Some fine ear caught the splash amid all the 
 clamor, and with a yell the savages discovered 
 their loss. A dozen guns were levelled at him 
 with deadly aim, but they had been emptied in 
 the wild dance. 
 
 Lancaster s course was instantly taken. He 
 saw in the wan light, with the power of a hun 
 dred eyes, that fifty yards to the south lay a 
 dense thicket of willows growing up to the mar 
 gin of the river. These he must reach or perish ! 
 But he was swimming against the current up 
 stream, wasting his depleted strength in futile 
 effort to battle with the wild flood. He threw up 
 his arms again and again in vain struggle for life. 
 The savages shouted derisively at his folly. Each 
 time he seemed to drop lower, and struggle harder, 
 till at last he sank with the plunge of a plummet 
 before their eyes. The moon was covered by a 
 film of clouds and her light obscured. The Ind 
 ians, anticipating the end, made no effort to save 
 Lancaster. They watched the place where he 
 had gone down, but the body did not rise again. 
 All returned to the fire but two old, suspicious 
 warriors, who gazed with fascinated eyes on the 
 spot where Lancaster had sunk. Neither noticed 
 a dark object floating in the water not far below 
 
THE ESCAPE 129 
 
 where they stood, for their eyes were cast out 
 ward. 
 
 Lancaster had dived, and swam under water 
 down-stream, gradually nearing the shore. He 
 had acquired the art of swimming in deep water 
 with his body erect and entirely submerged, using 
 his feet only, much as in walking, so that there 
 was little disturbance on the surface. He could 
 keep under water two or three minutes at a time, 
 which sufficed to take him away from mid-channel, 
 on which the old Indians gazed. When he had 
 passed their line of vision, he was far enough from 
 them to thrust his nose out of water for a breath, 
 and immediately sank again. And thus cau 
 tiously he made his way beneath the water, under 
 their very eyes, to the covert he had chosen. 
 When the camp fell into heavy slumber, he hid in 
 the willows, and in the early dawn watched their 
 departure, naked, hungry, half dead, but free ! 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IN HIDING 
 
 WHEN Lancaster was convinced that he had 
 outwitted his enemies, the strength which despair 
 had given him left him as suddenly as the smoke 
 from a trodden puff-ball, and as utterly collapsed. 
 He was so exhausted he had hardly strength to 
 drag his worn body up on the sand under the 
 screening of the willows. His swim in the river 
 had been grateful to his wounds, and had soothed 
 their pain. Companionship with the stinging, 
 creeping things which disported themselves on 
 the beach was delightful after the fierce company 
 of the savage. Some hours passed, and he was 
 appalled to find that he had lost control of his 
 muscles ; that he was a sentient being as power 
 less as a felled tree. He could not move from the 
 shallow imprint his bulk had made in the sand. 
 That he was naked and destitute as when he 
 entered the world did not now trouble him more 
 than then. If he might have use of his strong 
 and sturdy legs, he could supply his more vital 
 
 130 
 
IN HIDING 131 
 
 needs. Through the beneficence of Providence, 
 in whom he somewhat vaguely believed, the forest 
 would furnish him food and raiment for the taking. 
 But not by the most strenuous willing could he 
 help himself. 
 
 He groaned in impotent rebellion against 
 Nature s course with him, who like a wise and 
 kind mother looked to his welfare. She locked 
 fast his senses in sleep in which pain, hunger, 
 desolation, and revenge were made naught. His 
 terrible experience and overweening fatigue 
 called for entire repose, and he slept unbrokenly 
 for nearly two days. 
 
 He was awakened at last by a clammy contact 
 with his out-thrown hand. He roused with a 
 shock of surprise to his surroundings, just as a 
 huge turtle scuttled into the water. Then 
 memory overwhelmed him with all he had 
 endured. He attempted to leap to his feet and 
 fell back groaning. But pain must be overcome; 
 constricted muscles must be made supple by 
 action, and after many trials he found himself on 
 his feet. Hunger made him sick and giddy. He 
 was afraid to leave covert in search of food, as 
 it was now bright day. The sunlight filtered 
 through the dancing leaves of his retreat almost 
 vertically, and he had no idea of the time that 
 
132 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 had passed since he had last seen it. He crept 
 to the brink of the river and drank of the muddy 
 water. Then he recalled the scuttling turtle, 
 and he began to search for eggs that he sus 
 pected she had deposited in the sand, and was 
 not long in finding them. He eagerly tore open 
 their tough, opaque skins and ate till hunger was 
 appeased. 
 
 He seated himself on the sand and dropped 
 his head on his drawn-up knees. So close is the 
 relation of flesh to spirit, that with food strength 
 and courage revived. His ear, trained as stealth 
 ily as an Indian s, guarded the outposts of the 
 mind, while his thoughts were busy planning 
 relief for his desperate situation. Destiny had 
 visited him with cruel defeat and cast him naked 
 on a sandy shore. His resolution to find Ferriby 
 strengthened. If she were alive, he would rescue 
 her from worse than death ; if no other way pre 
 sented, he would take her life with his own hand. 
 Better that than concubinage among the savages! 
 He gazed dully out upon the dun waters of the 
 Ouibache. An object crossed his strained vision. 
 With a start he roused to its meaning. It was 
 a canoe, thrown out of the mid-current into the 
 calmer waters shore-ward. It drifted idly, and 
 told mutely of disaster and ruin. Here was a 
 
IN HIDING 133 
 
 means of escape ! He felt that he must secure 
 it at whatever risk, discovery by the savage or 
 drowning. He plunged into the stream and 
 struggled fiercely with his stiffened muscles. A 
 swirl brought the craft within reach, and he 
 managed to push it ashore. In it lay the silent 
 witness to murder done, a great red stain that 
 showed where the body had slipped overboard ; 
 a roll of clothing such as trappers wore, thrown 
 off in the exertion of rowing ; a bundle of otter- 
 skins, which, doubtless, the victim had thought 
 to traffic with at O Poste. Lancaster s limbs 
 trembled with the exertion. His head swam, a 
 feeling of defeat came over him which so un 
 manned him that he nearly wept. Then fiery 
 anger filled him that his strength should have so 
 deserted him in this his time of need. He sternly 
 mastered himself and resolved to set off that very 
 night, under cover of darkness, by the river, 
 which of late the Indians had abandoned ; and 
 for what reason the pioneers were slowly learning. 
 When night fell, with it came showers. Lancas 
 ter dressed in the poor garments, buckskin jerkin 
 and leggings, but they sufficed. A willow pole 
 served him for an oar. He trusted much to the 
 swift current to bear him to the American fort on 
 La Belle Riviere, and set off on his long journey. 
 
134 N THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Sometimes he drowsed from weakness, then 
 roused himself by sheer force of will. Now he 
 drifted with scarcely a motion ; again, rushed with 
 frightful velocity over rapids. In the early hours 
 of the morning he saw against the sky a stain of 
 red, like some gorgeous bird against the dazzling 
 blue. It was a mere speck, but soon it showed 
 motion, and rounding the great bend he saw the 
 flag of King George; below it lay the strong 
 fortress of O Poste. 
 
 To him, a Virginian, the thought of falling into 
 the hands of the English was little less agreeable 
 than into those of the savages. He could not 
 submit to the loss of another day, and deten 
 tion would be fatal to his designs. He suspected 
 the Puans whom he sought had gone to the 
 south, where the greater number of American 
 pioneers lived, if not for scalps, then for buffalo, 
 which at this season fed in great herds on the 
 Drowned Lands. 
 
 It was not yet sun-up, and he resolved to await 
 the moment of guard-mounting to slip by the 
 stockade, which lay close to the bank, on a slight 
 elevation above it. No man passed that way 
 without accounting for himself, but Lancaster 
 resolved to be the exception. As the sun rose, a 
 gun boomed from the fort. Just then a fleet of 
 
IN HIDING 135 
 
 bark canoes set off down-stream from the Indian 
 village opposite. Lancaster slipped among them, 
 and it was not noticed that a half-naked, sun- 
 browned white had passed the fort unchallenged. 
 

 . 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CLARK S GUIDE 
 
 THE Piankeshaws were bound for the Drowned 
 Lands on a buffalo hunt, as Lancaster soon dis 
 covered. He also learned that the raid of the 
 Puans was entirely unknown to them, living, as 
 they were, peaceably under the walls of Fort 
 Sackville. He parted from them after noon. 
 With great friendliness they had provided for his 
 wants, even to arming him. In return for their 
 kindness he had presented them the bundle of 
 otter-skins, and a few ounces of raw tobacco 
 which he had found in the pocket of the trapper s 
 jerkin; its "familiar," the corn-cob pipe, had prob 
 ably gone the road its master had taken. With 
 every appearance of regret the Indians saw his 
 boat bear him away to the far-off Belle Riviere. 
 
 As Lancaster neared the falls, the white settlers 
 became more numerous, and he did not fail to 
 visit every cabin and stockade to make inquiry 
 for his enemy, the Puan. At last he obtained 
 news. A band of savages had been seen far to 
 
 136 
 
CLARK S GUIDE 137 
 
 the northwest, across the prairie, either bound for 
 a "big hunt," or for Kaskaskia, where numerous 
 bands had already gone to make submission to 
 Rocheblave, now highest in authority in the Illi 
 nois country since the recall of Abbott. On 
 hearing this, Lancaster hastened his journey, nor 
 could his speed keep pace .vith his impatience. 
 He gave up his design of going to Corn Island, 
 and continued up the majestic current of La 
 Belle Riviere for many days, sometimes alone, 
 sometimes in the company of hunters and trap 
 pers, till at last he reached the little river, on 
 which, a few miles above its mouth, Kaskaskia 
 lay. 
 
 He found many tribes gathered there, but for 
 what purpose he did not know, other than the 
 pacific one given by the pioneers. His search 
 was vain. No Puan was there! In despair he 
 joined a party of hunters and trappers off to the 
 Kentucky hunting-grounds. He declined their 
 proffers of aid, except to set him on his way, as 
 far as it might be theirs. He was not cheerful 
 company, but the reckless frontiersmen respected 
 his grief, on hearing his story, and he pursued 
 his journey in their company in dull silence. 
 Under the spell of his gloomy thoughts he did 
 not observe that they were approaching an island ; 
 
138 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 and, more singular still, that a crowd of people 
 were running hither and thither, like ants dis 
 turbed in an ant hill. 
 
 " What have we here ? " said one of the rowers, 
 in a low, uneasy tone. 
 
 " Are they enemies or friends ? " asked another, 
 anxiously. 
 
 They shipped their oars, and the boats dropped 
 slowly and steadily toward the island. Each com 
 pany gazed with absorbing interest at the other. 
 With the long sight of the frontiersman they 
 made out the points of feature and garb which 
 proved the men on the island to be white men. 
 
 " But are they Kentuckians or English ? They 
 are worse than the red devils since this war of 
 the colonies," muttered one man, angrily. 
 
 Meantime they reached hailing distance, and 
 were bespoke from the shore. A loud challenge, 
 which it was not prudent to disregard, caused them 
 to row briskly to the island, under the cocked 
 guns of as motley a crew as ever bore arms. 
 
 A squad of men, dressed in uncouth pioneer 
 fashion, surrounded them as they landed, that 
 were evidently under the command of a person 
 who stood a little to one side. This man was in 
 the prime of young manhood, of martial bearing, 
 of tremendous vitality and athletic strength. His 
 
CLARK S GUIDE 139 
 
 figure was so perfectly symmetrical that it had the 
 effect of lessening his stature until it was brought 
 into close contrast with men of ordinary height. 
 His large head was covered with a fall of light 
 brown hair that lay upon his shoulder. A strong 
 hooked nose gave severity to his countenance, 
 which a generous mouth with firmly closed lips 
 mitigated. His cheeks and lips were smooth- 
 shaven. His skin, naturally fair, was like a well- 
 tanned hide, from exposure. His cold, deep blue 
 eyes regarded the newcomers with a gaze that 
 nothing could disconcert, and read them like a 
 horn-book. 
 
 This backwoods commander was endowed 
 with a presence of majesty, a genius for military 
 strategy, a leadership of men. His manner pos 
 sessed a dignity which could unbend to affability, 
 even gayety. Combined with these qualities was 
 the dash and vigor of the ordained conqueror. 
 
 The prisoners, for such Lancaster and his com 
 panions were until they proved their friendli 
 ness were led into the presence of this man, and 
 they instinctively felt his superiority, and evinced 
 it by a restless shifting of feet, falling of eyes 
 under his searching look. At last his lips un 
 closed, and he spoke in a full round voice with 
 no uncertain ring of dominance. He addressed 
 
I4O ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 himself to the leader, whom he picked out with 
 unerring sagacity. 
 
 " You are Englishmen ? " 
 
 " No ; Americans." 
 
 " Why are you here ? " 
 
 " We are lately settled in the Illinois country, 
 and are now bound for the Kentucky hunting- 
 grounds on a big hunt." 
 
 The face of Clark relaxed somewhat from its 
 severity, for well he knew the charm of a " big 
 hunt." 
 
 " Were you aware that the Indians are on the 
 war-path, and that they are to be rewarded for the 
 delivery of the scalps of the American pioneers 
 to the forts at Kaskaskia and O Poste?" 
 
 " No, sir ; not until this fellow joined us," he 
 said, pointing to Lancaster, who stood a few paces 
 aside. 
 
 The commander s glance had briefly settled on 
 him more than once. Now he addressed Lan 
 caster : 
 
 " Why did you join this party ? " he asked 
 Lancaster, without a hint in his tone of that sus 
 picion which he secretly held. 
 
 " I hoped to cross the grand prairie on a private 
 enterprise, on the trail of a tribe hunting there." 
 
 " Ah ! Perhaps you could be induced to relate 
 
CLARK S GUIDE 
 
 what that private enterprise is." His tone was 
 equivalent to a command. 
 
 " It is only another story of the treachery and 
 brutality of the savage," said Lancaster: " But 
 if it be your humor to hear it, I will tell it." 
 
 The commander led Lancaster aside, for his 
 sympathy and perception were as keen as his tact 
 and invention were ready, Lancaster related the 
 story to him, rousing his compassion and interest. 
 Lover the commander never had been, nor ever 
 would be; and down deep in his warlike soul 
 there might have been a touch of impatience, 
 that a man, young and strong, should let such a 
 blow crush him, as he perceived the loss of the 
 girl had the youth. 
 
 With feelings refined by grief almost to clair 
 voyance, Lancaster felt this unexpressed scorn, 
 and it braced him like cool, pure air. He 
 straightened his drooping shoulders, set his lips 
 firmly, banished the half-insane melancholy from 
 his eyes, and gave the man look for look as cou 
 rageous as his own. He stood before him as 
 goodly a man as he, and a tenderer. 
 
 The commander smiled faintly, rejoicing in 
 the pluck that could be roused by the challenge 
 of an eye. It won his respect and confidence. : 
 
 " I will trust you, my man, as I will none of 
 
142 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 your fellows. I am Clark of Virginia, commis 
 sioned by Governor Patrick Henry to wrest the 
 French towns in the Illinois country from the 
 English." 
 
 " It is a tremendous design ! " said Lancaster, 
 involuntarily letting his gaze wander toward the 
 men who composed the invading army, less 
 than two hundred all told. 
 
 " You fear failure, I perceive," said Clark. 
 " They are tried, picked men, and victory is 
 not always to numbers," drawing himself up 
 proudly, " and I, Clark, am leader ! " 
 
 His superb courage heartened Lancaster. It 
 was an enterprise wilder and more daring than 
 those rumored of the Continental army, garbled 
 accounts of which reached even this wilderness 
 outpost. 
 
 To one like Lancaster, worked up to the 
 highest pitch of passion, bitter hate, longing 
 for revenge, Clark s unfaltering determination 
 that could not entertain the thought of an ob 
 stacle, appealed irresistibly. He no longer 
 doubted the feasibility of his design. Indeed, 
 he forgot he had held a momentary doubt. 
 
 Clark explained his plan of advance, and when 
 he spoke of leaving La Belle Riviere at the little 
 creek a few miles above old Massac, to march 
 
CLARK S GUIDE 143 
 
 across the prairie, thus greatly reducing the dis 
 tance, Lancaster eagerly offered himself as guide ; 
 for this fell in with his own plans. 
 
 " Can you tell me the force of the garrisons at 
 Sackville and Gates ? " asked Clark. 
 
 " I know nothing definitely. Gates is the seat 
 of power in the Illinois country, and is but care 
 lessly guarded. Sackville is feebly garrisoned; 
 by strategy I slipped under its stockade, a few 
 days ago." 
 
 "You have the making of a soldier in you! 
 Tis a thousand pities " cried Clark, im 
 patiently, then broke off his speech as he looked 
 into the youth s pale, worn face, almost aged by 
 grief with which he could not sympathize. 
 
 " Sir, is not a faithful lover good metal for a 
 faithful soldier ? " asked Lancaster, with simple 
 dignity. 
 
 " Aye, aye ! I doubt it not ! " said Clark, 
 hastily ; then muttered to himself, " I could 
 never become the father of cowards ! " ending in 
 a deep breath which in another would have been 
 a sigh. Clark returned to the other men, whom 
 he questioned separately. Better informed than 
 Lancaster, they told him of the equipment of 
 Fort Gates, and of the recall of Abbott from 
 Sackville for what reason they could not tell; 
 
144 N THE WE -A TRAIL 
 
 they only knew he had been gone many weeks, 
 taking the greater part of the troop with him. 
 
 Clark s eye glowed, his frame stiffened into 
 martial bearing. Already he could see the new 
 flag of the colonies, which he had brought into 
 the wilderness for the first time, floating proudly 
 over Gates and Sackville; its thirteen stripes of 
 snowy white and glowing red, emblem of the 
 blood which flowed to make it, its barred blue 
 field, replacing the hated crossbars of the British 
 ensign. Perils, privations, and disasters faded 
 into nothingness between that event and now, 
 in his sanguine vision. Clark dismissed the 
 hunters, accepted Lancaster as a guide, and im 
 mediately left the island in a fleet of canoes, 
 with his four companies, one hundred and 
 fifty-four men all told, as brave, even foolhardy, 
 men as ever conquered empire. 
 
 They rowed to where the little creek emptied 
 into La Belle Riviere, and hid their boats a short 
 distance up the stream, then set out through the 
 intervening wilderness to the prairie lying to the 
 northwest more than a hundred miles. They 
 marched for a day and a night, bivouacking for 
 a few hours ; and again for a day and a night. 
 They broke through briers and low masses of 
 shrubs, which filled the gaps of the virgin forest. 
 
CLARK S GUIDE 145 
 
 They filed in a long line, walking singly like 
 Indians, and as silently as the nature of the 
 forest would permit. Often the way led through 
 noxious swamps, where long grasses grew decep 
 tively, and plunged them into black bogs. 
 
 At last, under the aureate glow of the declining 
 sun, the great dazzling, pathless stretch of the 
 grand prairie lay before them, which only ended 
 where the green mounted to the yellow that 
 flooded the sky. Too spent and jaded to pro 
 ceed farther that night, with hearts grateful for 
 so much of shelter, they encamped among the 
 low shrubs from which they had first beheld the 
 prairie. They needed to recuperate their strength 
 by sleep for the forced march across this great 
 meadow, exposed to the eye of the haunting 
 savage or the lurking British spy, and with 
 thankfulness they couched upon the bare ground 
 after the frugalest of suppers. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 " BEWILDERED " 
 
 IN the early dawn the camp was aroused for 
 the hazardous march, which in a few hours, all 
 going well, would bring them to Kaskaskia. 
 Rations were exhausted to a scrap of corn bread, 
 which each man munched as he marched. They 
 plodded along till the fervor of the July sun 
 became unpleasantly felt as it mounted the zenith. 
 Lancaster anxiously scanned the far horizon and 
 the billowy stretch between. Suddenly his look 
 changed from one of easy confidence to faltering 
 indecision. It was as if his mind had played him 
 the part of a treacherous friend. He lost faith. 
 Every landmark pointed falsely. His brain 
 whirled till all sense of direction was lost in the 
 motion. His soul was in a tumult of distress and 
 anxiety. With the sun in mid-heaven he could 
 not tell one direction from another. 
 
 Clark, sternly vigilant, saw his confusion and 
 mistrusted the cause. With English spies patrol 
 ling the waterways, and Indian mercenaries ready 
 
 146 
 
"BEWILDERED" 147 
 
 to spring from impossible ambush, it behooved 
 men to be cautious to the point of suspicion. 
 Clark knew not whether Lancaster s evident 
 anxiety sprang from the failure of his confederates, 
 or that confusion of mind which arises from be 
 wilderment at the long-continued sameness of 
 objects. He was a man of patience when he 
 wished to exercise it, and of the most rapid action 
 when it suited his purpose. He remained silent 
 and wary. But his men, as they watched Lan 
 caster s wild glance wander round and round in 
 dazed uncertainty, weary from the three days 
 march, irritable from hunger, and worse than all, 
 rabid with thirst, began to give signs of brutal 
 fierceness. Mutterings broke into upbraidings. 
 Scathing taunts and violent execrations fell from 
 their lips. Their glaring eyes, bloodshot from heat 
 and fatigue, gave them a fierce aspect. The line 
 came to a halt, impatient as a troop of stallions. 
 
 " Why do you not press on, man ? " asked Clark, 
 in his ordinary controlled manner, but keenly 
 observing Lancaster for any attempt at betrayal 
 by sight or sound. 
 
 " Well I fear colonel, you will have to 
 trust me till I get my bearings," faltered Lancaster. 
 " They seem to have slipped from me until I can t 
 tell north from south, nor east from west ! " 
 
148 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " Has he decoyed us here to have us fall into 
 the hands of the Indians?" asked Helm, sus 
 piciously, in too loud an aside to the commander. 
 Instantly arose a tumult of savage censure. 
 
 "Traitor! traitor !" cried Kenton. 
 
 " Spy ! " cried another. 
 
 " English minion ! " 
 
 Inflamed by the obvious mistrust of their 
 superiors, the rank and file took it up with venge 
 ful fury. , Guns were levelled at Lancaster s breast, 
 which was a fair mark as he stood facing them. 
 His face was pale and anxious, but there was no 
 blenching in his dauntless mien, no cowardice in 
 the distressed eyes raised fully to Clark s face. 
 Had Clark shown a jot of distrust, the man were 
 doomed. 
 
 " You will certainly be killed, Lancaster," said 
 he, in an equable voice, u if you have purposely 
 misled us. / could not restrain these fellows if 
 I would," motioning his hand toward the men, 
 who had fallen back at his imperious gesture, 
 huddled like a starved pack, men who had gone 
 through incredible hardship without a murmur, 
 furious at the thought of betrayal. 
 
 They were indeed a savage-looking lot, with 
 faces scratched and bloody from briers, lashed 
 into welts from underbrush, splashed with black 
 
"BEWILDERED" 149 
 
 bog-mud; with moccasins of bull-hide worn 
 through, garments of buckskin tattered. They 
 carried only their long rifles, trusting to the forest 
 for shelter, food, and drink. After the first day 
 game had been scarce, and they feared to fire a 
 gun, so that they were in a state of ferine hunger, 
 when men are fit for murder. Decoyed like ani 
 mals to ignominious death, expecting momently 
 to be fallen upon by a stealthy foe, from any 
 quarter, their fury knew no bounds. A fair fight 
 they gloried in, but this the infamy of it made 
 them savage as baited beasts. 
 
 Clark turned toward them, and at a look read 
 them. For an instant he himself felt a flow of 
 rage that nearly choked him. But he rarely gave 
 his men clear insight as to his state of mind, or 
 motives, and he controlled it resolutely, and again 
 faced Lancaster. 
 
 There was an expression of noble justice on his 
 countenance, and Lancaster recognized that here 
 was one who could exercise the coolest judgment 
 in the face of most damnatory inferences, suspi 
 cions that roused terrible anger ; for Clark s eyes 
 glittered irefully while his tongue spoke fairly. 
 
 Lancaster fell upon his knees before him, a 
 suppliant who begged for the preservation of his 
 honor, not for his life. 
 
150 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Clark was sensible of this when Lancaster cried 
 in earnest, though not grovelling, entreaty : 
 
 " I beg you, sir, give me one more chance ! I 
 am bewildered, as many of these men have been 
 before me, on a great prairie." 
 
 He looked around for some one to take his part 
 even in so small a matter. 
 
 " That is true, colonel, as I can bear witness. 
 Give him a chance to prove himself a man of 
 honor ! " said Simon Kenton, always a pacific man, 
 yet, paradoxically, a furious fighter. 
 
 " That is all I want ! To prove my honor ! " 
 cried Lancaster. 
 
 " You will prove your honor and innocence by 
 speedily finding the way," said Clark, coldly. " I 
 can see that, by the nature of the country, one 
 acquainted with it could hardly forget it," he 
 paused impressively, "but I will give you your 
 chance ! " 
 
 Lancaster sprang to his feet, his countenance 
 glowing with gratitude. He looked Clark in the 
 face, and began to speak, but was motioned to 
 silence. 
 
 " But you are a doomed man if you fail ! " 
 
 The words were spoken with such terrible 
 finality that Lancaster, unnerved by all he had 
 suffered, trembled and paled. His agitation 
 
"BEWILDERED" 151 
 
 roused the placated suspicions of the men, who 
 again, by word and look, urged his death. 
 
 " I only beg you to stay awhile on this spot 
 that " 
 
 " The Indians may fall upon us in three or four 
 times our number and massacre us ! " interrupted 
 a savage voice. 
 
 Again Clark silenced them. 
 
 He said to Lancaster: "The old Massac road 
 cannot be far from here. Once find that, and it 
 will lead us to Kaskaskia. We will stay here 
 awhile, but not long." 
 
 " I thank you, sir ! not for my life s but for 
 my honor s sake. I will set off at once ! " 
 
 " Not so fast ! Not alone ! " observed Clark, a 
 faint saturnine smile on his lips. " Here, Allen, 
 Bush, Hays ! " he ordered. " Accompany this 
 man, and if by sundown he has not found the 
 way, you will know your duty how to serve a 
 traitor ! " 
 
 The guards named stepped forward, young, 
 stalwart, fierce, with menace in their looks which 
 did not serve to restore Lancaster s already over- 
 shaken confidence. 
 
 " My life, sir, I will willingly forfeit. I will find 
 the trail by evening ! " 
 
 " Lead on, sir ! " sternly commanded Clark. 
 
152 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 They watched Lancaster as he scanned the sky 
 and took his bearings by the sun, now a little 
 declined toward the west, which was in his favor. 
 He started toward the north, then irresolutely 
 took an angling line to the southwest, followed it 
 uncertainly a few paces ; shifted again to the 
 northwest ; veered again till he had completed a 
 circle, and thus progressed in visible uncertainty, 
 closely dogged by his guards, till they became 
 mere dots on the great sea of grass, now lost in 
 the falling billow, then rising to view on the crest. 
 Suddenly he changed again, seeming to have 
 thrown off all hesitation, and proceeded steadily 
 to the southwest. 
 
 Meanwhile Clark and his men watched anx 
 iously and silently. Now and then some one 
 cursed bitterly as he saw Lancaster s uncertainty. 
 Some one laughed, a more sinister sound than 
 all the cursing ! 
 
 "The man is a traitor!" cried Helm, with 
 frightful imprecations. 
 
 " I think not ! " replied Kenton, composedly. 
 " He is only bewildered ! " 
 
 " Time and patience will tell. We may as 
 well rest during the hours we must wait ! " said 
 Clark, coolly. After appointing a sentry, he threw 
 himself full length on the earth, placed an arm 
 
"BEWILDERED" 153 
 
 over his eyes, and composed himself as if it were 
 the most ordinary bed-going. In a few moments 
 all followed his example, and were soon sleeping 
 the sleep of sound, healthy, weary men. 
 
 Two hours passed like two seconds to the 
 jaded sleepers, when the guard gave a low, pecul 
 iar cry, at which all started up. Confused with 
 sleep, they snatched their knives from their belts, 
 cocked their guns before the film of slumber had 
 lifted from their angry eyes. Their vision cleared 
 to behold four men approaching rapidly, success 
 attested to by the buoyancy of their walk. 
 
 Approaching Clark, Lancaster said with visible 
 satisfaction, "Sir, I have found the old Massac 
 road ! " 
 
 " Fall in ! " was Clark s sole answer, but it 
 implied how full was his faith. 
 
 In two hours march they came upon a huge 
 beech tree, the outpost of a sparse stretch of 
 woods that followed a small stream. They found 
 buried deep in its overgrown bark an iron plate 
 on which, in faded red figures, were numbered 
 the miles to Kaskaskia. 
 
 When the moon rose, like a pearl disk, and the 
 great red sun dropped suddenly from the arching 
 rim of the prairie, they were in sight of Fort 
 Gage, in the village of Kaskaskia. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT 
 
 SILENTLY as ghosts, in the early hours of the 
 night, the little army was ferried across the nar 
 row river. They were divided into squads and 
 deployed about the town. Without a struggle 
 Rochblave, the commandant, was captured in his 
 bed and yielded up the garrison to the Virginians. 
 The capture of the neighboring French villages, 
 Cahokia and Prairie du Rocher, followed, and in 
 less than a fortnight every villager had sworn 
 allegiance to the Americans, and Clark was in 
 command of the fort. It was too easy a conquest. 
 In this tame submission there was no element of 
 victory ; and Clark could not be content till the 
 flag of the colonies floated over Sackville on the 
 distant Ouibache. 
 
 Pondering these things in the privacy of his 
 quarters, one day, he was interrupted by the en 
 trance of three men, ushered in by his second 
 officer, Helm. 
 
 Clark received them in a manner of guarded 
 154 
 
CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT 155 
 
 friendliness. They were Father Gibault, the 
 Jesuit priest whose curacy extended over most of 
 the Illinois country ; Dr. La Fitte, the largest 
 trafficker among the savages, besides being the 
 only medical man thereabout ; and an interpreter. 
 
 Clark waited courteously for them to disclose 
 their errand through their interpreter, Lieutenant 
 Gerault, about which they seemed to be timid. 
 Father Gibault s spare figure, ascetic face, and 
 priestly garb were in striking contrast to the huge 
 frame, strong, tanned visage, and tattered, muddy 
 garments of his host. Clark looked almost burly 
 and quite savage in comparison. 
 
 " I am at your service, sir," said the priest, and 
 a shade of anxiety was disclosed in his manner, 
 though his voice was smooth and pleasantly mod 
 ulated. In the presence of the strong worldling 
 he had an air of timorousness suggestive of the 
 cloister. 
 
 Clark expressed his pleasure at meeting his vis 
 itors with the ready courtesy of the Virginian, 
 but did not help them by further speech. He 
 seemed silently gauging their faithfulness. 
 
 " It may be unwise to speak of it," said the 
 priest, hesitantly, "but we have heard a rumor 
 that you intend to advance on O Poste." 
 
 " I intend no less ! and it is about that I wish 
 
156 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 to consult you," answered Clark, in his crisp, 
 imperious voice. 
 
 He was not surprised at Father Gibault s dis 
 closure, for he had made no secret of his aims, 
 after Kaskaskia had taken the oath of allegiance. 
 He shrewdly put the villagers on their honor by 
 trusting them at once. He openly avowed his 
 intention to retake the French towns in the Illi 
 nois country from the English, and add them, as 
 well as the vast territory itself to the colony of 
 Virginia. His commission, he told them, was 
 granted him by the great Patrick Henry. 
 
 " Give me your opinion," continued Clark, " as 
 briefly as you can, for I have but half an hour 
 at your disposal." 
 
 Father Gibault was a curious mixture of tim 
 idity inseparable from a compassionate nature 
 and the finest courage. He was easily abashed 
 by arrogance and despotism, and his instinct was 
 to withdraw in a contest with haughty authority or 
 brute force, such as Clark rarely used, but used 
 unsparingly if the necessity arose. 
 
 " Sir," said Father Gibault, with his dark eyes 
 fixed wistfully on Clark s large immobile face, which 
 he could make as blank and forbidding as a naked 
 cliff, " we have found you to be a humane man. 
 We have been taught for many years that the 
 
CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT 157 
 
 American is as savage as the Indian, and that to 
 fall into his hands would be a far worse fate ; but 
 we have found it to be false. You have been just, 
 even kind, in your dealings with us, your captives. 
 No ! we are not captives ; we are brothers, for as 
 such you have treated us ! " 
 
 During this discourse Clark sat with down 
 cast eyes, but from time to time shot a speculative 
 glance at the priest. The quivering lip, suffusing 
 eye, tremulous tones, convinced him this was not 
 a piece of French acting. 
 
 " Sir," Clark said abruptly, " I see you have 
 something weighty on your mind ; be pleased to 
 disclose it." 
 
 His demand seemed harshly put, in a voice of en 
 ergetic volume, and in violent contrast to the fine 
 manner of the priest, who started like a horse roughly 
 drawn up by a cutting bit. But he controlled his 
 emotion and complied calmly and collectedly. 
 
 "What I, and my friend here, Dr. La Fitte, 
 would suggest is, that you charge us with the 
 duty of bringing our friends on the Ouibache 
 into allegiance with the Americans. Depute it 
 to us, that life may be spared, and much hardship 
 and danger to you be saved." 
 
 "How do you propose to accomplish this?" 
 asked Clark, completely surprised, yet interested. 
 
158 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " I will have naught to do with the temporal 
 part. My friend here will manage that; but I 
 can convey such suggestions in a spiritual way 
 as will facilitate the business." 
 
 " They are your spiritual charge, and you pro 
 pose to make your office a means to this end ? " 
 observed Clark, musingly, his great sunburned 
 fingers drumming nervously on the table, the 
 only sign of perturbation he gave. 
 
 "Yes!" assented the priest, "what means so 
 potent? They are my people, both spiritually 
 and nationally. Even the Piankeshaws, dwelling 
 across the river in their village, are my converts." 
 
 A sneering expression passed over Clark s 
 countenance ; for he, in common with all pio 
 neers, believed in the conversion of savages 
 about as he did in that of a skulking wolf. 
 
 " In brief, you would coerce by spiritual means ; 
 while I would employ lead and gunpowder ! Per 
 haps, in this case, yours is the better way, if it can 
 be done. If not, then mine ! " he said positively. 
 
 Dr. La Fitte, who had remained silent up to 
 this time, now spoke confidently : 
 
 " It will not fail, colonel ! You do not know 
 how the people love our good father. Nor do 
 you know how they hate the British, their con 
 temptuous masters, their hereditary foemen!" 
 
CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT 159 
 
 Hitherto La Fitte had not taken part in the 
 conference. Clark turned to him, surveyed him 
 deliberately, and appeared to be convinced as to 
 his integrity. His bearing changed toward both 
 men to something like guarded cordiality, and 
 for a time they conferred earnestly together, 
 Clark asking, they answering questions. 
 
 He decided to accept their proffer of help, and, 
 in English, rapidly dictated an order to Lieuten 
 ant Gerault; who, when he had turned it into 
 French, read it aloud to the priest and doctor. 
 In the presence of the three it was signed by 
 Clark. 
 
 It was an address to the villagers at O Poste, 
 demanding that they take the oath of allegiance 
 to the Americans ; and authorizing them to invest 
 the fort with their own militia, which was some 
 two hundred strong; and permitting them to 
 choose from their own number the commandant 
 of the village and post. Thus appealing to their 
 pride and fealty. 
 
 " I will make no doubt of their joyful submis 
 sion," said Father Gibault, "and I will privately 
 direct the whole affair. If it is agreeable to you, I 
 will take this upon myself, aided by my trusted 
 lieutenant, the doctor here." 
 
 "Sir, as a Frenchman I have the strongest 
 
l6o ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 faith in your loyalty to the American cause ; as a 
 priest, entire confidence in your probity ! " Clark 
 observed with solemn earnestness, which, in the 
 light of later proceedings, seemed bombastic. 
 He completed his arrangements with military 
 despatch, and no sooner were they done, than he 
 signified to his guests that the conference was at 
 an end. 
 
 When they had retired, he sent for Lancaster, 
 who, on his appearance, found Clark deep in 
 meditation, from which he did not rouse him, but 
 stood waiting for him to speak. 
 
 Clark began abruptly, "So, my lad, I cannot 
 prevail upon you to join my army ! " with a quiz 
 zical smile at its size and his sore need of men. 
 
 "Sir, I have already told you that my one 
 thought, the only one I am capable of entertain 
 ing, is to find certain news of the fate of my lost 
 sweetheart." 
 
 " My boy, I fear the worst awaits you." 
 
 " But I must know ! I cannot give up till I 
 do know ! " Lancaster s lips set firmly, his eyes 
 stared straight before him as if he saw the ter 
 rible end of his quest. 
 
 Clark, gazing at him, communed with himself: 
 " Strange, this passion that despoils a man of 
 ambition, of hope, of life ! I once felt it briefly, 
 
CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT l6l 
 
 but a moment of cowardice in the object, ended 
 it for me ! A good soldier spoiled ! Pity ! 
 Pity!" 
 
 He looked half angry as he beheld the havoc 
 made in the strong, perfect youth before him, 
 sunken cheeks ; dull eyes ; breathing eager and 
 quick, or so slow the lungs all but collapsed; 
 frame lacerated and shrunken, all for an abstrac 
 tion called Love ! He himself held as hot a 
 passion of another kind, Patriotism ; and his 
 ardor was so great, his hate so strong, he saw 
 no obstacle to the capture of the Illinois country, 
 which would add to the glory of Virginia. It 
 was nothing to him that his army was less 
 than two hundred strong, that every post was 
 garrisoned, and that mercenary savages were 
 in ambush everywhere. 
 
 "Well, I suppose it is the way of man, but a 
 way I have missed ! " he muttered ; then said 
 aloud, " My lad, I have a favor to ask of you." 
 Lancaster looked sullenly at him, and Clark 
 laughed, then said: 
 
 " It will not hinder you in this wild business 
 of yours ! Nay, it will help you on to the 
 Ouibache, and from there you can more easily 
 follow the Puans to their village under the very 
 walls of the fortress at Detroit. But be sly as 
 
1 62 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 a weasel, brave as a panther, for the bloody belt 
 has been sent round ! " 
 
 Lancaster s gloomy face brightened. " If I can 
 be of use to you, sir, I am always your grateful 
 servant. As to the bloody belt, how could I 
 think otherwise ! " 
 
 Clark explained the embassy of Father Gibault 
 and the doctor, and said that he must have a 
 faithful report of their proceedings. On Lancas 
 ter s showing irritation at the thought of the 
 delay in again returning to Kaskaskia, Clark 
 cried impatiently : 
 
 " Oh, these lovers ! Would to God there were 
 none ! They hold but one thought ! They spoil 
 good soldiers ! You do not know my plan, Lan 
 caster. It is that you never lose sight of the 
 priest and doctor during these negotiations ; 
 that you write me a full report, and tuck it 
 secretly in the saddle-bags of Jonathan Poole, 
 the dullest of fellows, a guard who will ac 
 company the expedition. I myself will search 
 there for it." 
 
 Lancaster gave his promise, then said : " I am 
 sensible, sir, of the honor of your confidence, and 
 if my search end disastrously, I vow to devote 
 the rest of my days to fighting these cursed Eng 
 lish ! So help me Heaven ! " 
 
CLARK AND FATHER GIBAULT 163 
 
 " Right spirit, my lad ! Come back to me ! I 
 have need of men of your mettle ! " 
 
 The next morning, just ten days after the 
 capture of Kaskaskia, Father Gibault and 
 Dr. La Fitte set out for O Poste with a small 
 retinue, among whom was Lancaster, on a mis 
 sion whose importance they could not foresee. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE 
 
 THE two days journey to O Poste was made 
 safely, under the most favorable conditions. The 
 little convoy was well armed. Even the good 
 father was equipped with a gun, and two pistols 
 were thrust through his rawhide belt, an unusual 
 addition to his black frock, and much at variance 
 with his pacific character. 
 
 The villagers were greatly surprised to see 
 Father Gibault so soon again after his May visi 
 tation, a duty he was accustomed to perform 
 about twice a year, but they greeted him with 
 incurious pleasure. They supposed he had come 
 on some pressing parochial matter which did not 
 concern them. 
 
 The coming of Dr. La Fitte they regarded as 
 a fortuitous circumstance indeed. Every bruised 
 member, every fever, every megrim of whatever 
 kind, was reported to him at once, with moving 
 confidence, as if there were virtue in the very 
 touch of his garments. At other times they 
 
 164 
 
A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE 165 
 
 depended on the aged medicine-man of the Pian- 
 keshaws, or on the doubtful services of the herb- 
 doctress and midwife, Stasia Lutrell. This chance 
 was too good to be lost ! 
 
 It was soon noised abroad that there would be 
 matins at the little log church at sun-up the next 
 day. The morning rose fair and beautiful, with 
 that plenitude of sparkling dew and rapturous bird- 
 song sacred to the dawning, that cool, sweet, 
 purified air, that restful quietude so soon profaned 
 and disquieted by the progress of the hours. 
 
 The fervid sun of mid July had hardly returned 
 from its night journey. Its first long, level shafts 
 shot across the asparagus bed, whose bending 
 plumes were overweighted by the scintillating 
 drops that hung on its every filament. It was 
 the glory of Colonel Dubois s dooryard. 
 
 Ferriby, who sat at breakfast opposite the open 
 window, could see the humming-bird dive into its 
 dewy bath, and she thought she had never beheld 
 anything more beautiful than the glittering mound 
 of green. 
 
 The entire family were at their morning meal, 
 and were disposing of it in silence. 
 
 " It is strange that Father Gibault should come 
 in this sudden manner, without notice, I think." 
 
1 66 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 spoke out thoughtless Suzanne, who was listlessly 
 eating her breakfast of grilled venison, bread, and 
 red currants. 
 
 Her father, who had secretly indulged in the 
 same opinion, thought it proper to observe 
 loftily, 
 
 " Men of weighty affairs are not in the habit of 
 confiding serious matters to females." 
 
 She made a sly grimace at demure Jeanne 
 across the table, and whispered roguishly to 
 Ferriby at her side : 
 
 " Neither do the females always take the males 
 into theirs. Hein ? " 
 
 " But, father dear, he was here so shortly. 
 Why come again so soon ? " Suzanne insisted. 
 
 She hit upon the very thing the colonel was 
 most curious to know, but it was beneath his 
 dignity to expose so feminine a weakness before 
 his woman-kind, who happened, at that time, to 
 constitute his entire household. He made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Angele can be baptized," observed Jeanne, 
 softly. 
 
 " True ! " cried Monsieur Dubois. " It is well 
 thought, my Jeanne ! " 
 
 "It will save the soul of another heretic," she 
 murmured piously. 
 
A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE 167 
 
 Ferriby, who comprehended little that was 
 said, knew by that peculiar mental sensitiveness 
 with which women are endowed, that she was the 
 subject of their conversation ; moreover she had 
 caught the name " Angele " which they had given 
 her when she first became an inmate of their 
 home. 
 
 As yet nothing had been learned of her par 
 entage, nor anything of her former life. She was 
 a nameless, homeless waif of the Great Wilder 
 ness. She had roused from her long stupor with 
 a memory blank as a new-born babe s, and while 
 mentality was strengthening daily, this lapse had 
 not been bridged. Father Gibault and the doctor 
 had warned them not to hurry its development, 
 as it might, in her weak state, end in the per 
 manent overthrow of reason. As both brain and 
 body had been exhausted to a point not far from 
 death, she must, like a babe, grow gradually into 
 both mental and physical strength. 
 
 In the last few weeks they had commenced to 
 teach her like a little child, and she had picked 
 up rapidly the meaning of commonly used words 
 from the chatter of Suzanne and Jeanne, her new 
 name among them. 
 
 Proud indeed were the demoiselles of their 
 charge, when, about a week since, she was well 
 
1 68 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 enough to appear at table with the family, and 
 could hesitatingly speak their names, as well as 
 "pere," to monsieur, their father; and " maman," 
 to madame, their mother. 
 
 Her whole nature was expanding slowly, much 
 as a sensitive plant erects each foliole after rough 
 handling, to at last become strong and symmetri 
 cal as before. 
 
 But at times lassitude would weigh her down, 
 as if all the strength meant for a long life had 
 been consumed in those fearful days of wandering. 
 Sometimes she would steal away to the garden- 
 seat, and ponder alone, in piteous effort to recall 
 what? She could not tell a natant some 
 thing that troubled her and made her uneasy. 
 
 She would sink into moods of apathy from 
 which nothing roused her till they had run 
 their course. Her high courage and noble 
 spirit were gone ; she was as dependent as a 
 child. 
 
 The shrill shouts of the boys in the great pas 
 ture, tending the cows, threw her into an alarm 
 she could not control nor explain. Suzanne tried 
 by every light, gay frolic she could devise to 
 hearten her; and Jeanne, by tenderest sympathy, 
 to soothe her, until they awakened feelings of 
 gratitude and trust to reward their efforts ; and 
 
A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE 169 
 
 they were encouraged to believe in her ultimate 
 return to her normal state. 
 
 By seven o clock the entire family were on their 
 way to mass, except Angele, who was thought too 
 feeble to go. The stillness of the morning was 
 so unbroken it seemed as if Nature was bent on 
 hearing the orisons of these good people who 
 eagerly sought the little church to engage in their 
 devotions. Their joy in it was moving, so far 
 from storied minster or imposing cathedral, 
 which are in themselves an inspiration to worship. 
 The church stood east of the fort and in front of 
 it, only a few yards from the heavy puncheon 
 gates. On the flagstaff of Sackville flew the 
 British flag, and in the score of years it had 
 waved above them it had never become a grateful 
 sight to these Frenchmen. 
 
 The little building was made of hewn timbers 
 set on end. There were no windows in it, and a 
 door at either end always stood open to let in day 
 light. Its roof was of clapboards; its floor of 
 earth ; its seats, few in number, were of heavy 
 slabs, supported on pegs driven into the ground. 
 There was no way of heating, and it was rarely 
 used in winter, as the road was impassable be 
 tween Kaskaskia and O Poste. As soon as 
 might be, the faithful priest came to them in the 
 
I/O ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 spring. He longed for the time when the donne 
 would in some measure be a spiritual shepherd 
 to them. 
 
 On this radiant July morning the sun flooded 
 the little edifice, and lit the interior so brightly 
 that the two candles were dimmed on the smooth 
 block of wood cut from a forest tree which served 
 for an altar. At the church door stood sentries. 
 Within, Father Gibault was ready to conduct the 
 service, clad in the plain black robe of his order, 
 with no glittering canonicals, no lace vestments, 
 no embroidered cope, to enrich the scene. He was 
 a humble paraphrast for Jesu the Christ, not a 
 richly dressed puppet. Only one acolyte attended 
 him, Gaston Bevard, who ministered sullenly and 
 perfunctorily. 
 
 " He hath a devil ! " murmured Manette Tache, 
 pausing in her devotions to watch the priest s 
 pupil. " Is he not part savage ? Yes ; I will 
 pray the more for him ! " and she diligently 
 resumed her prayers. 
 
 Hark ! the sonorous Latin of the monks peals 
 out with as grand simplicity, as deep solemnity 
 in this humble sunlit sanctuary as in the long, 
 dim, vaulted vistas of St. Peter s. 
 
 "Ave, Maria, gratia plena ; Dominus tecum : 
 benedicta tu in mulieribus, 
 
A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE I /I 
 
 et benedictus fructus ventris tui, 
 
 Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis 
 
 peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrse. Amen." 
 
 It rolls in dulcet syllables across the prairie till 
 lost in the hum of insect life; it is borne to the 
 dark forest by the warm breeze to fall silent 
 among the murmuring of cool leaves. Who may 
 know how potent for good this ministry ? how 
 far these faint tones reached ? 
 
 Lancaster,^ mindful of his trust, found an 
 obscure coign of vantage, and looked on in sur 
 prise at the simple earnestness and joy of these 
 people at the chance of taking part in the rites of 
 their religion. 
 
 The service had proceeded in pious solemnity 
 to its close. The benediction had been said ; the 
 congregation stirred cheerfully to depart, when 
 Father Gibault by a gesture commanded their 
 attention. He stepped to the floor below the 
 rude altar and requested silence. 
 
 " My children," he said, " I would have a few 
 words with you before you depart to your homes. 
 You well know that sixteen years ago you 
 resigned allegiance to our most gracious and sov 
 ereign majesty Louis XV ; since then we have 
 lived under the rule of the king of England. 
 Now there is another authority, which, if you will, 
 
1/2 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 may be set over you. It is concerning this our 
 good doctor would have your attention." 
 
 There was a rustling of re-seating, and all 
 eyes were fastened on La Fitte, who came to 
 Father Gibault s side, and at once began 
 speaking : 
 
 " My good friends and compatriots : What our 
 reverend father says is true, and he himself 
 heartily indorses what I would tell you. Is it 
 not so ? " he said, turning to the priest. Father 
 Gibault nodded an assent, gravely, from the 
 bench where he had seated himself. His habit 
 ually eager face was set in serious, even austere, 
 lines. His dark eyes watched his people as if to 
 note each fluctuation of feeling, each change of 
 opinion, as it passed over their mobile faces. 
 His cheeks, pale and hollow, grew paler with the 
 gravity of the issue. His flock were emotional, 
 readily responsive, as none knew better than 
 himself, and if the wrong chord were struck, dis 
 sonance, harsh and brutal, would result. 
 
 Dr. La Fitte seemingly felt that a great 
 responsibility lay upon him, that the outcome 
 would be determined by the subtlety and power 
 of his plea ; and for an instant he paused as 
 if seeking for a telling opening sentence. He 
 began where the priest left off: 
 
A CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE 173 
 
 " Yes ; the flag of our fathers no longer floats 
 over their children ; but that of aliens, never 
 friendly ! " The men s faces showed surprise, 
 and something of consternation. 
 
 " But now, by the blessing of God, we will 
 change all that." Then he rapidly told them of 
 the capture of Kaskaskia, Cahokia, and Prairie 
 du Rocher, by the handful of Virginians under 
 Clark ; and how the Americans, now waging war 
 against the British, were meeting with success 
 at arms. " For Burgoyne surrendered in Octo 
 ber, now nearly a year past." 
 
 This news they heard for the first time, and it 
 caused a sensation. Men turned and looked at 
 each other. 
 
 " Now," continued the speaker, " the Virgin 
 ians ask you to join them in this fight for liberty, 
 not as aliens, not as subjects, but as citizens! 
 Sharing in all their privileges, and with the 
 right to govern yourselves. Our beloved reli 
 gion, Colonel Clark has said, would be defended 
 from insult. And under the laws of Virginia, 
 to which this vast Illinois country will be 
 attached, yours will be the rights and privileges 
 of freemen. Declare yourselves, once for all. 
 Be no longer humble captives, but free men. 
 Swear your allegiance to this new republic, that 
 
1/4 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 will make you free citizens, which, as there is a 
 God in heaven, is coming is here ! " 
 
 The excitement grew steadily as the speech 
 reached the climax. Men sprang to their feet. 
 They questioned each other silently, with earnest 
 looks. Like a stone at the turn of the hilltop, 
 they needed but a start to crash through all im 
 pediments to new ground. Only a few held 
 back timidly. A voice from the crowd that 
 potent voice from a crowd asked: 
 
 " Father Gibault, do you sanction this ? " 
 
 " I do," answered the priest, firmly, rising to his 
 feet. " And I invoke the blessing of the good 
 God and all his saints upon every one who has 
 the courage to swear allegiance to the Americans 
 on the Holy Book ; and I absolve them from 
 their oath to the English king." 
 
 He held his missal aloft. For one instant of tre 
 mendous feeling, of utter stillness, when men s hearts 
 beat loud, their eyes burned, their lips dried, they 
 waited. The next, and Colonel Dubois went for 
 ward to take the oath ; then the people pushed and 
 crowded each other, in their eagerness to follow. 
 
 Lancaster beheld this scene but little moved ; 
 for no enthusiasm was hot enough to melt his 
 frozen melancholy; but he gave a conscientious 
 report of it to Clark in his despatch. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE APPARITION 
 
 IMMEDIATELY after the dismissal of the congre 
 gation, Father Gibault made use of the opportu 
 nity to call a meeting of the men at the tavern to 
 discuss the generous measures of Clark ; chief 
 articles of which were, that they select a com 
 mandant, and garrison the post with the local 
 militia. 
 
 Without a moment s consideration of the 
 results of their defection from the king, braced 
 for the deed by the good father s absolution, 
 they lost no time in making their choice. It fell 
 upon Monsieur Dubois, and the office invested 
 him with the highest authority, both civil and 
 military. This business happily over, Father 
 Gibault, Dr. La Fitte, and Colonel Dubois 
 left them, a company of some two hundred 
 men, roused to the highest pitch of excitement, 
 pledging fealty to the Americans ; to the new 
 flag of the colonies (which would soon replace 
 the British colors, when Clark should arrive, or 
 
 75 
 
ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 some officer delegated by him to take command 
 of the fort) ; to the governor of Virginia ; to 
 anything for an excuse for a toast and a huge 
 dram of taffia. 
 
 These three gentlemen retired to the home of 
 Colonel Dubois, where they held a private consul 
 tation. There never was a mob, however violent, 
 nor a crowd, however orderly, that were not the 
 puppets of two or three string-pullers, who, when 
 all is set in motion to their liking, slip away to 
 watch their antics quietly and enjoy results 
 ultimately. 
 
 Colonel Dubois showed his guests into the 
 grande chambre. The adjoining room, uncon 
 nected by door, was the cabinet which Ferriby 
 still occupied, not having sufficient strength 
 to climb the stairway, and share the apart 
 ments of the demoiselles Dubois. She had 
 spent many hours of weakness and depression on 
 the low couch opposite the open window, which 
 looked out over the same stretch of grass that 
 the parlor window commanded. The two were 
 set very close together, so that an immense 
 Guelder-rose bush that grew between shaded 
 both. Its restless twigs tapped mysteriously on 
 the window-panes, when the sash was down, and 
 flaunted inquisitively into the room, as now, when 
 
THE APPARITION 1 77 
 
 it was raised. It formed an arching bower that 
 screened her from the scorching rays of the sun, 
 and let the air through, blandly cooled by its 
 foliage. On the other side of the casement 
 clambered a Noisette rose which, in flowering- 
 time, scented the apartment sweetly. 
 
 Jeanne was reading aloud to Ferriby from the 
 life of Saint Genevieve, more to soothe than to 
 edify her, for her knowledge was too limited to 
 comprehend much of the smooth French ; but it 
 quieted her to hear Jeanne s soft monotone. In 
 the pauses when the reader stopped to spell out 
 some hard word, the low, gentle tones of the 
 priest could be heard from the adjoining room, 
 or a cautious reply from the doctor or Monsieur 
 Dubois. These murmurs went on for half an 
 hour, then ceased altogether. 
 
 Suddenly there was some sort of movement in 
 the hall just without Ferriby s door. It was 
 opened gently, and Father Gibault entered, fol 
 lowed by Dr. La Fitte, Monsieur and Madame 
 Dubois, and the two girls, Elise and Suzanne. 
 
 Ferriby lay back in a deep chair, dressed in a 
 simple gown of pure white, with the Virgin s color 
 showing in knots of ribbon on it here and there. 
 Her hair, much of which had been sacrificed, so 
 matted had it become, was hidden away under a 
 
1/8 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 thin, white lawn cap. Her eyes, as startled as a 
 doe s, glinting with nervous lights, seemed darker 
 and larger, sunken deep in their sockets. The 
 brown of her forest life had faded and left her face 
 pallid as a fall of new snow. The red had vanished 
 from her lips, leaving them tinged with faintest 
 purple. Her cheeks were so thinned as to almost 
 show the form of her teeth behind the wasted 
 flesh. Compared to what she had been, she was 
 a ghastly object, stripped of beauty, of youth, of 
 the flesh of her bones ; she was a mere skeleton 
 with breath in it. Her aspect was so changed 
 from the spirited girl of rounded contours, ver- 
 milled cheeks, flashing eyes, and buoyant step, 
 who parted from her lover in the clearing, that 
 none who knew her then would at the first glance 
 recognize her now. 
 
 Beholding her, the old impious cry would rise 
 to the lips, " If there be an Omnipotent Power, 
 a Beneficent Spirit, why do such calamities come 
 upon the innocent ? " 
 
 She looked at the strangers with that visible 
 shrinking now habitual to her; for she had no 
 recollection of Father Gibault. He and Monsieur 
 Dubois approached her side. The latter carried 
 a silver bowl half full of fair water. The priest 
 held in his hand a missal, with a finger inserted 
 
THE APPARITION 179 
 
 between its leaves. For Father Gibault, ever 
 mindful of his first duty, the saving of heretics 
 by bringing them into the bosom of the true 
 church, had taken this opportunity to baptize 
 the flotsam of the great Ouibache. Colonel 
 Dubois stood godfather, and madame, godmother. 
 When the name was demanded, Jeanne whispered 
 to her father " Angele Dubois," and thus she was 
 christened. 
 
 When the drops of water ran down her face, 
 Ferriby lifted her eyes to the priest s countenance 
 and smiled faintly upon him with the brief, touch 
 ing loveliness that marks the smile of a sleeping 
 babe, upon which the doting nurse declares it sees 
 angels. It was so moving, on her wan face, that 
 tears of tender sympathy suffused Father Gibault s 
 eyes. She sat opposite the open window in the 
 strong morning light. As her eyes fell from the 
 priest s face they travelled idly across this open 
 space, and for an instant stared in such fixity of 
 horror as to make the flesh creep of those who 
 watched her. She gave one loud shriek and 
 buried her face on Jeanne s bosom. Jeanne 
 pacified her like a child, and asked soothingly and 
 composedly : 
 
 " What is it my angel ? Tell your friend ! " - 
 as if this outbreak were no unusual occurrence. 
 
ISO ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " His spirit ! his spirit ! Oh so pale ! He is 
 dead!" 
 
 It was but a fitful flash of memory ; for when 
 urged further, she could tell nothing, only trem 
 bled with fear. 
 
 Father Gibault was much startled, and asked 
 with great concern, 
 
 " Is she affected thus often, Jeanne ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, but never before in the daytime. 
 Often at night in her dreams she sees terrible 
 things, and rouses and screams. But I soothe 
 and coax her into quiet again." 
 
 She tenderly pressed the girl s head to her 
 breast, and patted her shoulder gently till the 
 long shudders subsided. 
 
 " Poor little one ! she must have suffered some 
 frightful calamity ! Is this torpor of brain under 
 which she labors common to highly strung 
 women ? " the priest asked of the doctor, who 
 stood looking on with calm professional interest. 
 
 " No ; not common. Such cases have been 
 met with ; but among the sturdy pioneer women 
 such complete exhaustion of nervous force is rare. 
 She must have undergone terrible experiences in 
 deed to so reduce her, of which fat gue is least ! " 
 
 " Can you do nothing for her? " asked madame, 
 appealingly. 
 
THE APPARITION l8l 
 
 " No; there is nothing better than young, cheer 
 ful society to rouse her. Get her to dancing as 
 soon as she has strength. Keep her in sunshine 
 mentally and physically, and the good God, if 
 such be his intention, will make her whole again. 
 If not, then man may not." 
 
 Dr. La Fitte gently lifted the hidden face, and 
 gazed into the eyes darkly blue, with the pu 
 pils widely stretched by terror, and saw within 
 the dancing, flashing lights that point toward 
 insanity. 
 
 When the three men, Father Gibault, Dr. 
 La Fitte, and Colonel Dubois, had slipped away 
 from the jubilant, almost riotous, company at the 
 tavern, they had been followed by Clark s spy. 
 Without difficulty Lancaster managed to hide 
 himself under the green bower made by the 
 Guelder-rose, in accordance with his promise not 
 to lose any secrets they might have. In his 
 trafficking among the villagers in the Illinois 
 country, he had picked up a patois of trading 
 French, which he comprehended well as he spoke 
 it ill. This fact, coming to the knowledge of 
 Clark, had been one of the chief reasons why 
 he had been chosen for this delicate mission. 
 He was, too, the only man in the guard who 
 
1 82 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 could write, and had wit enough to perform such 
 a task. As he was not an enlisted man, he 
 could not be compelled to return, and it was 
 therefore agreed he should write a full report 
 and secrete it in Poole s saddle-bags as Clark had 
 suggested, that he might not be hindered on his 
 long journey to Detroit, where, he had definitely 
 learned while in O Poste, the Puans had gone. 
 
 Lancaster had overheard every word of their 
 harmless conference, but when they retired to the 
 other room, his wonder was excited, and he man 
 aged to get a peep into the interior. What he 
 saw there moved his heart with pity. The dying 
 girl, as he supposed her to be, recalled to him the 
 tender maid he sought, who might at that mo 
 ment be enduring torture, or worse, among 
 the savages, and his soul was inflamed with 
 passionate rage. With inexplicable emotion he 
 stared through the window, recklessly and in 
 tently, during the baptismal rite, which meant 
 little to him. Grief filled his eyes with tears; 
 pain tore at his heart ; savage plans for revenge 
 burned in his brain. So absorbed did he become 
 as the ceremony proceeded, that he was lost to 
 caution, and leaned nearer and nearer the win 
 dow, and only escaped discovery because the in 
 terest of those within was centred on the girl. 
 
THE APPARITION 183 
 
 He lost his cap, and after stooping to regain it, 
 rose upright before the window at the moment 
 Ferriby s eyes fell upon it. 
 
 So dull are our senses, so feeble our spiritual 
 vision, so in thrall to the flesh, that one more 
 mortal "comprehended not." The whips of na 
 ture lashed Lancaster into a passion of pain at 
 her cry, but could not drive him to recognition. 
 That night he proceeded on his journey to the 
 far north, heavy of heart, weighed down in spirit 
 with premonitions of failure. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A QUIET INTERVAL 
 
 AFTER the conquest of the four little French 
 towns, they constituted a sort of republic under 
 the rule of a single person, Clark, who held 
 no other commission than that of an officer of the 
 troops of Virginia. Encouraged by his success 
 here, he entertained the bold design of attacking 
 Detroit ; and he appealed again and again to the 
 governor of Virginia for soldiers, but his excel 
 lency was too deeply engaged in the Revolution 
 of the colonies to spare either men or money. 
 Clark looked each day for the enemy to fall upon 
 him and destroy him. Inaction was maddening 
 to him who had sipped the wine of victory alas ! 
 only to create a hotter thirst. He had no recourse 
 but to submit. 
 
 The Indians, however, were actively carrying on 
 relentless border-war. The American pioneers 
 fled to the nearest stockades, and their empty 
 cabins told the story of cruelty which will forever 
 brand with shame the name of Henry Hamilton. 
 
 184 
 
A QUIET INTERVAL 1 8$ 
 
 If Clark and the pioneers were troubled, not so 
 the Frenchman. He had changed his allegiance 
 so often that it had become a matter of indiffer 
 ence to him to whom nominally he owed alle 
 giance. Secretly he was unswervingly loyal to 
 his king, Louis of France. But there were 
 among them some who were actively aggressive. 
 Rochblave, the deposed commandant, was one. 
 He made the roving bands of savages his agents 
 to bear the news of the fall of the French towns 
 to Detroit, where Hamilton was in command. 
 
 Monsieur Dubois administered his office leni 
 ently, and was not too superior to his neighbors, 
 who would have laughed good-humoredly at any 
 assumption of loftiness on his part. In his home 
 the days of summer had passed with pleasant swift 
 ness. The adopted child had become one of 
 them, tenderly loved and cared for by all save 
 6lise, who never threw off her haughty coldness 
 toward Angele as she was called now altogether. 
 Nor was Elise, in truth, any too agreeable to her 
 own blood. 
 
 The affairs at the fort renamed Patrick 
 Henry went well under Captain Helm. Big 
 and good-natured he ruled his little garrison laxly, 
 and was on the best of terms with all the villagers. 
 There were no near disturbances from the Indians, 
 
1 86 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 and time passed in placid dulness. The villagers 
 observed their constantly recurring fetes, and 
 passed over the fast days in easy oversight. 
 
 St. Vrain was gone from the village the greater 
 part of the summer and was sadly missed on these 
 festive occasions. Frequent and fervent were the 
 wishes for his return. 
 
 Ferriby took little part in these festivals 
 although, plastic as new clay, which to all intents 
 she was, her past life under bond to oblivion, 
 she was fast becoming a French demoiselle in 
 speech and manner. Yet there were mute pro 
 tests of nature which tried to break through her 
 mental apathy : she could not join the dance with 
 the abandon of Suzanne ; nor attend on the wor 
 ship of the little church, on the rare occasions that 
 Father Gibault came, with the devotional ardor 
 of Jeanne ; she felt burdened by the forms and 
 ceremonies which Elise would have imposed on 
 the household but for their concerted rebellion. 
 Every day her mind expanded and revived save 
 in the faculty of memory. Warned by the priest 
 and doctor, none dared try to awaken it from its 
 intervital state. They sometimes hoped it might 
 never be. 
 
 Ferriby could now chatter easily the very good 
 French spoken in the colonel s family ; could 
 
A QUIET INTERVAL 1 87 
 
 dance with more grace than Suzanne, if not with 
 the energy. She could tell her beads with humil 
 ity, but with a faint aversion, an ancestral antip 
 athy from Scotch Presbyterian forebears. Her 
 beauty had returned, spiritualized ; her hair had 
 grown long again, but of somewhat darker color ; 
 her wasted figure had rounded into softer contours ; 
 but there was a listlessness about her yet which 
 told of a lack of vitality. She joined her foster- 
 sisters in all their pastimes, and now in the serene 
 close of summer looked forward to the cider 
 making, grape gatherings, and nuttings with 
 interest, in which all the villagers, old and young, 
 joined with hearty enjoyment. 
 
 There was one creature who disturbed her and 
 roused her distrust, the donne ! Ah-mah-nac-o 
 she had forgotten as part of her old life. Gaston 
 had a singular persistence in finding her out when 
 alone. No sooner had Jeanne, the faithful, disap 
 peared than he arose, as if by magic, at her side. 
 He troubled her with menaces for which she 
 could find no reason. She now understood what 
 his destiny was to be, and while she half pitied, 
 she wholly distrusted him, and knew the words he 
 spoke to her so wildly and secretly were not in 
 keeping with the character of the future monk or 
 priest, as he himself might elect. His hatred of 
 
1 88 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 St. Vrain was furiously unreasonable, and, to her, 
 incomprehensible; and he never failed to offer 
 intangible insult to the coureur, who esteemed him 
 beneath his notice. 
 
 " He is but a half-bred cur that one good kick 
 would settle ! " said Hilaire, contemptuously. 
 
 St. Vrain still hovered about Ferriby, abashed 
 at heart as he never thought to be, but more 
 audacious than ever to the other demoiselles in 
 her presence. He felt for her a reverence border 
 ing on adoration, but would as soon have thought 
 of making love to Saint Margaret herself. Jeal 
 ousy never troubled him, for he felt that the girl s 
 heart was as free from passion as the lovely figure 
 of the Blessed Virgin in the cathedral at Quebec. 
 
 His feeling, thus checked, did not overstep the 
 bounds of ardent devotion, though it would have 
 flamed into violent passion had the girl been less 
 cold. He never failed to see her on his return 
 from his various missions, and left her presence 
 each time groaning in spirit over his own curi 
 ous, unconquerable abashment and her artless 
 gratitude. 
 
 St. Vrain had been away so long on his last 
 journey to Detroit that he was now daily, even 
 hourly, looked for. Suzanne, whose bon cama- 
 rade he was, openly expressed the hope he 
 
A QUIET INTERVAL 189 
 
 would return in time for the cider making, which 
 would be on the coming Thursday, the last day 
 of September. 
 
 Happy and light hearted, the villagers lived for 
 the present day, and borrowed no trouble for the 
 next. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE CIDER MAKING 
 
 THE hot early days of September had gone, the 
 frost-tempered mornings and evenings had come, 
 delicately tinting the foliage of garden plants, 
 turning the great leaves of the paw-paws to golden 
 ovals, spotting its odorous fruit to purple ripeness, 
 so loved of the connoisseur; and mellowing the 
 apples in the orchard in the fumacious atmos 
 phere of autumn. It was time for the cider 
 making, a day of general jollity in which the 
 whole village joined. 
 
 St. Vrain had laughingly promised to return in 
 time for it, but he had not yet appeared, though 
 the sun was two hours high, and the boys and 
 girls were already busy in the orchard, gathering 
 the cool fragrant apples ; the boys in the trees, the 
 girls picking them up from the ground, and put 
 ting them into carts between the pauses of the 
 vigorous shaking, a bruise more or less did not 
 count in cider making. 
 
 Nearly every garden plot had a few apple trees, 
 
 190 
 
THE CIDER MAKING IQI 
 
 and many families had good-sized orchards, stretch 
 ing in long straight rows. A pretty sight they 
 were, the red apples gleaming from out the dull 
 leafage, the last to fall in the autumn, tenderly 
 cherishing the fruit from the first hard little bullet 
 up to the great scarlet sphere ; through the blast 
 ing chill of the leaf -cold, through the long drought 
 and scalding heat of August, into the rapid ma 
 turing night-chill and day-fervor of September, 
 till now the most exquisite of all juices and flavors 
 Nature stores away in her fruitage was ready to 
 express into delicious cider. 
 
 It was one of September s blue-swathed days 
 through which the sunlight filtered in aureate 
 shimmering. The air was a-quiver with tempered 
 heat, sumachs were blazing on the low hills to the 
 east ; the maples were ruddy and golden, and shone 
 out insistently from among the black-green of 
 the oaks in the forest topping the shallow heights. 
 Content and regret filled those who had a sensi 
 tive soul for beauty, who, truth to tell, were few 
 enough in that jocund company, content with 
 the present loveliness ; regret at its fugitiveness. 
 
 The clumsy wooden press was set up in the 
 corner of Monsieur Bosseron s orchard, shaded by 
 a group of pines that grew in exile there. His 
 was the largest yield of fruit, next to Colonel 
 
IQ2 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Dubois s, where the fete had been held the pre 
 vious year, therefore it was manifestly the proper 
 place to hold it this season. The cider was por 
 tioned out among them according to each man s 
 contribution of fruit; and a generous portion was 
 reserved for those who had none. A devouring 
 hopper of split oak scantlings received the loads 
 of apples. The big arm of the press, creaking 
 loud, was turned by a patient ox, and crunched 
 from them their sweet juices. The turgid fluid 
 poured in a steady stream from the spills into 
 a large trough made of a hollowed-out tree 
 trunk. 
 
 The air was saturated with a tart effluence 
 that set one slavering. Piles of brown pomace 
 began to mount near the press, which the irritable, 
 yellow-striped bees sucked at with all the delight 
 of a toper in his cups, for once satiated into good- 
 humor. They carried to the hive such store of 
 sweets the very drones hummed busily. 
 
 Loud laughter from the youths and maidens; 
 shrill screams when some apple, dropped with sly 
 intent, cracked its victim smartly on the head ; 
 threats and counter-threats passing between the 
 pickers of opposite sexes; the humming of the 
 bees; the groaning of the press combined in 
 cheerful commotion. 
 
THE CIDER MAKING 193 
 
 Ferriby, or Angele, as she was now universally 
 called, sat apart on a bench under a pear tree, 
 near Sieur Bosseron s beehives. She listened 
 with bland pleasure to the murmur of the tiny 
 laborers, and lost sight of her surroundings till 
 she was recalled by St. Vrain s robust voice joy 
 ously shouting, " Ma foi ! For once I have good 
 fortune ! " On all sides a clamor of welcome 
 arose, and a brisk fire of questions. 
 
 " Hold ! hold ! You would flood me with ques 
 tions worse than the waters of the Ouibache over 
 the Drowned Lands ! " cried the coureur. " I may 
 not say where I ve been, nor why. But I can 
 say that I am rejoiced to be with you again ; and 
 by all that s lucky, at cider making ! " 
 
 From hither and yon the young people flocked 
 to greet him, and while he was thus engaged 
 Gaston Bevard came into the orchard unnoticed 
 from an opposite quarter. His path led him 
 past Ferriby s seat, and he paused and spoke to 
 her. His abrupt manner, and the wild flash of 
 hate from his dark eye, which had found out the 
 coureur, frightened her, but she gently responded 
 to his salutation. 
 
 " I had hoped to see you once alone ! free from 
 the presence of that bete noir ! " he said bitterly. 
 " I have long determined to tell you " 
 
194 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Ferriby rose quickly and would have left him, 
 but he grasped her wrist, and forced her down 
 on the bench again, an action none noticed, so 
 engaged with the coureur were they ; even the 
 creak of the press was silent. 
 
 " No! no ! " entreated Ferriby, in a panic, "tell 
 me nothing ! " 
 
 u But I will ! " he cried violently. " I am no 
 Frenchman to fawn at women s feet; nor am I 
 English to treat them with mock chivalry. I am 
 all savage ! And I want, and will have, the woman 
 I choose ! You ! " 
 
 Ferriby shrank from him and tried to free her 
 self, but he held her fast and leaned over her, 
 devouring her with a fierce gaze. His usually 
 impassive face was quivering with passion, which 
 revolted and terrified her, and she would have 
 screamed, but his long slender hand fell upon her 
 lips. 
 
 " It is best to listen quietly ; for hear me you 
 must ! You love the forest, the quiet life among 
 the trees, I ve watched you often, and I know! 
 the broad sky, the flow of the river, the free 
 dom to wander at will. I, too, love them all all ! " 
 he cried with passionate fervor. " What are the 
 white man s narrow life and cold religion to me ? 
 I am Indian, all Indian ! My white father cared 
 
I want, and will have, the woman I choose. 
 
THE CIDER MAKING 195 
 
 no more for me than the he-wolf for its cub ! He 
 cast my mother off and forgot me ! The wilder 
 ness calls me with the far voices of my ancestors. 
 I will go to the forest many, many leagues from 
 here, and you shall go with me! There I shall 
 forget my cursed white blood. There I will no 
 more be scorned for my mother s blood. Her fate 
 she could not help ! Curses on them, one and 
 all, those pale usurpers ! " 
 
 A mixture of hate and rage distorted his hand 
 some features, and he uttered imprecations scarcely 
 above a whisper. His mood was the more fright 
 ful for its repression. Ferriby gazed into his face, 
 so spellbound by his fury that she could now 
 neither scream nor move if she would. 
 
 " This night I will go, and you will go with 
 me!" 
 
 " Father Gibault the church - " she stam 
 mered thickly. 
 
 " To the hell of the white man with both ! The 
 gods of the forest and stream are mine ! I hate 
 the canting goodness of the priest, the narrow 
 bounds of the church ! The God I would have 
 is he whose habitation is in the vastness of the 
 forest ; whose voice in gentleness whispers among 
 the tender leaves in spring, murmurs in the low 
 waters; in anger, thunders from the clouds, and 
 
196 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 roars from the mighty winds ! This puny white 
 man s God ! Ugh ! I ll have none of him ! " 
 
 All the pent-up mutiny of his soul had burst 
 bounds and rushed forth untrammelled. 
 
 Ferriby still gazed into his passion-kindled face, 
 while fear of him widened the pupils of her eyes, 
 and made her face pale. 
 
 Suddenly he looked with inexpressible hate 
 toward the crowd about St. Vrain. His glance 
 removed, the spell snapped, Ferriby could speak. 
 
 " I cannot go ! Loose me ! " she pleaded in a 
 low voice. 
 
 He turned to her fully again ; his reply was 
 fierce and loud : 
 
 " Go you shall ! I swear it by the Manitou of 
 my mother s tribe, and by the unpitying God of 
 your race ! Go you shall ! " 
 
 " Go ? Yes ; by all means, ma m selle, while 
 the cider runs clearest. But why, Gaston, roar so 
 ordinary a request ? " 
 
 St.Vrain smiled with devilish maliciousness and 
 unveiled mockery, which maddened the donne, 
 who, frenzied, would have dragged the girl to her 
 feet and fled with her then. 
 
 " Savage fool ! Loose the girl, or, by Heaven, 
 you ll bite the earth!" 
 
 The two men stared steadily at each other like 
 
THE CIDER MAKING 197 
 
 a pair of fierce catamounts, tensely ready to 
 spring, when Ferriby s voice caused them to fall 
 back a step. 
 
 " Don t ! oh, don t ! " she cried. " Both leave 
 me!" 
 
 St. Vrain turned his back upon the donne, 
 strong contempt in the very act, and said : 
 " Pardon, ma m selle ! You are right ! This is not 
 the place for a quarrel. May I conduct you to 
 your sisters ? " 
 
 She arose with such swift alacrity that Bevard 
 scowled ; they walked away, leaving him looking 
 malignantly after them. 
 
 " Say nothing ! " murmured Ferriby to the 
 coureur. 
 
 " As you command, ma m selle ! " he replied. 
 
 All day long the cider-mill groaned; all day 
 long the boys and girls frolicked. The great 
 hogsheads frothed to the brim. The last apple 
 had been gathered. The youths and maidens 
 were now dancing, weaving in and out, falling 
 into figures like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, 
 then were as suddenly separated and as formless. 
 The dance was done. They moved off in groups 
 and couples to slake their thirst. Pewter mugs 
 brimming with the liquor passed from hand to 
 
198 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 hand, and it was sipped daintily or swallowed in 
 great gulps. Ferriby and St. Vrain stood to 
 gether. He had unobtrusively watched over her 
 since her encounter of the morning, with Bevard. 
 They stood aloof from the jostling, laughing 
 crowd, awaiting a quiet chance, when they saw 
 Gaston approaching them. He bore in either 
 hand a mug of cider, bubbled like opals. The 
 third and fourth fingers of his right hand were 
 pressed close under the palm, a cup was held in 
 the others. He paused, and, with an attempt at 
 graciousness, said, 
 
 " M am selle Angele, will you and Monsieur, 
 the Coureur, drink with me as a token of pardon 
 for my offences of the morning ? " 
 
 " With all the pleasure in life," agreed St. Vrain, 
 heartily, before Ferriby could answer. And he 
 relieved Gaston of the cup in his right hand, and 
 turned to present it to her. Instead of looking at 
 St. Vrain she regarded Bevard with the same fasci 
 nated gaze of the morning, and she saw his right 
 hand raised, as if to brush back a long lock that 
 had fallen over his forehead. As it swept over 
 the cup destined for St. Vrain, his folded fingers 
 straightened. The sun shone in broad slanting 
 rays, as it was fast declining, and in the shining 
 light she saw a fine dust, like motes, sift down 
 
THE CIDER MAKING 199 
 
 into the cider. She leaned forward to take the 
 mug from St. Vrain and lurched, as if her foot 
 had rolled upon a pebble, against the donne, 
 knocking the cup he held from his hand. 
 
 He stared with undisguised ferocity at the girl, 
 and her face lost every vestige of color except 
 for the black horror of her eyes. St. Vrain 
 looked from one to the other, guessed shrewdly, 
 dashed the cider into Gaston s face, and said with 
 infinite contempt : 
 
 " Would you ? Untamed savage ! " 
 
 He seized Ferriby s arm and almost dragged 
 her away. 
 
 Old Mous-wah s banewort had been wasted 1 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE GRAPE GATHERING 
 
 THE forest had decked itself in its gaudiest color 
 ing, crimson and yellow flashed from masses of 
 green and brown. In the river bottoms the 
 purple grapes, dulled by an exquisite bloom, were 
 bursting with juices. The wild bees were already 
 stabbing them, token that it was fully time to 
 gather them for the wine making. The place 
 where they grew thickest, a low terrace on the 
 river, five or six miles south of O Poste, was the 
 spot fixed upon by the villagers for the annual 
 grape gathering. 
 
 A motley collection of water craft lay on the 
 river, jarring against each other, pulling at their 
 ropes like restive horses, tossing like cockle-shell 
 by the force of the current, just under the 
 palisades of the fort. The low bank on the 
 opposite shore was filled with Indians watching 
 the embarkation ; for nearly the whole town 
 would be of the company. A guard at the post 
 and a few feeble folk would be left behind. 
 
 200 
 
THE GRAPE GATHERING 2OI 
 
 It was mid October. The frost, which had held 
 off wonderfully, had touched but lightly with its 
 searing chill the maples and sweet gum, so that 
 they glowed brilliantly; the leathery ovals of the 
 paw-paws were golden in the bottoms. " Good-by- 
 to-summer " lent to the passing of autumn its 
 lovely milk-blue bloom in airy clusters. Near by 
 nodded the stately milkweed whose gay pink pom 
 pons of florets had turned to silvery filaments 
 bursting from pale green pods shaped like little 
 canoes, which were casting abroad on gossamer 
 wings scalelike seeds. The fuzzy brown tops of 
 the ironweed but a little while ago flaunting 
 the kingly color showered its motile harvest. 
 All blent in motley. 
 
 The villagers came from every direction, the 
 young maidens bearing dainty baskets woven of 
 withes from the willows now tossing slim arms 
 jauntily, as if bidding them bon voyage ; the elder 
 women carrying large substantial ones of hickory 
 splints, which the Indians made so deftly, and 
 which would hold all of a bushel. 
 
 As is the rule with crowds, the first comers, 
 though tarrying late, shortly drew the others, and 
 very soon the whole company had gathered and 
 were aboard the batteaux ; canoes safe for one, 
 doubtful, but altogether delightful, for two and 
 
202 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 cunning little pirogues that snugly held a couple, 
 by some strange ordering of chance, of opposite 
 sexes. 
 
 Even the donne was present, and sat apart, 
 morose and silent, as if waiting for some one. 
 Not far off the lively voice of the coureur was 
 heard chaffing a lover and his lass who had skil 
 fully eluded the family batteau, and shipped to 
 gether in the frailest of crafts. 
 
 St. Vrain was bubbling over with liveliness, 
 but he was not too much engaged to keep an eye 
 on Gaston, and knew by instinct why he waited 
 so moodily. 
 
 " No, no, my friend," he said to himself, " I 
 think a birch-bark canoe fitter for so fair a pas 
 senger than that clumsy tree trunk of thine ! 
 Trust St. Vrain to give passage to the fairest 
 voyageur afloat this morning ! " 
 
 Only one batteau, rather better than the others, 
 remained to be laden. The company waited with 
 a little impatience for its passengers to arrive. 
 They had hardly expressed their wonder at the 
 delay, and guessed at the reason, when the delin 
 quents appeared down the dusty cart-track, pere, 
 mere, and demoiselles Dubois in holiday humor. 
 
 Monsieur was condescending and stately, for 
 he could not quite forget; his position ; madame 
 
THE GRAPE GATHERING 2O3 
 
 was flushed with hurry ; Elise, cold and rather 
 scorning it all ; Jeanne, disrelishing and shrinking 
 from the loud jollity, to which new impetus was 
 given by their appearance ; Suzanne, cheerful 
 and gay as the cricket that chirruped in the grass, 
 enjoying all with the fervor of youth. Lastly 
 came Angele, listless and dreamy, as if she saw 
 the scene through a maze, which she tried to 
 brush aside as she did the long glistening webs 
 floating everywhere in the moist air. 
 
 " What ! Gaston Bevard did leave his books 
 long enough to go on so worldly an outing ! " 
 exclaimed Suzanne, as she saw him rapidly haul 
 in his log canoe to the river s margin, in the hope, 
 as she had divined, of having Angele for a pas 
 senger, and of touching her hand as he helped 
 her into the rocking boat. Small reverence had 
 saucy Suzanne for the priest s pupil, and little 
 confidence in his piety. 
 
 " It is not forbidden a donne to gather grapes, 
 ma m selle," he said sullenly. 
 
 " No ; nor figs from thistles, if he can," she 
 retorted quickly, and with such significance his 
 brown cheek reddened, and his oddly changing 
 eyes flashed fire upon her. " But he will be sadly 
 pricked if he try, and get nothing more for his 
 pains ! " she persisted. 
 
204 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 St. Vrain, too, had approached, and smiled 
 broadly at Suzanne s audacious moralizing, and 
 with a dexterous pull brought his light birch bark 
 ashore just as madame attempted to board the 
 batteau and lurched forward, barely missing a 
 fall. With a bound he was aboard it and, before 
 the eyes of the chagrined donne, assisted all the 
 ladies of the commandant s household to their 
 places. 
 
 Monsieur Dubois s batteau was manned by six 
 stout panis, and soon shot out mid-stream, then 
 all the rest followed in an irregular line. 
 
 It was a morning of exquisite qualities, mist- 
 wrapped, sweet-breathed. The sun had scarcely 
 risen above the first tier of low hills far to the 
 east, and the azure haze of Indian summer 
 wrapped the earth tenderly. In the great blue 
 sky little white clouds floated lightly as owls 
 feathers. The air, exhilarating by the slight frost 
 overnight, was odorous with bitter incense of the 
 dying foliage. Far to the west stretched the still 
 prairie, and at the remotest skyline moving dots 
 told of grazing buffalo. As the fleet passed on 
 its way, the blue cranes rose in flight with a harsh 
 cry, disturbed in their sedgy solitudes. Now and 
 then a great pike, intent on getting his breakfast, 
 leaped high at a dragon-fly, missed his aim, and 
 
THE GRAPE GATHERING 2O5 
 
 fell floundering into some boat, whereupon burst 
 out loud girlish screams. 
 
 In a little more than an hour the company 
 reached their destination, a flat stretch of bot 
 tom-land, opposite where a little creek joined the 
 Ouibache. 
 
 Long before they arrived at the spot, the moist 
 southern breeze effumed a winey tincture from 
 nature s own vintry. It acted on them like new 
 wine. The spirits of the young grew riotous; 
 and the slow blood of the elders was pleasantly 
 stirred. The coureur broke into Bacchic chan 
 son: 
 
 " The grape, the grape ! It gives us wine, 
 It gives us love, it gives us joy, 
 And to the soldier courage brings, 
 To die, to die ! 
 
 " Then sing, then sing the praise of wine 
 That cheers us in our hours of pain, 
 And bids the heart that longs for death, 
 To live, to live ! " 
 
 They quickly made a landing and mounted the 
 shallow bank to the higher grounds, where the 
 grapes grew thickest; it was a narrow stretch 
 like the top of a terrace. At one time the stream 
 had evidently held its course there, and had 
 receded into its present channel. Tokens that it 
 
206 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 had tried to claim its own again, were found in 
 great limbs lodged in unlikely places, and in piles 
 of drift-wood stayed by tough shrubs. Back of 
 this plateau the hills sprang steep and high, 
 dusky and sombre in the shadowing of pines 
 and balsam firs, carpeted thick by variegated 
 mosses, beautified by vines and ferns. 
 
 Suzanne, in wild spirits, made a dash for the 
 highest hilltop, followed by a half-score of her 
 mates. They toiled and panted, slipped and 
 struggled up the steep sides, the girls helped by 
 the strong, eager youths, glad of the chance to be 
 so near to the coy maidens who ordinarily held 
 them at arm s length. Many a sturdy arm cir 
 cled many a coveted waist ; many a large tanned 
 hand clasped a little browned one, with a great 
 thump of joy at the heart of the lad whose mem 
 bers happened to be thus happily placed. Their 
 progress was dilatory for more than one reason, 
 but at last the summit was gained. 
 
 Angele arrived tardily. She was attended on 
 either hand by Gaston and St. Vrain, much to 
 her distress ; for she wished the company of 
 neither, especially in their present mood one of 
 bitter sullenness on the part of the donn, and 
 of biting malice on that of the coureur. Between 
 the two she suffered as many another woman has, 
 
THE GRAPE GATHERING 2O/ 
 
 without any tangible means of putting an end to 
 the situation. She was not a coquette, with that 
 wilful creature s enjoyment of such rivalry. If 
 she took notice, it would imply undue vanity; 
 she must endure in silence. 
 
 Before them spread a scene of enchanting 
 beauty. The stately, solemn river lay glittering 
 under the morning sun. On the opposite shore 
 the low hills followed the sinuous stream, verdant 
 with the second growth of luxurious grasses that 
 spring up after the October rains in this plenteous 
 land, pied with the garish tints of autumn foliage. 
 Mellow sunlight lay over all, and dispersed the 
 film of blue vapor, banishing it to trie far distance, 
 where, quivering, it hung, shutting off the vista. 
 Even these thoughtless young people were awed 
 into silence. Their chatter ceased. As they 
 gazed, its pensive spell caught them, and they 
 felt the deep yearning for the Great Mother 
 which comes over her children in her solitudes. 
 
 All at once the charm was broken by the jocund 
 coureur. 
 
 " Men and maidens all," he cried, " who s for a 
 race down this hill, the goal to be that clump of 
 paw-paws ? " 
 
 He stood below them on a little level space, 
 and pointed down a steep, smooth slope, which 
 
208 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 ended within a few paces of the river s brink. It 
 instantly caught their fancy. 
 
 They clambered down where he stood. At a 
 wave of his cap they were off, except three, Gas- 
 ton, Jeanne, and Angele, who watched their 
 flight as they rushed on with ever increasing 
 velocity, seemingly unable to control their speed. 
 
 Ferriby s eyes brightened with sudden and un 
 usual pleasure. The wild sport seemed to waken 
 some latent memory. She laughed softly and 
 clapped her hands, and before Jeanne could grasp 
 her intention, or clutch a fold of her gown, she, too, 
 was off fleetly as a doe ! Jeanne, fearful for her, 
 rushed after to catch her. But Ferriby, who had 
 enjoyed many a mad race with her little brother, 
 was as sure-footed as she was fleet, and reached 
 the goal, panting, brilliantly flushed, her hair 
 roughened by her swift passage through the air, 
 safe and sound, within two yards of the low bank 
 directly under which the water stood deep and 
 still. 
 
 Jeanne, unused to the swift running many girls 
 delight in, lost all control of herself, and dashed 
 with ungoverned speed down the slope, to plunge 
 headlong into the river. She flung up an arm, 
 and sank like a stone under the green water. 
 The elders of the company had dispersed to 
 
THE GRAPE GATHERING 209 
 
 gather the grapes. The younger stood transfixed, 
 appalled. After an instant of frozen inaction, 
 St. Vrain flung off his leather jerkin and mocca 
 sins, and dived into the stream. The loud splash 
 he made woke the others from their trance of 
 horror. Once, twice, thrice, the pale face of the 
 girl arose above the water. The coureur snatched 
 at her and missed. The third time he caught the 
 long hair which had loosed, and swimming out of 
 reach of her desperately clutching hands, with 
 one hand he dragged her ashore. The cries and 
 screams of the young people had brought the 
 vintagers quickly on the scene. 
 
 The women were for returning home at once, 
 but unselfish Jeanne, who bravely rallied, begged 
 them not to shorten the day s pleasure. A huge 
 fire was built of drift-wood at which Jeanne and 
 St. Vrain dried their clothing, the coureur making 
 light of his dripping apparel. One and another 
 of the women spared Jeanne a garment, and soon 
 all were composed again, but a shadow had fallen 
 over their merriment 
 
 Monsieur Dubois dropped his dignity, and with 
 tearful eyes, again and again thanked St. Vrain. 
 Madame threw an arm about his neck and kissed 
 him on both cheeks, which, with pleasing simplic 
 ity, he accepted heartily and unabashed. Ferriby 
 
2IO ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 looked on somewhat out of sympathy with the 
 effusiveness of this scene, yet quite as thankful as 
 the others. Near her stood Bevard, a cold sneer 
 on his lips, his Indian nature uppermost. 
 
 " Tis much ado over a girl ! " he scoffed. " Here 
 again we are in sympathy. You scorn this ex 
 hibition of weakness as I do ! " he muttered 
 disdainfully. Yet his white blood whispered 
 tauntingly to him of the immense advantage the 
 coureur had gained with the Duboises by his 
 heroism. 
 
 The afternoon passed without further mishap, 
 and at sunset they made ready for the homeward 
 voyage. The half-moon was riding in the south 
 ern sky, like a pale shade, its faint silver out- 
 lustred by the fierce crimson of the declining 
 sun, now resting on the horizon. Nature watched 
 in silence the parting of these orbs. A breath of 
 south wind scarcely rippled the great breast of the 
 stream, or stirred the nude pendants of the wil 
 lows. The sun dropped, waving upward broad, 
 blood-red pennons which ensanguined the pale 
 east. Impressible by nature, easily moved by 
 beauty, the villagers watched the world-old spec 
 tacle with solemn pleasure, some with a prayer 
 at heart ; some with a smile on the lips ; some 
 with a joy like pain. A flock of homing black- 
 
THE GRAPE GATHERING 211 
 
 birds, with a loud clatter like cymbals, broke the 
 contemplative silence. With sharply indrawn 
 breath, they turned their thoughts earthward. 
 They loaded the boats with the fragrant black 
 grapes, and the fleet was soon off, save two canoes, 
 close together, well out in the stream. 
 
 Madame, solicitous for Jeanne, paid no especial 
 attention to the rest of her flock, and the Dubois 
 batteau set off among the first. Suzanne had inten 
 tionally eluded her mother to go home in company 
 with some gay young people. On the shore, over 
 looked, stood Ferriby, who had waited like a docile 
 child to be given place, and was left behind. 
 
 The owners of the two canoes, one of birch- 
 bark, the other a basswood log, saw, and deter 
 mined to seize upon this chance so strangely 
 given them. At the same instant they started 
 toward Ferriby. The birch-bark canoe flew 
 silently as a feather dropped from the plumage of 
 a high-sailing bird ; the basswood pirogue noisily 
 cut the water like a big racing fish, and came on 
 almost as rapidly. Instead of keeping on to the 
 shore, Bevard changed his course, and jammed 
 his heavy pirogue against the stern of the frail 
 canoe, with a vicious glance over his shoulder. 
 
 St. Vrain, quick of eye, and quick of motion, 
 with instinct as acute as an animal s, read his 
 
212 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 murderous intention. With a jeering laugh he 
 whirled his boat about, and Bevard crashed vio 
 lently into the bank and stuck there. Not losing 
 an instant, St. Vrain was alongside the log used 
 for a landing, and said : 
 
 " Ma m selle Angele, I cannot permit you to go 
 home with such a savage. My canoe, as you 
 know, will hold two. Come ! " 
 
 It was the same little boat in which Ferriby, 
 cradled like a babe, had been carried to Manette 
 Tache s. She did not hesitate, for she, too, had 
 read aright the evil purpose of the donne, with even 
 more thorough comprehension than the coureur. 
 
 Bevard was wholly savage in that he could not 
 easily laugh ; and the laugh of the coureur lashed 
 him to the quick. A blow from the fist he could 
 have returned, but the pitiless jeers of St. Vrain 
 left him writhing. 
 
 As Ferriby and St. Vrain rowed away in the 
 dun twilight, the coureur called out gayly to 
 Bevard, who, ferociously angry, was tugging furi 
 ously to loose the sharp nose of his canoe from 
 the suctorial mud : 
 
 " I would speak with you to-night at the tavern, 
 mon gar$on ! " He listened for an answer, but none 
 came. He only heard from far up the stream the 
 joyous singing of the homeward-bound villagers. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE COUREUR S OPPORTUNITY 
 
 WHEN the coureur s strong pulling had carried 
 them out of hearing of Bevard, though not into 
 sight of the others, he felt that Providence had 
 provided an opportunity for which he had long 
 and timorously hoped. 
 
 Aside from saving Ferriby from perishing in 
 the forest, he had twice rescued her from the im 
 portunities, or worse, of the savage donne, and his 
 interest in her deepened daily. In the love affairs 
 of such a man as St. Vrain, rivalry gives an im 
 mense impetus. Under its stimulus what was 
 at first mere benevolence rushes headlong into 
 passion. In this last encounter with Bevard his 
 feelings had reached a climax, and must find ex 
 pression. It was not his first grande passion, by 
 any means. He had exhausted many, fleeting 
 and gross. This was tender and pure. Yet a 
 timidity he could not account for kept him silent. 
 His natural boldness had deserted him and left 
 him abashed. Perhaps it was due to the juvenil 
 ity of the heart of the young girl, to whom all 
 
 213 
 
214 O N THE WE^A TRAIL 
 
 maidenly blandishments and fancies seemed un 
 known. Perhaps it was an unfamiliar sense of 
 unworthiness, a tribute to her vestal purity, that 
 tied his glib tongue and kept him silent. Words 
 huddled on his lips like frightened sheep and 
 refused to move. 
 
 Ferriby sat gazing on the dimming sky in 
 une douce et molle reverie, une nonchalance poet- 
 ique, " a gentle and soft revery, a poetic heed- 
 lessness." All the agitation roused by the 
 donne was soothed by the sympathetic, restful, 
 bland mood of nature told by the gentle lapping 
 of the stream, the low twitter of sleepy birds, the 
 placid quiet of the twilit hour. Presently she 
 spoke softly, in keeping with it all : 
 
 " Monsieur, you seem always to be my cham 
 pion. How can I say more than that I trust and 
 love you ? " and she looked at him with innocent 
 confidence. 
 
 " The purest homage of my heart is yours for 
 ever, ma m selle ! " he cried ardently. 
 
 She looked at him with startled surprise, like 
 a child suddenly shouted at. It seemed a kind 
 of shock to hear him speak with such warmth. 
 
 " You love me ! Ah, my pure one, you do not 
 know what the love of woman is for man, nor 
 his for her." 
 
THE COUREUR S OPPORTUNITY 215 
 
 Then he said to himself: " Bah, fool! You 
 speak to an infant ! " Aloud : " You trust me ! 
 Such words make me your champion forever." 
 
 " Do you know, Hilaire, may I call you so 
 now you are so dear to me? more dear than 
 Suzanne. Yes, even more dear than Jeanne, my 
 good angel." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " said St. Vrain, overcome with 
 emotion. " It never sounded sweet to me before. 
 Always call me so, Angele, and I will be happy." 
 
 " I was beginning to tell you, Hilaire, that of 
 late I have dim memories of those for whom I 
 yearn, oh yes, till my heart aches and the tears 
 fall. But, oh, Hilaire, it kills me ; I cannot recall 
 them to me. I cannot see their faces. Some 
 times I see dim forms ; and I hear faint voices 
 too, so far off I cannot tell where they are, but I 
 think I must have known them once. But 
 whose, Hilaire ? You tell me," she said be 
 seechingly. " You brought me to O Poste ; oh, 
 can t you can t you tell me ? This day 
 when I ran down the hill a little, little shadow 
 went before me. I could almost grasp it with 
 my hand, but it faded into the river." 
 
 " Her memory is awakening," thought St. 
 Vrain, much troubled. " What will it bring ? I 
 dread to think." Then he said : 
 
2l6 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " M amie, who would tell you all sooner than 
 Hilaire, if he could?" 
 
 " Sometimes my thoughts come up against a 
 something like a baffling wall ; if I could only 
 mount it, beyond would be revealed all I so long 
 to know. Can t you help me, Hilaire ? " she 
 said piteously. 
 
 u Le bon Dieu knows I would, dear one, if I 
 too could see the wall. But alas ! it exists not 
 for St. Vrain. I may yet be led to it. Then my 
 help will be all yours." 
 
 This seemed to satisfy her, and after a few 
 moments she observed : 
 
 "I do not tell these things to Jeanne; it 
 troubles her, and makes her spend whole nights 
 on her knees. Nor to Suzanne ; she only jests 
 about it. Elise would scorn me, and call me 
 imbecile. No ; only to you, Hilaire, I feel I 
 can tell all my thoughts. For you are kind and 
 gentle, and listen to me without grief or laugh 
 ing or scorning." 
 
 It was a most moving confidence, a most art 
 less bestowal of trust, and it bound the coureur 
 to her with even stronger ties of fealty. But pas 
 sion withered in him under the chill of this ingen 
 uous avowal of a pure and passionless affection, 
 this childlike reliance on his brotherly love. He 
 
THE COUREUR S OPPORTUNITY 21 7 
 
 felt with the prescience and pain of a lover that 
 if passion had ever possessed her heart, it was 
 not, nor ever would be, because of him. 
 
 They were now in sight of the fort, and a few 
 strong strokes brought him among the last 
 loiterers, young people, paired as innocently as 
 doves. Angele s absence had not been discov 
 ered, evidently, and in the confusion of debark 
 ing it was never known. 
 
 St. Vrain clasped her hand tenderly at parting, 
 and said softly, 
 
 " Remember, m amie, you may always trust 
 your devoted Hilaire." 
 
 "Always, my dear good champion!" she 
 answered gently, then walked homeward with 
 the rest. 
 
 St. Vrain looked after her sorrowfully and mur 
 mured to himself: 
 
 " She hath the innocence of a child in matters 
 of love ! * Adieux trop malheureux et trop par- 
 fait passion / 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 AT THE TAVERN 
 
 THAT night the tavern was unusually lively. 
 Old Jean Blieu, the tapster, could hardly fill the 
 pewter mugs fast enough with tafHa, peach 
 brandy, and sour red wine. A great fire freshly 
 fed with green hickory logs, from which the 
 sweet sap stewed, blazed in licking tongues of 
 flame. A delicious fragrance went up from the 
 apple-toddy simmering on the hearth, profaned 
 by the reek of tobacco. 
 
 The talk going forward was unusually brisk 
 and lively. The habitues of the tavern could 
 not hope to join the haut ton of the village 
 in the grape gathering, but they might pick up 
 stray fruitage afterward, in the guise of gossip. 
 They thirsted more to hear the minutest detail 
 of the day s adventures than for their cups. Old 
 cronies at ecarte had dropped their cards for the 
 time. The billiard-balls on the two tables at the 
 far end of the big room were not clicking as 
 usual, but lay at wide distances, while the players 
 
 218 
 
AT THE TAVERN 2IQ 
 
 leaned upon their cues, eagerly listening to Felix 
 Lutrell relating the story of the day; elated at 
 being, thus vicariously, a hero. 
 
 In the midst of it all entered St. Vrain, affable 
 and unflagging. " Chut ! Mon enfant," he cried 
 to Felix, " you do but spew out loppered milk ! 
 Speak of something fresh ! Come, my friends 
 all ! drink to the success of my voyage ; for to 
 morrow I set out again for Detroit, or who 
 knows where ? Hein ? It is a long and weari 
 some journey. Come ! come ! drink ! " 
 
 He filled a mug with taffia, and burst into 
 uproarious song : 
 
 " And let me the canakin clink, clink ; 
 And let me the canakin clink : 
 
 A soldier s a man ; 
 
 A life s but a span ; 
 Then let the soldier drink." 
 
 A long gurgle followed as a refrain, for there 
 were no refusals to drink to the coureur s health. 
 When every lip had a cup at it, when every head 
 was tipped back to drain the last drop, the donne 
 came in. 
 
 " Just in time, my good friend, just in time to 
 drink my health, and to the success of the long 
 journey I am about to undertake," called out St. 
 Vrain, with mocking urbanity. With all eyes 
 
220 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 upon him, for even these good, stupid folk be 
 gan to see that the donne and the coureur loved 
 not each other overly well, though they knew 
 not why, Gaston had not the courage to re 
 fuse ; so that he drank at one gulp, with a grim 
 ace, a glass of fiery peach brandy. 
 
 "Was t so bitter, mon ami," jeered St. Vrain, 
 " that thy lips curled at it ? I fear twill not be 
 thy bitterest dose, mon gar9on ! " 
 
 The coureur delighted in baiting the donn, 
 and Bevard stood glaring at him ferociously as an 
 animal at bay. The rustics gaped at them, but 
 they failed to probe to the heart of the matter. 
 They perceived that the quick stabs of the cou 
 reur went home, though the weapon was invisible. 
 The priest s pupil was liked but little ; for was 
 not he of the despised Indian blood, and worse, 
 of the hated English ; a waif, on their charity 
 since birth ? Alas for those reared by the hard 
 hand of Charity, she leaves a brand that invites 
 the mean disdain of the small, and the conde 
 scending favor of the great ! 
 
 But St. Vrain, a reckless dare-devil, who every 
 day risked life with a gay quip at its possible 
 ending, was the favorite of all. He might carry 
 despatches from the commandant at O Poste 
 to the English governor at Detroit, but what 
 
AT THE TAVERN 221 
 
 of it ? Should a time come when he could as 
 sert himself to some purpose, he would be found 
 one of them a Frenchman ! Loyal to the core 
 to his countrymen ! 
 
 St. Vrain s song, St. Vrain s mad spirits, roused 
 them all to tumultuous jollity. 
 
 In the midst of an uproarious chorus were two 
 arrivals. Gradually a silence fell upon them, 
 broken by fuddled snatches of song or tipsy hic 
 coughs. And every eye appraised the new 
 comers. Aye, many doubted them ! the coming 
 of strangers to that out-of-the-way place was 
 always enormously significant ! 
 
 One they soon classed. He was the servant of 
 the other, who was not so easily ranked. The 
 master might be a French officer in disguise. 
 
 That he was a Frenchman they all agreed. 
 He carried himself with an air of authority and 
 distinction emphasized by his garb of an elegance 
 not usual in the wilderness, which gave grounds 
 for their surmises. He gave orders to the land 
 lord with a haughty air, and even requested St. 
 Vrain in no gentle tones to relieve him of his 
 capote. With a grimace and wink to the com 
 pany, the coureur took it off with such a flourish 
 that the corner slapped smartly into the owner s 
 face. 
 
222 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " Sacre ! fellow, would you blind me ? " he 
 demanded fiercely. 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur ! I am not used to serving 
 as a lackey, and am overly awkward ! " With a bow 
 of mock deference he added, " I am only Hilaire 
 Boniface Louis St. Vrain, at your service ! " 
 
 But in such surprising manner was his an 
 nouncement received that he stopped midway in 
 his deep genuflection to stare ; for the man s face 
 had taken on a comical blending of obsequious 
 ness and embarrassment. Quickly recovering his 
 composure, the stranger demanded sharply : 
 
 " Can you prove that to be true ? " 
 
 It was the coureur s turn to be astonished, and 
 he stared harder than ever. 
 
 " Prove it ! Why, every man from La Belle 
 Riviere to Quebec knows Hilaire St. Vrain, the 
 coureur de bois. Ask Father Gibault, ask the 
 commandant, ask Monsieur Dubois, ask Sieur 
 Vigo, ask any one here ! Who else should I be ? 
 Hein ? " 
 
 " Does he speak truly, landlord ? " asked the 
 stranger, appealing to old Landais, who stood 
 aloof, grinning and rubbing his hands over the 
 unusual interest of the occasion, and the notoriety 
 it would give his house. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Certainly ! I have it from no less 
 
AT THE TAVERN 223 
 
 than Pere Gibault himself, who knew the lad in 
 Quebec, when he came in the train of the Comte 
 de Foret ! " 
 
 " Well, then, monsieur, I would speak privately 
 with you," said the stranger, turning to St. Vrain 
 with an air of great respect. " Landlord, an 
 apartment ! " he ordered superciliously. 
 
 " With me aside ? No, no ! These are my 
 friends. You ll speak here ! " 
 
 "What! before these bourgeois, these ca 
 naille ! on a subject of such grave importance ? " 
 
 " Aye ; speak here, or not at all ! " persisted 
 St. Vrain, stubbornly ; " they are my friends ! " 
 
 " I have no choice. If I must, I must ! " The 
 stranger seated himself at a table decorated with 
 sundry wet rings, and motioned his servant to 
 fetch him the leather saddle-bags he carried. 
 From one side he drew several legal-looking* 
 documents, some of old yellow parchment, some 
 of fair new, tied into neat packets with red strings. 
 
 He selected from among them a letter with 
 the seal carefully cut around. At sight of this 
 seal St. Vrain, who had followed all his move 
 ments coolly, started and changed countenance, 
 from red to palest tan. 
 
 His friends, eagerly watching every move, 
 grew r fearful, and drew closer about him. 
 
224 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 " What the devil had St. Vrain been up to ? " 
 
 " Was the daring rogue to be torn from them 
 and carried to prison ? No, no ! Hilaire s friends 
 would never permit that ! " they speculated 
 inwardly. The stranger waved them back. 
 
 With deliberation and portentous gravity he 
 opened the crackling parchment, the tipplers 
 meanwhile wondering whether the coureur were to 
 be shot or hanged ; surely, such gravity meant one 
 or t other! Every eye was painfully fixed on 
 the stranger ; every ear cruelly strained to catch 
 the first word. Not a sound was heard but the 
 "cluck" of the clock at five minutes of nine; 
 and the sputter of the brew of apple-toddy now 
 foaming over on the coals, sending out a stifling 
 cloud of the smoke from burned sugar and 
 brandy. 
 
 Enjoying his importance to the utmost, the 
 stranger prolonged the suspense beyond endur 
 ance. At last St. Vrain burst out impatiently: 
 
 "Sir, if you have ought to say to me, speak at 
 once, for I must be gone." 
 
 "At your command, sir! You are Hilaire 
 Boniface Louis St. Vrain ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Third son of Antoine Ren Charles St. 
 Vrain, Comte de Boisvert ? " 
 
AT THE TAVERN 225 
 
 All eyes rolled from the speaker as he paused, 
 toward St. Vrain, with redoubled interest; for 
 even in that obscure spot a title had a pleasing 
 sound, a certain worth. 
 
 " As I have said ! " the coureur briefly answered. 
 
 " Who came from France in 1 76- in the train 
 of the Comte de Foret ? " 
 
 " The same ! " impatiently. 
 
 " Then, monsieur, I would have you read this 
 document," handing it to St. Vrain. 
 
 The coureur stumblingly read it half through, 
 laboring mightily over the hard words, for he was 
 but a poor scholar. It told him in the circumlo 
 cution of law terms that his father was dead, and, 
 failing other heirs, both older sons having hon 
 orably departed this life, one in the Seven Years 
 War, the other in a duel, that he, Hilaire Boni 
 face Louis St. Vrain, was heir to the title and 
 estates of his late father. 
 
 St. Vrain showed nothing of grief; he only 
 seemed a trifle more serious as he folded the 
 rustling parchment. 
 
 He had run off to America, now ten years 
 gone, with other wild youths of the noblesse who 
 had followed the fortunes of le Comte de Foret; 
 he scarcely knew his father, a soldier; and between 
 himself and his brothers there was small good-will ; 
 
226 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 they were sons of different mothers, and his own 
 had died in his childhood. He had hardly 
 expected such a ticket from Fortune s wheel, and 
 it made him feel strangely regretful for what 
 might have been. He broke the silence of the 
 curious crowd by saying to the stranger, 
 
 " May I ask, monsieur, who you are, and how 
 you came into possession of these family papers ? " 
 
 The man briefly explained that he was a notary 
 from Quebec, Baptiste Vaquette, and he had been 
 induced by interested persons (for a not trifling 
 consideration, he omitted to say) to undertake the 
 tremendous task of searching for the heir through 
 the trails of the Great Wilderness. After six 
 months of wandering hither and yon, he had at 
 last, by the exercise of his unerring sagacity, come 
 upon the coureur s trail at Detroit, where he had 
 got his clew from the beastly English. 
 
 At this splenetic expression St. Vrain s face 
 showed shame ; for it told him forcibly how far 
 beneath his noble birth the notary esteemed him 
 to have fallen to have become a despatch bearer 
 to his hereditary enemies ! And he felt it indeed to 
 be true. 
 
 None were more pleased at his good fortune 
 than his cronies at the tavern. They crowded 
 about him, crushing his hands in their strong 
 
AT THE TAVERN 22 7 
 
 grip, the more mellowed by their frequent drams, 
 kissing him with loud smacks on both cheeks. 
 
 Gaston Bevard only stood apart, with envy, 
 hate and malice gnawing at his heart. There 
 was malison in the flaming of his fierce eye that 
 he dared not utter; beneath his breath he stam 
 mered a few syllables of his mother s tongue ; he 
 turned to leave the room. 
 
 St. Vrain, seeing the movement, called to him : 
 
 " Hold there, my friend ! not a good word for 
 me ? Wait ! I would walk with you ! " 
 
 Turning to the landlord, he threw on the table 
 a handful of English silver, and said, 
 
 " Let all drink to my good health again, 
 Pierre, or rather, to my long life ! " and he 
 laughed carelessly as he followed Gaston out of 
 doors. 
 
 Outside, the aspect of the night had changed; 
 the moon had set, but the sky was thickly fleck 
 ered with stars, from the great steadfast, blue 
 planet, to the gilt sparklets which were lost to 
 sight while gazing on them. A boisterous wind 
 had risen and sent the frost-bitten leaves down 
 like a pattering shower. 
 
 With a few rapid steps St. Vrain overtook 
 Bevard, who was walking along the road to the 
 fort, and he began abruptly to speak to him : 
 
228 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " You cowardly beast ! Twice yes, three 
 time s have you tried to murder me ! And but 
 for my regard for Father Gibault I long ago 
 would have ended your miserable life ! Now I 
 demand the satisfaction of a gentleman! A 
 gentleman / do you comprehend ? I doubt not 
 I lower myself in asking it of you ! None of your 
 skulking Indian tricks, mind you! but a fair fight, 
 face to face." 
 
 " I ll give you satisfaction a long one ! Aye, 
 that I will! I ll " choked the donne, like a 
 strangling dog. 
 
 " It s a little unusual, my friend, but you re not 
 to be trusted ! My plan is that we fight till one 
 or the other, mayhap both, is dead dead ! Com 
 prehend you ? You agree ? " 
 
 I do but " 
 
 " Hold ! I have not done ! We ll seek out 
 some secluded spot, you to have the choice, as 
 becomes the challenged, where we will conduct 
 this combat. But there are conditions under 
 which I demean myself to fight you ; otherwise 
 I fight you not, but I kick you for a despicable 
 cur, and let you go. Yes ! " 
 
 " Name them ! " said Bevard, furious at the 
 other s bitter contempt, and unable to speak 
 further. 
 
AT THE TAVERN 22Q 
 
 " That we two only shall meet at the place you 
 may select, and with the weapons of your choice 
 do fight to the death ; but before we begin you 
 must promise me on your honor if a craven 
 have honor to grant two requests I shall at 
 that time ask of you, as I shall likewise grant 
 to you. My honor is pledged to it. This is 
 unusual, monsieur, between gentlemen, as you 
 may not know ; but then you are unusual ! " 
 And he laughed softly. 
 
 The Indian in him roused ; Bevard would have 
 flung himself furiously on the coureur and have 
 throttled him, but St. Vrain sprang lightly aside, 
 and jeered in his face. Just then a crowd of hila 
 rious soldiers came toward them, intent on gain 
 ing the fort before tattoo sounded. Gasping with 
 rage Gaston managed to stammer : " Damn you, 
 I will ! Meet me on the other side of the river, 
 half an hour before sun-up, opposite the Mam- 
 melle. " 
 
 " Without fail, monsieur ! " courteously re 
 sponded the coureur, as he walked off with the 
 soldiers. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE sun was not yet risen, nor did he pre- 
 monish his coming by a pictorial display of red- 
 tinted clouds or searching shafts of pale yellow 
 light. All was sullen and dark ! A thick, gray, 
 pall-like mist, which dripped in heavy drops from 
 the faded foliage, met and shut out a darker gray 
 sky. Yet signs of morning were not lacking; 
 fish leaped in the river ; the few remaining vireos 
 twittered intermittently; the loud, raucous call of 
 the blackbirds sounded the assembly for the day s 
 foraging among the beech woods ; the slow, even 
 hammering of the woodpecker which, under the 
 spell of the gloomy surroundings, sounded like 
 driving nails into a coffin ; a lark that had delayed 
 its flitting to the warm south poured from its 
 grateful breast its brief, rare melody; all wel 
 comed day, dark though it was. A blue crane, 
 with long legs folded back, flew in awkward 
 lunges, with a croaking cry, disturbed by an un 
 wonted sound that drove him in a panic from 
 
 230 
 
OPPOSITE THE "MAMMELLE" 231 
 
 his harborage among the long sedges and flags 
 on the river s brink. 
 
 Early as it was, half an hour before sunrise, a 
 birch-bark canoe shot lightly as a swallow across 
 the leaden river, seemingly driving ahead of it the 
 billows of mist instead of cutting through them. 
 It was the coureur de bois, and he had scarcely 
 made fast when the donne s pirogue was drawn 
 in beside his canoe. 
 
 No time was trifled away in the interchange of 
 courtesies between these two. They met in grim 
 mest silence, and exchanged one hostile glance. 
 
 St. Vrain spoke at last, and then unwisely : 
 
 " I hardly looked for so unusual a favor from one 
 of your kind ! You do me great honor, monsieur ! " 
 
 " And you give me an opportunity I have long 
 desired ! " 
 
 " Heh ! to scalp me, or to stab me in the back ! " 
 jeered the coureur. A malevolent look, which 
 confessed him to murder, was the only notice 
 Bevard took of the taunt. 
 
 " However, to business ! Between gentlemen 
 it would be conducted somewhat differently, eh, 
 Monsieur le Donne ? " 
 
 " State your conditions without further quib 
 bling. I m in haste to be gone ! " observed the 
 priest s pupil, significantly. 
 
232 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 "You are hopeful! Whither to paradise?" 
 
 " Yes ; to paradise the paradise of a woman s 
 favor, to speak like a weakling white ! " said 
 Gaston, grimly contemptuous. 
 
 " He will bear watching for a desperate 
 wretch," thought the coureur. " You came here," 
 he said aloud, with a change of manner, dropping 
 his jeering carelessness as he threw off his leather 
 jerkin, " under promise to grant me two requests 
 which I was to make known to you on this spot 
 which you chose. You may think me whimsical," 
 he smiled pleasantly, " but, remember, I am a 
 Frenchman, and as such may indulge in tricks, 
 not," he amended with a sudden access of 
 sternness, " of your sort, however, monsieur. 
 Eh?" 
 
 Bevard made no reply, but under the mocking 
 eye, the inveighing words of the Frenchman, 
 seemed suddenly transformed into a veritable 
 savage. His lips were drawn thin over his tightly 
 clinched teeth ; his eyes grew bright with deadly 
 purpose ; his features stiffened into masklike 
 calm, which brought into full relief his high 
 cheek-bones and finely aquiline nose ; his color 
 darkened. Where a white would have paled, he 
 turned to a copper hue. At that moment he 
 strikingly betrayed the strongest physical mark- 
 
OPPOSITE THE "MAMMELLE" 233 
 
 ings of his mother s race. His soul was surcharged 
 with its most brutal qualities, resentment, 
 hate, desire for revenge, and a longing to inflict 
 cruel and hideous torture on his tormentor. 
 
 The Frenchman was cool and wary, and at an 
 impatient guttural of imprecation from Bevard, 
 disclosed his conditions. 
 
 " We agreed to fight to the death last night. 
 What I demand further is this: That together 
 we dig a grave near by the * field of honor, " he 
 grinned sardonically, "the one who falls, to be 
 decently buried in it by the survivor. Should 
 there be none In that case the buzzards and 
 wolves will save us all trouble. Secondly, that 
 the survivor shall swear by all that is sacred, 
 never to reveal one circumstance connected with 
 this morning s work. Comprehend you ? " 
 
 For the first time the donne smiled flittingly, 
 but not enough to throw the red blood of a paler 
 race into his saturnine face. 
 
 " I agree to all, but how to accomplish ? " 
 
 " The grave digging ? " interrupted St. Vrain. 
 " I thought of all that, monsieur." He pointed to 
 his canoe, wherein lay a spade and a mattock. 
 " I anticipated your acceptance of the conditions, 
 monsieur," he added politely. "State your own 
 terms, if you please." 
 
234 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " Pistols at twelve paces, each his own weapon," 
 briefly replied the donne. 
 
 " As you say, monsieur ! " 
 
 Bevard mounted the low, sandy bank, and 
 sought out a place he well knew. The coureur, 
 securing the spade and mattock, slung them over 
 his shoulder, and followed Gaston. The spot 
 selected for the duelling ground was within 
 sound of the river, a stretch of smooth sward, 
 hedged in on the farther side by a strong, close 
 coppice. Great pale green mats of mullein with 
 next year s bloom at the heart lay here and there 
 on the flat expanse where thus future life and 
 near death met. 
 
 " I leave also the choice of the place of the 
 grave to you," said St. Vrain, cheerfully, as if at 
 the most ordinary business. 
 
 Bevard walked south a little way, and penetrat 
 ing a thicket, found a spot so retired and shaded it 
 was not likely to tell of that morning s dark work, 
 and himself took the mattock to measure off the 
 sinister proportions. The coureur had followed. 
 
 " A little longer, my friend ! Say three inches ! " 
 observed St. Vrain, coolly regarding its limits. 
 
 Implacable and vengeful, Bevard dug to half the 
 depth with the mattock and the spade. Then St. 
 Vrain, spitting on his palms, set to work with a 
 
OPPOSITE THE "MAMMELLE" 235 
 
 will, carefully adding the three inches to the length 
 that Bevard had ignored. When two are so 
 intent on a performance, it is soon accomplished. 
 Springing out of the shallow pit, some three or 
 four feet deep in the sandy soil, his hands planted 
 on either rim, St. Vrain brushed the crumbling 
 earth from his garments carefully, and observed 
 to Bevard, 
 
 " What next, monsieur ? " 
 
 Gaston made no reply, but returned to the 
 duelling ground he had chosen. He took a posi 
 tion in the centre of it : 
 
 " We will each walk six paces from here," he 
 observed. "You may count aloud; at six turn 
 and fire ! " 
 
 For an instant they stood back to back. Each 
 had thrown off his head-covering, Bevard his 
 black hat, St. Vrain his gaudy wool cap with its 
 twinkling gold tassel. The tall, lithe figure of 
 the black-clad donne towered above the sinewy 
 coureur half a head. Smiling at the discrepancy 
 between them, St. Vrain made a step forward, 
 counting aloud, 
 
 " One two three " 
 
 Then occurred one of those small interpositions 
 of Providence which put to naught men s plans to 
 carry out some design of its own. St. Vrain had 
 
r; j OK THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 glanced over his shoulder toward the donne. He 
 saw him turn, then a flash and crack of a pistol, 
 just as his own foot rolled on a bit of broken 
 limb. He lurched forward, and tried to regain his 
 balance; his weapon flew from his hand; he 
 sprawled on all fours. Through the space he had 
 just filled whistled a murderous bullet 
 
 Quick as a darting snake-tongue St Vrain was 
 on his feet 
 
 "Would you, coward! beast!" he screamed, 
 his voice shrill with rage, " murder me ? n 
 
 He snatched at his belt There was a flash of 
 steel upward, a sibilant breath, a downward twirl 
 of the knife, and the sharp point plunged clean 
 through the miscreant s neck. It was a trick of 
 knife-throwing the Indians had taught him, and 
 his skill at it was even greater than theirs. He 
 stood fiercely regarding Bevard, his breast heav 
 ing, his eyes glaring from under his tumbled black 
 hair. A horrible, mirthless grin of satisfaction 
 bared his white teeth. He looked supremely 
 savage. 
 
 The doomed wretch made one frantic snatch 
 at the knife. He tore it from his flesh, only to 
 lunge heavily forward in awful helplessness, a 
 gory carcass from which emanated a sickening 
 aura. 
 
rv- 
 
 " He lurched forward . . . and sprawled on all fours.* 
 
OPPOSITE THE "MAMMELLE" 237 
 
 " Twas well indeed, thou dastard, we shaped it 
 larger ! " sneered the coureur, as, with his foot, he 
 turned over the limber, bleeding corpse. 
 
 " How I detest to touch this carrion never 
 much but that! But a promise is a promise, 
 noblesse oblige ! " 
 
 He bared himself to the skin, that no blood 
 stain might betray him, or sully the whiteness of 
 his new doeskin breeches and jerkin. His 
 strength, nurtured of the forest, was immense. 
 With ease he dragged the body of the hapless 
 wretch to the pit, and tumbled it in. He looked 
 upon it an instant, and with one of his swift 
 changes of feeling said aloud : 
 
 " After all he was, in some sort, a man," and 
 he broke twigs from the bushes, and flung over 
 the body a gay red and yellow shroud of the 
 autumn foliage. He piled on it the earth and 
 made all smooth and clean ; rolled logs over it to 
 keep off the scurvy, marauding beasts; and no 
 trace remained of Gaston Bevard, the donne,.but 
 the pool of bright red blood not yet clotted, which 
 the rain, now gently falling, would dilute, and the 
 greedy earth would swallow up. 
 
 Hardened to such scenes as this in which he 
 had borne a part, it meant little more to St. 
 Vrain than just retribution for treachery. The 
 
238 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 man was half savage, and would be speedily for 
 got, once out of the way. To him the splendid 
 youth, the magnificent temple its dwelling-place, 
 the body, which he had destroyed but could 
 never restore, did not appeal ; Bevard was a 
 skulking foe to him and nothing more. He felt 
 neither sorrow nor regret for his deed ; satisfac 
 tion more nearly described his mood. 
 
 " If a man of honor fight you," thought the 
 coureur as he turned from the grave, " you accord 
 him the consideration one gentleman should an 
 other, even regret when fate decrees his fall. 
 But such as yonder " A jerk of the thumb 
 backward over his shoulder meted out the meas 
 ure of his contempt. 
 
 He walked to the margin of the river, dragging 
 with him the spade and the mattock ; placed 
 them in Gaston s pirogue, loosed it, and in an 
 other instant it was on its way down to La Belle 
 Riviere. 
 
 After carefully bathing he reclothed himself in 
 his spotless doeskin, jumped nimbly aboard his 
 canoe, and glided under the palisades of the fort 
 on his way to Detroit, bearing to Hamilton a 
 report of the weakness of Helm s garrison, just 
 as the morning gun boomed. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 
 
 LANCASTER had found Detroit lively with 
 traders, trappers, and coureurs, who had gathered 
 there from the far recesses of the forest. The 
 rough woodsmen had thrown themselves, heart 
 and soul, into the rude amusements of the place, 
 and among them he had passed unnoticed. He 
 had made it his first business to visit every 
 Indian village, of which there were half a score in 
 the vicinity of the fort. He had found the tem 
 porary encampment of the fierce Puans close to 
 the lodges of the Ottawas, with whom they had 
 patched up a specious friendship. Not a bark hut 
 nor wigwam was there that he did not search again 
 and again, but to no purpose. His quest was 
 but a heartbreaking failure. No white woman 
 could he find among their dingy squaws. He 
 came to the conclusion that, if Ferriby were yet 
 living, she had been handed from one tribe to an 
 other, friendly to the Puans, to make naught all 
 efforts for her recovery, and, according to their 
 
 239 
 
240 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 custom, would be reclaimed by the original cap 
 tors after the search was abandoned as hopeless. 
 Maddened by this thought, desperate with misery, 
 Lancaster resolved to return to Kaskaskia and 
 cast in his lot with Clark, whose plan of cam 
 paign was rash enough to be to his taste, lawless 
 enough to suit his purpose, and rich with oppor 
 tunities for vengeance. His enterprise appealed 
 to him as being of sufficient interest to distract 
 his mind, and of danger enough to bring him 
 speedy death. 
 
 In this mood he set off for the Illinois country 
 at dawn one sharp morning of early winter. 
 None too soon, for suspicion was beginning to 
 hint at him as an American spy. He had hardly 
 left the fort before a company of Indians came in 
 with the belated news of the American victories 
 in the wilderness. A few hours later an express 
 arrived from Quebec with imperative orders for 
 instant departure to the Illinois country. Twenty- 
 four hours after his own departure, while he slept 
 peacefully in his little pirogue among the reeds, 
 a fleet of batteaux, carrying eighty British regulars 
 and five hundred Indian mercenaries, slipped by 
 him on its way to the fort on the Ouibache. 
 
 He crossed the great lake, entered the Maumee, 
 made the portage at Omee, where the industrious 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 241 
 
 beavers had dammed the stream and cut off the 
 portage by nine miles ; and, after a few days, 
 reached the upper Ouibache, and launched his 
 canoe for the easier part of his journey. 
 
 It was the cheerless, uncertain weather of early 
 December. The intervals of wide prairie im 
 pinging on the river were not altogether bleached 
 of their verdant tint ; but the tracts of forest 
 through which the river winded were bare, and 
 the chill north wind caused their limbs to rattle 
 together like rapid drumming. Every twig of 
 those on the shore was blackly etched on the 
 dull green waters. The sunshine had warmth in 
 it yet, and Lancaster, clad in thick winter cloth 
 ing of buckskin, with a capote of buffalo hide, 
 his head snugly covered by a coonskin cap, with 
 its long striped tail dangling, fared well enough ; 
 he was too wretched in mind, at any rate, to 
 notice physical discomfort. 
 
 He was approaching the We-a towns, where 
 the lodges of the Shewanees and Weatenons were 
 pitched in friendly community at the mouth of 
 the creek, beyond which spread the We-a plain 
 to the confines of the forest. 
 
 From this point the We-a Trail led to O Poste, 
 a five days journey, a little less by water, helped 
 by the strong current of the Ouibache. 
 
242 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Just above the villages the river made a great 
 bend. On either hand were low banks, on which 
 a few beeches grew, whose dry dun leaves kept 
 up a mournful rustling. Absorbed in gloomy 
 thoughts, Lancaster was roused by loud, cheery 
 singing. The song seemed to him heartless fri 
 volity and the singer an odious fool. 
 
 " Je suis jeune et belle, 
 Je veux m engage 
 Un amant fidele." 
 
 " Un amant fidele! he was indeed that, but 
 what could one know of faithful love who could 
 bellow of it like that to every passer-by ? " irritably 
 questioned Lancaster to himself. 
 
 A few strokes of the paddle brought him in 
 full view of the villages, and he beheld a boatman 
 in the act of setting off down-stream. A group 
 of blanketed Indians were watching him with 
 friendly interest, admiring his perfect handling of 
 the skittish birch-bark, freakish as a woman. The 
 voyageur was standing in the careless attitude of 
 the master of his craft, the veriest egg-shell, pad 
 dling with one long oar. He was a remarkable 
 object to Lancaster s eye. His figure was mus 
 cular, lithe, and straight, but fell short of his own 
 height by some six inches. He wore a gaudy 
 wool cap, shaped like a bag, tied at one end with 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 243 
 
 a gold tassel. A capote of exquisite beaver fur 
 was bound closely about his waist by a leather 
 belt studded with silver, through which was 
 thrust a pair of pistols, a long knife, and the 
 inevitable hatchet of bright, keen steel. His feet, 
 slender and shapely, were clad with moccasins 
 thickly crusted with bead embroidery. His leg 
 gings were richly fringed with shells and porcu 
 pine quills stained bright red. His black hair 
 was tied with a gay ribbon into a queue, and gold 
 earrings dangled from his ears. 
 
 His singing revealed white teeth glittering 
 between his scarlet lips ; his cheeks were deeply 
 tanned with the red of sumachs flaming in them ; 
 his bold black eyes showed infinite capacity for 
 fun and mischief. With the off-hand bonhomie 
 of his kind he greeted Lancaster, as he overtook 
 him, with the vivacity and familiarity of an old 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "Hello, my friend!" he called in French, 
 " would you have good company ? For, by all the 
 saints, I love not mine own too long, though it be 
 of the best ! " He smiled broadly at his jest at 
 his own expense. 
 
 " If it suit you, it suits me ! " replied Lancaster, 
 in the cool Anglo-Saxon fashion that sounded 
 almost gruff after this lively Gallic greeting. 
 
244 ON THE WE ~ A TRAIL 
 
 But the coureur de bois seemed to understand 
 the race and accepted his answer cheerily, and as 
 a matter of course. 
 
 They dropped down the river, side by side, like 
 old companions. Not two hours had passed till 
 the Frenchman had told his name, Hilaire St. 
 Vrain (without his newly acquired title) ; his 
 business, coureur de bois, just now carrying pacific 
 messages to O Poste (but not stating their source 
 to his new friend). He prattled on with the artless 
 craft of the born intriguer. 
 
 His morose companion scarcely heeded him, 
 and made no return of confidence. 
 
 " Peste ! the beast ! What he knows he will not 
 tell ! Perhaps this will warm his frozen blood 
 and loose his tongue," said St. Vrain to himself, 
 chagrined. He drew from his leather pouch a 
 flask of famous peach brandy, pulled the stopple, 
 and courteously passed it over to Lancaster, to 
 whom the liquor was most grateful ; for his low 
 spirits had reduced his circulation till the damp 
 north wind chilled him to the marrow. 
 
 St. Vrain drank in his turn, and said aloud, 
 " To your good health monsieur ! " and to him 
 self, " And to my success in loosing that tongue of 
 yours." 
 
 To his disgust the only result was to make the 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 245 
 
 stranger ask questions, not answer them ; nor 
 would he drink again, though urgently pressed. 
 St. Vrain drank and drank, and talked and talked. 
 When the flask was low, he became sentimental 
 and confidential. 
 
 " Helas ! " he cried tearfully, " thou cold-blooded 
 Saxon ! Thou st never been racked by the cruel 
 pangs of love as I have, I swear ! " 
 
 " You seemed to sing cheerfully enough of love 
 only a few hours ago ! " observed Lancaster, dryly. 
 
 " Stupid one ! It was but to cover up the heart 
 rent," and he nearly sobbed. 
 
 Lancaster s lip curled at his maudlin humor, and 
 could not forbear a fling : " A rent soon mended, 
 I think!" 
 
 His tone was contemptuous; he had come to 
 regard himself as the only faithful lover. 
 
 " Ice-cold blood flows from thy heart ! Do you 
 think you could love as I do the fair Angele? 
 Well was she named Angel, for her locks are 
 as sunny as the pictured one s, hanging over the 
 altar in the great cathedral in Quebec. Her eyes, 
 ah ! those beautiful eyes, bluer than the 
 edges of broken ice, as crystal clear, but as 
 cold!" 
 
 "And who possesses such charms?" asked 
 Lancaster, idly, humoring his tipsy mood. 
 
246 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " Angele Dubois. A tall white angel she is 
 among the swarthy girls at Sieur Dubois s ! " 
 
 " You say," asked Lancaster, with quickening 
 interest, " that your sweetheart is fair and her 
 sisters are dark ? " For one moment dull recol 
 lections troubled him; his memory recalled the 
 dim vision of a wan girl he had seen through the 
 window briefly, and her frightened shriek sounded 
 again in his ear. The next moment he was as far 
 off from St. Vrain as the miles that stretched be 
 tween them and O Poste. 
 
 " Pig ! Imbecile ! " muttered St. Vrain. " I can 
 not make him talk! He is an American spy, 
 then! Very well! We shall see!" 
 
 The coureur watched Lancaster with an eye 
 far from dulled by his potations, which in truth 
 had been liberal but of little effect from long 
 habit They camped amiably together that 
 night, snuggled side by side in a bed of leaves 
 and fir boughs. They breakfasted on a squirrel 
 brought down by Lancaster s unerring shot with 
 the coureur s pistol, for weapons he had none 
 except his long knife. They set off again with 
 no change of their relations of the day before, 
 except for the greater baffling of the coureur and 
 the increased taciturnity of Lancaster. The 
 greater part of the day they glided swiftly down- 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 247 
 
 stream together. The coureur s curiosity had 
 grown almost beyond the limit of endurance, but 
 his urbanity did not fail. 
 
 Lancaster had learned all he cared to know of 
 the coureur, but he had no particular reason for 
 not confiding in him beyond that of common 
 caution. 
 
 At last they turned the great Pointe Coupee, 
 a few miles above O Poste, and found themselves 
 in sight of a fleet of batteaux, which were 
 mounted with cannon and crowded with red 
 coats and Indians to the number of four or five 
 hundred. 
 
 It was Hamilton, the " Hair-buyer general," 
 bound for the recapture of O Poste. The British 
 ensign displayed on his batteau told Lancaster 
 this before the gibing voice of the coureur 
 cried, 
 
 " Mon ami, you are a prisoner ! " and he cov 
 ered him with a long pistol. 
 
 A little creek emptied into the river just at 
 this point. Its mouth was covered with the thin 
 white ice that forms over shallows. Lancaster 
 was next to the shore. The Frenchman had 
 mistaken his man. Quick as a panther s leap his 
 long oar sprang up, then down it crashed on the 
 coureur s wrist, with such force as to set him 
 
248 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 screeching with pain ; his pistol dropped with a 
 splash into the icy water of the Ouibache. Before 
 St. Vrain could recover his wits he heard a 
 crackle and crunch, and Lancaster s canoe had 
 smashed the ice in the mouth of the little creek; 
 he had bounded ashore and was free ! 
 
 "May all the devils in hell catch him!" 
 groaned the coureur, in impotent rage, before he 
 could think to give voice to such a yell that he 
 attracted the notice of the fleet. 
 
 Lancaster found the trail and ran for his life ; 
 through the narrow passway between great trees, 
 on a short stretch of the open, over a morass, 
 jumping from tussock to tussock, down the un 
 even bank to the long level where the fort stood, 
 up to the very gates ! The sentinel would have 
 stopped him. 
 
 " Fool ! Down with your gun or I ll brain 
 you ! " 
 
 He rushed on, leaving the sentinel stupid with 
 surprise. The brief winter day had settled to 
 evening, and great fires were alight on the 
 parade-ground. He crossed the bright space to 
 Helm s quarters, burst into his presence without 
 ceremony, and gasped out : 
 
 "The British are coming! They re within 
 three miles of the fort!" 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 249 
 
 Helm, calm and cool, as if he had just heard 
 of the coming of Clark, commanded the long 
 roll to be sounded. His twenty men answered 
 promptly. The boom of a cannon warned the 
 militia. Fuel was heaped on the fires. One of 
 the two cannon, which, with a couple of small 
 swivels, was all the ordnance the fort could boast, 
 was wheeled in front of the gate, on which there 
 was no secure fastening ; the gunner stood ready. 
 
 " My friend," said Helm, aside to Lancaster, 
 " I have but four seasoned American soldiers I 
 can rely on. The French cannot be depended 
 on to do the work of trained men, but I am de 
 termined to play a brave part." 
 
 " Command me as one of your own soldiers, 
 captain," Lancaster replied earnestly. Without 
 spoken thanks Helm took him at his word and 
 sent him to Lieutenant Barnes, with orders to 
 take command for ten minutes, and retired at 
 once to his own quarters and wrote as calmly to 
 Clark as if he were detailing some petty busi 
 ness, the following letter l : 
 
 "DEAR SIR: At this time there is an army 
 within three miles of this place ; I heard of their 
 coming several days beforehand. I sent spies to 
 
 1 Verbatim, Canadian Archive, Series B, Vol. 122, p. 250. 
 
250 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 find the certainty ; the spies being taken pris 
 oners, I never got intelligence till they were 
 within three miles of the town. As I had called 
 the militia, and had every assurance of their in 
 tegrity, I ordered at the firing of a cannon every 
 man to appear, but I saw but few. Captain 
 Busseron behaved much to his honor and credit, 
 but I doubt the certain conduct of a certain gent. 
 Excuse haste, as the army is in sight. My de 
 termination is to defend the garrison, though I 
 have but twenty-one men but what has left me. 
 
 I refer you to Mr. for the rest. The army 
 
 is in three hundred yards of the village. You 
 must think how I feel ; not four men that I can 
 really depend upon, but am determined to act 
 brave think of my condition. I know it is out 
 of my power to defend the town, as not one of 
 the militia will take arms, though before sight of 
 the army, no braver men. There is a flag at a 
 small distance. I must conclude. 
 
 "Your humble servant, 
 "Leo d Helm. 
 " Must stop." 
 
 Before he had hardly shaken the pounce-box 
 over the letter, he flung it to a messenger in 
 waiting, saying : 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 251 
 
 " Take it to Lieutenant Bowman, who is 
 attending a fete at Colonel Dubois s. Tell him 
 to lose not a moment ; to go at once and deliver 
 that to Clark." 
 
 Helm rushed to the gate where the gunner stood 
 by the gun. Another moment and the steady 
 tramp of feet was heard as the British crossed the 
 short level from the river bank to the gate. 
 
 Helm stood with lighted match in hand, him 
 self ready to touch off the gun. With magnifi 
 cent bravado he ordered loudly, 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 To his surprise, his command was obeyed ; 
 the sound of cadenced marching ceased. 
 
 " Surrender ! " demanded a thick, imperious 
 voice from without, the voice of Hamilton 
 himself. 
 
 From behind the frail wooden barrier a bold 
 challenge was flung to the army of five hundred 
 by the dauntless Helm. 
 
 " By the God of Heaven, no man shall enter 
 here till I know the terms ! " 
 
 This audacity created a momentary silence : 
 
 " You shall have the honors of war ! " the same 
 voice answered. 
 
 " Then," cried Helm, " I surrender the fort on 
 that condition 1 " 
 
252 ON THE VVE-A TRAIL 
 
 The gateway was cleared, with a flourish, of its 
 one cannon, and Hamilton s army made entrance. 
 
 Lancaster, standing near Helm, saw a look of 
 disgust, at thus being so neatly outwitted, flit 
 over the face of the " Hair-buyer." His chagrin 
 was boundless when he learned how small was 
 the garrison, how few were the Americans ; how 
 he had been out-generalled by a backwoodsman. 
 
 Not more than a score of prisoners all told, 
 who must be given the honors of war by his own 
 agreement! In this case scalping and massacre 
 by his Indian mercenaries (of whom his army was 
 composed, with the exception of eighty regulars), 
 was barred by his own promise. 
 
 Hiding his mortification as well as he could, 
 he halted beside Helm and took his proffered 
 arms, a long knife and pistol, which their owner 
 handed over with an ill-concealed grin ; and the 
 key of the fort, for which there was a broken lock. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE PANCAKE TURNING 
 
 TIME had slipped easily away through the 
 lovely days of October, through the frosty weeks 
 of November, into the wintry days of mid Decem 
 ber, diversified by as little labor as might be ; for 
 the villager did not love hard toil. Fetes of all 
 kinds, for which there was the slightest excuse, 
 were much to his taste. He did love opportunity 
 for friendly gatherings. 
 
 The coureur was greatly missed from these 
 social affairs. He was the life and soul of merri 
 ment when he chanced to be in the village. 
 Many were the regrets at his continued absence, 
 more prolonged than ever before ; they were not 
 aware that he had gone to Quebec to establish 
 his claim to his title and estates, and if possible 
 to embark for France to take possession. But 
 there were no sea-going vessels at this time of the 
 year, and he was obliged to await the opening of 
 spring navigation. On his return from Quebec 
 he had just missed Hamilton at Detroit, and had 
 
 253 
 
254 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 followed him on his campaign to retake the 
 French towns in the Illinois country. Fond of 
 excitement, it would help him through the inter 
 val of waiting before he could set out for France 
 in the spring. What pleasanter place than 
 O Poste, to pass the time in ? The truth was 
 there dwelt the one woman who had caught his 
 fickle fancy and bound it fast to faithfulness. 
 
 The villagers themselves had accepted the new 
 regime, much as if they were outsiders in the 
 affair. To be sure, the young men, in somewhat 
 specious enthusiasm, had joined the militia with 
 the acknowledged purpose of defending the fort 
 should such necessity arise, and had placed them 
 selves at the command of Captain Helm. They 
 enjoyed the drills like children romping; and 
 these were signals for the whole village to turn 
 out and admire. Is it surprising that vanity is an 
 integral part of a soldier ? As yet they had not 
 been called upon to give actual service. 
 
 The donne s disappearance caused but little 
 comment, and no regret. He was always a 
 gloomy, dampening presence, a death s-head at 
 the feast. He had not a drop of that Gallic blood 
 which flitted like mercury through the veins of 
 the villager, and led him into prankings with 
 the abandon of childhood. He had the Indian s 
 
THE PANCAKE TURNING 255 
 
 contempt for childish romping among grown 
 men ; and the savage s contempt for gallantry 
 toward women. It was not unusual for him to 
 disappear into the wilderness at the call of the 
 forest-spirits for weeks at a time, to return shame 
 facedly, humiliated at yielding weakly to the 
 leadings of an immaterial force. Gross and 
 material he was, but the great voices of Nature 
 appealed to him with irresistible power. They 
 thundered to him in the storms, they awed him 
 in the mighty winds ; they wooed him in the 
 beauty of spring, in the whispers of nascent foli 
 age. On his return from these excursions he re 
 newed his devotions with fanatic ardor, which 
 soon wore out ; but he realized that the life of a 
 religieuse was his only salvation from savagery. 
 Again and again feverish asceticism yielded to 
 Indian stoic fatalism ; it was a never ending con 
 tention between his two natures, the unsubduable 
 Saxon, the untamable savage. One moment he 
 was a creature of lofty aspirations ; the next fran 
 tic to bury his face in the entrails of a yet warm 
 beast and to gorge on it till glutted ! At such 
 times he would slip off to the forest. His habits 
 were well known to the villagers, who looked on 
 his waywardness with good-natured toleration ; 
 and upon this, his last and longest disappearance, 
 
256 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 they had concluded that the influence of the 
 mother-blood had been strongest, when is it 
 not? and that he had joined himself to some 
 roving band, to return no more. 
 
 Therefore his continued absence was no longer 
 a subject for conversation when Madame Dubois 
 invited the haut ton of the village, which in 
 cluded the greater part of the inhabitants, to a 
 pancake turning, to relieve the tedium of the 
 long weeks before the holidays. 
 
 The demoiselles, EHse, Suzanne, and Jeanne, 
 each in her own fashion, were full of excitement. 
 Even Angele was moved out of her dreamy calm 
 to something akin to brightness. For once she 
 threw off her habitual apathy, and merrily wreathed 
 greens and helped to garnish parlors and halls 
 till they were gay as at the Christmas fete. 
 
 All was done ! the hour of five had struck. 
 Evening had descended, for the day was cloudy, 
 and light had failed shortly after four, and they 
 awaited the arrival of the first guests. The cur 
 tains had been parted that the light within might 
 guide their guests through the muddy lanes of 
 the little town. Madame, rotund and short of 
 breath, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction from 
 out deep cushions of fat, like the heads of black 
 pins, was arrayed in a new gown of homespun, 
 
THE PANCAKE TURNING 257 
 
 gayly striped the wrong way for one of her bulk. 
 The occasion was not one for grand toilette ! 
 
 Monsieur, at her right hand, was clad in his 
 second best coat of dark blue home-made cloth, 
 but he wore a fine, beruffled shirt, foaming from 
 between its lapels, and his queue was tied with a 
 fresh new black ribbon. His knee-breeches were 
 of doeskin ; his stockings of blue yarn ; and his 
 low shoes of tanned bull hide. His manner, 
 always fine, was now tempered with the gracious- 
 ness of a condescending host; the important com 
 mandant was thrust into the background, but not 
 forgotten ! oh, no ! At times it peeped out like 
 a painted actor from behind the curtain of his 
 urbanity. 
 
 The four girls, like madame, were dressed in 
 homespun of a plain indigo-blue color. Elise 
 had contrived for them neckerchiefs of white 
 lawn, such as the fair French queen wore, in which 
 they were charming; she herself looking the 
 stately court beauty; Suzanne a sprightly gri- 
 sette ; Jeanne a pious postulant ; and Angele a 
 lovely picture. 
 
 Great fires of walnut logs and dry hickory, 
 combining the delightful odor of their smoke into 
 something like incense, roared in the wide fire 
 places, outrivalling the flaming candles placed 
 
258 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 everywhere. When Sieur Dubois opened his 
 house for a fete it was well done ! Nothing was 
 spared ! 
 
 The first arrival, like the first ant leaving the 
 hill, brought the whole company pell-mell, singly, 
 and in groups. Panis, at the door, relieved them 
 of their sabots of sycamore wood (without which 
 they could not hope to make their way through 
 the deep mud of winter) and helped them on with 
 their buskins of deer or bull hide. 
 
 The lowly pendants of the more exalted folk 
 found their way into the kitchen, humbly content 
 to share in anything savoring of gayety, a phi 
 losophy that helped them over many weary days 
 and hard experiences. 
 
 Among the first arrivals was Lieutenant Bos- 
 seron from the fort, who brought with him a fine, 
 towering young Virginian, Captain Bowman, by 
 title and name. This young officer had been so 
 taken with the stately charm of Elise, whom he 
 had met when he called to deliver Clark s de 
 spatches to the colonel the day before, that he 
 eagerly accepted Bosseron s invitation to accom 
 pany him, though the evening at the fort offered 
 a merry prospect at piquet and tippling one of 
 Helm s famous brews of apple-toddy. 
 
 When they urged Helm also to go, he only 
 laughed, and said : 
 
THE PAN CAKE TURNING 259 
 
 " Every dog has his day! you young whelps 
 must have yours I reckon ! " and no persuasion 
 would induce him to go. 
 
 When Bowman appeared, the stately Elise 
 faltered and blushed like any other girl of twenty, 
 and at this sign of softness the young soldier s 
 heart beat high with a desire to storm the strong 
 fortress of her haughty reserve, while he bowed 
 with perfect gallantry over her hand. 
 
 By six the company had all gathered, and 
 Jeanne, who had the saving grace of a domestic 
 turn, aside from a pious one, came to monsieur s 
 elbow and imparted something to him in a low 
 voice. 
 
 He waved his hand to attract the attention of 
 his guests, and said suavely, 
 
 " My friends, we will repair to the kitchen, 
 where all is in readiness for your amusement" 
 
 At first there was a bashful hanging back ; for 
 they were on their best behavior at the comman 
 dant s. Then some one plucked up courage to 
 follow Monsieur Dubois, who had gallantly led 
 out Madame Du Roc, the magistrate s wife, a 
 skinny, yellow little woman, whose tongue set 
 every one a-writhing when it came his turn to be 
 lashed by it. It was not altogether gallantry that 
 had inspired monsieur s choice ; she was a person 
 to conciliate ! 
 
26O ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 All followed in a rush ! the young people last, 
 like the sweet residuum in a glass of negus, 
 giggling and simpering, jesting and pushing; 
 rude from a mixture of joyousness and timidity, 
 bashfulness and a sense of freedom, their elders 
 being well to the fore and not able to reprove 
 them by softly spoken, bitter words, or sly 
 pinches, they tumultuously crossed the space of 
 ground to the kitchen. 
 
 Chloe, the black slave cook, stood by a table 
 drawn well up to the hearth, her ebony face 
 a-shine with the vigor of her efforts in beating the 
 batter to frothing lightness, a great earthen 
 bowlful of which stood ready for the contest. At 
 hand stood three panis who were to be at the 
 bidding of the guests. The hickory logs had 
 burned to a point where a smart poke would 
 tumble them into a fervid mass. Drawn to one 
 side of the well-swept hearth was a flaming heap 
 of coals, which a pani kept aglow by fanning with 
 a wild-turkey wing ; on top of it was placed a big 
 iron griddle. 
 
 " Who will be bold enough to open the 
 contest ? " graciously inquired the host. There 
 was another modest hiatus, then Louis Lutrell, 
 the village wag and bottier stepped forward 
 laughing : 
 
THE PAN CAKE TURNING 26 1 
 
 " I venture my awl upon it that I can toss 
 higher than any here ! " The company laughed 
 politely at his well-worn joke. 
 
 He took from Chloe the big wooden spoon, 
 whose bowl was full to overflowing with the 
 golden batter, while one of the panis swabbed the 
 griddle rapidly with a bit of fat pork on a fork. 
 Louis dribbled a line of pale yellow dots across 
 the clean white floor, but managed to spread a 
 neat round cake on the griddle. He turned 
 boastfully to the company, but alas for vanity! 
 The odor of scorching assailed his nose. His 
 cake was burned and he was barred from turning ! 
 A roar of laughing greeted his failure, and the 
 cake was scraped off for the dogs. 
 
 Next came pretty Felice Boncour, who man 
 aged blushingly to turn her cake, but it slipped 
 from the knife-blade in a roll, which made the 
 youngsters titter. 
 
 At this moment a diversion was made by the 
 opening of the door, and the noisy entrance of 
 the coureur, who had been away for many weeks. 
 
 Now, St. Vrain had come for the especial 
 purpose of warning them of the coming of the 
 British, whose heavy batteaux he had swiftly 
 passed and had reached the town a little after 
 Lancaster. But when he saw all this jollity, he 
 
262 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 had not the heart to break in upon it with such 
 dire news. 
 
 "Poor devils!" he said to himself, "it will 
 come soon enough. St. Vrain will not be the 
 one to distress his friends ! " and he remained 
 silent. 
 
 " Welcome, Monsieur St. Vrain, welcome ! " 
 arose on every hand. 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte, I welcome you heartily ! " 
 said the host, with much affability. 
 
 " I beg of you, monsieur not le comte here 
 among old friends ! St. Vrain, le coureur de bois, 
 at your service ! " 
 
 " Let him try pancake turning ! Now for the 
 griddle, St. Vrain ! " they clamored loudly. 
 
 "No, no! Not yet, my hand is stiff eh 
 ah with cold! I ve but just dropped the 
 oar. That alone would bring defeat ! " 
 
 " Do you come from Detroit ? " asked Colonel 
 Dubois aside, not able to hide his anxiety, for he 
 was in Helm s confidence. 
 
 " I come from the We-a towns, monsieur. All 
 was quiet there ! " evasively answered the coureur, 
 and a curiously stubborn look replaced the smile 
 on his lips. " But I would make my devoirs to 
 the ladies, monsieur. Pardon ! " And he retired, 
 leaving the commandant baffled and disturbed. 
 
THE PANCAKE TURNING 263 
 
 St. Vrain s eye roved over the company, and 
 after a time it found Ferriby out. She was 
 seated on a wooden bench in a dusky corner, 
 watching the gay scene rather wearily. He went 
 to her, and said diffidently : 
 
 " I am most pleased to see you again, after so 
 long a parting, ma m selle ! " He gazed at her 
 wistfully, as if he had hoped for, and had failed 
 to receive, some special sign of welcome from her. 
 
 "Have you been long away, monsieur?" she 
 inquired with mild surprise. 
 
 " What an unkind question ! " he exclaimed a 
 little bitterly. " Is it possible you have not even 
 known of my absence ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! monsieur. I remember now ! 
 But you know my mind is always busy with 
 something I cannot quite recall. These dim 
 memories trouble me day and night. They will 
 not let me be happy! They made me forget 
 even you, Hilaire, my best friend ! " 
 
 St. Vrain looked sadly at her : " Let me make 
 you happy ! " almost broke from his lips ; then he 
 seated himself quietly at her side, when she art 
 lessly made room for him. 
 
 " Sometimes I almost recall what it is I so long 
 to remember ; then it is gone, and does not come 
 back for weary weeks to pain me as before. 
 
264 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Can t you tell me, monsieur, what so troubles 
 me? You brought me here!" 
 
 " No, m amie, not I," he said hastily, " I know 
 no more about you than the princess did of the 
 babe she found in the bulrushes ! " 
 
 She smiled sadly, then threw off her mood 
 of retrospection, and said with an attempt at 
 brightness : 
 
 " Why are you not joining in the sport ? We 
 all know that in everything he attempts, le 
 comte " and she smiled as she used his title 
 for the first time " comes out best." 
 
 " I am Hilaire, the coureur, here ; nor do I 
 succeed at all where most I wish to ! " he replied 
 almost testily. 
 
 The girl looked at him inquiringly. Urged 
 by some impulse he could not control, he said in 
 a low, agitated voice : 
 
 " I mean I cannot make you care for me, 
 Angele!" 
 
 " Not care for you ! " she echoed in surprise. 
 " Am I not most beholden to you for life itself ? 
 Not care, monsieur! I d be most ungrateful 
 as ungrateful as the wolf did I not ! " 
 
 He almost groaned as he turned away his face ; 
 Angele seemed incapable of comprehending his 
 state of mind. Too chivalrous to pursue one so 
 
THE PANCAKE TURNING 265 
 
 stricken, he gently thanked her and withdrew. 
 He had gone but a few steps when he met 
 gentle Jeanne coming toward him with a steam 
 ing glass of apple-toddy. 
 
 " Monsieur, I overheard you say that you had 
 just arrived by the river. I fear you may suffer 
 from a cold if you do not drink something heating." 
 
 She handed him the toddy, which he drank 
 without demur. It at once revived his dampened 
 spirits ; his gaze followed Jeanne when she bore 
 away the empty glass, and he said to himself : 
 
 " Too fine a maid for a cloister when she can 
 so easily warm the heart of a man by a word " 
 w r ith a grimace " and a cup. There," nodding 
 toward the listless Angele, "seems no hope! 
 Why not rob the cloister ? " and he laughed as 
 he made his way to the hearth. In another 
 moment a shout of merriment arose ; for St. 
 Vrain, with his left hand, had tossed a pancake 
 highest and neatest, and it had returned, right 
 side up, to the griddle, with a loud hiss. 
 
 Captain Bowman, standing on the opposite 
 side of the hearth in silent attendance on Elise, 
 observed to her : 
 
 "I do not like the presence of that coureur 
 fellow here. It forebodes nothing good to us! 
 He seems a bird of ill-omen ! " 
 
266 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Elise smiled, well content, for she attributed 
 his words to jealousy. She looked up archly 
 into the troubled face of the tall young Vir 
 ginian, and said with pretended seventy : 
 
 " Oh, for shame ! Afraid of the count ! You d 
 make two of him ! " 
 
 " Not in that way do I fear him, or any man, 
 Miss Elise. I only mistrust that he may make you 
 forget me ! for this very night I return to Kaskas- 
 kia. But for the delay of the scouts in returning, 
 I should even now be on my way. See how I 
 trust you, whom I have seen but twice. What I 
 have said must be a secret between us." 
 
 Her glance fell, her proud face flushed, and 
 she murmured in a tone enticingly gentle, 
 humbly as a maid who feels the thrill of first 
 love : 
 
 " I am honored, Monsieur Captain, beyond my 
 deserts, by your confidence, and shall keep it 
 sacred." She looked up earnestly into his deep 
 blue eyes and fair face as he leaned over her 
 from his great stature, with a new feeling soften 
 ing her own black eyes, and coloring her dark 
 cheek, a look that roused him, and he half 
 stretched out his hand, then drew it back, as 
 there was a general movement toward the salle 
 a manger. The kitchen recked with the odor of 
 
THE PANCAKE PARTY 267 
 
 fried pancakes, and was blue with smoke of 
 burned grease. The great bowl of batter was 
 empty. 
 
 St. Vrain led the laughing procession by right 
 of having tossed the pancake highest, carrying 
 aloft a great steaming pile on a huge pewter 
 platter, to be the piece de resistance of the feast. 
 
 All were snugly seated, and the cakes and 
 maple syrup were circulating, when at one and 
 the same moment a gun boomed from the fort, 
 and a soldier in a tattered American uniform 
 burst into the room without ceremony. 
 
 " Lieutenant Bosseron, your presence is de 
 manded at the fort ! The British are in sight 
 of the town by the river ! " 
 
 All were struck with consternation. St. Vrain 
 alone showed no surprise. 
 
 Bowman, cool and alert, approached the mes 
 senger before the awe-struck company rallied, and 
 demanded in a low voice : 
 
 " Have you anything for me ? " 
 
 A letter was pushed into his hand, and before 
 the British had hardly landed he was on his way 
 to Kaskaskia, and to Clark. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE "HAIR-BUYER GENERAL" 
 
 THE second day after the capitulation of the 
 fort and village, Hamilton required every inhabit 
 ant to renew his fealty to the British king. 
 Either the failure of the militia to come to the 
 aid of Helm mitigated Hamilton s severity 
 toward them ; or he had had orders from higher 
 authority not to use extreme measures with a 
 people easily placated by plausible promises and 
 honeyed words. 
 
 Nevertheless, out of the reach of the long arm 
 of authority, he required them to subscribe to the 
 most humiliating oaths and allegations. The 
 entire village of six hundred souls were com 
 pelled to repair to the little church and by word 
 of mouth, or by sponsors, to abjectly confess that 
 they had been very undutiful hitherto, and hum 
 bly to ask forgiveness of God and of their rightful 
 sovereign, King George. A drastic draught this 
 second dose of British bitters ! But they swal 
 lowed it, not without the making of wry faces 
 and heaving of stomachs. 
 
 268 
 
THE "HAIR-BUYER GENERAL" 269 
 
 Perhaps the worst punishment Hamilton in 
 flicted was the hard labor he required of them. 
 They were compelled to construct barracks for 
 four hundred men ; cut and dress logs, and erect 
 two new blockhouses and a guard-house ; alter 
 and double the stockades, making them eleven 
 feet high ; build new batteaux ; lay a foot of 
 gravel all over the parade-ground ; and sink two 
 new wells. Strangely enough the fort had 
 hitherto depended on a spring on the river 
 bank. When all these improvements should 
 have been finished (which labor would last well 
 through the winter) " Sackville," as it was rechris- 
 tened, would be stronger and better than before. 
 But this enforced labor was the best possible 
 means Hamilton could have taken to crystallize 
 their atomic loyalty to the Americans. They 
 paid in sweat for their defection. Helm had the 
 satisfaction of seeing how they smarted under the 
 humiliation of their position ; and how surely 
 Hamilton, while strengthening the fort, was 
 weakening his influence over them. 
 
 General Hamilton was not a man of fine dis 
 cernment, but even he saw, at last, that he had 
 gone too far, and must regain their good-will by 
 some means. 
 
 He shrewdly hit upon a plan most certain to 
 
2/0 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 please these easily mollified villagers. He would 
 give a ball on Christmas night in the new quar 
 ters, the interior of which was one vast room. 
 His urbane mood reached a climax, when a forag 
 ing party of savages, headed by Ah-mah-nac-o, 
 came in l bringing with them eighty captives and 
 one hundred and sixty-five scalps of their help 
 less victims ; among them were the coarse locks 
 of stalwart men, the long, thin, silvery tresses of 
 old women, the brown silken curls of maidens, 
 even the lint locks of babes ! 
 
 He gave to these wretches the awards agreed 
 upon, taffia, blankets, powder, and shot, and 
 had the grisly spoils stowed away in some odd 
 corner. 
 
 Very shortly after his arrival at the fort he had 
 separated into small bands these five hundred 
 Indians, who had formed the greater part of his 
 army, and sent them on maurauding expeditions 
 against the frontier, while the eighty white regu 
 lars and the twenty-one prisoners of war remained 
 at the fort. 
 
 Lancaster standing by, in the light of the big 
 log fire built on the parade-ground for the Indians, 
 who hated the close confinement of quarters, be 
 held this ghastly trafficking with sickening horror, 
 
 1 Haldeman Papers, Quebec Archives. 
 
THE "HAIR-BUYER GENERAL" 2/1 
 
 which gave place to rage. He could scarcely re 
 frain from rushing upon the monster war chief, in 
 whom he recognized Ah-mah-nac-o, snatching 
 his hatchet and sinking it in his brain first, then 
 in Hamilton s. 
 
 The red light from the fire, the wild savages, 
 the accursed bartering, were as weirdly horrible as 
 a scene in hell. The fiendish satisfaction of the 
 savage, the satanic craft of the white men, who 
 in counting flung these pitiful human relics into 
 a tangled heap on the ground like so many pelts 
 of wolves or skunks, were inhuman, devilish. 
 
 Lancaster s throat swelled and ached with a 
 misery too great for tears. His blood rushed 
 through his heart so fiercely as to nearly burst it. 
 His teeth clinched. His muscles knotted, bracing 
 for vengeful action, when a hand firmly gripped 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Caution ! caution ! boy. What is one toma 
 hawk to fifty ? " said a stranger to him, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " I will not bear it without striking a blow ! 
 Villains ! murderers ! " and further speech was 
 cut off by the same hand laid upon his lips. 
 
 " To what end is all this rage ? " calmly asked 
 the man whose hand had silenced him. 
 
 " To avenge those ! " Lancaster pointed to the 
 
2/2 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 pile of scalps, some of which lay matted with 
 gouts of blood, scarcely cold ; others dry like 
 rustling parchment, these latter they had ob 
 tained by trading with other tribes. One had 
 fallen from the pile and lay spread out on the 
 ground, without a stain, like a silvery aureole 
 around a wintry moon, an old, old woman s 
 beautiful white hair. A savage kicked it upon 
 the pile. Lancaster looked fiercely into his face ; 
 it was the Yellow Wolf. He sprang toward him, 
 with a cry like the snarling of an animal, and 
 snatched the silvery scalp. 
 
 A flouting voice called out in French : 
 " Not so fast, my fine fellow. Would you 
 have a love-lock ? Take one of a color more in 
 keeping with your years. This is his gracious 
 Majesty s King George s." The man looked 
 mockingly into Lancaster s twitching face. Lan 
 caster glared at him, and recognizing him, 
 snatched St. Vrain s own knife from his belt, and 
 would have plunged it into the inhuman jester s 
 heart. He flung up his hand clutching the knife 
 for force to drive it home, but before it could 
 descend he was whirled about and dragged away. 
 " You must have suffered cruelly, my lad, to so 
 far forget yourself. Your life is at stake for at 
 tempting to strike one of Hamilton s mercenaries, 
 
THE "HAIR-BUYER GENERAL" 2/3 
 
 of all whom St. Vrain is prime favorite. It was 
 lucky, indeed, that the general s back was turned, 
 and that he saw you not, rash youth. Your 
 chance would not have been worth a bad penny. 
 You would have been brained like a mad wolf. 
 St. Vrain, though a coureur in English pay, is a 
 man of spirit and has a sense of fair play. Him 
 we can trust." 
 
 " Suffered ! Great God, how I have suffered! " 
 burst out Lancaster, heedless of all but that one 
 word in the man s long tirade. " We have been 
 harried like wild beasts; driven before these red 
 devils, for what? Because we would seek a 
 peaceful home in the wilderness ; and our people 
 would throw off the yoke of bondage to such as 
 he ! " pointing with bitter hate toward Hamilton. 
 
 " Be calm, my friend, be calm ! You speak in 
 extreme heat, under great provocation, but it 
 will not be overlooked on that account, and 
 with the bitter grief of a young heart. When it 
 ages in such scenes, as mine has, you will learn 
 to bear silently. God only knows how bitter the 
 burden ! " he muttered ; then resumed aloud, 
 " All Englishmen are not monsters such as 
 he." 
 
 " Who are you that dare take his part ? " de 
 manded Lancaster, hotly. 
 
2/4 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 " Are you an American ? " questioned the man 
 cautiously, by way of answer. 
 
 "Yes; and a prisoner to that inhuman 
 wretch." 
 
 They had walked away to a considerable dis 
 tance from where the trafficking was going on, 
 but it was clearly visible to them in the firelight, 
 while they were in shadow, and unnoticed in the 
 stir and bustle. 
 
 " Moderate your wrath. I tell you it will do 
 no good. It is a waste of power. Save yourself 
 for a time when this energy, now squandered, will 
 count. That will be soon ! " 
 
 " Who are you, to speak so boldly ? " 
 
 " I am Vigo, the trader, and I was captured in 
 sight of the fort yesterday, and all my goods con 
 fiscated." He dropped his voice to the faintest 
 tone. " But I am just come from Clark, com 
 missioned to learn the strength of the fort. As 
 a trader I will soon be discharged, for no incrim 
 inating papers will be found in my effects. My 
 time is precious ; you can be of great service. 
 Once released I return to Clark. Then come 
 what will." 
 
 Exultant joy kindled Lancaster s face. He 
 turned a look of flaming hate on Hamilton ; he 
 whispered fiercely: 
 
THE "HAIR-BUYER GENERAL" 2/5 
 
 " What will come, will be yonder inhuman 
 fiend s ruin." 
 
 By this time the taffia was beginning to take 
 effect, and the savages were making frightful din, 
 weaving in and out in a wild dance about the 
 fire. The garrison was absorbed in watching 
 their wild gyrations, which to them were as wel 
 come as a play, and under cover of the noise and 
 excitement Vigo and Lancaster slipped into the 
 dark shadows and thoroughly inspected the fort. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS FETE 
 
 THE evening of the fete the large cabinet ad 
 joining the parlor in the Dubois mansion pre 
 sented a ravishing picture. Two of the three 
 demoiselles Dubois had spent the intervening 
 days between the delivery of the invitation 
 and Christmas night in an ecstasy of prepara 
 tion. Even the dignified colonel had caught the 
 infection sufficiently to have the large silver 
 buckles on his shoes once worn at the court 
 of Louis XVI polished to the highest lustre. 
 
 The last batteaux from Biloxi and New 
 Orleans had brought ribbons and laces, silk stock 
 ings, sheer muslins, even flowery damassin, but, 
 alas ! only one pair of high-heeled slippers, long 
 and slim ; and, far more grateful to their girlish 
 taste, a fashion book only some ten months out 
 of Paris itself! which pictured, rudely enough, 
 how the beautiful Queen Antoinette arrayed her 
 self for such occasions. Therefore, in posses 
 sion of the latest mode, the demoiselles Dubois 
 
 276 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 277 
 
 hoped to strike all beholders with wonder and 
 admiration. 
 
 Elise, who had an instinct for dress amounting 
 to a passion, had set to work snipping and cutting, 
 fashioning and shaping with vigor; and the re 
 wards were shown in the toilettes as exactly copied 
 from her gracious Majesty s as their means would 
 permit. The result was marvellous. It made 
 one blink and think of magic, to behold three 
 court ladies here, miles in the wilderness, with an 
 Indian village across the river and a vast forest 
 encircling the spot. Truly, woman s love of dress 
 is an heritage of the sex, and one that has worked 
 a deal of mischief in its day. 
 
 Elise, herself, looked like some grand marquise, 
 in her sprigged damassin, looped up over a petti 
 coat of white satin, through which ran threads of 
 gold. It was a relic of her grandmother s finery. 
 Her hair was piled high on a cushion, well pow 
 dered with starch, made under her own eye by 
 the panis from crushed corn. She sported a star- 
 shaped patch, cut from a bit of black taffeta, 
 and stuck on with gum from the cherry tree. 
 
 Suzanne darted hither and thither, brilliant 
 and facile as a humming-bird, in a silk gown of 
 glimmering green shot with scarlet, a ruffle of 
 lace around her plump shoulders, and wide sleeves 
 
2/8 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 of the same falling back from her arms, which 
 were of nearly the same ivory tint as the ancient 
 web, a priceless heirloom. 
 
 Jeanne refused such light, frivolous adorning, 
 and appeared the novice she aspired to be, in a 
 thin white muslin gown with white ribbons, about 
 her neck a chain of gold, pendant from which 
 was a cross studded with pearls. She looked the 
 sweet, little white saint, and not a gleam of envy 
 crossed her heart when she beheld the brilliant 
 toilettes of her sisters. They, fully attired, were 
 giving absorbed attention to the robing of An- 
 gele, who submitted with her usual preoccupied 
 air, half pleased, half indifferent. Their opera 
 tions on her toilette had produced startling 
 results, which surprised no one more than them 
 selves. She was taller, fairer, slenderer than 
 they, so pale, indeed, that they had lightly 
 touched the wan cheeks, still piteously hollowed, 
 with a soup9on of rouge. Her eyes did not need 
 the touch of black beneath the lower lid which 
 Suzanne had thought necessary to hers. Her 
 hair was piled in the exaggerated French court 
 fashion and blanched with the starch till none of 
 its natural color remained. A black patch was set 
 guard over the dimple in her cheek, and gave her 
 the charming touch of coquetry she had lacked. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 279 
 
 Her gown was of diaphanous tissue, yellow 
 as spring daffodils, and fell from her white 
 shoulders, in the back, Watteau-fashion, with a 
 fichu of white lace binding them round tenderly ; 
 its shining folds billowed to her feet over a yel 
 low satin petticoat. To her share fell the slender 
 high-heeled slippers, which had proved too long 
 and narrow for the short, plump feet of Elise and 
 Suzanne ; they had to content themselves with 
 sandals of pale buff doeskin, and kept hiding 
 their feet under their gowns like strutting pea 
 fowls. 
 
 None, in their dreams of fancy flights, could 
 have imagined Ferriby, the maid in linsey, the 
 waif from the forest, to be the same being as 
 the stately young woman in court costume. Ma 
 dame la grandmere s ancient finery, in its pris 
 tine freshness, had never worked such miracles of 
 loveliness. Angele s stately carriage came from 
 her extreme caution, her inaptness at walking on 
 pegs of heels after having worn moccasins or 
 sabots all her days. 
 
 The girls were exclaiming at her loveliness 
 with characteristic effusiveness, Elise with the 
 satisfaction of an artist, Suzanne with loving 
 energy ; but Jeanne only gazed with the rapture 
 of a devotee when Michael announced that the 
 
280 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 caleshes were at the door, and that Monsieur the 
 Colonel and madame, were weary with waiting. 
 They took flight like gay birds. 
 
 The large officer s room at the fort had been 
 cleared for dancing. The supper which would 
 be most substantial, with few kick-shaws, would be 
 served in the adjoining log house, near which the 
 kitchen stood. 
 
 A slight sprinkle of snow had redeemed the 
 year from having a " green Christmas," at which 
 the French secretly rejoiced ; for it augured that 
 the little graveyard around St. Xavier s church 
 would not fatten because of a " white " one. 
 
 The great fireplace was fed with logs as thick 
 as a man s body, and glowed like a fiery furnace 
 through the constant attention of the common 
 prisoners and panis. There were many of these 
 fires to be looked after, as the whole fort was 
 hospitably thrown open, and it took two men to 
 fetch in the logs for each. Their flaming helped 
 out the illumination of sundry tallow dips hung 
 about the room amid a festooning of Christmas 
 greens, pillaged from the pines and hemlocks, 
 miles away on the bluffs of Riviere Blanche. 
 
 General Hamilton and his aids, Major Hay and 
 Captain Lamothe, were gorgeous in the scarlet 
 
THE CHRISTMAS F^TE 28 1 
 
 and gold of King George s troops. In the inter 
 val pending the arrival of guests they stood on 
 the hearth, with their backs to the fire, coat-tails 
 carefully parted, basking in the grateful heat. 
 Bellefluille, who held the most important post of 
 interpreter, stood near by, yet apart ; thus nicely 
 defining his and his superiors positions. 
 
 Lamothe, with characteristic Gallic finesse, 
 was seemingly enjoying to the uttermost the 
 rather heavy witticisms and coarse jests passing 
 between Hamilton and Hay. While he barely 
 understood a word, he instinctively knew when to 
 laugh. 
 
 Fran9ois Magnian, sergeant, was to act as mas 
 ter of ceremonies, announce the guests, and the 
 like. Three fiddlers from the townsfolk were 
 there to furnish the music. It was to be an 
 imposing and elegant occasion, one that would 
 impress the volatile French with the complai 
 sance and condescension of their British masters, 
 and in a measure reconcile them to them. 
 
 " These prudish French lassies are worse than 
 the old dames ! " observed Hay, peevishly. " I 
 hope we may not have to put in the evening 
 piloting those mountains of flesh through dull 
 minuets, instead of pairing with maids in sprightly 
 galliards ! " 
 
282 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " The little devils ! They re scarcely civil ! By 
 heaven, those girls of Dubois s are rare ones ! " 
 said Hamilton. 
 
 " There s one they call Elise who has an itch 
 ing to be a court dame, and will scarcely let her 
 eye fall on a British officer ! " growled Hay. 
 
 " And Jeanne, the demure one, has her eyes 
 cast down constantly, as if telling her beads, and 
 a man can t get so much as a flash from them to 
 lighten his heart," complained Lamothe. 
 
 Hamilton and Hay burst into rude laughter 
 at his sentimentality. 
 
 " Suzanne is a little romp, but, like fen-light, 
 there s no laying a finger on her ! " continued 
 Lamothe, unruffled by their ridicule. 
 
 " How about the blonde, the white angel ? " 
 questioned Hamilton. 
 
 " She s no French girl ! " said Hay, emphati 
 cally. " Snow she is ! Soot they are compared 
 to her." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Major Hay waxes soft ! " jeered Ham 
 ilton. " Next he ll " But Sergeant Magnian 
 broke in upon his speech by announcing in a loud, 
 important voice, 
 
 " Monsieur le Colonel Dubois, madame, and 
 the demoiselles Dubois ! " There was a drop 
 ping of negligent attitudes. A sharp thrill 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 283 
 
 of surprise pricked the hosts. They could 
 scarcely believe their eyes. Their wits nearly 
 forsook them, when a troop of fair ladies, fine as 
 court beauties, swept toward them, with dignified 
 ease and grace, and paused to drop a stately 
 courtesy, as their hosts met them halfway. 
 
 The men were visibly impressed by the splen 
 dor of their toilettes, as men ever are, and a slight 
 but telling change came over their demeanor. 
 
 The tinge of freedom and patronage faded 
 from their manner, and their courtesy was all the 
 most exacting could demand. But before greet 
 ings were ended, in rushed a lively crowd of 
 guests, who in turn, gaped and stared, grew silent 
 and awkward in the face of such surprising mag 
 nificence. The women were uneasy at the vio 
 lent contrast to their own toilettes. The men, 
 open-mouthed and sheepish, admired and won 
 dered. Soon the fiddlers set all right. Then 
 feet went trippingly to the measure of the gay 
 galliard, the reel, and the country-dance. At 
 last came the minuet, that dance which savors of 
 courts and stately beauty. 
 
 Now Suzanne, bringing all her ingenuity to 
 bear, had learned that dance out of a book ; for 
 on her feet she was as light as a canoe on the 
 water, a cloudlet in the sky, a leaf in the wind. 
 
284 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Such smooth gliding, such ease of motion, such 
 wild gyrations as she was capable of would put a 
 premiere danseuse to shame. It was her one great 
 talent. She had impressed every one in the 
 family necessary to carry out her purpose, and 
 had trained them with unflagging zeal and tireless 
 patience. This was to be her triumph, for no one 
 else could dance the minuet. With tears in her 
 eyes she had entreated Jeanne for once to lay 
 aside her scruples, and Jeanne had yielded. 
 
 Madame had obeyed Suzanne s mandate and had 
 tried to recall the art of her youth, with much 
 prompting by the mistress of the dance; for 
 Angele utterly failed to learn it. Suzanne felt 
 certain Hay and Lamothe, even burly Hamilton, 
 could compass the minuet with good partners to 
 guide them. Elise was to be the partner of the 
 general ; for Hamilton, who was a stickler for 
 etiquette, when he had asked of her the honor 
 had not counted on madame the " mountain " 
 dancing. Thus she had fallen to Hay. Every one 
 instinctively bent to Elise as the most important 
 woman in the company. Suzanne was appropri 
 ated by the sprightly Frenchman, Lamothe. 
 
 Jeanne was left unprovided. The sergeant 
 was sent about the room in quest of any one who 
 could fill the vacant place ; for the affair was to 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 285 
 
 no small extent democratic, and the strict de- 
 markation of caste could not be observed. He 
 stumbled on St. Vrain in the midst of a lively 
 party playing cards in a tiny adjoining room, 
 cleared out for the occasion. , 
 
 " Come, St. Vrain ; you ve been at court for aught 
 any one knows, and must make one of this new 
 fangled dance Ma m selle Suzanne is so set 
 upon ! " 
 
 " Must I dance with the ice-maiden Angele ? " 
 he asked with a wry grimace. 
 
 " No ! " laughed the sergeant, " the little nun 
 falls to you." 
 
 " That s a new experience ! I ll make her for 
 get her vows ! " 
 
 " Come ! come ! the general waits ; what is 
 worse, the haughty Elise ! Can you dance ? " 
 
 St. Vrain walked to the open door of the little 
 cabinet, glanced down the long room where the 
 couples were waiting, and said reluctantly, 
 " Yes, I can." 
 
 " Come, then ! It s the general s orders ! " 
 
 The fire had burned low, and as the set formed, 
 Lancaster came in with a great arm-load of wood. 
 He, as were all prisoners of rank lower than 
 officers, was treated as a menial and compelled to 
 do the work of servants, and he had been ordered 
 
286 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 to feed the fire in the ball-room. He piled the 
 fuel on generously, and watched the flames braid 
 through the interstices till it was well ablaze ; then 
 he turned to go. But too late ! The low, slow 
 measure of the fiddles warned him that the dance 
 had begun ! None would notice him if he stood 
 quietly near the fire ; for prisoners and panis 
 were scattered about everywhere. 
 
 As he leaned against the jamb of the door 
 leading into the little cabinet, Lancaster was 
 caught, like all the silent spectators, by the quaint 
 beauty of the pictorial scene, the eager faces of 
 those standing against the rough log wall watch 
 ing the slow, stately movement, the sweeping 
 courtesys of the eight dancers in the firelight. 
 
 The flames danced and flashed over the shim 
 mering satins and filmy chiffons of the ladies ; the 
 brilliant, gold-laced, scarlet uniforms of the officers, 
 and the unique costume of the coureur. He was 
 arrayed in his best, a suit of fresh, pale-yellow 
 doeskin, a silken sash of vivid crimson about his 
 waist. His jerkin was richly embroidered with 
 shells, beads, and stained porcupine quills. His 
 black hair was gathered into a queue with a black 
 ribbon. His slender feet trod the measure 
 noiselessly in moccasins, a crust of bead embroi 
 dery. His evolutions were perfect, his demeanor 
 
Watching . . . the sweeping courtesies of the dancers." 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 287 
 
 that of one well used to the dance. And when 
 at its close he gave his arm to Jeanne with the 
 grace and courtesy of one habituated to the 
 niceties of the ball-room, some shook their heads 
 knowingly, because others had ever thought him 
 onlv a coureur de bois ! 
 
 J 
 
 To one of Lancaster s melancholy mind, this 
 scene soon lost interest. He looked about him, 
 his eye travelling vaguely over the company. It 
 fell on Helm, and for a moment his mind dwelt 
 on the remarkable friendship which existed be 
 tween the prisoner captain and the general his 
 captor. Helm s coolness and impudence in out 
 witting him seemed to have caught Hamilton s 
 fancy, and he was treated with the indulgence of a 
 friend. 
 
 Here he was at the ball, dancing like the most 
 favored guest, and was now standing with his 
 late partner, looking on at the minuet. Lancas 
 ter s glance moved to her face, the face of 
 Angele ! He started forward eagerly, then fell 
 back as one does when he thinks he sees a friend 
 in a strange crowd, to find, with a pang at heart, 
 that he knew him not ! Was it only false twang 
 on some string of memory? Her height, was it 
 not a little more than that of Ferriby ? was not 
 the figure less rounded ? Her eyes were downcast, 
 
288 ON THE \VE-A TRAIL 
 
 but the wide sweep of veined lid with its long 
 fringing of golden brown was exact in its resem 
 blance to hers ! The contours of face and figure 
 are unfamiliar, decked out in the extremest French 
 mode. The girl s manner, too, had a cold, calm 
 repose, an ungirlish apathy. Such finery his 
 Ferriby could never flaunt. Such lifeless compo 
 sure his bright, quick, impulsive sweetheart could 
 never acquire. By nature she had the glancing, 
 warming loveliness of sunshine ; the disquiet of 
 the aspen leaf. Her joyousness set her to flash 
 ing with smiles, and to dancing with the nimble- 
 ness of a fawn. This cold, still creature, why 
 did she so cause him to recall her? 
 
 As he looked, his heart beat faster, a pang of 
 pain contracted his throat so that he felt he must 
 cry out or leave the place. But he could not go. 
 The fair one had cast a spell upon him which kept 
 him there, staring till his eyes ached. He re 
 mained to the last deep genuflection of the 
 dancers. 
 
 At once the silent crowd became animated, a 
 romping country-dance began, and Lancaster saw 
 the tall, pale beauty about to join it. On his way 
 to the door he came very near her, and stared so 
 steadily at her that the French lieutenant La- 
 mothe, her escort, spoke harshly, one word : " Be- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 289 
 
 gone ! " She turned instantly, but Lancaster was 
 hurrying through the outer door. 
 
 As St. Vrain led Jeanne down the long room, 
 he said with his accustomed audacity : 
 
 " You have given me a new and delightful sen 
 sation, ma m selle ! I have shot the rapids of the 
 great St. Lawrence ; I have hunted the buffalo ; 
 I have found the wildest retreats of the deer in 
 the forest, and killed the primest duck; I have 
 played the muskallonge in the northern lakes; 
 but never, no never! did they inspire me with 
 such feelings as this dance has done ; such an ex 
 perience as this has been, have I never met 
 before ! " 
 
 Jeanne s eyes opened wide and fixed upon 
 him in astonishment amazed at his extravagant 
 speech, as he meant she should be, but she said 
 nothing in reply. 
 
 " You do not ask why? Because I have danced 
 with a would-be nun ! When you are in the cloister, 
 you, too, ma m selle, will think of this dance ! " 
 
 " Sir ! " she remonstrated half frightened. 
 
 " Yes ! They tell me, ma m selle, that you, with 
 your bright eyes yes I ve seen them, though 
 too often cast upon the insensate puncheons and 
 your satiny hair, are to become a sacrifice to the 
 cloister ! robbed from the hearthstone ! " 
 
2QO ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " Sir ! You speak most strangely ! " said Jeanne, 
 troubled. 
 
 " Tis because I feel most strangely, here ! " and 
 he laid his hand upon his heart. 
 
 " Is it a sudden megrim ? " asked Jeanne, inno 
 cently. 
 
 The coureur groaned softly at her imbecility. 
 " Tis likely to become so, if you persist in this 
 wicked notion ! " 
 
 " Wicked ! monsieur to devote one s self to the 
 church ? " 
 
 " Yes ! The church has many devotees, homely 
 ones, and needs not this flower of the wilderness. 
 Many a man here would pluck it and wear it on 
 his heart forever ! " 
 
 He watched the slow blush mount to her fore 
 head, and a frightened look come over her face. 
 She drew her arm from his, and with quick, light 
 steps sought her mother s side, trembling, and 
 almost panting. 
 
 St. Vrain looked after her, smiled behind his 
 hand, and said to himself : " Tis enough for 
 this once ! Twill give her new food for thought. 
 Yonder fair American maid is not for me, it seems, 
 although I found her. The law of the finder in 
 this case holds not good ! " and he sighed lustily. 
 Then he brightened wonderfully as he smelled 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 291 
 
 the hot apple-toddy the panis were serving out 
 to the guests, and the wafts of appetizing vapor 
 that told supper was in preparation. The odor of 
 roasted wild turkey and broiled venison were 
 sufficient to cheer any man s blasted heart! 
 
 Supper over, the elders settled in pairs and 
 quartets to play at piquet, ecarte, and whist, and 
 the younger ran hither and thither in frolicking 
 games, " Twirl the Trencher," " Blindman s 
 Buff," and the like. 
 
 Lancaster and two other prisoners had been 
 recalled, and set as guards against the maids run 
 ning into the fire. He performed his service but 
 ill, for his eyes constantly sought out the stately 
 maid in yellow, whom he had overheard the amo 
 rous young Frenchmen call " Angele blanche," and 
 the Englishmen, the "snow maid," with such 
 strange yearnings at heart, such unaccountable 
 drawings toward her! She did not join in the 
 boisterous fun, but looked on and smiled at the 
 \vild merriment in a dreamy way, as if her spirit 
 roamed afar. Her eyes rarely wandered or bright 
 ened with interest. 
 
 A tumbling brand claimed Lancaster s attention, 
 and he was instantly conscious that Angele had 
 left the room during that interval of not more 
 
2Q2 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 than a moment. She and Suzanne had slipped 
 into the little cabinet to evade the outstretched 
 arms of the "blind man," who in hot chase after 
 Suzanne had invaded her corner. 
 
 Panting and laughing, Suzanne said, " Let 
 us rest here a moment, Angele; my breath s all 
 but gone," and both sank to blocks of wood pro 
 vided for seats. 
 
 " I m tired of it all, Suzanne, and am glad to 
 slip away," Angele replied, while sadness fell over 
 her great blue eyes. " I do not know, Suzanne, 
 why I feel so dull a weight here," laying her 
 hand upon her breast, "as if I must throw off 
 a heavy barrier that holds me back from some 
 thing. What is it ? what is it ? " 
 
 " Peste ! You are only tired, my Angele. Too 
 much merriment has wearied you. Rest quietly 
 here a moment, and I ll amuse myself among 
 Monsieur Hamilton s trophies." 
 
 On one side of this little cubbyhole rough 
 shelves ran from floor to ceiling, and on them 
 were stored parts of accoutrements, spurs with 
 huge rowels, dried roots, Indian bows and arrows, 
 and such odds and ends as men collect. Su 
 zanne s prying eyes spared nothing, and as she 
 stooped to look under the lowest shelf, she 
 exclaimed : 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FETE 293 
 
 " Le bon Dieu ! what have we here ! A buf 
 falo hide ? " And she plunged her hand deep 
 into a dark mass, clutched what her fingers 
 could hold, and laughingly drew out a 
 scalp ! 
 
 Ferriby turned dull, wearied eyes toward her, 
 but when she beheld the trophy, which Suzanne 
 still clutched as if unable to drop it, her eyes 
 widened with terror ; she gasped for breath ; 
 struggled to rise, and plunged across the short 
 space between them. She tore the scalp from 
 the fingers of the horror-struck Suzanne, pressed 
 the long, silken, white locks, matted and filthy 
 with dried blood, to her breast, and shrieked one 
 wild shriek after another. Suzanne thought her 
 mad and rushed to the door for help, just as those 
 nearest it burst in appalled. Lancaster was first 
 to reach her, and caught the shrieking girl to his 
 breast, and the silvery scalp slid to the floor, down 
 the length of her satin gown. In another moment 
 she was taken from him to the motherly bosom of 
 madame, and hurried away from the scene. 
 
 The fete ended in wild confusion. After all 
 had dispersed and quiet had settled down, Hamil 
 ton and Hay went into the little cabinet to learn 
 the cause of the girl s terror. The white scalp 
 on the floor told the story. 
 
294 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " The cursed fools, to leave them here ! That 
 impish Suzanne found them, of course," and he 
 pushed it carelessly with his foot into the corner 
 with the others. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 MIDWINTER 
 
 AFTER Ferriby had been borne tenderly home 
 from the fete, every torture memory could inflict 
 was hers. Suzanne, Jeanne, and madame sat by 
 her side the remainder of the night. Her mind 
 emptied itself of all its ghastly stowage ; a cease 
 less stream of words, low and monotonous, like 
 one talking in sleep, fell from her lips, as if some 
 power outside of her own will called upon her 
 to speak. It seemed as if suspended memory 
 had lost sight of everything between those days 
 of horror and those of peacef ulness. 
 
 Every act passed in review, every horrid ex 
 perience was lived over again. They feared for 
 her reason. 
 
 The discovery of the snowy scalp, madame 
 regarded as a horrid coincidence, but Jeanne and 
 Suzanne, with the swift conviction of youth, be 
 lieved as Ferriby did, that it was that of her 
 grandmother. Their tears streamed when she 
 told of her parting from her lover in the clearing, 
 
 295 
 
296 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 destined to be so lasting. They sobbed aloud 
 when she recounted the awful massacre in the 
 cabin. They shuddered with terror when she 
 related the story of her capture and lonely wan 
 derings in the wilderness. They trembled at 
 the fearfulness of it, and wept with the pity of it. 
 They blessed St. Vrain for his tender humanity, 
 and Jeanne had much trouble thereafter to keep 
 thoughts of him from intruding on her pious 
 meditations. Suzanne sobbed out, " I ll always 
 love him as a dear brother!" 
 
 Madame, with calmer judgment, was inclined 
 to believe her revelation to be the flighty maun 
 dering of one fever-stricken. 
 
 At daybreak Ferriby s babblings fell into si 
 lence. She subsided into a calm as fearful as 
 her ravings, and a weakness fell upon her so 
 piteous it sent Suzanne weeping, Jeanne praying, 
 from her bedside ; for it seemed that Death would 
 claim all that grief had left of vitality. 
 
 After a fortnight of alternate hope and despair 
 on the part of her watchers, strength came creep 
 ing back, and with it perfect recollection of the 
 past. 
 
 Her story did not become generally known; 
 for it was not thought wise to inflame the minds 
 of the villagers by a repetition of such atrocities, 
 
MIDWINTER 297 
 
 at least until proof had established that they were 
 not the hallucinations of one suddenly upset by 
 fright, which was the generally accepted theory 
 of her sudden illness. 
 
 But Colonel Dubois quietly set on foot a search 
 for her people and for confirmation of her story, 
 by the aid of hunters and trappers. 
 
 Hamilton believed Ferriby s fright arose from 
 the shock of finding so ghastly an object; and 
 for excellent reasons said no more about the 
 unlucky affair. 
 
 After the holidays the villagers settled down 
 to their midwinter tasks and pastimes. The 
 trappers were abroad slaying their victims, be 
 cause winter hides brought so many more shil 
 lings than the " salted down " hides of warm 
 weather. The nobler animals also were slaugh 
 tered mercilessly: huge saddles of venison were 
 " cured," as well as the choicer parts of the buffalo, 
 for summer consumption. 
 
 Bands of savages roamed back and forth through 
 the Illinois country, harrowing the frontier, and 
 returning to the fort to be paid for their spoils. 
 No messengers were able to get through to Vir 
 ginia that winter, thanks to the murderous vigi 
 lance of the English mercenaries. 
 
 Clark was wearing his life out at Kaskaskia in 
 
2Q8 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 anxious expectation of aid from Virginia, which 
 he never received. 
 
 Lancaster still a prisoner, chafing and fretting, 
 despairing and maddened, was kept busy early 
 and late, hewing, sawing, digging, unwillingly 
 bearing a part in the improvement of the fort. 
 
 He had never again seen the pale girl who had 
 so mysteriously moved him, except in dreams. 
 Nor had he heard more of her than that she was 
 one of Colonel Dubois s daughters. While his 
 physical condition improved and strengthened 
 daily, by his outdoor labor, in spite of himself, 
 his mind was slowly settling into a hopelessness 
 bordering on melancholia. 
 
 Not the slightest opportunity for escape pre 
 sented itself. At night he slept surrounded by 
 Hamilton s regulars; by day he worked with 
 them, constantly guarded. The eternal surveil 
 lance and helplessness of his situation was driv 
 ing him to despair. 
 
 By the aid of cards and dice, taffia and brandy, 
 and the companionship of Lamothe and Hay, 
 Hamilton managed to get through the heavy days. 
 Even Helm, who was a prime favorite with all, 
 was called upon to lighten the dragging hours. 
 His odd humor amused the duller witted Hamil 
 ton. His brazen audacity and unquenchable 
 
MIDWINTER 299 
 
 spirits kept them on the alert, wondering what 
 he would say or do next ; he was an irreverent 
 godsend in that dull hole. But all these slow 
 hours were not passed in frivolity by Hamilton. 
 Many were secretly employed in formulating 
 plans for his early spring campaign against the 
 American frontiersman, which, for his means, 
 was to be on a large scale, one of merciless, vig 
 orous carnage. He had carte blanche to do as 
 he pleased, and his pleasure was infamous. 
 
 His plans were fully made, and only lacked 
 opportunity to be set in motion, when he was 
 balked by a power he could in no wise control 
 the operations of nature. Weeks of rain, a Jan 
 uary thaw, set in, which lasted well into the mid 
 dle of February. The improvements in the fort 
 were all but completed. A terrible ennui fell 
 upon him. Time dragged like an ox-cart 
 through bottomless prairie mud. He bitterly 
 regretted the display of petty arrogance which 
 had caused him to destroy the two billiard tables 
 at the tavern ; they would now have served their 
 turn at diversion from the terrible impatience 
 which seized him. He eagerly used every 
 chance to lighten the time ; held drinking-bouts 
 in his own private quarters, and attended those 
 given by Hay and Lamothe in theirs. 
 
300 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 In his extremity he even accepted invitations 
 from Helm, to whom he had assigned comfortable 
 quarters in a small log house near his own ; and 
 to whom, while carefully guarded, he accorded 
 great freedom within the precincts of the fort. 
 
 Helm came and went much as he pleased, but 
 his range was confined to six acres, bounded on 
 all sides by a stout stockade of oak and hickory 
 saplings, eleven feet high, set double. 
 
 His unabating cheerfulness, his "quips and 
 cranks," his resource in inventing new amuse 
 ments from very small means, had made him a 
 refuge from dulness to Hamilton. Therefore 
 it was with pleasure and satisfaction that he ac 
 cepted an invitation from Helm to spend a 
 drizzly evening in his cabin. 
 
 Shortly after candle-lighting, when he had 
 eaten his coarse rations and had smoked a pipe, 
 Hamilton took himself off to enjoy the pleasant 
 company of his hostile host, and a friendly game 
 at piquet with him. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 A GAME OF PIQUET 
 
 IT was a muggy night after a period of drizzling, 
 wet days when the grass had been soaked from 
 dull green (for it had been an " open " winter) to 
 the duller brown of ultimate decay, to which 
 nature brings everything, animal and vegetable, 
 high and low, at last. 
 
 The mud in the fort grounds would have been 
 knee deep but for Hamilton s timely application 
 of gravel. The sky was lowering and thick 
 with mist that needed but a waft of colder 
 wind to distil it into drops, as a peevish child 
 melts to tears at the one trifle too much. 
 
 It was eminently a night for pleasure indoors, 
 and Hamilton vaguely pitied the unlucky wight 
 who had business out; as he heard the dull tread 
 of the sentries, and thought of Lamothe, whom he 
 had sent off that morning on a scouting expedi 
 tion. When he reached Helm s quarters he found 
 pleasant company, and he threw off his cloak and 
 hat without waiting for his host (who called out a 
 
 301 
 
302 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 cheery greeting) to rise from an occupation that 
 promised much. Helm was crouched over the 
 hearth, in the full heat of the fire, though not in 
 need of warming, as his flaming face testified. 
 
 He was watching a row of red-cheeked apples 
 fade in the glow, like rosy girls in the perfervid 
 fire of life, into an ugly brown, all their lusty 
 color scorched from them as he turned them 
 slowly before the hot bank of coals. When the 
 odor of pleasant juices reached him, Hamilton 
 sniffed unctuously as a cat sniffs catnip. He 
 drew near the hearth, and placing himself to one 
 side where he could watch the agreeable task of 
 his host, rubbing his chill hands, smacking his 
 lips, he remarked: 
 
 " If I mistake not all the signs, Helm, we are 
 in for one of your incomparable brews. Eh ? " 
 
 " I design nothing else, general, though most 
 soldiers in my case would prefer a brew of an 
 other sort ! " he replied, with a scarcely perceptible 
 straying of the eye toward Major La Grasse and 
 Captain Bosseron, paroled residents of O Poste, 
 who at that moment entered together, coming in 
 from the town. 
 
 Bellefluille, the interpreter, answered to Helm s 
 remark. 
 
 " Small chance of any other kind this night, 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 303 
 
 captain, unless it be of rain, which le bon Dieu 
 avert! We have had more than a stomach full 
 of that!" 
 
 All the guests, but the newcomers, were gathered 
 about the table dicing. Hamilton retired from 
 the fireside and seated himself apart from the 
 others at the extreme end of the table, a long slab 
 of puncheon, and fell to sorting over a pack of 
 cards, preparatory to getting satisfaction out of 
 Helm for his last defeat at piquet, by that worthy. 
 He counted aloud absently, "ace," " deuce," " tray," 
 as he threw them into two piles. 
 
 Hay sat on a corner of the table, idly swinging 
 his foot in the pauses of the game he was engaged 
 in, watching intently each step of the toddy 
 making. 
 
 Bosseron approached the hearth, his back to 
 the rest, and stretched out his hands to the blaze 
 to warm them. As he did so Helm glanced up 
 casually at him and met a look so meaning, so 
 triumphant, he read it, with the intuition of a 
 woman, as a message of import. Tact silenced 
 his lips, but his eyes flashed the question, " Good 
 news ? " 
 
 Bosseron s lips silently formed the word " Yes." 
 
 The next moment his interest centred on his 
 row of apples, now done to a turn, their thin skins 
 
304 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 bursting, showing the foamy white inside. With 
 a hand that trembled slightly he nicely blended 
 the brandy, water, sugar, and spice (a modicum of 
 dried sassafras and spice-wood bark doing duty), 
 turned it into the great iron brewing cup, and 
 thrust the long nozzle into a bed of living coals 
 well inside the fireplace. He hung over it as 
 solicitously as a young mother over a sick babe, 
 but managed meantime to keep up a volley of 
 chaffing with his guests. Noticing Hamilton s 
 occupation, he cried : 
 
 " Don t hope to beat me at piquet, general. By 
 the Eternal ! I ve come to think my victory over 
 you foreordained." 
 
 This " double entente " was not lost on La 
 Grasse and Bosseron, who smiled broadly. 
 
 Hamilton glanced up from the cards and said 
 somewhat testily, 
 
 " Destiny in battle is not foretold by a pack of 
 dirty cards, begad ! " 
 
 " Spoken like a soldier. No ! by Heaven, tis 
 by courage, endurance in the face of every diffi 
 culty and danger. God prosper the right ! " 
 
 Hamilton looked surprised at this outburst, and 
 remarked dryly : 
 
 " This post is rather a hard billet, but I ve no 
 reason to complain except for this cursed dul- 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 305 
 
 ness. Much I owe you, Helm, for becoming my 
 prisoner." 
 
 There was a very slight emphasis on the last 
 word. 
 
 " And I you for being my guest," Helm replied, 
 with irresistible bravado, which puzzled the 
 Frenchmen and made the Englishmen laugh. 
 
 " Besides, it will be livelier soon," said Hamil 
 ton, with unmistakable meaning. 
 
 " I doubt it not," acquiesced Helm, nonchalantly, 
 turning to his brew. He lifted it to a hotter bed, 
 and was just settling it to his satisfaction when 
 there was a crack from a gun, a rattle, and a 
 great lump of dried mud fell down the chimney 
 and splashed into the mixture. Helm started 
 back to get out of the cloud of hot aromatic steam. 
 The vessel had turned sideways and had spilt 
 most of the posset on the fire ; but he carefully 
 righted it, skimmed off the mud, and roared 
 out: 
 
 " By the God of heaven, gentlemen, that s 
 Clark s soldiers. And they ll take your fort. 
 But," he added whimsically, " they ought not to 
 have spoiled this apple-toddy ! " 1 
 
 Dice turned up double sixes in vain. Cards 
 were flung to the wind. Hamilton rushed to the 
 
 1 Verbatim. 
 
306 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 parade ground, followed by all but Helm. Balls 
 whistled about his ears. A sergeant fell, shot 
 dead. An instant more and the drums sounded 
 a wild alarm, the fort was roused. For a brief 
 space there followed a state of seeming confusion, 
 then the well-disciplined men were in position, 
 gunners and swabbers at the cannon ; musketeers 
 at the port-holes ; lights out. 
 
 At the first alarm a detail had rushed forward 
 to barricade the gate toward the church, when, to 
 their consternation, it burst open. It was only 
 McBeth, the post surgeon, who entered in furious 
 haste, and with him a slight stripling, wrapped 
 closely in a long, black cloak. It was intensely 
 dark, so that no notice was taken of the surgeon s 
 companion. The gate crashed to, and the huge 
 oak barriers, which no ordinary battering-ram 
 could break, were put in place. The Americans 
 under Clark for he it was who had spoiled the 
 posset had crept close under the palisades and 
 lay eleven feet below the ports, out of range of the 
 British guns, so that the shot fell foul or shattered 
 the houses in the village. Clark had surrounded 
 the fort on the three land-sides so stealthily 
 that the first hint of the presence of the Virginians 
 was given by the shot that sent the bit of clay 
 into the apple-toddy. 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 307 
 
 The surgeon was summoned to Hamilton, who 
 closely questioned him, and in the turmoil his 
 companion fled away into the darkness. 
 
 Helm and the handful of prisoners were forgot 
 ten in the suddenness of the attack, and the wild 
 excitement following upon it. His quarters were 
 deserted of all who had been his guests but a 
 short ten minutes before. Mild domestic peace 
 had given place to fierce, cruel war. Helm stood 
 by his hearth, tranquilly sipping a glass of the 
 scalding toddy, now and then blowing upon it 
 to cool it, and listening to the din noising outside. 
 
 " I m neither a prophet, nor the son of a 
 prophet ! But, by the Eternal ! I was right that 
 time!" 
 
 He swallowed a draught in silent toast, and 
 smacked his lips loudly in appreciation of the 
 merits of both the prophecy and the brew. 
 
 " Captain Helm ! " cried a low, eager voice at 
 the door. He turned quickly as a slight figure 
 glided into the space illumined uncertainly by 
 the dying fire. He grew pale, and stared awe 
 struck, for he thought what he saw was a spirit. 
 
 The intruder threw off its cloak. 
 
 " For God s sake ! How did you get here, 
 girl ? Tell me ! " he cried. When it had dawned 
 on him that it was no spirit he saw, but a woman 
 
308 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 in flesh and blood, the girl he knew as Angele 
 Dubois. 
 
 " No one would venture to pass the sentinels 
 on account of their oath of allegiance. I am not 
 a Frenchwoman, and owe the English nothing 
 of loyalty. I am an American ! My duty is to 
 my own people ! Since dark fell, I have waited 
 near the gate for a chance to enter the fort. Dis 
 guised by Colonel Dubois s great cloak, I easily 
 slipped by the guard with a soldier coming in, 
 and was not challenged." 
 
 " True pioneer grit ! With women as bold, 
 determined, and brave as the men, our cause 
 should succeed ! " 
 
 " It will ; for Clark landed on Warrior s Island 
 near sunset this afternoon ! " 
 
 " I thought as much when he spilled my toddy ! 
 The man is more than human to have done it. 
 Was ever such resolution as Clark s ? " 
 
 " I determined to warn you, that you might aid 
 him by any means in your power, or that you 
 might escape to him. One such tried man as 
 you is worth a hundred now ! " 
 
 Helm thought deeply a few moments, and said : 
 " Escape is impossible ! I can t think of a way 
 to help just now ; but the long rifles of the Big 
 Knives will soon make one for me, I dare swear ! 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 309 
 
 That don t bother me much ! It s what to do 
 with you ! " 
 
 " Now I m here, I must stay," said the girl, 
 coolly. " The gates are barricaded, Clark has 
 surrounded the fort. He s certain to take it. I ll 
 be no hindrance to you ; I ll look out for myself ! 
 Go to your duty without a thought of me ! " 
 
 " You re safe enough behind these logs. The 
 rifle-balls of the Americans can t pierce through 
 them. Besides, the attack comes from the other 
 three sides." Helm paused to listen while cannon 
 bellowed and rifles rattled shot like hail. " You ll 
 not be afraid, my girl ? " he asked anxiously. 
 
 " No, no ! not for a moment ! Don t stay for 
 me!" 
 
 " Spoken like a true American maid ! " 
 
 A quiet now ensued, so perfect that the angry 
 rush of the river, full to the brim, not fifty feet 
 back of Helm s cabin, could be distinctly heard. 
 Then followed a mighty blare of cannon, shrill 
 cries, and loud huzzahs, the tremendous har 
 mony of battle ! 
 
 The loud cheers roused Helm. They were 
 the blended voices of his old comrades, as he 
 well knew. He ran to the nearest blockhouse 
 in the thick of it, the one overlooking the church. 
 He mounted the ladder and stood by the grimy 
 
310 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 gunner as he rammed home the charge and 
 touched off the vent. The flame leaped outward. 
 The ball sped with a sharp hiss ; the gunner 
 peered on the instant through the embrasure. 
 His shadow fell across it. Ping! a bullet sang. 
 He fell dead ! Before his shot had reached its 
 aim a musket-ball had pierced his breast. 
 
 " It s the Virginians, no doubt after that ! " 
 said Helm, proudly. " They are the only soldiers 
 that can shoot at a shadow and kill a man ! " 
 
 Without hesitation, the man swabbing out the 
 bore of the gun took the dead man s place, push 
 ing to one side with his foot the out-flung arm of 
 the gunner that he might not tread upon it. He 
 bent forward. Before he could ram home the 
 charge, a bullet bored through his skull near the 
 corner of the eye. 
 
 " By all the fiends of hell ! these fellows shoot 
 at your shadow and leave you a shade," muttered 
 Helm, looking down at the slain men. " I must 
 have a care that I m not plugged myself! But 
 this fellow mustn t be silent. He can only tell 
 tales, as Pat would say, by keeping still ! " He 
 dragged the dead out of the way. 
 
 " Now for a turn at his Majesty s powder ! If 
 Lancaster were only here, twould be a God s 
 blessing ! " 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 311 
 
 He stepped to the ladder- way and called 
 loudly in a pause in the uproar " Lancaster! " 
 
 The reply was a rush of feet up the ladder, and 
 Lancaster stood near him, directly in front of the 
 deadly embrasure. 
 
 " Hell ! boy. Not there ! " and Helm s brawny 
 hand dashed the youth to one side just as a swift 
 bullet shrilled through the space he had occupied. 
 " They shoot like devils, nor miss their mark ! " 
 was Helm s sole comment. " Beware of darken 
 ing the port, for that s what they aim at ! " 
 
 Lancaster glanced at it carelessly, then said, 
 " You want me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; help me with this gun, boy. I m 
 mighty unhandy at these roarers. With my 
 long-barrelled rifle I can shoot with the best of 
 them ! " A smart fusillade from the north seemed 
 to applaud his boast. 
 
 " You don t mean " stammered Lancaster, 
 appalled. 
 
 " No, I don t, you fool ! But this gun s got to 
 holler with the rest ! Noise won t kill ! " 
 
 Lancaster instantly grasped his intention, and 
 continued to swab the gun till the water in 
 his bucket was black and grimy. They served 
 it with tremendous charges of powder; but 
 the shot pile was undiminished. If noise could 
 
312 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 have killed, then half of Clark s army had been 
 slain ! 
 
 None within the fort was the wiser for the 
 good service they two rendered the Americans 
 that night, wasting the king s powder and saving 
 the king s shot. 
 
 The air was swart with smoke! The rayless 
 darkness was lit momently into horrid brilliancy 
 by flamings of cannon, and from every port-hole 
 to the east rifles flashed a narrow jet of fire. 
 
 Each impotent volley from within was received 
 with jeers and taunts by the Americans without. 
 Clark s men were firing intermittently; now 
 and again their long squirrel-rifles carried swift 
 death within through every crack and crevice. 
 Outside the fort, intermingled with the noise of 
 battle, were sounds of chopping, followed by a 
 crash ; dull blows were succeeded by the ripping 
 apart of timbers. But to those within the fort 
 worse than all these were the periods of perfect 
 quiet, lasting but a few moments, but to their 
 strained and anxious ears seeming to be hours 
 long. 
 
 They set the nerves a-quiver ; the teeth a-chat- 
 ter with dread of what might come next. The 
 besiegers were so close under the stockade their 
 movements could not be seen. They slipped like 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 313 
 
 shadows following the sun, from one point to 
 another, and after an interval of racking suspense 
 the attack would come from a new quarter. Then 
 swivels must be turned, cannon shifted, to meet 
 the new attack. After volley-firing would come, 
 at long intervals, the deadly single shots of the 
 sharp-shooters, when the shadow of some incau 
 tious, curious gunner darkened the port for an 
 instant, peering out to behold death ! Scarcely 
 a missent shot was fired by Clark s men. 
 
 Hamilton pervaded the fort, cool and brave. 
 But he was secretly chagrined to have been 
 caught napping by an army of backwoodsmen, 
 such as he conceived Clark s to be. He was a 
 good officer and knew what his men were about. 
 When the cannon in the southwest blockhouse 
 rang out sharply and regularly, he gave no further 
 attention to it, for he was needed elsewhere. 
 
 At last the blackness of the long night began 
 to yield to the graying of dawn. Trembling 
 shafts of light began to part the curtain of smoke 
 and let the morning in. The Americans seemed 
 to have withdrawn ; their rifles were quiet after 
 a terrible night of action. The cannon in the 
 fort paused as if to catch breath. The dominant 
 sound was the rush of the river, muddy and swol 
 len, which spread wide on the farther shore to 
 
314 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 the very lodges of the Piankeshaws. A diversion 
 occurred. An Indian scout managed to find an 
 unguarded spot on the riverside, and scaled the 
 pickets of the stockade like a squirrel. 
 
 He approached Hamilton, and reported that 
 Lamothe was hovering near with his scouting 
 party, in hope of entering the fort. The general 
 ascended to the upper story of the blockhouse 
 and swept the horizon with his glass. No enemy 
 was in sight ! Elated by this extraordinary chance 
 for reinforcements, Hamilton descended to the 
 parade-ground and ordered over the ladders. 
 
 Lamothe and his squad, who had hidden in a 
 barn near by, in furious haste swarmed to the top 
 of the ladder, and with wild bounds leaped from 
 the top of the stockade into the enclosure ; a few, 
 in their eagerness, fell back outside. 
 
 The Americans, peeping from their ambuscade, 
 saw the last one over. A hoarse shout of deri 
 sion told the enraged Hamilton that he had been 
 outgeneralled once more. The reason was only 
 too plain ; the Americans were not strong enough 
 to engage more than one party at a time. At 
 once their firing recommenced, fiercer than ever. 
 
 The wan light proved truly the beginning of 
 another day. The sun appeared a glittering 
 blotch on a dull gray sky and gradually pene- 
 
A GAME OF PIQUET 315 
 
 trailed the sulphurous smoke that hovered over 
 the fort. With the day s return was revealed 
 to Hamilton the true significance of the dull 
 blows and crashings heard in the night. Three 
 hundred yards before the gate, toward the village, 
 the Americans had thrown up a barricade of trees 
 and earth, and were strongly intrenched behind 
 it. They had pulled down the adjacent barns 
 and cabins, leaving a broad space between the 
 fort and village. How they could have accom 
 plished all this and have kept up so galling a 
 fire amazed Hamilton. His wonder would have 
 increased had he known that these 154 men stood 
 up to the work after a march of fifteen days of 
 incredible hardship, the last week up to the arm 
 pits through water over the Drowned Lands, 
 covered for six miles by the overflow of the Oui- 
 bache ; and that, after eating the first full meal 
 they had had for six days, wet, ragged, wayworn, 
 without a thought of rest, they had commenced 
 the attack and kept it up so hotly all night 
 that he was put on his mettle with his fresh 
 troops to meet it. The invincible, unconquerable 
 spirit of the Americans might have warned him 
 and his compatriots of the inevitable outcome of 
 the struggle, not only here but in the colonies. 
 Hamilton strongly suspected that the villagers 
 
316 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 had given aid. Clark forbade them to take part 
 in the assault; but they had indeed been of great 
 assistance, melting pewter utensils into bullets, 
 felling trees, tearing down buildings, throwing 
 up earthworks, and above all, by unearthing a 
 goodly store of buried powder. 
 
 The Americans seemed indeed insensible to 
 fatigue. With the return of day they renewed 
 the assault with unabated energy. Now it was 
 at the price of life a figure passed before a port 
 hole. Ping ! spoke the bullet. Death answered. 
 
 Helm, stripped to the waist, grimy and sweat 
 ing, sorely puzzled, had watched each move of 
 Clark s with amazement. But he knew the won 
 derful sagacity of the man, and had perfect faith 
 in him, while he had not the clew to his actions. 
 He dully wondered what would be his next move. 
 But even he, man of strong faith, was unprepared 
 for it. 
 
 Another appalling silence fell, significant of 
 fresh disaster; and Hamilton, well convinced his 
 weakened garrison could not stand to the guns 
 much longer, ascended to the top of the south 
 west blockhouse, for the enemy had shifted to 
 that quarter, and anxiously used his glass. He 
 almost dropped it in bewilderment ; for he saw a 
 man approaching the gate bearing a white flag. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 AT LAST ! 
 
 THE sudden cessation of firing caused much 
 incautious peering from loopholes ; those over 
 looking the village were crowded. 
 
 Eager to learn the cause, Ferriby left Helm s 
 cabin, where she had spent the fearful night. She 
 crossed to the blockhouse, and climbed the ladder 
 to the upper floor, where he was blithely wasting 
 powder. 
 
 The dead gunner and his mate lay stark in the 
 corner out of harm s way, though, poor wretches, 
 in an earthly sense, harm could come to them no 
 more. 
 
 The furious excitement with which Lancaster 
 had served the gun abated with the silencing of 
 the battery. Horrible weakness overcame him. 
 He swayed from side to side, then pitched face 
 downward to the floor, while blood streamed from 
 his mouth. As he fell, an arm struck Helm, 
 whose face was pressed against the embrasure. 
 The blow startled him ; he turned and cried out 
 wofully, 
 
 317 
 
318 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " God of heaven ! the boy is killed." 
 
 He threw himself down by Lancaster and 
 raised his head upon his knee. Robert s staring 
 eyes happened to be gazing toward the ladder- 
 way, when Ferriby s shoulders reached the level 
 of the floor. Helm s whole attention was taken 
 up with the wounded man. 
 
 " Am I in heaven ? " murmured Lancaster, 
 dreamily, feebly raising his head. " At last I 
 have found you, my Ferriby ! " A mouthful of 
 blood choked his utterance, and he sank back 
 with the sudden fall .of the lifeless against Helm. 
 
 The bluff old soldier was trying to tear off 
 Lancaster s buckskin shirt, for he well knew the 
 flow of blood could come from but two wounds, 
 one of them fatal ; and he prayed mightily and 
 impiously meanwhile. 
 
 " Why the devil won t it loose ! " he raged, as 
 the strings grew knotted in a tangle. " God of 
 love and mercy, save the lad ! " he implored wildly. 
 " By all the fiends of hell, this is damnable ! 
 Killed by his own friends," he cried despairingly. 
 " O Lord, Lord ! Christ of the thorns and spear- 
 wound, save him ! " and tears ran over his 
 rugged face. They two had been constantly 
 together during the long weeks of imprisonment ; 
 and Helm, who was a tender-hearted creature of 
 
AT LAST! 319 
 
 impulse, had taken Lancaster to his heart like a 
 younger, dearly loved brother. 
 
 " Can he be dead ? " asked an awed voice. 
 
 Supreme emotion prevented Helm from feel 
 ing any surprise at the appearance of a girl at 
 such a time, in such a place, as astonishing other- 
 while as the bright presence in the burning bush ; 
 for in the fierce excitement of the night he had 
 completely forgotten her. Nor did her coming 
 now recall her to his mind, so deep was his 
 distress. He did not give her a thought, only 
 so far as she might be of use to Lancaster. 
 
 Helm thrust his hand under Robert s shirt, 
 blackened with powder and stained with blood, 
 and said, 
 
 " No ; thank God ! his heart beats yet" 
 
 Ferriby approached and leaned over Lancaster, 
 and without more ado Helm snatched from her 
 head the kerchief she had tied about it, dipped it 
 into a swabbing bucket, and clapped it over the 
 wound, which he had laid bare, a tiny, clean, 
 red spot, perilously near the top of the lung. 
 
 " Girl, run for the surgeon ! " 
 
 " I don t know him when I see him," Ferriby 
 replied timidly, afraid of Helm in his present 
 mood, fierce with grief. 
 
 " Take my place ! " he ordered. 
 
320 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 She sat down upon the floor, and he laid the 
 heavy head, rocking like a dead man s in the 
 transfer, on her lap. He flung himself down 
 the ladder, leaving her with the forgotten dead, 
 and as both feared with the dying. Lan 
 caster s long black hair fell over his face, the 
 ends on one side dribbling with blood. His 
 countenance was blackened with powder smoke, 
 except for a narrow curve on the forehead, 
 where his cap, now fallen off, had rested. Its 
 youthful contours were sharpened by months 
 of grief and hardship. His cheeks and lip were 
 covered with a dark beard of a few day s growth. 
 His eyes were closed, which was the one hopeful 
 sign that made her think him living. She un 
 loosed the kerchief from about his neck, dipped it 
 into the water and passed it gently over his face 
 and removed the grime. Her task done, she 
 looked into the pale countenance to read what it 
 might reveal. Trembling seized her hand which 
 drew back the long black hair, shudders shook 
 her flesh, her heart swelled to bursting in her 
 breast. She struggled to hold back the wild 
 shriek which must not be uttered. 
 
 "Can it be O God! can it be?" she 
 moaned. 
 
 His heavy lids raised. He looked dully into 
 
" She gently wiped his face, and kissed him once on the lips." 
 
AT LAST! 321 
 
 the agonized eyes above him, whose strong, im 
 ploring gaze had drawn back his departing soul 
 into his dull orbs. He gasped slowly, in scarcely 
 audible tones : 
 
 "Am I dead? Is it is it my Fer- 
 riby? or is it her ministering spirit?" 
 A rapture of wonder brightened his eyes for 
 an instant. He almost screamed the last words, 
 for fever was mounting to his brain. 
 
 Her joy was as keen as anguish. Its fervor 
 dried up the springs from whence the tears of 
 less poignant emotions flow. She felt as if dying 
 for very gladness, and that she must die of very 
 grief. But if a sob had saved her, she dared not 
 give it vent ; she must bear all the meeting had 
 brought, or might bring, in silence. For her 
 lover, so near to death, must be spared the strain 
 of everything, whether of grief or of joy. 
 
 She gently wiped his face, and kissed him once 
 softly on his lips. His eyes lifted again. " It is 
 my Ferriby ! No other kiss could be so sweet ! " 
 And with a sigh he seemed to sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 UNDER THE WHITE FLAG 
 
 As the truce bearer approached nearer the 
 gate, a calm fell upon the fort more impressive 
 than the clangor of arms or the roar of cannon. 
 The heavy sulphurous smoke was weighed earth 
 ward by the mist from the sullen river. 
 
 Hamilton, with his aide, Hay, had retired to his 
 own quarters to receive Clark s messenger with 
 due impressiveness. His face was flushed with 
 gratification, and he turned to Hay and said 
 with boastful elation : 
 
 " The insolent varlets ! It takes but a taste of 
 true soldiership to subdue them." 
 
 " Yes, general. No doubt they see the noose 
 before them and would make terms, the das 
 tards! to keep their heels from dangling." 
 
 They looked arrogant with victory. 
 
 The heavy puncheon gate was thrown wide 
 with a triumphant flourish, and Clark s orderly 
 entered. He was ushered into the presence of 
 Hamilton and Hay and saluted respectfully. 
 
 322 
 
UNDER THE WHITE FLAG 333 
 
 There was an affronting pause. Could contempt 
 kill, the orderly had been a dead man, so disdain 
 ful were the looks the two British officers bent 
 upon him. 
 
 Wholly unmoved, he asked with a courteous 
 inclination, 
 
 " I have the honor to speak to General Hamil 
 ton ? " 
 
 Hamilton, who disdained to speak, nodded a 
 curt affirmative. 
 
 " I am Captain Nicholas Cardinal, at your ser 
 vice ; and I have the honor to deliver to you Col 
 onel Clark s message, and am commissioned to 
 bear to him your reply, if it please you." 
 
 Hamilton cavalierly accepted the note he ten 
 dered, carelessly opened it, and began to read. 
 After the perusal of the first few lines his manner 
 turned from haughty contempt to furious anger. 
 His eyes flashed. His lips worked. He muttered 
 fiercely beneath his breath. The cool audacity of 
 the message made him raging mad, so widely at 
 variance was it from what he had expected,- 
 humble surrender. What he read was this : 
 
 "SiR: In order to save yourself from the im 
 pending storm that now threatens you, I order 
 you immediately to surrender yourself, with all 
 
324 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 your garrison, stores, &c., &c. For if I am 
 obliged to storm you, you may depend on such treat 
 ment as is justly due a murderer. Beware of de 
 stroying stores of any kind, or any papers or letters 
 that are in your possession, or hurting one house 
 in town, for, by heaven ! if you do, there shall be no 
 mercy shown you. 
 
 G. R. CLARK." 1 
 
 The unparalleled arrogance, the matchless 
 effrontery, the impudent confidence the an 
 tithesis of his anticipation struck Hamilton 
 dumb. But he recovered his wits and dashed 
 off these words, 
 
 " Lieutenant-governor Hamilton begs leave to 
 acquaint Colonel Clark that he and his garrison 
 are not disposed to be awed into any action un 
 worthy of British subjects." 
 
 Cardinal, surmising its tenor, accepted the 
 note composedly, and retired with strict military 
 courtesy. 
 
 Hamilton looked for an immediate reply, but 
 got none, nor did Clark make any demonstration 
 whatever. The suspense was unbearable, and 
 after enduring it for two or three hours Hamilton 
 himself sent the white flag to the Virginia colonel. 
 
 1 Bowman s "Journal." Original letters in Draper Coll. Wise, 
 Hist. Society. 
 
UNDER THE WHITE FLAG 325 
 
 His aide bore a letter asking for a truce of three 
 days and for a private conference between himself 
 and Clark within the fort, each to have one wit 
 ness. He ended the document by saying, " If 
 Colonel Clark makes a difficulty of coming into 
 the fort, Lieutenant-governor Hamilton will speak 
 to him by the gate." 
 
 Clark was surprised at the character of this 
 missive ; and while he suspected there was some 
 secret motive for it, he was not slow to reply, 
 and his note was decisive : 
 
 " If Mr. Hamilton is desirous of a conference 
 with Colonel Clark, he will meet him at the church 
 with Captain Helm." 
 
 Clark and his officers were discussing this 
 strange turn of affairs, not without a tinge of 
 suspicion, as the messenger walked off to the 
 fort, when a wild war-cry sounded from the hills 
 back of the village, and a band of savages in war 
 paint and feathers appeared upon the lower ter 
 race, returning from a successful foray, driving 
 before them their wretched captives. From their 
 belts dangled the blood-sodden scalps of men, 
 women, and children. A crack of musketry fol 
 lowed the war-cry, a salute to the British flag, 
 hanging limp above the fort like a thing sentient 
 of disaster. They descended to the broad level 
 
326 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 on which the town stood, and not until then were 
 they aware of the presence of the Americans. 
 They turned in panic and fled to the forest be 
 hind them. Clark immediately ordered a squad 
 to pursue them. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 A SUSPENSION OF HOSTILITIES 
 
 SHORTLY after noon Clark, accompanied by 
 Bowman, entered the little slab church. He 
 much mistrusted whether his arrogant demand 
 would be complied with ; but he had scarcely had 
 time to become impatient when Hamilton appeared, 
 accompanied not only by Helm, but Major Hay 
 as well. Perhaps no more momentous conference 
 ever took place, one more fruitful of results, than 
 this which was held in the little slab church that 
 gloomy February day. On it followed the ces 
 sion of the great Illinois country to Virginia, all 
 owing to the tremendous courage and fidelity of 
 Clark and his little army of 1 30 men. The success 
 of the colonies was not yet assured, but Clark 
 proceeded as if it were an accomplished fact. 
 
 When the English general faced Clark, he could 
 not but forebode the end of British rule. This 
 man and his puny army had forced their way 
 through insuperable obstacles ; fifteen days had 
 they marched on a journey which ordinarily 
 
 327 
 
328 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 required three, through bottomless mud and 
 unremitting rain ; six days wading to their necks 
 or floating on improvised rafts over the Drowned 
 Lands, where the Ouibache spread six miles in 
 an angry flood. Without food six days ; with but 
 four hours rest after this tremendous exertion, to 
 commence an assault, could such men be con 
 quered ? Hamilton could not but feel humiliated 
 in the presence of this wet, mud-splashed giant, 
 who, when other men would have been foot-sore 
 and weary and discouraged, defied the king as 
 sturdily as if he had had at his back a great 
 army instead of a puny company of 130 back 
 woodsmen. 
 
 The conference began at once by Hamilton s 
 producing written terms of capitulation. 
 
 Clark gave these articles deliberate perusal 
 while Hamilton watched his countenance for sign 
 of assent. 
 
 " I reject it as a whole ! " said Clark, equably. 
 
 " Sir, may I beg you to make some proposition ? " 
 asked Hamilton, no little disturbed by his calm, 
 unqualified refusal. 
 
 " I have no other to make, than that already 
 submitted your surrender as prisoners at dis 
 cretion." 
 
 Hamilton flushed hotly and began a protest 
 
A SUSPENSION OF HOSTILITIES 329 
 
 which Clark silenced by a wave of the hand, and 
 resumed his interrupted speech. 
 
 " Your troops have behaved with spirit, and you 
 cannot suppose they will be worse treated in con 
 sequence of it, viewing us as savages, as they have 
 been taught to do " 
 
 Hamilton would have interposed a word, but 
 was again denied speech, while Clark dispassion 
 ately proceeded : 
 
 " It is vain to make any proposition to me. By 
 this time you must be sensible the garrison will 
 fall. Both of us must view all blood spilled in 
 the future as murder. My troops are already 
 impatient and call aloud for permission to tear 
 down and storm the fort. If such a step be taken, 
 many of course will be cut down, and the result 
 of an enraged body of backwoodsmen breaking 
 in would be obvious to you." 
 
 Clark paused, that his hearers might fully grasp 
 his meaning, and realize his implacable deter 
 mination, and all that hung on Hamilton s own 
 decision. Then he resumed with slow impres- 
 siveness, " It would be out of the power of an 
 American officer to save a single man ! " 
 
 For an instant they gazed at Clark dumbly. A 
 purple color suffused Hamilton s face, he thrice 
 attempted to speak before he burst out furiously. 
 
330 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " For this cursed defiance of the king you may 
 yet pay dearly, sir! For the present I am hard 
 beset. But a time of reckoning will come, when 
 this rebel war is put down. Then, sir, you will 
 meet the fate of all traitors ! " 
 
 Clark bowed with the utmost civility, and said 
 coolly : 
 
 " It is my decision. If you choose to comply, 
 perhaps the sooner the better." 
 
 Helm, always easily moved, was pricked by the 
 soldier s shame on Hamilton s face, and interposed 
 with swift kindness, 
 
 "Cannot you moderate your demands, colonel? " 
 
 " Captain Helm," answered Clark, with the 
 severity of a superior toward an offending in 
 ferior, " I would remind you, sir, that you are a 
 British prisoner ! As such, it is doubtful if you may 
 with propriety speak on the subject ! " 
 
 This rebuff Helm received with a crestfallen 
 air, while mentally admiring the inflexible attitude 
 of his chief. 
 
 Hamilton, perceiving a chance for help, quickly 
 said, turning to his prisoner, 
 
 " Captain Helm is from this moment liberated, 
 and may use his pleasure ! " 
 
 Clark sternly regarded Helm : " I will not re 
 ceive you on such terms. You must return to the 
 
A SUSPENSION OF HOSTILITIES 331 
 
 garrison, a prisoner, as you came, and await your 
 fate." Amazed at his stern obduracy, Helm had 
 no boldness left to make reply. 
 
 Turning fully to Hamilton, Clark directed his 
 speech to him, ignoring the others. Unseen, 
 Helm, the irrepressible, made a grimace at Bow 
 man, who had been respectfully silent during the 
 entire interview, and who with difficulty com 
 manded his countenance at the sly impertinence 
 of his brother-at-arms that could not be overawed 
 for long by any one. 
 
 Clark addressed Hamilton with the calm deci 
 sion of finality, and the Englishman was troubled 
 and mortified beyond measure. " Sir," the Ameri 
 can said, " hostilities shall not commence until 
 fifteen minutes after the drums sound the alarm." 
 
 Saluting conventionally, the two parties moved 
 off a few paces, one to return to the fort, the 
 other to the rude breastworks. Hamilton turned 
 about and asked Clark irritatedly, but with rather 
 more deference than he had hitherto shown, 
 
 " Will you be so kind, sir, as to give me reasons 
 for refusing the garrison on any other terms than 
 those I have offered ? " 
 
 Clark mused a moment, then answered un 
 flinchingly : 
 
 " I have no objections to giving my real reasons, 
 
332 ON THE WE- A TRAIL 
 
 which are simply these : I know that the greater 
 part of the Indian partisans are with you. / want 
 an excuse to put them to death, or otherwise treat 
 them as I think proper. The cries of the widows 
 and the fatherless on the frontiers, which they 
 have occasioned, now require their blood from my 
 hands." He paused to note the effect. 
 
 The dispassionate decision, the inflexible pur 
 pose, conveyed by his scarcely lifted voice, fell like 
 a clammy coldness on them, that chill which tells 
 of death. 
 
 His own officers, Helm and Bowman, stared at 
 him incredulous, and Hamilton and Hay were 
 moved from their military comport. 
 
 Fully alive to the impression he had made, 
 Clark continued : 
 
 " I do not choose to be so timorous as to obey 
 the absolute command of their authority. I 
 would rather lose fifty men than not empower 
 myself to execute this piece of business with pro 
 priety. If you choose to risk the massacre of your 
 garrison for their sakes it is at your pleasure. 
 I might, perhaps, take it into my head to send 
 for some of those widows to see it executed." 
 
 He bent on them a look of such scathing 
 rebuke, such terrible vengefulness, that for an 
 instant they quailed. 
 
A SUSPENSION OF HOSTILITIES 333 
 
 Major Hay, who had listened closely, with a 
 countenance of dismay, burst out insolently, 
 
 " Pray, sir, who is it you call * Indian par 
 tisans ? " 
 
 " Sir, I take Major Hay to be one of the prin 
 cipals ! " replied Clark, urbanely, as if passing an 
 idle compliment. 
 
 A greenish paleness passed over Hay s coun 
 tenance ; his limbs trembled so they could hardly 
 bear him up. Hamilton, seeing him in such sad 
 plight, blushed for very shame. Bowman looked 
 first at Hay with disdain, then on Hamilton 
 with respectful sympathy, while Clark remained 
 utterly unmoved. 
 
 As they stood thus, like men under doom, a 
 shout from the returning American squad was 
 heard, and without another word Clark walked 
 hastily off to his intrenchments. 
 
 Hamilton and Hay, with Helm still in at 
 tendance, retraced the few rods to the fort, to 
 await the beat of the drum. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE END OF AH-MAH-NAC-O 
 
 THE return of the squad with their captives 
 threw the fort and town into violent excitement. 
 The French villagers had retired behind barred 
 doors and windows, as ordered by Clark, before 
 hostilities had begun, and up to this time two 
 hours past noon had remained close in their 
 houses. But now wooden shutters were parted 
 a crack, barred doors opened a tiny space, and 
 eager faces were pressed against them. 
 
 The villagers supposed the shouting mob to 
 be one of Hamilton s war-parties, sent out against 
 the pioneers, returning victorious, and with deep 
 anxiety they awaited events. 
 
 Within the fort the spirits of the English were 
 at the lowest ebb, which the gloom of the day did 
 not tend to mitigate. They augured ill from the 
 disturbed countenances of Hamilton and Hay. 
 From the blockhouses they watched the Ameri 
 cans drive before them the defiant savages into 
 the very presence of Clark. He was intrenched 
 
 334 
 
THE END OF AH-MAH-NAC-O 335 
 
 but thirty yards from the front gate, and the wind 
 bore his sonorous voice to their ears. Now and 
 then a chance word reached them, from which, 
 and his significant actions, they could gather his 
 intention. 
 
 When the captives were brought face to face 
 with Clark, he gave them one brief glance. His 
 determination was already taken, and his orders 
 were short and stern. 
 
 To the officer in command of the squad he 
 said, 
 
 " These five Indians are to be executed, even 
 as they have killed their victims, by the toma 
 hawk, before the big gate at the fort, at once." 
 
 Bowman looked as if he would have remon 
 strated. Clark, reading his intention, said sagely 
 and coolly, 
 
 " It may convince the Indians generally that 
 Governor Hamilton cannot give them that pro 
 tection which he has made them believe he can." 
 
 The savages gathered their fate from the stern 
 countenance of the "Big Knife," and accepted it 
 stoically. 
 
 They were led to the place designated. Pro 
 found silence prevailed as the names of the men 
 detailed for the execution were called. They 
 stepped forward with firmly set lips and stern 
 
336 ON THE WE^A TRAIL 
 
 eyes; there was not one among them who could not 
 tell a fearful tale of cruelty toward his kinsmen. 
 
 The prisoners squatted on the ground, and all 
 but one threw their blankets over their heads, 
 ready to finish life bravely. That one, frightfully 
 smeared and stained, turned imploring eyes to the 
 guard nearest him and broke into agonized ap 
 peal, as the man raised his hatchet to brain him. 
 
 " Oh, save me ! save me ! " he screamed. 
 
 The executioner turned pale, his weapon fell. 
 He rushed to the spot where Clark stood and cried 
 piteously : 
 
 " Oh, sir, spare him. He is a spy, but he is my 
 unhappy son. The hope of my old age. Be mer 
 ciful ! " 
 
 Clark was not unmoved by this woful appeal ; 
 but it alone would not have saved the wretch. He 
 had a whole village of wavering Frenchmen to 
 deal with. The condemned man was one of them, 
 though an English partisan. The suppliant, his 
 father, had labored all night in the intrenchments. 
 Mercy in this case would bind the easily moved 
 Frenchmen to his cause ; and Clark ordered the 
 prisoner released. 
 
 " For your sake, and because of the service his 
 brave countrymen have rendered us this day, he 
 is free. But send him from the village." 
 
THE END OF AH-MAH-NAC-O 337 
 
 The Indians had uncovered and watched this 
 scene with faces as impassive as red stone images. 
 It only strengthened their purpose to die bravely. 
 Clark signed for the business to proceed, and then 
 withdrew. 
 
 The savages again swathed themselves in their 
 blankets, and the first one chanted a weird death 
 song: 
 
 " O Great Spirit, I go toward the sun-setting, 
 beyond which lie the Happy Hunting grounds. 
 O Manitou of my Fathers, when I come to the 
 Happy Hunting Grounds make me fleeter than 
 the doe, braver than the panther, wiser than the 
 fox. There I shall feel no more the keen frosts 
 of winter. There hunger will gnaw me no more. 
 There the sword-leaved maize grows green and 
 fresh forever. On those wide plains the buffalo 
 are numberless, and the deer cannot be counted. 
 There the sun shines warm, nor ever hides behind 
 a cloud. There the Pale Face comes not. There I 
 shall be forever strong and forever young. I go joy 
 fully! I go bravely! I am ready!" He dropped 
 into silence. Crash ! The hatchet fell the scalp- 
 ing-knife flashed ! The body sank backward easily. 
 
 Unmoved, the second warrior began his death 
 song. It ended. Crash ! The second skull was 
 split. 
 
338 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Without faltering the third warrior broke into 
 his dirge, and met the grisly terror calmly as the 
 last note died upon his lips. 
 
 But one remained alive, a stripling with the 
 proud bearing of the best of his race, and with 
 the cruelty of the most brutal. He threw off the 
 end of the blanket and faced his executioner un 
 covered. No death song was on his lips, mocking 
 malice parted them in a hideous, smiling grimace. 
 Wolfish hate gleamed from his steady eye. Had 
 his executioner approached near enough, his 
 gleaming teeth would have shredded his flesh. 
 Whether his contemptuous defiance, or whether the 
 silent appeal of youth for continued life unnerved 
 the arm that directed it, the blow was not strong 
 enough ; it did not kill. Ah-mah-nac-o himself 
 tore the hatchet from the gaping cleft in his 
 skull and handed it back to the man. Twice, 
 thrice it fell before its work was accomplished. 
 Hardened men turned away from the ghastly 
 sight, sickened. 
 
 Above in the blockhouse Ferriby sat with the 
 head of her wounded lover pressed against her 
 breast ; and neither knew that they had been 
 avenged, horribly, brutally. Another moment 
 and the dead, with great splashing, were thrown 
 into the Ouibache, whose muddy waters received 
 
THE END OF AH-MAH-NAC-O 339 
 
 and hid them, and whose mournful voice in low 
 cadence echoed their death song. 
 
 Behind the peepholes of Fort Sackville many 
 a heart contracted with fear and dread. Never 
 before had they beheld such atrocities ; they had 
 only sanctioned them ! instigated them / rewarded 
 them ! Their ears were terror-struck by the crash 
 of the tomahawk. Their eyes widened with hor 
 ror at the glistening circle described by the scalp- 
 ing-knife. They were appalled by the hideous 
 spectacle enacted before them, not upon them. 
 Yet they beheld, not torture, but swift death. 
 
 They might well tremble behind the frail bar 
 riers of the fort at this tame repetition of the 
 atrocities of their own mercenaries. The example 
 was as efficacious as Clark had surmised it would 
 be. By set of sun, which went down dully in 
 dark skies, Hamilton sent a messenger bearing a 
 note of surrender. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 "A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 
 
 FOR the second time in less than a twelve 
 month Sackville became an American fort ; from 
 its flagstaff floated the colors of the United Col 
 onies ; the bars in the square of blue reminder 
 of the British had been eliminated, and the 
 azure field was sown with thirteen bright, sym 
 bolic stars. 
 
 The slow days of spring had been days of sus 
 pense to Ferriby, for Robert, enfeebled by all he 
 had endured, had come near to death ; that chance 
 bullet had made an almost fatal climax to their 
 tribulations. 
 
 On a bright, soft day in April, nearly a year 
 after the parting in the clearing, Robert and Fer 
 riby were seated on a circular bench around the 
 large tree at the bottom of Madame Dubois s 
 garden. The flower-beds were only oblongs of 
 rich dark mould, through which now and then 
 crocuses flashed gleams of purple, white, and 
 
 340 
 
"A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OP ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 341 
 
 yellow. The nascent foliage of the lilacs was no 
 larger than the ears of the field-mice disporting 
 themselves among its succulent shoots. The 
 buds of the fruit trees were yet folded in tight 
 little black cones. But the sunlight was blind- 
 ingly brilliant, as only spring sunshine, untem- 
 pered by leafage, can be. The southern breeze 
 was bland and scented, and slipped by them with 
 the silky smoothness of a web of gossamer. 
 Spring, like an affable young queen, with her 
 myriad heralding voices, called every one forth to 
 behold her succession to sovereignty over the 
 realm of nature. 
 
 Robert and Ferriby sat side by side, hand 
 clasped in hand. A tenderer love was theirs, 
 chastened by sorrow and separation. Now there 
 were no playful bickerings, no mock quarrels, no 
 dissimulation. 
 
 For the past weeks her part had been the de 
 voted ministry of a betrothed wife ; his, the grate 
 ful acceptance of that service as his most sacred 
 right. Together they had gone within sight oi 
 the Valley of the Shadow, and Providence had 
 turned them back. They were talking over 
 again, as they had many, many times, the hard 
 ships and calamities of the past months. 
 
 "When I think of it all, Ferriby, it does not 
 
342 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 seem too great a price to have paid, to find 
 you at last ! " said Robert. 
 
 She gently raised his pallid hand to her lips, 
 with eyes tender, but unmoistened. Grief had 
 long since dried up the fountain of her tears, and 
 joy could not set it a-flow again. 
 
 " None but you, Robert, could be all in all to 
 me as you are now. It seems as if all the love I 
 had for father, Granny, and little Jack were yours, 
 besides that other, sweeter, different love. I have 
 no one now but you ! " 
 
 They sat silent for a moment, then Robert said 
 gently, " In our new home in dear old Virginia, 
 love, you will be able to overcome the horror of 
 these months, and be happy again." 
 
 " Yes, dear Robert, I will be happy ; but can I 
 ever forget ? " 
 
 She fell into deep, sad revery and seemed lost 
 even to his presence. Her eyes stared straight 
 before her, as if in spiritual vision she saw that 
 which could never fade away. He spoke one 
 word, and she roused herself and asked with 
 solicitous tenderness : 
 
 " Do you feel that you can endure the weari 
 ness of the long, long journey to Virginia, Robert ? 
 The voyage by water will be easy enough, but the 
 rough miles of the trail through the wilderness 
 
A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 343 
 
 and over the mountains, have you strength to 
 bear the fatigue of those ? " 
 
 " Yes, my girl, anything, with you to bear me 
 company ! " 
 
 As they talked thus, Jeanne issued from the 
 rear hall door, and had hardly trod a dozen steps 
 of the path to the garden when St. Vrain, no 
 longer a coureur, turned the corner of the house, 
 and quickly overtook her. 
 
 " A most fortunate encounter, Ma m selle 
 Jeanne," he said cheerfully, as they continued 
 onward together down the long walk, overlaid 
 with dull-hued sod, through which the bright 
 green spikelets were springing, that led to the 
 distant garden seat. 
 
 Jeanne tried to hurry from him, but he kept 
 close at her side and boldly took her hand and 
 stayed her flight, for flight it was that she medi 
 tated. She had come to dread St. Vrain, for he 
 would intrude his spiritual presence into her 
 prayers and his bodily presence into her path 
 ever since the February day when Hamilton had 
 surrendered the fort to Clark. For Hilaire had 
 spent the remainder of the winter at O Poste, and 
 he had sorely unsettled her purpose and peace of 
 mind. 
 
 " Ma m selle, those two are happy. Yes ! " he 
 
344 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 said, pointing to the distant tree, from one side 
 of which the folds of a woman s gown showed. 
 "Why disturb them? Make me happy instead! 
 It is scarcely nine o clock, and the notary and 
 Father Gibault will not be here till ten ; for I am 
 their express. Walk with me in the garden a 
 little apart from them. A garden, m amie, was 
 ever a favorite spot with man. There he first 
 worshipped, ma m selle, there he first loved. Ma 
 foi ! since the ancient paradise, no fitter place for 
 love-making, as those two well know," and he 
 nodded toward the tree behind which Robert and 
 Ferriby sat. 
 
 " Monsieur, I am sent with a message from 
 maman to Angele, and cannot walk with you," 
 faltered Jeanne, as she tried to pull away from his 
 clasping hand. 
 
 " Ah ! I, too, have seen madame mere. She, 
 my Jeanne, loves Hilaire well." Jeanne started 
 and looked quickly up at him. 
 
 "Yes, it is true. And what do you think 
 m amie, she is quite willing " 
 
 But Jeanne, panic-stricken, jerked away from 
 him and ran swiftly down the path. In three 
 great bounds St. Vrain overtook her, and with 
 out more ado clasped her tight with one arm, his 
 eyes bright with laughter and mischief. With 
 
"A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 345 
 
 not so much as " by your leave " he noisily 
 kissed her quivering lips. She looked at him 
 frightened and trembling. 
 
 " Don t look like that, m amie, or Hilaire will 
 think you do not love him, and be most mis 
 erable. For you do love me ? Yes, I think so ! " 
 and he smiled triumphantly. 
 
 " I love the church. I would devote heart and 
 soul " 
 
 " To me ! Is it not so ? " 
 
 "No! no!" 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! I would never rail against your 
 devotions, my Jeanne. No ! All the petitions 
 you can put up for St. Vrain would not make 
 him good enough for this saintly little fillette," 
 laying his hand gently on her shoulder. " But, 
 by le bon Dieu, Jeanne, if you do not love me 
 and be my little wife, the lost soul of Hilaire will 
 be laid to your account." 
 
 He looked so sincerely earnest that Jeanne 
 quailed at the awful responsibility he designedly 
 thrust upon her, trusting to her innocence not to 
 detect his sophistry. 
 
 " Yes, ma foi ! none but you can guide me back 
 into the church again. No prayers but yours can 
 lead me to salvation and the cleansing of my 
 soul, my fair saint." 
 
346 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 " But, monsieur, I can pray for you in the 
 cloister. Your journey to France so far I 
 cannot part " 
 
 " No need, m amie, for I only go to France to 
 establish my claim to the debt-ridden remnant of 
 my father s estate, and the title. Little is there 
 left but the title, for me. Then I return here 
 and join the forces of the Marquis de La Fayette." 
 Jeanne showed surprise. " Yes," he continued, 
 " I belong to this new world, heart and soul. 
 And, sil plait a Dieii, I may not serve my right 
 ful king here, I ll serve no other ! I too will be an 
 American ; and that new flag I will make mine, 
 even as it is yours, mignonne. All can see by 
 now, that victory lies with the colonies. Indepen 
 dence will come sooner or later. It is destiny!" 
 And he looked toward the fort where the colors 
 streamed broad and free in the balmy south wind. 
 
 For an instant St. Vrain was serious and silent. 
 The venturesome bees droned in the bursting 
 daffodils and jonquils, grumbling at their lack of 
 heart-sweetness ; the river murmured gently ; and 
 the soft modulations of the distant lovers voices 
 came like honeyed whispers on the air. St. Vrain 
 smiled as he caught the uncertain tones. 
 
 " Jeanne, it will take but the one little word 
 yes to lead us into their paradise. Say it, 
 
"A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 347 
 
 mignonne, say it to your Hilaire!" he pleaded 
 coaxingly. 
 
 " Oh, Hilaire, will it not be a sin ? My 
 vows " 
 
 " Have never been taken no, not so much 
 as a -novice s and are not vows at all, only the 
 very common mistake of a tender, pious fillette, 
 whose pure heart was meant to be the sanctuary 
 of a sinful man who needs all the love it can give 
 him, for the good of his soul and himself," he 
 added mentally. " Come ! say yes ! and we will 
 go together and give those two our messages, 
 which are much the same, no doubt that the 
 fleet will set off for La Belle Riviere a little after 
 noon with the British prisoners ; and that Sieur 
 Vigo and Pere Gibault will be here in an hour 
 to be present at their marriage." 
 
 " Yes," said Jeanne, assenting to his conjecture 
 about the similarity of their messages. But St. 
 Vrain stubbornly took it to mean another thing 
 and would not be convinced he was wrong. 
 
 Again a fleet of batteaux lay under the pali 
 sades of the fort on the stately Ouibache. Again 
 was heard the warning note of the assembly, 
 and then two long files of men issued from the 
 fort gate, with drums braced and colors flying. 
 
348 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 Between them walked the British prisoners in 
 twos, manacled. Clark, supported by Helm, 
 marched at the head of the column, and bore 
 himself with his accustomed stateliness. No 
 look of proud elation mortified further the cha 
 grined Hamilton, who, with Hay for a companion, 
 now walked a prisoner to the river where a few 
 weeks before he had landed with the arrogant 
 self-sufficiency of a conqueror. Behind him came 
 the six or eight subalterns and eighteen common 
 soldiers who were to bear him company on the 
 long, hard journey into Virginia, and to share his 
 imprisonment. "The Hair-buyer general" bent 
 his eyes on the ground, but Hay cast many a 
 sullen look at the vivacious crowd gathered to 
 see them off. 
 
 Hardly had the prisoners been disposed on 
 the boats than a loud, cheery hum of voices, 
 mingled with laughter, was heard. All eyes 
 intently scanned the throng coming down the 
 lane from Colonel Dubois s. The haut ton of 
 the village had turned out to speed the newly 
 married pair, Robert and Ferriby, who had only 
 been made man and wife that morning by the 
 notary. Colonel Clark had given them convoy, 
 with the prisoners, on the long journey to 
 Robert s far-away home in the old colony. It 
 
"A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 349 
 
 was in some sort a bridal procession. St. Vrain, 
 who had long since made friends with Robert, 
 and had forgiven him the blow that nearly 
 cracked his bones, supported the groom, and 
 chaffed at and jested with him ceaselessly. Fer- 
 riby walked between Madame and Jeanne, and 
 their tears flowed freely while tender words of 
 parting fell from their lips. Monsieur and 
 Suzanne followed close behind them, the girl 
 now laughing and teasing, now sobbing bitterly. 
 Elise was completely absorbed in the softly 
 spoken speeches which Lieutenant Bowman was 
 pouring into her willing ears. 
 
 The villagers considerately trooped at a little 
 distance behind, old Madame Tache telling her 
 mate over and over the story of Angele s rescue, 
 her own share growing a little at each repetition. 
 
 Sieur Vigo and Pere Gibault paced sedately 
 at the rear of the gay procession. The good 
 father was so vitally human and tender that the 
 loves -of the young appealed strongly to him. 
 He had pronounced falteringly the nuptial bene 
 diction over Robert and Ferriby at the conclu 
 sion of the contract before the notary; and 
 afterwards whispered privately words of blessing 
 to Jeanne, upon St. Vrain s triumphant an 
 nouncement of their betrothal, with the full con- 
 
350 ON THE WE-A TRAIL 
 
 sent of Monsieur and Madame Dubois. For her 
 comforting he had said beneficently, 
 
 " It may be for the salvation of a noble but 
 flighty soul, my Jeanne, that the good God hath 
 ordered it other than you had designed." 
 
 " How strangely destiny leads us, maybe all 
 unwilling, to the fulfilment of her plans ! " 
 
 " How surely le bon Dieu guides us by his 
 Providence, you mean, my good friend ! " cor 
 rected the priest, mildly. "In his own good time 
 he unfolded this mystery which surrounded the 
 maid Angele, and brought it to a happy issue at 
 last. He has made us all his instruments, for 
 even the good God does not work in this world 
 without instruments, to forward his mighty 
 purpose, the end of which we see not yet." 
 
 Robert approached Clark, who clasped his 
 hand strongly, and after a few words of warm 
 congratulation said : 
 
 " Remember, lad, our common country has 
 need of her men, young, sturdy, and fearless like 
 you. There is work for you to do yet in the 
 Illinois country ; and when you see your way to 
 return, I, too, have need of you." 
 
 Tears and embraces there were in plenty. 
 Danger beset the long way : for they would not 
 arrive at the end of their journey before mid- 
 
"A HAPPY ISSUE OUT OF ALL THEIR TROUBLE" 351 
 
 summer. A gun boomed from the fort, the sig 
 nal of departure. All made haste to embark. 
 Robert and Ferriby found place in the last batteau 
 and in another moment were floating southward 
 toward La Belle Riviere, bound, at last, for home 
 in the fair colony of Virginia. 
 
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