The Road to Frontenac Page 16

  CHAPTER XVI.

  AT THE LONG LAKE.

  Menard again dropped to sleep. When the day had nearly reached itsmiddle, he was aroused by two warriors, who pulled him roughly to hisfeet. The band had evidently been astir for some moments. A few braveswere extinguishing the fire with clumps of sod, while the otherspacked in their blankets what had been left from the morning meal, orlooked to the spots of rust which the damp had brought to knives andmuskets. The Long Arrow came over to inspect the thongs that heldMenard's wrists; he had not forgotten his attack on his guards on themorning of the torture. And with a precaution that brought a halfsmile to the prisoner's face, he posted a stout warrior on each side,in addition to those before and behind. Then they set out over thehills, wading through a great tumbling meadow where their feet sankdeep into the green and yellow and white that June had spread over theopen lands of the Iroquois. Overhead the sky, though still clouded,was breaking, giving little glimpses of clear blue.

  As they neared the crest of the first hill, the Captain looked backover his shoulder. The sun had at last broken through to the earth,and a great band of yellow light was moving swiftly across the valley.Before it, all the ground was sombre in its dark green and its heavymoisture; behind lay a stretch of golden sunshine, rounding over thefarther hills in great billows of grass and flowers and clusteringtrees, glistening with dew and glowing with the young health of thesummer. Up the hillside came the sunlight; and then in a moment it hadpassed them, and the air was warm and sweet.

  Menard looked at the sun and then back across the valley to get hisdirection. He saw that the party was moving a little to the south ofwest. This line of march should take them through the Cayugacountry,--a natural move on the part of the Long Arrow, for theCayugas were closer to the scene of the fighting than the Onondagas,and therefore would be less likely to interfere with the persecutionof a Frenchman, particularly before their chiefs should return fromthe council.

  Late in the afternoon they came to a slow-moving stream, the outlet ofan inland lake. By the basin-shape of the end of the lake, herecognized it as one that lay directly between Onondaga and the LongLake of the Cayugas. On the bank of the little river, under the mattedfoliage, the chief signalled a halt, and the warriors threw themselveson the ground. Menard lay at the foot of a beech whose roots dipped inthe water, and for the hundredth time since the sun had risen he castabout for some chance at escape. The thongs about his wrists were tiedby skilful hands. He tried to reach the knot with his fingers, butcould not. His guards were alert to every motion; they lay on eitherside, and he could not lift his eyes without meeting the sullen glanceof one or the other. He was about ready to submit, trusting to hiswits to seize the first opportunity that should come; for after all,to worry would strain his nerves, and now, if at any time, his nervesand his strength were needed. When at last he reached this point ofview, he lay back on the weed-grown earth and went to sleep.

  An hour later he was aroused for another start. Night came while theywere on the way, but they pushed steadily forward, and within a fewhours they reached the Long Lake. Instead of stopping, however, theLong Arrow headed to the south along the bank of the lake. For a spaceit was hard going through the interwoven bushes and briers that toreeven Menard's tough skin. The moon was in the sky, and here and therehe caught glimpses of the lake lying still and bright. They saw nosigns of life save for the flitting bats, and the owls that calledweirdly through the reaches of the forest. After another hour theyfound a trail which led them down close to the water, and at last to ahalf-cleared space, rank and wild with weed and thistle, and withrotting heaps where lay the trunks of trees, felled a generationearlier. Scattered about the outer edge of the clearing, close to thecircle of trees, were a few bark huts, with roofs sagging and doorsagape. One or two were rivalled in height by the weeds that chokedtheir windows. As Menard stood between his guards under the last treeon the trail, looking at the deserted village where the frightenedbats rose and wheeled, and the moonlight streamed on broken roofs, hebegan to understand. The Long Arrow had found a place where he couldcarry out his vengeance undisturbed.

  Other forms had risen from the weeds to greet the party. Looking moreclosely, Menard saw that a group of Indians were dragging logs for afire. Evidently this was a rendezvous for two or more bands. He triedto count the dim forms, and found them somewhat less than a score inall. Perhaps the Long Arrow had found it not easy to raise a largeparty to defy the will of the council concerning the White Chief; buthe had enough, and already the brandy was beginning to flow,--thefirst stage of the orgie which should take up the rest of the night,and perhaps the day to follow. The Long Arrow and his party at oncejoined in the drinking. Confident that they would not this time beinterrupted, they would probably use all deliberation in preparing forthe torture.

  A rough meal was soon ready, and all fell to. Nothing was set apartfor the prisoner; though had he been weak they would have fed him tostay him for the torture. One of his guardians, in mock pity, threwhim a bone to which a little meat clung. He asked that his hands beloosed, or at least tied in front of his body, but his request broughtjeers from the little group about him. Seeing that there was no hopeof aid, he rolled over and gnawed the bone where it lay on the ground.The warriors laughed again, and one kicked it away; but Menard crawledafter it, and this time was not disturbed. A little later, two otherIndians came from the fire, and after a talk with his guards, orderedhim to his feet and led him to one of the huts. The door was of rudeboards, hung on wooden hinges, and now held in place by a short log.One brave kicked away the log, and Menard was thrown inside with suchforce that he fell headlong.

  Through an opening in the roof came a wide beam of moonlight. Helooked up, and at first thought he was alone; then he saw two figurescrouching against the rear wall. His own face and head were so coveredwith dust and blood that he could not have been recognized for a whiteman.

  "Who are you?" he said in Iroquois.

  "Captain!" came in a startled voice that he knew for Father Claude's;and a little gasp of relief from the other figure brought a thrill ofjoy. He tried to raise himself, but in an instant they had come to himand were laughing and sobbing and speaking his name. While FatherClaude seized his shoulders to lift him, the maid fell on her knees,and with her teeth tried to cut the thongs.

  "Wait, Father," she said in a mumbled voice, without pausing in herwork; "wait a moment."

  Menard could feel her warm tears dropping on his hands.

  "You must not, Mademoiselle," said the priest. "You must let me."

  She shook her head, and worked faster, until the thongs fell away andshe could rub with her own torn hands the Captain's wrists.

  "Now he may arise, Father. See--see what they have done to him."

  Menard laughed. All the weight that had pressed on his heart hadlifted at the sound of her voice and the touch of her hands. The laughlingered until he was on his feet, and the three stood close togetherin the patch of moonlight and looked each into the other's eyes--notspeaking, because there was no word so complete as the relief that hadcome to them all; a relief so great, and a bond so strong that duringall the time they should live thereafter, through other days and othertimes, even across the seas in lands where much should be about themto draw a mist over the past, the moment would always be close intheir memories,--it would stand out above all other deeds and othermoments. Then the Captain held out his hands, and they each took onein a long clasp that told them all to hope, that stirred a new, daringthought in each heart. Father Claude at last turned away with shiningeyes. The maid stood looking up at this soldier whom she trusted, anda little sigh passed her lips. Then she too turned, and to cover herthoughts she hummed a gay air that Menard had heard the trumpetersplay at Quebec.

  "Tell us, M'sieu," she said abruptly, "what is it? How did ithappen?"

  "It is the Long Arrow."

  "So we thought," said Father Claude; "but he was not with the partythat brought us here, and we could not know. They came while w
e weresleeping, and bound our mouths so that we could not scream. I was atfault, I--"

  "No, Father. You cannot say that. I left you. I should have been atyour side."

  "Will you tell us about it, M'sieu?" asked the maid. She was leaningagainst the bark wall, looking at the two men.

  Menard dropped to the ground, and in a quiet voice gave them the storyof his capture. The priest rested near him on the broken-down benchthat slanted against one wall. As the story grew, the maid came overand sat at the Captain's feet where she could watch his face as hetalked. When he reached the account of the fight at the grave, hepaused and looked at her upturned face. Then he went on, but he didnot take up the tale where he had dropped it. He could not tell her ofTegakwita's end. As he went on to the fight with the Long Arrow's bandand the flight through the hill country, he thought that she hadmissed nothing; but when he had finished she said:--

  "And Tegakwita, M'sieu? Did he come with them?"

  "No," Menard replied; "he did not come. I killed him."

  He had not meant to let the words come out so brutally. And now, as hesaw the frightened look, almost of horror, come into her eyes, hesuffered in a way that would not have been possible before he hadknown this maid. He read her thoughts,--that she herself was the causeof a double tragedy,--and it for the moment unmanned him. When hecould look at her again, she was more nearly herself.

  "Go on, M'sieu. There is more?"

  "No. There is no more, except that I am here with you. But ofyourselves? You have told me nothing."

  "We have told you all there is to tell," said Father Claude. "We weretaken while we slept. They have come rapidly, but otherwise they havenot been unkind."

  "You have had food?"

  "Yes."

  "We must think now," Menard said abruptly; "we must put our witstogether. It is late in the night, and we should be free before dawn.Have you thought of any way?"

  "Yes," replied the priest, slowly, "we have thought of one. Teganouanis with our party. At the first he tried to keep out of sight, but ofcourse he could not, once we were on the way. He was a long time atthe Mission of St. Francis, and I at one time hoped that he wouldprove a true believer. It was drink that led him away from us,--an oldweakness with him. This morning, when he passed me, I knew that he wasashamed. I dared not speak to him; but since then, whenever my eyeshave met his, I have seen that look of understanding."

  "I fear you will not see it to-night," said the Captain. "They aredrinking."

  "Ah, but he is not. He is guarding the hut. Come, M'sieu, it may bethat we can see him now."

  Menard rose, and with the priest peered through the cracks at the rearof the hut. After a moment they saw him, standing in the shadow of atree.

  "You are sure it is he, Father?"

  "Ah, M'sieu, I should know him."

  Menard rested his hand on a strip of rotting bark in the wall. Thepriest saw the movement.

  "Yes," he said cautiously, "it would be very simple. But you will becautious, M'sieu. Of course, I do not know--I cannot tell surely--andyet it must be that Teganouan still has a warm heart. It cannot bethat he has forgotten the many months of my kindness."

  While they stood there, hesitating between a dozen hasty plans, alight step sounded, and in an instant their eyes were at the opening.A second Indian had joined the guard, and was talking with him in alow voice. Father Claude gripped the Captain's arm.

  "See, M'sieu,--the wampum collar,--it is the Long Arrow."

  Menard laid his finger on his lips. The two Indians were not a dozenyards away. The chief swayed unsteadily as he talked, and once hisvoice rose. He carried a bottle, and paused now and then to drink fromit.

  "Teganouan is holding back," whispered Menard. "See, the Long Arrowhas taken his arm--they are coming--is the door fast?"

  "We cannot make it fast, M'sieu. It opens outward."

  Menard sprang across to the door and ran his hands over it, but foundno projection that could be used to hold it closed. He stood for amoment, puzzling; then his face hardened, and he fell back to wherethe priest and the maid stood side by side.

  "They will get in, M'sieu?"

  "Yes. It is better."

  They did not speak again. The moccasined feet made no noise on thecleared ground, and it seemed a long time before they could hear thelog fall from the door. There were voices outside. At last the doorswung open, and the Long Arrow, bottle in hand, came clumsily into thehut and stood unsteadily in the square of moonlight. He looked aboutas if he could not see them. Teganouan had come in behind him; and thedoor swung to, creaking.

  "The White Chief is the brother of the Long Arrow," said the chief,speaking slowly and with an effort to make his words distinct. "Heloves the Onondagas. Deep in his mind are the thoughts of the youngwhite brave who lived in our villages and hunted with our braves andcalled the mighty Big Throat his father. He never forgets what theOnondagas have done for him. He has a grateful heart." The effort ofspeaking was confusing to the chief. He paused, as if to collect hisideas, and looked stupidly at the three silent figures before him."... grateful heart," he repeated. "The Long Arrow has a gratefulheart, too. He remembers the kind words of the white men who come tohis village and tell him of the love of the Great Mountain. He neverforgets that the Big Buffalo is his brother--he never forgets. Whenthe Big Buffalo took his son from the hunting party of the Onondagashe did not forget."

  Menard did not listen further. He was looking about the hut withquick, shifting eyes, now at the chief in the moonlight, now atTeganouan, who stood at one side in the shadow, now at the door. CouldTeganouan be trusted to help them? He glanced sharply at the warrior,who was looking at his chief with an alert, cunning expression. Hismusket lay carelessly in the hollow of his arm, his knife and hatchethung at his waist. The chief had only his knife; in his hand was thebottle, which he held loosely, now and then spilling a few drops ofthe liquor.

  "The Long Arrow nev'r f'rgets,"--the chief's tongue was getting thebetter of him. "His house is lonely, where the fire burns alone andthe young warr'r who once laid 's blanket,--laid 's blanket by thefire, no long'r 's there to warm the heart of the Long Arrow. But nowhis loneliness is gone. Now when he comes from the hunt to 's househe'll find a new fire, a bright fire, and a new squaw to warm 'sheart--warm 's heart." He swayed a little as he spoke, and Teganouantook a short step forward; but the chief drew himself up and cameslowly across the patch of moonlight. His eyes were unnaturallybright, and they rolled uncertainly from one to another of the littlegroup before him. His coarse black hair was matted and tangled, andthe eagle feathers that at the council had stood erect from his headnow drooped, straggling, to one side.

  The maid had understood. The two men drew close to her on each side,and her hand rested, trembling, on Menard's arm. All three werethinking fast. One scream, the sound of a struggle or even of loudvoices, would bring upon them the whole drunken band. As the chiefapproached, the maid could feel the muscles harden on the Captain'sarm.

  "Long Arrow's lonely--his fire's not bright when he comes from hunt--"Here and there in his talk a few words were distinguishable as hestood lurching before them. He reached out in a maudlin effort totouch the maid's white face. She drew in her breath quickly andstepped back; then Menard had sprung forward, and she covered her eyeswith her hands.

  There was a light scuffle, but no other sound. A strong smell ofbrandy filled the hut. Slowly she lifted her head, and let her handsdrop to her sides. The Long Arrow lay sprawling at her feet, his headgashed and bleeding, and covered with broken glass and drippingliquor. The priest had kneeled beside him, and over his bowed head shesaw Teganouan, startled, defiant, his musket halfway to his shoulder,his eyes fixed on the door. Her eyes followed his gaze. There stoodthe Captain, his back to the door, the broken neck of the bottlefirmly gripped in his hand.

  She stepped forward, too struck with horror to remain silent.

  "Oh, M'sieu!" she said brokenly, stretching out her hands.

  He motioned to her to be quiet, and sh
e sank down on the bench.

  "Father," he said.

  The priest looked up questioningly. There was a long moment ofsilence, and the shouts and calls of the half-drunken revellerswithout sounded strangely loud. Then, as the priest gazed at the set,hard face of the Captain, and at the motionless Indian, he understoodof a sudden all the wild plan that was forming in the Captain's mind.He rose slowly to his feet, and stood facing Teganouan, with the lightstreaming down upon his gentle face.

  "The sun has gone to sleep many times, Teganouan, since you left thegreat white house of the church at St. Francis. You have heard thecounsel of evil men, who think only of the knife and the hatchet andthe musket, who have no dream but to slay their brothers." He wasspeaking slowly and in a kindly voice, as a father might speak to ason who has wandered from the right. "Have you forgotten the talk ofthe holy Fathers, when they told you the words of the Book of theGreat Spirit, who is to all your Manitous and Okis as the sun is tothe stars. Have you forgotten the many moons that passed while youlived in the great white house,--when you gave your promise, thepromise of an Onondaga, that you would be a friend to the white man,that you would believe the words of the Great Spirit and live apeaceful life? Have you forgotten, Teganouan, the evil days when yourenemy, the fire-water, took possession of your heart and led you awayfrom the white house into the lodges of them that do wrong,--how whenthe good spirit returned to you and you came back to the arms of theFaith, you were received as a son and a brother? The holy Fathers didnot say, 'This warrior has done that which he should not do. Let himbe punished. We have no place for the wrongdoer.' No; they did not saythis. They said, 'The lost is found. He that wandered from the foldhas returned.' And they welcomed the lost one, and bade him repent andlead a right life. Have you forgotten, Teganouan?"

  The Indian had slowly lowered his musket.

  "Teganouan has not forgotten," he replied. "He has a grateful hearttoward the holy Fathers of the great white house. When he was sick,they brought him their good doctor and told him to live. He believedthat the white men were his brothers, that they would do to him as theFathers had promised. But when Teganouan came to the white men, andasked to be made like they were, he left behind in his village abrother and a sister and a father who said that he was a traitor, whosaid that he was false to the trust of his blood and his nation, thathe was not of their blood."

  "And did he believe them? Did he not know, better than they could,that the faith of the white man is also the faith of the redman; thatthe love of the white man includes all who breathe and speak and huntand trade and move upon the earth?"

  "Teganouan has not forgotten. He heard the words of the Fathers, andhe believed that they were true; but when the white Captain took fromthe Onondagas five score of their bravest warriors and called themslaves, when he took the brother of Teganouan, borne by the samemother and fed by the same hand, to be a slave of the mightyChief-Across-the-Water, could he remember what the holy Fathers hadsaid,--that all men were brothers?"

  "Teganouan has heard what the White Chief, the Big Buffalo, has said,that the evil man who was treacherous to the Onondagas shall bepunished?"

  "Teganouan understands. But the evil man is far from the vengeance ofthe white man. The White Chief is here in our lodges."

  Menard left the door and came to the priest's side. The jagged pieceof glass, his only weapon, he threw to the ground.

  "Teganouan," he said slowly and firmly, looking into the Indian'seyes, "you heard the great council at the Long House of the FiveNations. You heard the decision of the chiefs and warriors, that theywhom Onontio had sent to bring a message of peace should be set free.You have broken the pledge made by your council. You have attacked usand made us prisoners, and brought us here where we may be torturedand killed and none may know. But when the Great Mountain finds thatthe Big Buffalo has not come back, when he sends his white soldier tothe villages of the Onondagas and asks what they have done to him whobrought his voice, what will you say? When the chiefs say, 'We set himfree,' and look about to find the warrior who has dared to disobey theLong House, what will you say? When the young boys and the drunkardswith loose tongues have told the story of the death of the Long Arrow,what will you say? Then you will be glad to flee to the white house ofthe holy Fathers, knowing that they will protect you and save you whenthe braves of your own blood shall pursue you."

  Teganouan's eyelids had drooped, and now he was looking at the ground,where the chief lay.

  "You will come with me, Teganouan. You will fly with us over the LongLake, and through the forests and down the mighty rivers and over theinland sea, and there you shall be safe; and you shall see with yourown eyes the punishment that the Great Mountain will give to the evilman who has been false to the Onondagas."

  He held out his hand, and silently waited. The priest's head wasraised, and his lips moved slowly in prayer. The maid sat rigid, herhands tightly gripping the edge of the bench. Though he knew thatevery moment brought nearer the chance of discovery, that the lives ofthem all hung on a thread as slender as a hair, the Captain stoodwithout the twitching of a muscle, without a sign of fear or haste inhis grave, worn face.

  The Indian's eyes wavered. He looked at the fallen chief, at thepriest, at Menard; then he took the offered hand. No further word wasneeded. Menard did not know the thought that lay behind the cunningface; it was enough that the Indian had given his word.

  "Quick, we must hide him," said the Captain, looking swiftly about thehut. "We must disturb you, Mademoiselle--"

  In a moment the three men had lifted the body of the Long Arrow andlaid it away under the low bench. Teganouan scraped a few handfuls ofearth from a corner and spread it over the spot where the chief hadbeen.

  "How far is it to the lake, Teganouan?"

  "But a few rods."

  "And the forest is thick?"

  "Yes."

  "We must cross the lake. Is there a canoe here?"

  The Indian shook his head. Menard stood thinking for an instant.

  "If you are thinking of me, M'sieu, I think I can swim with you," saidthe maid, timidly.

  "There is no other way, Mademoiselle. I am sorry. But we will make itas easy as we can."

  He stepped to the rear wall, and with a blow of his fist would havebroken an opening through the rotted bank, but the Indian caught hisarm.

  "It is not necessary. See." He set rapidly to work, and in a fewsilent moments he had unlaced the thread-like root that held the sheetof bark in place, and lowered it to the ground. He raised himself bythe cross-pole that marked the top of the wall, and slipped throughthe opening. A few quick glances through the trees, and he turned andbeckoned. Menard followed, with the knife of the Long Arrow betweenhis teeth; and with Father Claude's help the maid got through to wherehe could catch her and lower her to the ground.

  The Indian made a cautious gesture and crept slowly through theyielding bushes. One by one they followed, the Captain lingering untilthe maid was close to him and he could whisper to her to keep hercourage. They paused at the bank of the lake. The water lay sparklingin the moonlight. Menard looked grimly out; this light added to thedanger. He found a short log close at hand and carried it to thewater.

  "Come, Mademoiselle," he whispered, "and Father Claude. This willsupport you. Teganouan and I will swim. Keep low in the water, and donot splash or speak. The slightest noise will travel far across thelake."

  Slowly they waded out, dropping into the water before it was waistdeep. Teganouan's powder-horn and musket lay on the log, and the maidherself steadied it so that they should not be lost.