A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

The bowed figure had straightened itself and spoken to the men, but not turned his face. Now he gave an order and the boat swerved in toward the shore, grating a little on the pebbly beach. The other one in advance turned also. Some food was distributed. He spoke in the Huron language, and said they must make Bear Creek by night.

It was dreadful to go out in the broiling sun again, but presently a cooling breeze blew up. They passed a chain of boats well laden, going down, the French sailors singing a merry lilt, and they gave each other greeting. The shadows began to grow longer and a reviving fragrance was wafted over from the shore edge. There were fields abloom with gay flowers, then shrubby clumps, and when the sun went down they had neared a little cove where one could see two rather dilapidated wigwams. Here they were to stop for the night.

The men began to make a fire, while provisions were brought out of the boat. The two girls had been left alone, but now the chief – Wawataysee knew he was that by his dress and a long black feather stuck through the topknot of hair – turned to her. Oh, then she was quite sure she had seen him before and her heart stood still. Yes, it was in that life she had fled from.

He addressed her in the Huron tongue; she answered irrelevantly in French. A frown crossed his brow, but he handed them both out of the boat with a firm grasp on the arm of each, and led them to the smaller tent of the two. Some fir and hemlock branches had been thrown on the ground and covered with a blanket.

“You and the child will be safe here. You will be well guarded,” with a cruel little smile. “Some supper will be sent you. Compose yourself.”

She gave no sign of recognition.

“You cannot deceive me, Firefly of the Hurons, even if some French blood does course in your veins and you are tricked out in this attire. Your brother’s anger was kindled against you when you made him break his word, when you ran off with a vile Frenchman. If you could have been found justice would have been swift and sure. And now you will go back. You will not be a wife this time, but a slave to your master and his other wives.”

“I am a wife already,” she answered proudly in his language, since it was no use to feign. “I have been wedded a year by a priest, and the Great Manitou will call down vengeance upon those who dare interfere with his ordinances. And what right have you to bring me here?”

“I bought you, Mistress Insolence. And I shall double my price when the Chief Pamussac hears that you will be at his service.”

There was a little dagger lying in a treasure box at home. Her husband had given it to her. If she had it here she would stab him to the heart.

“Well, what is your reply?” he asked in a tone of triumph. “Your white lord is dead. He cannot come at your call.”

“My reply is that we are both hungry and want some supper,” she returned in an impatient tone. “And then some more blankets,” glancing disdainfully at the pile of boughs. “You will hardly double your money if you starve or maltreat me. I may die on your hands.”

Black Feather was more than amazed at the effrontery of the girl. He stared at her, and his fingers worked as if he would like to clutch her by the throat. Yes, what she said was true enough.

Wawataysee knew well that an Indian despised any sign of weakness or cowardice, and that to secure good treatment she must put on the boldness of the soldier who does not fear even death, and from whom his persecutors can extort no groan.

“I will send you some supper. And guards shall be set to keep you from harm,” in a mocking tone.

“Take my thanks for that,” she flung out sharply. “I am mortally afraid of the wild beasts of the forests. And I would like some sleep after this hot, fatiguing day and the early start of the morning.”

“Oh, what did he say?” and Renée clung to her with desperation. “He was so fierce I thought he would kill us. And why are we here? Where is Elk Horn?”

“My little darling, it seems that we have been sold and are to be taken up north, unless the Great Manitou or the pitying Virgin listens to our prayers and sends us rescue. It is a long way and something may happen.”

Renée began to cry.

“Sweet, take courage. I do not know why, but I have a curious faith that overrides my fears, that something will intervene. Elk Horn has dealt treacherously, after the fashion of his tribe. Oh, my darling! I know you will see Uncle Gaspard again, so dry your tears.”

“I am so tired of the journeying and those fierce men. Do you remember the old Chief Neepawa and the women of the village? They seemed like ours at home.”

“Ah, I wish we were there!”

The supper came in, and, in spite of their fears, they were hungry. The wind rose and the air was delightfully cool. Wawataysee spread the bed and the child was soon peacefully asleep. The tent pole was a tree that had been trimmed for that purpose, and the young girl leaned against it, watching the flicker of the fire without and the pine torches that had been lighted. Courageous as she had appeared, every pulse shrank and throbbed. But there was death. She would be no man’s slave. Only Renée must not be left behind. She knew of poisonous plants for which there was no remedy. Oh, would she have the courage to take another’s life?

She dozed at length, even in her uncomfortable position. Then something roused her, a rending crash and a glare that seemed to be the world on fire. She sprang up, and the next crash she knew was the storm that had broken over them with the wildest fury. Were there cries of beast and men mingled with it? The deluge seemed to sweep the ground, the trees writhed and groaned and crashed in the fury of the gale. In the intervals she could hear voices without. Presently the flashes of bewildering light ceased, though the mutterings of thunder could still be heard, and the trees were wind-swept by the fierceness of the mighty power. One and another came down, but her tent stood the storm and was sheltered by an angle of three trees.

The gray light of morning began to dawn sullenly. She watched the faint streaks stealing through the loopholes. Renée still slept. She went to the flap of the wigwam and raised it. The rain was pouring in torrents. There at her feet lay a body, the leggings and deer-skin breeches ploughed by a curious zigzag streak, scorched and torn, and the blanket shrivelled to fragments. Some figures were moving about like wraiths in the dusky light. It was a weird picture. She was not at all afraid. She was used to forest storms.

One of the figures came nearer. “Ma’m’selle!” it said in a whisper.

The familiar word was the sweetest music. She stretched out her hand.

“I never saw anything so terrible. And you – lived? Others have gone. Three are dead. One is drowned, and Black Feather – ” Valbonais’s voice trembled.

“Well!” with a long breath. Did she hope for his death?

“He ordered the men to look after the boats. They had been drawn up, but the ground was sloping, the rain a torrent, the blackness something fearful save when the blinding blaze of light came. He was there ordering, cursing, threatening. Then a tree crashed down and pinned him to the earth. He is badly hurt about the legs, but has voice enough left in him for four.”

Wawataysee shuddered.

“Ma’m’selle!” in a breathless manner.

“Yes?” with eager inquiry.

“I am going to escape. There never can be a more favorable moment.”

“Oh! oh! oh!” she cried in a piercing tone.

“I shall find my way to St. Louis. Ma’m’selle, if you and the child dared and would trust me. For if I have heard aright, you are to be taken to some chief up in the straits. And if you shrank from going – ”

“I shall never reach there alive. I know a swift, unfailing poison – ” And her words came out sharply.

He gave her a half-horrified, half-entreating look.

“It will be a hard journey. But if we should start now there is not much chance of our being overtaken. Everything is in such confusion, and it may be weeks before Black Feather is able to move about. We would follow the river as well as we could, keeping out of sight if the other boats come up, as they are likely to do. For the rest we must trust to the good God. I shall take a gun. I have dreamed this over many times. And if you will go – ”

“You mean to start now – in the storm?”

“It will clear up presently, by noon. Meanwhile, I could plan all the arrangements. Just now you are not a close prisoner. There is no telling what may happen to-morrow.”

“That is true.” Wawataysee studied the eager young face. The eyes had an honest, pleading look. “I will trust you,” she said. “Tell me what to do when you are ready.”

The party were too terror-stricken to think much of their captives. There were the three dead men lying out in the rain. They brought Black Feather up to the miserable wigwam and bound up his bruised limbs, finding that one leg only was broken. Black Feather had tabooed the company of women on these journeys, and had a half-breed that he had trained for a cook. Just now an old Indian nurse would have been very serviceable. Once he roused himself from his pain and suffering, cursing with true Indian passion.

“Look if the girl and the child are safe,” he commanded in threatening tones.

They had fared very well in the storm. Both they and the shelter had taken no harm.

Valbonais had gathered a sack of provisions and taken it down below the camp some distance, leaving it there with the gun. He had been very helpful all the morning, and his brief absence had not been noted.

At noon the rain ceased, though it was nearly an hour before the sun came out. Dinner was eaten, the boats were dragged up so as to be within sight, and two or three of the Indians were kept busy about their master. Two of the prisoners had been killed and one Indian. Black Feather ordered them buried.

Valbonais came to the door of the tent.

“Give me one of the blankets,” he said, “and send the child out to the back of the tent when you can do so unperceived. Then wrap yourself in the other and steal away. We will take the other side of the strip of woods. It is not wide.”

Renée ran out presently and seized his hand.

“Oh, are we going back to St. Louis?” she asked in a whisper, while her eyes were alight with joy.

“I hope so, little one. Come this way. Now you will not be afraid to stay here. Do not utter a cry or sound. Wrap the blanket about you – so.”

Then Valbonais waited and waited. He made one journey to Renée to comfort her. Then he saw Wawataysee struggling through an aperture she had made in the tent, and ran to her assistance.

“There were so many of them about,” she said breathlessly. “I pinned the tent flap down with a stout stick, so they may think I am asleep. Oh, let us hurry. I am so afraid,” and she trembled in her excitement, though she ran lightly along.

When they reached Renée he picked up the sack of food and slung it over his shoulder, took the gun and one blanket, while Wawataysee wrapped the other about herself, the gray making her more indistinct. Renée, wild with joy, danced and skipped, and could not repress soft gurgles of laughter as she kept on ahead of them.

Valbonais found Wawataysee fleet of foot and graceful as a forest nymph. The blanket did not seem to impede her skimming motion. The sense of danger and the thought of freedom inspired her, and hope swelled anew in her breast. Surely the good God would have François in His keeping and let them meet again.

CHAPTER X – IN THE WILDERNESS

The way was tolerably clear for a long distance, though shielded from the view of the Indians by the intervening trees. When the strip of woods failed them for shelter it was growing dusk, and, with the rise of the wind, they could hardly have been distinguished from the waving shrubbery. Valbonais paused and glanced back now and then, but no pursuers were in sight.

“Take it a little more moderately,” Valbonais said. “We must not lose sight of the river, or we may go astray. Though we have made a gain by cutting off this point that juts into the stream. Ah, if we only had any kind of a boat!”

“They might see us on the river.”

“Hardly at night, and not very clear at that. We must make for that dark line ahead of us, a bit of woods where we can camp for the night.”

It was quite dark when they reached it, and with some difficulty he made a light. It was largely scrubby pines and the soil was sandy, dry in spite of the tremendous rain, though evidently there had not been as much here. Valbonais found a dead, dry branch of pine, which he lighted, and began to explore. A short distance in was a pile of stones heaped up four or five feet, evidently some burial spot. He glanced at its capabilities, then began tumbling out the smaller ones that seemed to be largely at one side.

“What are you going to do?” asked Wawataysee.

“Make a sort of cave. Oh, you will see,” laughingly.

“But let me help,” she cried eagerly.

“No, no! Or, if you wish, will you take my knife and cut some pine boughs, the bushiest ones?”

He had stuck his dry branch in the sand and piled a few others around it. Renée stood by the fire, much interested.

Valbonais tore out the stones until he had a hollow place like a great chair. This he partly filled with the ends of the boughs Wawataysee had gathered.

“This will make a bed for you and the child. You will have to sleep sitting up; but you ought to be able to sleep anywhere.”

“Oh, look! look!” cried Renée, clapping her hands. “A golden baby moon down there in the sky! Is it not beautiful?”

The sky was of deepest azure, the stars mostly to the northwest. One was almost at the point of the crescent, as if lighting each other on the way.

“To-morrow or the next night it will be in her arms,” said the young fellow.

“A baby star in a cradle,” exclaimed Renée. “Oh, is it not wonderful? What is that?” and she suddenly shrank toward her companions.

“Only the cry of some night bird. These clumps of woods are not thick enough to harbor wild animals, thank the saints! Now, ma’m’selle, you sit here and try it.”

He had spread a blanket over the pine boughs. She sank gracefully into the seat and leaned back her head with a certain air of luxuriance.

“Oh, it is splendid!” in a grateful tone.

Renée ran to try.

Valbonais stirred out the coals, took a piece of dried fish from his bag and some corn cakes and toasted both. They were hungry enough to eat without any demur – in truth, enjoyed it in the perfect freedom from fear.

“Now,” he said, “you must settle yourself for the night. I do not think we shall be molested. The small band will be busy with their chief and repairing damages. Then I found some of them were very superstitious about a woman being in the party.”

“But I was held only for the money I would bring Black Feather. Otherwise I would have been looked upon as a useless burden. They dropped off poor Mère Lunde on the way, and yet she could have done them good service. Come, Renée.”

“I am not a bit sleepy,” returned Renée. “It seems almost like being at home with no fierce Indians about; only if Uncle Gaspard were here, and M’sieu Marchand,” she was about to add, but checked herself.

“We must be up betimes to-morrow and on our way,” Valbonais said. “It will not do to loiter.”

“What will you do meanwhile?” inquired Wawataysee.

“Sit here and tend the fire,” he said. “I shall only keep enough to see about in case I have to defend myself from any midnight prowler.”

He folded the blankets around the two, who certainly looked comfortable in their rocky bed. He pushed his way through the thicket and ran down a short distance, where he had command of the river. Nothing was going either way. How sweet and tranquil it all was, after the terrors of last night! He could have stayed there hours watching the stars come out brighter and brighter, and the soft wind weaving strange melodies, whispering of hope.

Both girls were asleep when he returned. He sat down outside the enclosure and leaned his shoulders against it. His gun was by his side, his knife in his belt. He should have had a hatchet, too; that useful article no one scarcely travelled without, but in the excitement he had not thought of everything. Once he replenished the fire; then the fuel gave out and he fell asleep.

Nothing molested them. The singing of some birds in the thicket roused him. He hurried to the river; all was tranquil, silent, with no enemy in sight. Then he glanced down the long and arid space, where even grass grew sparsely in the sandy soil that held no moisture. They must start early so as to escape the mid-day heat.

Wawataysee had risen and smoothed her ruffled plumes.

“It is so beautiful!” she said, with heartfelt pleasure. “And, oh, to be free from horrid fears! I slept so tranquilly. Did you have any rest?”

“I forgot everything,” and he laughed with a glad sound. “I was not a very good watcher, perhaps, but I think any unusual noise would have startled me.”

“You are so good! What would we have done without you?” raising her beautiful, grateful eyes.

He flushed warmly. “We cannot have much variety for breakfast,” with a gleam of amusement. “We may fare better to-night.”

He lighted the small fire again, collecting the charred embers.

“Is it far to the river – and safe?”

“Not much of a run,” he answered. “The shore is shallow. I had a reviving bath.”

“Come, Renée,” and she held out her hand to the child.

Meanwhile, Valbonais replaced the stones, wondering what hands had brought them there in the first instance, and whether white or Indian lay at rest beneath them. The girls were racing over the sand, bright, fresh and glowing, and they partook of their simple breakfast and started on their journey. The sun was not shining brightly, yet there was no indication of rain. It was as if Nature was indulging in a tranquil mood. Now and then a flock of birds went sailing over their heads, and a squirrel out of place ran nimbly across the sand.

“You have no idea how far it is to St. Louis?” their companion inquired.

“Oh, hundreds of miles!” cried Renée.

“Hardly that,” said Wawataysee. “There have been so many delays. When I came from the straits it was with the fleet, and I hardly took note;” flushing as she recalled the delightful journey with her husband. “Yet it seems to me we cannot have gone so very far up.”

“Is there any particular point that you can remember? There was the Indian settlement where we met, little thinking then that we should be mates on a return journey. Whether it would be safe to trust them – ”

“There was another halt, up a little stream. A settlement of Peoria Indians, who are kindly and who have adopted many habits from the whites, are more intelligent than most other tribes. That is down farther still. It was our first stopping place. They were very generous with provisions.”

“That will be one of our troubles. Still there will be small game to shoot and fish to catch.”

Although there was considerable travel down the Illinois and some quite well-appointed stations, they were far between. The fur and trading fleets, if the lines of flat boats and canoes could be called that, carried abundant provisions. Roving bands of Indians and parties of adventurous hunters crossing the interior were the only travellers, and they often stopped at the forts.

They went farther out by the river. And suddenly there was a serious surprise. Around a wooded bend came a canoe filled with Indians. Then another and one of stores, and one figure was suspiciously studying the shore. They had hidden among the trees, but were peering out cautiously.

“Oh!” Wawataysee whispered, “it is Elk Horn and his party! See, he is standing up, looking this way! O Mother of God, come to the assistance of thy children!” and, sinking on her knees, she clasped her hands in supplication.

It was Elk Horn. He had sobered up and began to realize that he might have made a better bargain with his prisoners. He had secured some more arms and ammunition, and hoped now to overtake Black Feather. His glance around was not indicative of the slightest certainty. He could not have dreamed that the fugitives in the woods were the very ones he meant to quarrel and perhaps fight about when he met Black Feather.

Wawataysee scarcely breathed until the last canoe was but a dusky line on the river.

“We certainly are safe,” Valbonais said. “Of course, they could not suppose we had escaped.”

“I was so afraid they were in search of a landing place. Oh, if they had stopped!” in terror.

“Then we would have plunged farther in the woods, climbed trees even. I do not mean to be taken a prisoner again; and surely, it will go hard with me if you are, or hard with the abductor!” with a gleam of resolution.

“I am glad they have gone up the river,” declared Wawataysee. “Now there is no fear of meeting them.”

“If we could find some traders coming down – ”

“And trust them?” There was a troubled light in her eye. “Oh, now that I know there are two people in the world, perhaps three, hungering for revenge on me, I am sore afraid at times. I shall never see a Huron without reading a menace in his eye.”

Valbonais glanced at her inquiringly.

“You have heard part of the story. Let me join the tangled threads, and you will the better understand my misgivings.”

“Let us go on now. Every hour is precious. And it will delight me to listen to anything that has concerned thee,” bowing low to her.

So she told of her home and her affiliations with the French, being related on her mother’s side, and how she had always liked them the more, while her brother was proud of his Indian blood and his chieftain father. It was not until she had met and loved François Marchand and plighted her troth to him that she was informed of her brother’s intentions toward her, and she prayed to him for the liberty of choosing her own husband – admitted, indeed, that she had chosen him and could be the wife of no one else. Then he had sent a messenger to say that her escort was on the way with orders to bring him to her at once, and that preparations were being made for a grand marriage. The trading fleet was ready. She had only to step on board. At the first mission station they had stopped for the priest to marry them.

“So, you see, I could never, never be the wife of any other man. And this chief has two wives. He told my brother that I should be first: but Indian women do not always accept their dismissal so easily.”

There was a proud, steadfast light in her eyes, the bloom of courage and constancy on her soft cheek. How beautiful she was!

“And M. Marchand – ” in a low tone, half inquiry.

“Whether he is dead or alive I do not know. But I am his in death as well as life,” with a firmness that bespoke the utmost devotion.

No, she would never let another wrest from her the holy bond she had given him with her sweet maidenhood love.

Night was coming on apace again. There was no cairn of stones to be transformed into a sleeping chamber. Renée was very tired and a little pettish.

“Is there nothing for supper but these dried, hard cakes and the fish?” she asked discontentedly.

“And not even that for breakfast,” Valbonais said lightly. “I must get up early and shoot some game. There is no corn matured yet, so if we came to growing fields the juicy ears would not be there. But I think I can find something,” hopefully.

This night they had to have a forest bed, but he found a place soft with a kind of dried turf, and spread out one blanket for pallet and left one to cover them with. Then he kindled a fire at some distance, for he had heard the cry of an animal. Farther off, then nearer, a stealthy creeping along. He reached for his gun and glanced cautiously around. Presently he caught the glare of two sparks of flame coming nearer, crouching down, and he fired.

“Oh, what is it?” Wawataysee sprang up in affright.

“Some animal. I think he is dead, however.” He lighted a torch and went nearer, touched the creature with his foot. The shot had hit him squarely, shattering his head.

“Only a poor fox. Nothing for our breakfast;” yet he gave a cheerful laugh.

“Oh, I am glad it was nothing worse.”

“Do not dream of trouble. The good God will watch over us.”

She pressed his hand. She was glad to be near a lightsome, courageous human being.