during the afternoon of the fifth day of hard riding our guards fetched us from the midst of the column to a position next to awa. the chief had recovered somewhat from his bedazed wonder—no doubt he had half-expected me to continue working miracles—and regarded us with saturnine satisfaction.
"soon we shall enter the villages of our people," he announced, swinging his arm toward the prairie in front of us. "the medicine-men of the chahiksichahiks then will make trial of the white man's medicine—and we will build a scaffold for the red maiden to lie upon when she weds the morning star."
"that is to be seen," returned tawannears with undisturbed arrogance. "a voice has whispered in my ear that the great spirit has other plans. it says there will be misfortune for the horn-wearers if the red maiden is sacrificed."
awa scowled.
"we shall see," he agreed.
feathered lances bobbing overhead, our great escort of savage horsemen cantered out of a shallow gulley onto the bank of a sizeable river. a mile or so east and well back from high-water mark began a series of low, hump-backed mounds, which i took to be natural features of the terrain. but as we came nearer people popped out of them, and we perceived that they were houses, partly dug out of the ground and roofed and walled with sods, commodious dwellings, larger than the largest of teepees and invariably round in shape.
the people who met us were old men and women, with an occasional young child of toddling age or under. awa barked a question to the first group, and one of the old men quavered an answer, gesturing down-river, where the sod-covered earth-houses reached as far as we could see. with a nod of acknowledgment, the chief heeled his horse to a gallop, and we rode on at speed along a rough trail that led betwixt houses and river-bank. beyond the houses were simple gardens, and in rear of these horses grazed. dogs ran out of many houses and barked at us. but nowhere did we see a man or woman in the prime of life or a half-grown child.
the mystery of the deserted village—or, rather, succession of villages—was settled after we had ridden another three miles, when an enormous crowd of savages appeared in an open space in the center of the largest collection of earth-houses. there must have been ten or twelve thousand people clustered together, men, women and children, all deeply interested in some proceeding which we could not see at first. but the thudding of the hoofs of awa's band attracted their attention, and they opened their ranks for us, so that our column passed through the outskirts of the throng and came to a halt on the verge of a circle of hard-trodden clay, perhaps a hundred feet across.
in the center of this space stood a fire-charred stump of wood, and lashed to it with strips of green hide was the black-garbed figure of a man whose dead-white face brought a gasp of astonishment from my lips. 'twas black robe, père hyacinthe, the jesuit, whom we had last seen the day he insisted upon leaving us on the western bank of the mississippi, striding alone into the unknown wastes ahead!
his ankles were hobbled loosely and bound to the base of the stump. his hands, knotted behind his back, were likewise fastened to it. he could move a foot or so in either direction, and six feet away from him a party of warriors were building a pile of light-wood, which had reached the height of his knees when our arrival distracted them from their labors.
his soutane was the same rusty, torn garment he had worn three years before. his sandals were patched and worn. his gaunt figure testified, as always, to the ceaseless toil and deprivation to which he subjected himself. his emaciated features shone with the radiation of some inward light, and his face, with eyes closed, was upturned in prayer. certes, no man could have been in worse case, yet his racked body contrived to express an ecstasy of joy beyond all words. indeed, his utter lack of fear, the otherworldliness of his devotion, had already sapped the savage energy of his would-be tormentors. they were not used to seeing a man face the prospect of torture without boasting or exultation, with no more than the calm disdain of a courage higher than any emotion they knew.
i was not alone in my surprise. tawannears clicked his tongue. peter muttered—
"der jesuit!"
kachina remarked with interest—
"another white man!"
and awa was as dumfounded as ourselves. he shouted a question, and a knot of gorgeously-decorated chiefs and medicine-men detached themselves from the front rank of the onlookers and clustered about his horse, pointing at us, their eyes fairly popping from their heads. evidently, they, too, were surprised—and that was not strange, for 'twas seldom these wild horsemen of the plains saw three white men at once, or so i reasoned.
"the great spirit's ways are difficult to follow," commented tawannears. "he has carried us again along black robe's trail."
"awa will see in his capture an excuse for daring to disregard my orenda," i said pessimistically.
"nein, nein," squeaked corlaer. "all is not well wit' der pawnee. see how dey boggle andt chaw togedder."
'twas so. awa's face was a mingling of baffled rage, hysterical superstition and credulous awe. his gaze shifted rapidly from us to the figure of black robe, eyes still closed, lips murmuring in silent prayer. the medicine-men and chiefs who had swarmed up to the war-chief were staring at us with expressions akin to fear. awa suddenly spat out an ejaculation, and pushed his horse beside us. we four were now the focal object of the crowd's attention.
"whence did you say you have come?" he demanded of tawannears in the polyglot trade dialect.
"from beyond the setting sun," tawannears replied gravely. "i have been to the land of lost souls, and there i found this maiden who loved me once before on earth and is come back with me to reënter my lodge."
"but this taivo, this white man?" awa leveled his finger at me.
"he, too, has come with me from the land beyond the sunset."
awa spoke rapidly in the pawnee tongue, and one of the medicine-men, a brightly painted, elderly man with wrinkled face, took up the conversation in comanche.
"it was foretold by the white man at the stake that you would come," he began.
"that is likely," admitted tawannears, unperturbed.
"he told us," continued the medicine-man, with a fearful look over his shoulder at that black figure bound to the tree-stump, "that he served a god who would come to us from the sky, and when we asked him if he meant tirawa, the old one in the skies, he said no. but when we asked if this new god would come from the sunset he said it might be, that he would come in a great blaze of glory, with power to bend all to his will. is this taivo at your side the god of whom the first white stranger spoke?"
tawannears turned and translated swiftly the gist of this to me.
"say that we come to herald the coming of that god," i directed him. "even as the white man at the stake came to tell the chahiksichahiks that we should come to them from the setting sun."
the medicine-man and his fellows, even the fierce awa, heard this announcement with growing awe.
"for a sign," added tawannears, "the taivo, who permits me to call him brother, and who is attended by the great white warrior who has the strength of many buffalo showed awa, the war-chief, how he could turn aside arrows and direct them against his enemies. let awa speak for me!"
the war-chief admitted the fact, no longer surly, but agitated by a sense of the prestige attaching to him as a principal participant in a miracle transcending any like event his people had ever known.
"but what of the maiden?" he urged practically. "surely, tirawa directed you to bring her here for the sacrifice?"
"the maiden is holy," replied tawannears. "she has paid the price of life here on earth. she comes, as has been said, from the land of lost souls. would tirawa ask for the sacrifice of one who had descended from his own lodge?"
the medicine-man interjected fierce dissent, and awa's arguments were stilled.
"make them release black robe," i suggested as tawannears repeated to me what had been said.
a hush, as complete as the quietness of universal death, had descended upon these thousands of savages, whose glances turned from us, bound and helpless as we were, to the equally straitened figure of the jesuit against the torture-stake.
"no," retorted the seneca with a hint of humor, "but first, brother, we must make them release us."
he fastened his eyes upon awa.
"for many sleeps we have endured the treatment awa's ignorance led him to impose upon us," he declared. "we have been loath to slay any more of his people. we came hither to serve the chahiksichahiks, to assure them of tirawa's favor. but the time is arrived when we must know if we are to receive the respect due to tirawa's messengers. shall we burst our bonds—and in doing so slay this multitude—or will you do us honor?"
the medicine-man leaped forward, and slashed off our bonds. there were beads of perspiration on his brow. awa, magnificent savage that he was, looked away from us, but i saw that his sinewy hands were shaking as they clutched his horse's bridle.
"it is well," said tawannears. "give my white brother, the messenger, the knife, and he will free the fore-goer, who has stood quietly at the torture-stake, holding back the wrath of tirawa by the pleas that came from his lips."
the medicine-man offered me the knife.
"but must a messenger of tirawa have a knife to cut hide thongs?" he inquired, curious as a child.
"no," answered tawannears, "but if the power of tirawa is used, the power of the thunder and the lightning which shakes the world, who shall say what harm may come? the chahiksichahiks have been fools. let them be satisfied with what has happened. if they are wise they will possess the favor of tirawa. if they continue to be foolish tirawa will wipe them out here on this spot!"
he raised his arm in a menacing gesture, and chiefs and medicine-men cowered before him.
"no, no," pleaded the medicine-man. "we have seen enough. release the black one with the thin face. we did not understand him. he spoke to us after the manner of the comanche and the dakota, telling us, as we thought, that our gods were not, that we must worship this one he spoke of. we did not understand him, that waft all. we were ignorant, but we meant no harm."
tawannears shrugged his shoulders.
"that is to be decided," he said. "the taivo will consult with black robe, and afterwards will speak through me. it is for him to decide."
i strode into the empty circle of people and walked slowly, so as not to seem undignified, up to the stake, stepping across the material for the fire which would now be roasting the priest but for our unexpected arrival, and the conjunction of circumstances it had set in train. the fire-makers had gone. there was nobody inside the circle except black robe and myself, and he stood yet, with his eyes shut, a trickle of latin pattering from his lips.
for a moment i was shocked by the traces of suffering in that haggard face, the skin tight-drawn over the prominent bones, the cavernous eye-holes so shadowed, the deep lines graven in the pallid cheeks. i seemed to see in retrospect the labors he must have achieved in the years since we had parted. who could imagine how far he had wandered, the hardships and suffering he had borne without the assistance of a single comforter of his own color? and this thought enabled me to envision as never before the ardent flame that was the driving force of his life, the ardent devotion to a creed which ignored every other consideration save that of the service to which he had dedicated himself. i warmed to him in that moment, forgetting ancient animus, brushing aside the barrier of hostile race and religion.
"père hyacinthe!" i said softly in french.
he did not open his eyes, but his lips ceased the latin exhortations.
"i dream!" he exclaimed to himself, in that humble tone i had observed on a previous occasion when he forgot himself and his stern rôle and lapsed into some gentler habitude of the past.
"was that gaston's voice? so, i remember, he crept upon me as i read in the garden at morbouil! dear olden days! their memory comes so seldom. so little time left for the work to be done. ah, jesus, the task is heavy—heavy——"
he opened his eyes, peered into mine.
"you!" he gasped.
"yes, 'tis i, father—henry ormerod!"
"my enemy! france's enemy!"
"not your enemy! and never france's unless she wills it. i am come here to save you."
"how may that be?" he asked dumbly. "are you alone amongst these savages?"
"alone with my friends whom you know—and one woman."
"then you cannot help me," he answered decisively. "you had best leave me, if you can. these people are the most independent of all the tribes. they fear naught save their own superstitions. and heretic though you be, i cannot wish you the death they plan for me."
"yet you have not been moved by pity for me in the same case in former years," i said curiously.
he sighed.
"the truth is hard to see. i do not know. i have thought—— but i do not know."
i cut the lashings of his arms, stooped and freed his legs. not a soul spoke. amazement dawned in his face that was somehow more placid than i remembered having seen it.
"you see!" i said. "they gave me the knife to cut you free."
"marvelous!" he murmured.
and he employed his first instant of freedom to reach down stiffly with his cramped arm and lift to his lips the crucifix which hung at his belt.
"how have you curbed them?" he asked—and he was yet governed by that mood of gentle humility, which was seldom of long continuance.
"i think, father, it has been through god's mercy," i answered. "but judge for yourself."
and i repeated to him, briefly, what had transpired since awa proudly led his warriors into the circle around the torture-stake. a frown clouded the jesuit's eyes, mouth formed a grim, hard line.
"what blasphemy is this?" he interrupted. "man, would you mock the authority of heaven? you are no more messengers of the divine will than these savages themselves!"
"how can you be sure!" i asked.
"how can i——"
he paused abruptly, frowning in thought.
"is it coincidence," i continued quickly, "that when you climbed the mississippi bluff i would not let my companions kill you, as they desired—and for the matter of that, is it coincidence that once before the time of which i speak, i saved you from them, ay, and from the wrath of the long house? is it coincidence that we were the means of your passing the mississippi, and that now we and you, alike in danger of death, are saved by the interlinking facts of our separate captivities!
"ponder it, père hyacinthe! where does coincidence begin and providence end? are you so wise that you can say what heaven intends? can you afford to throw away the life that has been returned to you? have you the right to sacrifice four other people's lives? how do you know that what has happened today was not for the purpose of giving you another opportunity to preach your creed?"
he hesitated, head bowed.
"go!" i said, honestly stirred. "say what you please! i could stop you, but i will not take the responsibility of interfering with another man's sense of honor. i will leave with you the lives of my comrades."
he looked at me, puzzled, uncertain.
"i do not know," he repeated, "it seems different. you are a heretic, yet—i do not know. god's wonders strange—i do not know—-"
"who does?" i asked,
he shook his head.
"i used to be sure," he said, more to himself than to me. "but—i do not know. i was reconciled to death. i had no fear of the torment. i hoped to move these people at the end. and now you say that they respect me, that i am free, i may do as i will."
"yes."
"it is too much for me to decide, monsieur ormerod. perhaps i grow weak. well, we shall see. but i think it is as you say! i have been given a second opportunity to woo them for christ. god's wonders—how strange! how impossible to comprehend! and you a heretic, the companion of a savage! it baffles me."
he paused suddenly.
"you spoke to me first?" he questioned. "there was—no other?"
"none."
"strange!" he muttered to himself again. "gaston—i thought i heard—the garden at morbouil! ah, maman, maman! so many, many years!"
