dusk was falling fast when the three friends, with ringing skates, fast bound, sped forth on their perilous errand. before them stretched the vast expanse of the lake, steel-clad, reflecting and multiplying every spark of light that lingered in the firmament. behind them, low down in the west, the pale ghost of the half-moon dipped swiftly toward the tinted clouds into which the sun had so recently plunged. all about hung a silvery haze, moonlight-born, an exhalation from the blue-black ice to the blue-black sky. far in the north the nascent lights of an aurora flickered against the sky.
the three did not speak much. the wind that had swept the ice clear of snow made speech difficult, cutting the breath from their nostrils and whirling it away in transient wreaths of mist. leaning forward, to shield their faces, the three pushed their mouths into the furs that circled their throats and drove doggedly forward into the northeast.
jack, at least, was silent for other reasons. he was going to the place where alagwa had lived. but would he find her there? or would he find her gone—gone with the fleeing british and indians?
[273]he had reason to think that they had fled. every soldier in the camp on the river raisin was certain that they had. general winchester, of whom he had sought permission to go beyond the lines, seemed sure of it.
jack had found the general comfortably lodged a quarter of a mile from his troops, in the house of francis navarre, a resident of the place and a man with cultivated tastes and a well-stocked cellar. when jack called, the general was at table with half a dozen other genial frenchmen, who were laughing at his jests and listening to his stories with apparently absorbing interest. a politician before he had been a soldier, habituated to an easy, luxurious life from which he had been for many weeks cut off and subjected to privation and suffering, the general was expanding like a flower in the sunshine of his companions’ flatteries.
he received jack affably—affability was his forte—and listened to his story with interest.
“certainly you may cross the lines, my dear sir,” he said, when jack had made his request. “but i am afraid you won’t find your wife at amherstburg. my good friend, jaques la salle here”—he nodded toward a smiling frenchman across the table—“my good friend, jaques la salle, has information that fort malden has been destroyed and that the british and the indians have all fled. in a day or two i expect to march up[274] and take possession. a glass of wine with you, sir.”
jack drank the wine in some bewilderment. he had not supposed that such easy success was near at hand. “when did they leave, may i ask, general?” he questioned, respectfully.
the general shook his head. “frankly, i don’t know exactly,” he replied. “la salle, when did your news say the british expected to leave?”
“this morning, general. they were packing up last night. probably they have gone by now. beyond a doubt they have gone if they heard of your intention to march upon them.”
“ha! ha! yes! they’ve gone, my dear mr. telfair. still, they may have left a guard. some scouts who came in this afternoon reported that they were getting ready to attack us tonight. all foolishness, of course! it shows how little faith one can put in rumors in war time. if you find out anything about their movements, let me know, mr. telfair. good fortune to you sir.”
jack hurried away, wild to be gone. but rogers was obdurate and perforce he waited till dusk. meanwhile he talked with the soldiers.
all of them were elated with triumph, past and expected. only two days before they had taken possession of the village, driving away the british and indians who had garrisoned it, and they were delighted with their success. they had made no attempt[275] to fortify their position. why should they? they were occupying the place only for a moment. the enemy was flying before them. in a day or two they would pursue them, would recapture detroit, and wipe out the disgrace of hull’s surrender. that the foe might rally and attack them had not entered any one’s head. the only man in all the camp who seemed in any way dubious as to the future was francis beaubien, whom jack visited to get full information as to how alagwa was housed, and even beaubien confined his misgivings to a shake or two of the head. the reports of the scouts were received with jeers. whom the gods destroy they first make mad.
jack recalled it all as he sped eastward. he was torn two ways. for his country’s sake he hoped that the enemy had fled. for his own sake he hoped that all of them had not fled or that alagwa at least had been left behind. once away from the optimism of the camp he found it hard to believe that foes so bitter and so often triumphant had fled without a blow.
at last the three reached the mouth of the short but broad detroit river and turned up it from the lake. as they did so the moon set, leaving the great stars to arch in splendor across the cloudless sky. in the north the aurora still flickered, now shooting upward toward the spangled firmament, now dying[276] away to palest gold. in the white glare the frozen lake sparkled like a diamond.
up the river the adventurers sped, until the canadian shore, gleaming white with snow, rose silver edged against the sky. to the north, far away, points of yellow light glittered through the trees and from the top of the bluff.
rogers jerked his hand toward them. “all them britishers ain’t gone yet,” he snorted. “there’s a right smart passel of ’em left, judgin’ from those lights. i reckon we’d better land down here a ways.”
jack nodded and changed his course, heading sharply in to the shore half a mile down river from the camp and village. half he expected to be saluted by a volley of musket balls or to be met by a horde of ambushed savages. luckily, however, no enemy appeared.
cautiously the three landed and moved northward along the river, following a road that led toward the village. when the lights were very near, rogers and cato drew aside to wait, and jack went on alone.
soon he found himself in the thick of the indian village. no one challenged him or questioned him. dozens of other men dressed exactly as he was were passing along the many paths trampled in the snow. no british were visible, and he guessed that they confined themselves to the limits of the fort, whose[277] dark bulk rose above the houses of the village. but indians were everywhere. seven thousand of them, many with women and children, had gathered there, absolutely swamping the small village that had once surrounded the fort. dozens of french “habitans” wandered through the streets. nowhere could jack see the least sign of panic of which general winchester had spoken so jubilantly.
the white settlement was small and jack had no difficulty in picking out the house where alagwa dwelt. it was larger and better built than most of those that stood near it. lights shone through several of its windows.
jack went up to the door, intending to ask flatly for alagwa, hoping that the boldness of his demand might gain him admission to her presence. his knock, however, though twice repeated, brought no response. hesitatingly he tried the door, and it opened easily, disclosing a dim hall with a brightly lighted sitting room opening from it on the left. for a moment he hesitated; then stepped inside. he had no time to lose; if alagwa was in the house he must find her; if she was not in it he must search elsewhere.
the sitting room proved to be vacant, and a glance through the open door into the dining-room just behind it showed that this too was untenanted. but as jack turned back toward the hall, intending to seek upstairs, he heard a rattling at the lock[278] of the outer door. swiftly he glanced about him; then as swiftly he slipped back into the sitting room and hid behind the long heavy curtains that veiled the windows.
the next instant the door opened and a girl came in. at sight of her jack’s heart gave a sudden bound and then stood still.
it was alagwa. and yet it was not she! gone were the boyish garments that he had known so well, and with them had gone the slim boyish figure and the careless boyish carriage. the girl did not wear even the indian costume that he had expected; from head to foot she was clothed in the garments of the whites.
and her face! jack gasped as his eyes rose to it. the several features he knew—the dark splendid starry eyes, the clustering curls, the red lips, the olive cheeks in which the color came and went. they were all there, but with them was something else, an indefinable something that he had never seen before. marvelling, he gazed, till doubt began to grow in his mind. could this indeed be she—be his little comrade of the trails, she who had fought for him, she who had nursed him, she who had pledged herself to him for better or for worse? could she have changed into this dazzling being, this maiden like and yet unlike the “sweet gentle ladies” he had known all his life, this being adorable[279] from the tips of her tiny boots to the last riotous curl of her hair?
he was about to sweep the curtains aside and step forth when the half-closed door behind her was flung open and an officer in a red coat, with a long military cloak trailing from his shoulder, strode into the room.
at sight of him the girl threw back her shoulders. her eyes flashed. her cheeks flamed. “captain telfair!” she exclaimed. “what are you doing here? where are mr. and mrs. winslow?”
brito’s eyes gleamed. he did not answer the questions. “at last,” he breathed. “at last! i’ve got you at last. i told you i would get you sooner or later. and, by god, i have.” his voice sank almost to a whisper.
alagwa did not answer. almost she seemed to have expected some such reply. steadily she faced the man. jack, behind her, could see the color pulsing in her cheek, just visible by the flaming lamps.
greatly he longed to spring forward and take brito by the throat. but he did not do so. he was in the heart of the enemy’s camp; the least outcry would bring against him overwhelming odds and doom him to a shameful death. until the very last moment he would wait.
“you nearly killed me once, you know, estelle,”[280] the man went on, in the same hushed, almost wondering tones. “you fought me and you shot me. it was then i first learned to love you. we are a fierce race, we telfairs, and we love fierce women. and you are fierce, estelle, fierce as the wild indians who brought you up. god!”—he laughed hoarsely—“to think that i—i, brito telfair, i who supped on the honey of women long before i became a man, i who have known courts and palaces and kings—to think that i should go mad over a wood-bred girl! but it’s true, estelle; it’s true. you are my mate—hot and fierce and proud. you are mine and tonight at last i have you fast.”
“be not too sure!” jack scarcely knew the girl’s voice, so deep and resonant it had become and so well had she mastered the intricacies of the english tongue. “be not too sure. you thought so twice before—once in the midst of fort defiance and once when metea and his bribed dogs turned me over to you. but both times you were deceived.”
brito shrugged his shoulders. “you saved yourself the first time, my beauty,” he said. “and i love you for it. tecumseh saved you the second time and i hate him for it. since then you have fought me off with your tale of a husband! a husband!” the man laughed savagely. “that game is played out. you have no husband! i have learned all the details at last. marriage between a catholic and a heretic who part ten minutes after[281] the ceremony is no marriage. it can be annulled and it will be annulled.”
“it never shall be!”
“ah! but it shall. tomorrow you yourself will ask it. tonight you are in my power—in my power, do you understand? i command at fort malden tonight. general proctor and all my superiors have gone to crush those braggart americans at frenchtown. tecumseh and his braves have gone with them. winslow and his wife, they who have sheltered you here, are under arrest by my orders; they will be released with apologies tomorrow, but tonight they are fast and can not come to help you. you are mine—and tomorrow you will ask annullment.”
behind the curtains jack stood tense and ready. the news that the british and indians had marched against general winchester appalled him. he knew what fearful havoc they would work if they could slip by night upon the confident sleeping troops.
what could he do? how warn his countrymen? he could not leave alagwa in peril. nay! he could not leave at all. the road to the river raisin led through the room, past brito and the indians without. could he pass them? he could not overpower brito without a struggle. and a single outcry would ruin all. he must wait—wait and watch. the game was not played out. alagwa[282] was no child. she might save herself and make it possible for him to escape with her to the american camp. with hard-set jaws he waited.
alagwa was speaking without tremor or fear. scorn unutterable rang in her voice.
“it is a plot worthy of you and your race,” she grated. “dogs and liars that you are. oh! i have found you out, all of you! for years you have cheated my people, deceived them, debauched them. for years you have fed them with lying promises to restore them to their ancient homes. you hated and despised them, but you wanted them for a bulwark against the americans. you wanted them and you got them. you won them cheaply—by lies and by presents—presents for which they are paying now. they have borne the brunt of every battle in this war. they have won every victory for you. and you—you do not dream of keeping your promises. you—you personally—are like your lying race. you have killed, you have bribed, you have conspired, you have imprisoned those of your own race to win your way to this house, to get your grasp on the lands handed down to me by my forefathers. tonight you purpose to betray the great chief who has gone away to fight your battles, trusting to your honor, leaving his women in your care. all my life long i have been taught to hate the americans. all my life long i have been taught to look upon them as robbers[283] and as foes. but, after all, i was born beneath the american flag. i have married an american. i am an american. and i am proud of it! yes! proud of it! i am proud of my husband and proud of the race that produced him. i hate their foes. i hate you. and, by the white man’s god i swear, that your triumph—if you win it—shall be hollow, for you will clasp a dead woman in your arms. and tomorrow—tomorrow—tecumseh will come back and burn you at the stake!”
brito did not answer in words. instead, he leaped swiftly forward, clutching at the girl with outstretched arms.
had alagwa been bred in civilization he must have caught her. but quickly as he leaped, eyes and muscles trained to avoid the rattlesnake striking from his lurking place in the grass were quicker. alagwa dodged beneath his arms and darted into the dining-room, flinging the door backward behind her as she went.
jack could wait no longer. as alagwa vanished he sprang from behind the curtains and threw himself upon brito. his fingers closed on the latter’s long military cloak and he swung the englishman round with a fury that tore the garment from his shoulders and sent him catapulting against the farther wall. simultaneously the jar of a heavy door told that alagwa had escaped from the house.
cursing horribly, the englishman sprang up,[284] plunging at jack, sword out. but he halted and recoiled as he met the small dark unwinking stare of the american’s pistol.
jack’s voice rang out, chill and metallic. “silence!” he clinked. “if you raise your voice, you die.”
breathing hard, brito faced the unexpected foe who had confronted him. suddenly his eyes gleamed with recognition and his teeth flashed from behind his snarling lips. “you!” he gasped. “by god! you!”
jack frowned. “not so loud,” he cautioned.
“not so loud! by god! hear the cockerel crow.” a hoarse laugh rumbled from the speaker’s lips. “you come in good time,” he cried. “yes! in good time. i shall not have to ask annullment now.”
jack did not answer. he was thinking what to do. he could not shoot the man down in cold blood! besides, the noise of the shot would probably cost him his own life and would certainly bring his expedition to an untimely end. he had caught his enemy but he did not know what to do with him.
brito laughed again. clearly he understood the american’s dilemma. “you whelp!” he rasped. “do you think that popgun will save you?” he sneered. “or do you think estelle will come back to help you. she’s the better man of the two. but she won’t come back. she didn’t even see you,[285] much less recognize you. i don’t believe she knew that any one had come to her help. probably she’s gone for her indians. if she comes back with them—well! my friend, it’ll be all up with you.” brito was recovering his poise.
jack did not answer. he knew that if the indians came it would indeed be all up with him. swiftly his eyes quested the rooms. at last they rested on a bell rope that hung from the wall.
instantly he swung back on brito. “drop that sword,” he ordered.
brito dropped it. he heard death in jack’s tones.
“turn your back! quick!” brito turned it. he was no coward, but jack’s eyes brooked no denial. in them he read obedience or death.
as he turned jack snatched at the bell cord that hung along the wall and tore it down. somewhere in the house a furious jangling rose and slowly died away. as it died jack looped the rope, coil after coil, about britons body. “silence! or you die!” he growled, and the englishman’s frantic but low-pitched curses died away. swiftly he bound the man to a heavy chair and thrust a gag into his mouth. then, throwing the long military cloak about his shoulders, and clapping the army cap upon his head, he turned without a word to the door.
his heart was heavy within him. he had set out[286] to tell alagwa of his new-born love and to bring her back with him. he had won his way to her side, had seen her face, had heard her voice—had heard her declare that she was proud of him, her husband. if he could have had a moment’s speech with her—a single moment’s speech—he could have told her—told her—but it was not to be. hidden in the mazes of the indian camp she was for the moment beyond his reach.
besides, he must hurry to warn the american camp. his heart burned hot as he thought of the fatuous fool who slept far from his men, who scoffed at warnings, who neglected the commonest precautions for defense. swift as prudence would allow he sped through the indian camp to where rogers and cato waited, and together the three raced southward and westward, hoping against hope that they would yet be in time, hoping till the far-off rattle of rifles rose and fell and died away, till red flames crimsoned the sky, and the yells of exultant savages sounded across the snow and the ice. then, hopeless, the three circled south and took the trail back to the maumee, bearing to general harrison the fateful news that general winchester’s army was no more.
this much jack knew and told. he could not know, what the world has since learned, that winchester, waking to the yells of the foe as they hurled themselves upon his defenseless camp, tried[287] too late to join his sleeping soldiers and was captured by the indians and taken before general proctor. he could not know that winchester, overborne by proctor’s threat that he feared he would not be able to restrain the fury of his savages if the americans continued to resist, thrice sent an order of surrender to major madison and the men who were bravely holding out behind a barricade of garden pickets. he could not know that at the third order madison had surrendered on pledges of protection from proctor himself—pledges that the british general promptly forgot, abandoning the wounded and the dying to the vengeance of his savage allies—abandoning more than three hundred men, unarmed and defenseless, to be tomahawked in cold blood or to be burned alive in the building that had been hurriedly transformed into a hospital. he could not know that six hundred more had been carried away as prisoners, and that of the thousand jubilant men who had thought to march on amherstburg and detroit on the morrow only thirty-three escaped.
