at the main camp on that fatal 19th of march, la salle had left joutel with four others—the abbé, young cavelier, pierre talon, and another young boy called barthelemy. from time to time during the day joutel had lighted fires on rising ground near the camp so that la salle, if he lost his way, could return easily. he was alone on one of these little hills toward evening, looking down upon the horses grazing in the field near by, when some one came running up to him in great excitement. it was l’archevêque, a man who had always been kindly disposed toward joutel. there was very bad news to tell, he said, confused and almost beside himself.
“what is it?” asked joutel in quick alarm.
“la salle is dead,” he replied, “and also moranget, his nephew, and two others.” he added that they had been murdered and that the assassins had sworn to come on and kill joutel as well.
joutel stood dazed, scarcely knowing what to say or do. should he fly to the woods and trust to providence to guide him to civilization? having come away from camp without his gun, life was scarcely more secure in the wilds than in the camp with the murderers. but, added l’archevêque, the conspirators had decided on the way home not to kill joutel unless he offered resistance. after all, perhaps it was better to risk death in the company of white men than in the wilderness alone; and so the two men turned back to the camp.
there they found the abbé cavelier in a corner praying, and father douay still overwhelmed and not daring to speak to joutel for fear of the murderers. the murderers had come wildly into camp and had seized the belongings of la salle. duhaut had assumed the place of leader.
“you may kill me if you wish,” said the abbé, “but give me a half-hour to prepare for the end.”
but the white savages had had enough of killing. if all would yield to the new leaders they might keep their lives. there was nothing else to do. those who were not in the plot stood guard that night; and in the long hours joutel and the abbé, young cavelier and douay, made a solemn agreement to stand by each other until death—which now seemed very near to them.
the next morning, under duhaut’s direction, the forlorn band of thirteen packed up their camp supplies and continued their journey toward the cenis village. a common tie—the need of escape from the wilderness—held them together. yet even that tie was honeycombed with fears and hates and distrusts. joutel, his soul rising in rebellion, wanted to kill the murderers in their sleep, but the abbé dissuaded him.
with the guidance of indians they soon crossed the trinity river, and as they drew near to the town of the cenis, four of the number—joutel, liotot, hiens, and teissier—were sent in advance to buy food. they camped at night outside the village; and the next morning they were met and escorted into the town by chiefs and elders dressed in great pomp with painted goatskins over their shoulders, crowns of feathers on their heads, and streaks of black and red paint on their faces.
the cenis lived in round huts, shaped like old-fashioned beehives and made of a circle of poles bent over and lashed together at the top. the poles were interlaced with willow rods, and covered over with a thick thatch of grass. in the middle of the floor the indians built their lodge-fire, which the several families living in the hut used in common.
joutel’s three companions soon left him to trade with the villagers while they went back to camp. alone in the village of people whom his experiences on the shores of the gulf had taught him to fear, joutel drove his little bargains and listened and nodded his head to the chiefs as they told him of the war they were getting ready to make upon their enemies.
fearful lest they should steal his merchandise, joutel did not sleep well one night. he was tossing upon his robes about one o’clock when he heard some one move near him. looking up, he saw, by the light of the fire in the center of the lodge, a man who was naked except for the tattoo marks upon his body. this stranger came and sat down by him, without saying a word. in his hands were a bow and two arrows. joutel watched him a moment, then spoke. the man did not answer. joutel reached for his pistol; whereupon the man rose, walked over to the fire, and again sat down.
utterly puzzled, joutel rose from his bed and followed the man, studying him intently all the while. the man returned his gaze, then threw his arms about joutel, embraced him, and spoke to him with french words. he was ruter, one of la salle’s sailors who had deserted him, two years before, for the woods and the wild life of the indian camps. another deserter, grollet, had been afraid to come with him to the grass house where joutel slept, for fear of la salle.
for two years these white men had lived like the red men, they had married indian women, and they had fought in the indian wars. there was little now to distinguish ruter from his dusky companions—except that long-buried yearning for his own people which made him come to joutel and listen eagerly to his tale of adventures. the story of la salle’s death seemed to affect him deeply, and for a long time in the passing night the two men talked beside the fire in the indian lodge. later, grollet also came to see and talk to joutel.
for several days joutel stayed in the village. then messengers came from the camp to say that the leaders had decided to return to the fort on the bay of st. louis and there build a ship and sail for the west indies. with what provisions he had secured, joutel went back to the camp of the murderers, where he and the abbé took counsel together. it was intolerable to continue life in the same camp with those who had killed la salle, and so they made up their minds to leave their murderous companions and go on with those who had not been in the plot, toward the mississippi river. they told duhaut they were too fatigued to make the trip back to the gulf and would remain with the cenis, to which duhaut finally agreed.
hiens and several others, who had been sent to the village for horses on which to carry supplies back to the fort, had not yet returned. while they were waiting, one of the french deserters, who knew of the true plans of the abbé and joutel, told them to duhaut and added that he believed the mississippi to be not far off to the northeast; whereupon duhaut changed his plan and decided that he too would go to the mississippi.
news of duhaut’s decision soon reached hiens at the cenis village, and in a few days he came back to the camp, accompanied by ruter and others. hiens walked directly to duhaut and declared that it was not safe to go to the mississippi and on to the white settlements. as for himself, he would not go, and he demanded his share of the goods. when duhaut refused, hiens raised his gun and fired, saying, “you wretch! you murdered my master!” duhaut fell dead. almost at the same instant ruter, the half-savage deserter, opened fire upon liotot and mortally wounded him. thus did the murderers of la salle and moranget come to their end.
hiens was now in command of the party, which had decreased to eleven. the old buccaneer had promised the cenis to go to their wars with them and, with ruter and grollet and three or four other frenchmen, started out with the exultant indian warriors, leaving the abbé and his party in the village with the women and old men. late in may the warriors returned, flushed with a great victory which the guns of the white allies had enabled them to win.
the abbé and joutel and their little group now asked leave to separate and try to make their way across to the mississippi. hiens gave his consent with much reluctance. as for himself he did not care to risk his life going back to civilized people; and the wild savage life in the indian villages held him with a strong fascination. he divided supplies and merchandise with those who were leaving, gave them six horses to carry their goods, and with much advice set them on their way. thus they took their departure—a band of seven—to make the last long march toward the settlements of white men. hiens and l’archevêque, meusnier, and pierre talon cast in their lot with the indians.
innumerable were the adventures of the seven travelers. town after town they passed, stopping often to smoke the pipe of peace, trade merchandise, and gather news of the way. one morning de marie, while bathing in the river near an indian village, was drowned before the indians could rescue him. the six moved on, indian guides leading them, until at last with a great feeling of joy they came to the establishment of couture on the arkansas.
couture was the last man in america to whom they related the story of la salle’s death. the abbé decided to keep it a secret from both the indians and from tonty, and not even to tell it in canada, but to take the news across the seas with them to the court of france. dreading that young barthelemy would disclose their secret, they left him with couture. the young boy told many things to the men at the arkansas post. and now couture was pouring out the whole tale to the commander of fort st. louis on the illinois.
