The sprightly month of April brought sunny days and warm showers, opening
buds and singing birds.
Ross Douglas had almost recovered his wonted health and strength. A
slight twinge of pain in his chest, at times, and a little shortness of
breath, on exercise, alone remained to remind him of his tedious illness.
He wandered about the village at will; but he was unarmed, and dozens
of watchful eyes were upon him. He saw no chance of escape. At night
Bradford occupied the cabin with him, never leaving him alone.
Frequently he met La Violette and tried to talk with her; but she was shy
and reserved, and had little to say. He fancied that she avoided him—and
it piqued him. Man-like he could not understand that she was trying to
conquer her love for him; and he sought to re-establish their familiar
companionship. His influence over her was such—she loved him so—that he
succeeded. She could not resist his magnetic power. And with the true
abandon of a simple, passionate child of the forest, she again drank of
the intoxicating cup of love—and for the time was happy—in paradise.
Ross, also, became more cheerful. Perhaps he had missed her
companionship more than he would own—more than he knew. At any rate
he was happier when she was at his side—when her violet eyes looked
trustingly into his own gray ones, and her artless prattle fell upon his
ear.
One day in the early part of the month, Bradford entered the hut and
remarked:
“Douglas, I have your gun here—the one I took from you at Wildcat Creek.
Do you want it?”
“Certainly,” Ross replied with animation.
“You can have it—and this pouch of ammunition—on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That you don’t try to escape again.”
“I won’t try to escape—for the present.”
“That’s rather indefinite,” laughed the older man. “Explain.”
“When I have determined to make another attempt, I’ll apprise you of the
fact. Is that satisfactory?”
“Perfectly. Here’s your gun. I think a little tramping about the woods
will do you good. At least, it will help you to pass the time. You may
go out with the Indians or by yourself, as you please. You have given me
your word—I can trust you.”
Having his trusty rifle again in his possession, Douglas felt more like a
man—less like a prisoner. Every day, almost, he took a long jaunt through
the woods adjacent to the village, his weapon upon his shoulder. His
object was twofold. He desired to toughen his muscles and regain his old
powers of endurance, and to become acquainted with the topography of the
surrounding country. For he meant to make another desperate effort to
escape, as soon as he felt equal to the task.
April gave place to May. The trees were in full leaf; the wild flowers,
in full bloom. The air was warm and fragrant; and the birds sang all day
long, in the dark, cool woodland.
Ross was now completely recovered from the effects of his wound, and
ready for the project upon which his heart was set. But he was in a
quandary. He could not make up his mind to break his promise to Bradford;
yet he feared the result of making known his intentions. Would not his
rifle again be taken from him and himself be confined and guarded as at
Wildcat Creek? While he debated the question, the sunshiny days sped
swiftly by.
About the middle of the month, a council of twelve tribes was held at
the Miami village. Ringing speeches were made by various chiefs. Each
tribe sought to lay the blame of the battle of Tippecanoe and its results
upon the other. Much bad feeling existed. Tecumseh made an effort to
reconcile and reunite the tribes of his confederacy, but failed. The
council was a _fiasco_—so far as the great chief’s desires and intentions
were concerned. After indulging in mutual recriminations, and expressing
themselves as being desirous of living at peace with the Americans, the
members of the council took their departure—and the farce was at an end.
A number of white men were present, as spectators, at the council.
But Bradford kept a close watch upon his prisoner; and the latter got
no opportunity to communicate with the visitors. Whether they were
Americans, or British subjects from across the lakes, Douglas could not
ascertain.
About the first of June, Tecumseh, accompanied by a number of warriors,
went to Fort Wayne and demanded ammunition. He was very haughty, and
firm in his old opinions and intentions. The agent sought to induce
him to remain at peace with the United States, but refused to give him
ammunition.
Tecumseh made answer:
“My British father will not refuse my request. To him I will go.”
And giving a defiant war-whoop, he disappeared in the adjacent woods.
He went immediately to Malden, where he joined the English.
A short time after Tecumseh’s departure for Canada, an Indian runner
arrived in the Mississinewa village. He brought the news that what had
been expected long, had happened at last—that war had been declared
between the United States and Great Britain, and that both nations were
making preparations for a final struggle for supremacy upon the border.
This intelligence greatly pleased Tenskwatawa and his braves. They saw a
chance for scalps and plunder—and promptly resolved to join the British.
The night of the messenger’s arrival was spent in feasting and rejoicing.
Speeches were made, and war-songs were chanted. When morning dawned,
numbers of the warriors at once set out for the scenes of expected
conflict.
If Hiram Bradford was elated over the news received, he succeeded in
concealing the fact from Douglas. The latter was depressed and sorrowful.
Well he knew what would be the fate of many exposed posts and settlements
upon the border, as the result of such a war.
La Violette listened attentively to the impassioned speeches of the
chiefs—speeches counseling murder and pillage—and sighed heavily. Yet
when Ross questioned her as to what she thought, she replied firmly:
“The redmen have been wronged—deeply wronged. Their cause is a just one.
They seek to recover what is their own; and they mean to take advantage
of this opportunity. They should not be blamed; for in vain have they
pleaded for justice. They will join the English, hoping to recover the
land of their fathers. If the Seventeen Fires be successful in the
struggle, the condition of the redmen will be no worse; if the English
gain the victory, the condition of the redmen will be bettered—I hope,
though I cannot fully trust the promises of the British. That the Indians
will commit excesses is to be expected. No one deplores their mode of
warfare more than I. But they are ignorant, superstitious, revengeful
savages. God made them such.”
“La Violette, you talk as though these same ignorant savages were your
people, your relatives—as though their cause was your own,” Ross said
sadly.
Her eyes flashed and her chest heaved, as she said angrily:
“What is it to you, Ross Douglas, how I talk—what I think? These
miserable beings are all the friends I have—all I expect to have. You
do not care who I am, what I am, or what may become of me! Why do you
concern yourself about what I _say_ or _think_? Your only desire is to
escape and return to your—your home, to forget that you ever saw me!”
Bursting into tears, she turned and left him staring after her.
For the next few days Douglas was in a fever of unrest. Now he had an
additional incentive to escape. His country again needed his services. He
could not delay much longer—he must make the attempt, though he should
court death in so doing. He said to himself:
“I’ll go to Bradford and give him warning of my intentions. I cannot
break my word—I cannot act a dishonorable part, even to gain my liberty.
No doubt he’ll disarm me and place me under close surveillance. No
matter; I’ll elude the vigilance of his red hounds in some way. Perhaps
I can make my way to Fort Wayne. The Indians are inflamed by the
declaration of war; it will not be safe for me to remain here much
longer—especially, if Bradford should be called away. Why does that man
hold me captive? Idle question! I can’t answer it. Great heaven! Almost
a year has passed since I left Amy. I’ll delay no longer. I’ll risk all
upon one cast of the die!”
That evening another Indian runner arrived in the village. He came from
Malden, and brought a message from Tecumseh to Tenskwatawa, to enlist all
the warriors he could, and send them to Canada at once. The great chief
promised that all who would come should be paid for their services and
share in the plunder.
Tenskwatawa at once set about the work. His persuasive powers were
great; the Indians feared his baleful influence; and scarcely a brave
dared to disobey his orders. Within a surprisingly short time, he had
a large number enlisted and ready to set out. Tecumseh had sent word
that the women and children of the warriors enlisting should be sent,
under escort, beyond the Mississippi; and that the Prophet should then
raise another force to attack Vincennes. The great Shawnee promised to
return and lead the attack upon that place. Tenskwatawa carried out his
brother’s orders to the letter.
La Violette did not accompany the women and children on their long and
lonely journey. The Prophet desired that she should do so; but she
appealed to Bradford, with the result that she was permitted to stay with
the few Indians remaining at the village—most of whom were Miamis that
stubbornly refused to cast their lots in with the British.
All this occurred within a few days after the arrival of the runner from
Canada.
This messenger also brought a sealed message from the English commander,
to Bradford. Immediately upon its receipt, the latter went to Douglas and
said:
“As you know, I’m in the employ of the British. I’ve just received
instructions to go among the various tribes still remaining neutral,
and try to enlist their services in behalf of the English government. I
must start at once. Probably I shall be gone some weeks. You will remain
here until I come back. You’ll not be lonely. La Violette will be your
companion.”—He smiled a meaning smile.—“On my return we three will go
to Canada. I’m sorry to part from you—for so short a time, even; but
it can’t be helped. I don’t mind telling you that if my mission proves
successful—as it will—it means thousands of pounds to me. And you shall
share in my good-fortune. You will do as I wish?”
“I will not,” was the positive answer. “Why should I?”
“Because I desire you to do so,” Bradford returned coolly.
“Then I should play the part of a passive traitor, simply to please you
who have wronged——” Ross began hotly, but came to an abrupt stop.
“Well?” And Bradford smiled broadly.
“I was going to say,” Douglas resumed calmly, “that according to your
admissions, I should play the traitor, to please you who have kept me a
prisoner for months and still have me in your power.”
“You’ll not be playing the traitor; you’ll remain neutral—that’s all.”
“A passive traitor is as bad as an active one. I cannot consent to your
proposal. I’ve been here too long already, much against my will. I wish
to revisit my home for a few days—then again offer my services to my
country. You say you are my friend. In some ways you have proven your
assertion. Let me depart in peace.”
“You put my friendship to a severe test,” Bradford laughed.
“You will not grant my request?”
“No—I cannot.”
“Why?”—impatiently.
“Because to allow you to leave here would upset my plans.”
“Your plans?”
“Yes; the plans I have laid for your future.”
“Please explain,” Ross said, a sneer curling his lip.
“I wish I _might_ explain to you—tell you everything,” Bradford answered
very earnestly. “But I don’t dare to do so at present. I fear it might
prove disastrous. Be patient just a little longer. You shall know all ere
long. Then you’ll bless me for having kept you here.”
“Never!” Douglas cried angrily. “I’m no child—and I’ll not stay.”
“You mean to try to escape again?”
“Yes.”
For a half minute Bradford dropped his head in thought. Evidently he was
greatly moved. At last he said sadly but decidedly—his husky voice hardly
audible:
“You’re an honorable, upright gentleman, Ross Douglas; you keep your
word, even when the breaking of it would give you the liberty you covet.
I would set you free—but no! You _must_ not—you _shall_ not leave the
place, until I am ready for you to do so. I’m off now. Good-by.”
Silently the two men shook hands and parted. Both were strangely moved.
A few minutes later Bradford was saying to a stalwart Shawnee brave—one
of the few remaining at the Mississinewa village:
“Long Gun, you are not to join any of the expeditions against the
Americans. Select a score of your most trusty warriors, and remain here
to protect La Violette and guard Fleet Foot. This evening when the young
paleface retires to rest, slip into the hut and disarm him. Do not lose
sight of him at any time—and guard him well each night. Remember that
he is fleet of foot, brave, and strong. Under no circumstances is he to
be ill-treated or injured. Keep him safe until my return, and you shall
have fifty pounds in gold. Here is ten pounds to bind the bargain. Can I
depend on you?”
“Ugh!” ejaculated the imperturbable Long Gun, as one by one he dropped
the jingling coins into his pouch.
Bradford hurried away toward Tenskwatawa’s cabin. Arriving there, he
found the Prophet alone; and, striding up to him, said brusquely:
“I am leaving upon a mission to the neutral tribes. During my absence, La
Violette is to remain here. Do you understand?”
Tenskwatawa nodded stiffly.
“Heed my words, then,” Bradford continued savagely. “If you drag her away
from here in my absence—and thus defeat my plans—I will choke the life
out of you, the first time I meet you. Beware!”
The cowering Prophet looked the impotent rage he felt, but did not open
his lips. As he left the cabin Bradford chuckled huskily:
“I have cowed him. The miserable coward—he is afraid to say his life is
his own!”
Then gravely:
“But he’s cunning—treacherous. What a wonderful, uncanny power he exerts
over his ignorant people! I must not be long absent. What a sweet revenge
it would be to him, to frustrate my designs. The only thing that will
restrain him is his abject cowardice. How he hates me! And for what?
Because I have made him bow the knee to me—the craven! Because my wishes
have run counter to his selfish purpose—because I have done as I please
concerning the welfare of that dear girl.”
Just outside of the door he met La Violette.
“I’m going away for a few weeks, La Violette,” he remarked. “In my
absence improve your opportunity to the utmost.”
“What do you mean?” she asked softly, dropping her long lashes over her
tell-tale eyes.
“You know what I mean, my little coquette,” he laughed lightly. “You have
ensnared Ross Douglas’s heart. Throw a few more cords of love around it,
to hold it secure.”
“Snared his heart!” she cried, petulantly stamping her moccasined foot.
“He _has_ no heart—it is in another’s keeping.”
“Not so, little one,” he answered positively. “He’s _betrothed_ to
another—he muttered her name in his delirium—but he’s learning to love
_you_. Already he loves you better than you know—than he suspects.
Yours is the name that falls from his lips during sleep. Be patient—but
persistent. Devote yourself to his comfort—make yourself necessary to his
very existence. Above all, see to it that he doesn’t escape during my
absence. Good-by.”
Ere she could make reply, Bradford had turned the corner of the cabin
and disappeared. A half hour later he had set out upon his journey,
accompanied by a half score of picked warriors.