There was no time to reload. We fought with ax and knife as best we
could. Ta-wan-ne-ars and I, with half a dozen of our warriors,
crowded back to back. The rest of our party were cut off in twos and
threes.
Resistance was hopeless. The swarms of False Faces seemed to care
nothing for death if only they could bring down an Iroquois. They
eschewed steel altogether, and battered down opposition with their
knotted war-clubs, which shattered arms and shoulder-blades, but
seldom killed.
I was knocked senseless by a blow which I partially warded with my
tomahawk. When I came to I was lying in the snow in front of a huge
fire. My arms were bound and my head ached so violently that I felt
sick.
"Is my brother in pain?" asked the voice of Ta-wan-ne-ars.
I rolled over to find him lying beside me, the blood from three or
four trivial cuts freezing on his head and shoulders.
"Yes," I groaned, "but 'tis naught."
"There was treachery," he said. "They knew we were coming, and they
lost many men so that they might take us alive."
"All our warriors----" I faltered.
He turned his head to the left; and, following his gaze, I saw that I
was on the right of a line of recumbent figures, which my dizziness
would not permit me to count.
"No, not all, I think," Ta-wan-ne-ars answered after a moment. "Five
are slain and fourteen others lie here. But I do not see the Otter."
He addressed the warrior next to him, but none of our
fellow-prisoners could account for the Otter.
"The Otter suspected something wrong," I said. "'Twas he who
answered the owl's call."
"It may be he escaped," replied Ta-wan-ne-ars. "I must warn our
brothers to say naught of him. If the keepers do not suspect, they
may believe they have all of us safe in their net."
He whispered his warning to the man beside him, and it was passed
down the line.
"Your head is much swollen, brother," he said, rolling over again so
as to face me. "Let Ta-wan-ne-ars make shift to bathe it with snow."
A shadow fell athwart us as we lay and a mocking voice replied for me:
"By all means, most excellent Iroquois. I trust you will nurse our
valuable captive back to full strength and health."
I struggled to a sitting position, for I liked not to lie at de
Veulle's feet, however much I might be at his mercy.
"So you walked into the spider's web," he continued, standing betwixt
me and the firelight which ruddied his sinful face. "A woman's
plea--and you threw caution to the winds! You fool! I used to value
you as an enemy, but 'tis tame work fighting against a man who thinks
I keep so easy a watch as to permit our beautiful friend to come and
go as she lists."
"The letter was a bait?" I exclaimed incredulously.
"For you--yes. I say again--you fool! Baptiste took the letter to
Murray, and Murray read it to me. It could not have been contrived
more skilfully to suit our plans."
'Twas ridiculous, no doubt, but I was easier in my heart for
assurance that Marjory had not known her appeal was used as a lure.
It enabled me to maintain a stoicism of demeanor I did not feel.
"Well, 'twas kind of you to make such haste," he went on, sneering
down at me. "You will be in time for the wedding after all. Oh,
never fear; you shall be permitted to live that long. We have plenty
of meat in this bag to supply diversion for our savages in the
meantime.
"You, my friend, and the noble Iroquois here"--he kicked
Ta-wan-ne-ars viciously--"shall be kept for the last. Who knows! We
may have a new Mistress of the False Faces then. We are not pleased
with the present one. There was something uncommonly odd about the
circumstances of your escape--although 'tis true I had the little
wildcat in my arms at the time--and it would add to the aroma of the
mystery to have a white Mistress for a change. Aye, that is an idea
worth considering."
He switched suddenly into the Seneca vernacular.
"Are you all here, Iroquois dogs?" he demanded curtly. "The scouts
reported twenty warriors."
"All are here, French mongrel," returned Ta-wan-ne-ars pleasantly.
De Veulle kicked him.
"Keep that for the torture-stake," he advised. "We have five corpses
and fourteen warriors and yourself. That is all?"
"All," reiterated Ta-wan-ne-ars.
De Veulle passed along the line, cross-questioning each prisoner to
an accompaniment of kicks and threats. All told the same story.
Next to success in battle nothing pleased an Iroquois more than the
opportunity to exhibit indifference to torture. De Veulle seemed
satisfied. The mistake he made was in failing to understand that the
scouts had not counted Ta-wan-ne-ars, a chief, as a warrior. He
returned to my side, and summoned a host of masked figures from the
surrounding shadows. They jerked us to our feet, stamped out the
fire and escorted us over the trampled, bloody snow where we had
fought, through the gloomy aisles of the Evil Wood and into the
irregular streets of La Vierge du Bois.
The dawn was a mere hint of pink in the eastern sky, but the
Cahnuagas and their allied broods of renegades were all awake to
greet us, and our guards forced a passage through the mass with
difficulty. To our surprize, we were carried by the oblong hulk of
the Council-House, and traversed the Indian village without stopping.
Ahead of us loomed the tower of the chapel and the house where Murray
dwelt, encircled by its stockade.
Two men stood by the gate of the stockade to greet us. One was
Murray, debonair as ever in a frieze greatcoat, with a showing of
lace at the collar, and a cocked hat. The other was Baptiste Meurier.
The unsavory face of the _courrier de bois_ grinned appreciation of
my astonishment.
"_Peste, monsieur_!" he exclaimed. "It seems you are a slow
traveler. I feared I might be behind you, but I arrived twenty-four
hours in advance. I have to thank you for the beaver-pelts. They
were a sufficient bribe for my immediate release."
"That will do, Baptiste," interjected Murray.
And to me:
"One might think the animal deserved credit for a plan in which he
was the humble instrument of superior intellects--which, I am bound
to say, displayed their superiority mainly by seizing upon the
opening presented to them by fortune. No, no; even had the good
Baptiste been delayed we should have been ready for you. Heard you
ever, Ta-wan-ne-ars, of scouts who wore bears' pads for moccasins?"
For the first and only time during our acquaintance Ta-wan-ne-ars was
surprized into a look of chagrin.
"We thought it was late for bears to be out," he admitted.
Murray chuckled with amusement.
"Quite so, quite so! And so you visit us once more, Master Ormerod.
I confess 'tis an unexpected pleasure which we shall strive to make
the most of."
"Sir," I said earnestly, "it makes little difference to me what is my
fate, but I conjure you by whatever pretensions to gentility you
possess to give over your plan of selling your daughter."
He took snuff with his odd deliberation, and his face became as
impassive as an Indian's.
"The words you choose for your appeal do not commend it to me," he
returned. "Nor do I perceive what business of yours it may be to
question my daughter's marriage."
Now, what put it in my head I know not, unless it was the fact that
in her letter to me Marjory had spoken of him as "Mr. Murray"; but I
leaped to the instant conclusion that she was not his daughter.
Sure, no man could have disposed of his own daughter so
cold-bloodedly!
"She is not your daughter in the first place," I retorted boldly.
"And in the second place, she has expressed to me her abhorrence of
the marriage, as you know."
His face revealed no expression but for a faint tremor of the eyelids.
"Zooks," he remarked mildly after an interval of silence, "'tis
strong language that you use. You are a headstrong young man, Master
Ormerod. Can it be that you have some personal interest in the
matter?"
Again some instinct prompted me.
"I have," I asserted. "Your daughter prefers me to the man you would
force upon her."
"Really," he replied, "you possess vast self-assurance. You are my
deadly enemy, you have sought by every means to ruin me, you were
caught in an attempt to depredate my home--yet you would pose as a
suitor for my daughter's hand."
"She is not your daughter," I repeated. "And as a suitor, according
to your estimates of the world's opinion, I am far more eligible than
this Frenchman."
"You are scarcely wise to say so to his face, and I beg leave to
differ with you. I find the Chevalier de Veulle a very eligible
young man, of rank in the world, of achievement, of distinct promise
for the future."
"If you can call a man eligible who was not even eligible for
continued residence at the most profligate court in Europe, I agree
with you."
"Tut, tut," remonstrated Murray. "Your words are not those of a
gentleman, sir. We will abandon the subject. Where do you propose
to incarcerate the prisoners, _chevalier_?"
"I would not risk them a second time in the keeping of the savages,"
said de Veulle. "Let us try your strong-room. There you and I can
have an eye to their security."
"That is well conceived. Is there any news of Père Hyacinthe!"
"I have stationed a man at the river-crossing to bring word the
instant he arrives."
"I applaud your thoughtfulness. This continued delay in the ceremony
is annoying. Master Ormerod, your sufferings are upon your own head."
I looked eagerly for Marjory's face as we were marched across the
yard inside the stockade and through the heavy timber doors of the
house. But she was not visible. The house was sturdily built,
evidently with an eye to defensibility, and the cellar beneath it, to
which we were conducted, was floored with clay and walled with
immense wooden slabs. Our guards examined our bonds carefully,
fastened our legs and then left us, three of them sitting just
outside the door at the foot of the stairs which ran down from the
kitchen above.
We remained there three days, without intercourse with any one except
our Indian jailers, who brought us messes of food twice daily. In
that time the bump on my head was reduced and Ta-wan-ne-ars' cuts
began to heal.
On the third day several Cahnuaga chiefs visited us and removed one
of our Senecas with an assurance that he was destined for the
torture-stake. The man laughed at their threats, and called back to
his brothers that he would set them a good example. I do not doubt
that he did.
On the fourth day we were eating our meager fare of boiled corn when
the door was flung open violently and the gaunt figure of Black Robe
entered unannounced. Behind him, obviously unwillingly, walked
Murray.
"Which is the Englishman Ormerod?" demanded the priest in French.
"Here I am, father," I answered, standing up as well as I could.
"Mistress Murray tells me that you have won her affections?" he asked
coldly.
My heart leaped with sudden joy.
"That is true, father," I said.
"And you love her!"
"As much as a man may, father."
He turned upon Murray with a gesture of decision.
"There!" he exclaimed. "You have it in the face. What do you expect
of me? Would you have me violate God's sacrament by wedding a maid
against her affections? Some priests might do so, but I will never!
Marriage without affection is adultery."
Murray's discomfiture was comical. I was quick to seize the
opportunity presented to me.
"He knows how we stand, father," I declared. "He himself asked me
concerning it when I was brought here."
Père Hyacinthe bent upon Murray a glance of deep disdain.
"This is not well, _monsieur_," he said. "You have told me an
untruth."
"You leap to conclusions, my good sir," returned Murray, who had now
regained his poise. "The maid does not know her own mind. She is a
conquest for the Church, and her alliance with the Chevalier de
Veulle cements the great work we are undertaking together."
"I will have naught to do with it," responded the priest with
decision. "Not even to admit her into the Church would I tolerate
the fastening upon herself, her husband and myself of a mortal sin.
As for the Chevalier de Veulle, I will say nothing at present. But I
am not satisfied with everything here at La Vierge du Bois. I shall
have more to say on that score later."
He went out and up the stairs, and Murray, after a moment's
hesitation, followed him.
But our reprieve was brief. The next morning an augmented force of
jailers appeared. The thongs on our arms were tightened; our legs
were unlashed; and we were marched up into the wintry sunshine again,
our eyes blinking at the unwonted light.
The village was deserted, and we perceived the reason when we reached
the Council-Place and saw the long row of stakes which stretched
before the background of the green firs of the Evil Wood. Jeers and
cries of derision greeted us.
The False Faces strung their ill-omened circle around us, and the
feather-tufted Keepers and their women and children pressed close to
view the gruesome spectacle. We were bound to the stakes,
Ta-wan-ne-ars and I in the middle of the line; and almost at once the
torturing began upon the unfortunates at the two extremities. Their
songs and shouts of defiance soon gave way to a sinister silence, as
they fought with all their will-power to curb the agony which bade
them cry for mercy.
The horror of it first sickened me, then flogged me into a red-hot
tempest of anger. And in the midst of the orgy of bestiality Murray
and de Veulle penetrated the circle of False Faces, with Marjory,
white-faced, tight-lipped, between them. They walked up to the stake
to which I was bound.
"I deeply regret, my dear," said Murray in a voice which was
conscientiously paternal, "that you must be exposed to this
spectacle----"
"'Tis no more distressing than the knowledge of your wickedness," she
flashed. "You have overset my belief in a cause I had thought holy."
"Well, we will not talk politics, if you please," he replied. "I
want you to realize now beyond question the fate which awaits this
misguided young man upon whom you have been so ill-advised as to pin
your affections."
"Would you like to walk nearer the other stakes and study what has
been done to the Senecas upon whom the torture has been begun?"
suggested de Veulle suavely.
She eyed him with such scorn that even he felt it, for his face
hardened appreciably.
"No, sir," she answered; "I shall not be contributing to your
entertainment any more than I can help."
Murray addressed me.
"We are making a bargain with the lady, Master Ormerod. She is to
renounce her objections to de Veulle, own herself mistaken in her
feeling of affection for you--and you are to be permitted to escape
when she has sealed her engagements."
"Do not think of it, Marjory," I called to her. "I mind this not at
all. And fear not. Help will come to you."
A tinge of color showed in her cheeks, and she stepped to my side.
"I can not let you die, Harry," she said with a sob. "Indeed I will
not be able to stand the thinking of it. Better anything--better
marriage to this beast--than--than--that!"
"You are wrong," I urged her. "You must not. I should go mad if you
did. I should hate myself! I----"