NORTHWARD.
Weak and chilled from the long swim through the cold water they
dragged themselves across the narrow beach to the bushes that hung
over the bank. Menard and Father Claude supported the maid, who was
trembling and clinging to them. At the bank she sank to the ground.
"It is hard, Mademoiselle, but we must not stop. It is better to be
weary than to rest in this condition. It would mean sickness."
"Yes," she said; "I know. In a moment I can go on." She looked up and
tried to smile. "It is so cold, M'sieu."
Menard turned to Teganouan.
"How far is it to the villages of the Cayugas?"
"Not far. Half a sleep."
"Is there a trail?"
"The trail is far. It passes the end of the Long Lake." He raised his
head and looked at the stars, then pointed to the southwest. "The
nearest village lies there. If we go through the forest toward the
setting sun, we shall meet the trail."
"You think it will be wise to go to the Cayugas, M'sieu?" asked Father
Claude.
"I think so. The chiefs must have returned before this time, or at
least by the morrow." He dropped into the Iroquois tongue. "Is not
this so, Teganouan? Would the chiefs of the Cayugas linger among the
Onondagas after the close of the council?"
"The Cayuga warriors await the word of the Long House. They know that
their chiefs would hasten to bring it back to them."
"Yes. It must be so, Father. And we can trust them to aid us. Perhaps
they will give us a canoe. Teganouan must tell them he is our guide,
sent by the Big Throat and the chiefs of the Onondagas to take us
safely to Frontenac."
The maid was struggling to keep awake, but her lids were heavy. Menard
came to her and stood, hesitating. She knew that he was there; she
could hear the rustle of his wet clothes, and his heavy breathing, but
she did not look up.
"Come," he said, lightly touching her shoulder, "we cannot wait here.
We must go."
She did not reply, and he hesitated again. Then he stooped and lifted
her in his arms.
"You will go ahead, Teganouan," he said, "and you, too, if you will,
Father Claude. Choose an easy trail if you can, and be careful that no
twig flies back."
They set out slowly through the forest. The priest and the Indian
laboriously broke a way, and Menard followed, holding the maid
tenderly, and now and then, in some lighter spot where a beam of
moonlight fell through the foliage, looking down at her gentle, weary
face. She was sleeping; and he prayed that no sad dreams might come to
steal her rest. His arms ached and his knees gave under him, but he
had hardly a thought for himself. At last, after a long, silent march,
the priest stopped, and said, supporting himself with one thin hand
against a tree:--
"You are weary, M'sieu. You must let me take Mademoiselle."
"No, Father, no. I have been thinking. I am afraid it is not right
that she should sleep now. Even though she fail in the effort,
exercise of her muscles is all that will prevent sickness. And yet I
cannot,"--he looked again at her face as it rested against his
shoulder,--"I cannot awaken her now."
The Father saw the sorrow in the Captain's eyes, and understood.
"I will take her, M'sieu."
Carefully Menard placed her in Father Claude's arms and turned away.
"Teganouan," he said, trying to recover his self-possession, "should
we not be near the trail?"
"Yes, more than half the way."
"Can we reach it more quickly by heading a little to the north?"
"We would reach the trail, yes; but the way would be longer."
"Never mind; once on the trail it will be easier than in this forest.
Turn to the north, Teganouan."
He could hear the maid's voice, protesting sleepily, and Father Claude
talking quietly to her. He looked around. The priest said in a low
tone:--
"Come, M'sieu, it is hard to awaken her."
"We must frighten her, then."
He caught her shoulders and shook her roughly. Slowly her eyes opened,
and then the two men dragged her forward. At first she thought herself
back among the Onondagas, and she begged them not to take her away,
hanging back and forcing them almost to carry her. It cut Menard to
the heart, but he pushed steadily forward. Later she yielded, and with
a dazed expression obeyed. Once or twice she stumbled, and would have
fallen but for the strong hands that held her. Father Claude rested
his hand on her forehead as they walked, and Menard gave him an
anxious, questioning glance. The priest shook his head.
"No," he said, "there is no fever. I trust that it is nothing worse
than exhaustion."
Menard went on with relief in his eyes.
In less than half an hour after reaching the trail, they came upon the
outlying huts of the village. Over the hills to the east the dawn was
breaking, and all the sleeping birds and beasts and creeping things of
the forest were stirring into life and movement. Teganouan went ahead
of the party and soon roused a member of the Cayuga branch of his
clan, the family of the Bear. Through the yawning services of this
warrior they were guided to an unused hut. Teganouan searched farther,
and returned with a heap of blankets for the maid, who had dropped to
the ground before the hut. Menard carried her within and made her as
comfortable as possible, then withdrew and closed the door.
"Have the chiefs returned from the council at the village of the
Onondagas?" he asked of the warrior, who stood at one side watching
them with curiosity in his gaze.
The Cayuga bowed.
"Will my brother carry a message from the White Chief, the Big
Buffalo, to his chiefs? Will he tell them, as soon as the sun has
risen, that the Big Buffalo has come to talk with them?"
The warrior bowed and walked away.
"We are safe now, I think, Father. We must get what little sleep we
can between now and sunrise."
"Should not one of us watch, M'sieu?"
"We are not fit for it. We have hard work before us, and many a chance
yet to run."
"Teganouan will watch," said the Indian.
Menard's face showed surprise, but Father Claude whispered, "He has
learned at the mission to understand our language."
They lay on the ground before the hut, in their wet clothes, and in a
moment were asleep. Teganouan built a fire close at hand, and sat by
it without a motion, excepting the alert shifting glances of his
bead-like eyes, until, when the colours in the east had faded into
blue and the sun was well above the trees, he saw the chiefs of the
village coming slowly toward him between the huts, a crowd of young
men following behind them, and a snarling pack of dogs running before.
He aroused Menard and Father Claude.
The chiefs sat in a circle about the fire, the two white men among
them. The other Indians sat and stood in a wider circle, just within
earshot, and waited inquisitively for the White Chief to state his
errand.
"My brothers, the white men, have asked to speak with the chiefs of
the Cayugas," said the spokesman, a wrinkled old warrior, whom Menard
recognized as one of the speakers at the Long House.
"The Big Buffalo is on his way to the stone house of Onontio. He is
far from the trail. His muskets and his knives and hatchets were taken
from him by the Onondagas and were not returned to him. He asks that
the chiefs of the Cayugas permit him to use one of their many canoes,
that he may hasten to carry to Onontio the word of the Long House."
"The White Chief comes to the Cayugas, who live two sleeps away from
their brothers, the Onondagas, to ask for aid. Have the Onondagas then
refused him? Why is my brother so far from the trail?"
"The chiefs of the Cayugas sat in the Long House; they heard the words
of the great council, that the Big Buffalo and the holy Father and the
white maiden should be set free. They know that what is decided in the
council is the law of the nation, that no warrior shall break it."
The little circle was silent with attention, but none of the chiefs
replied.
"It was still in the dark of the night when the Big Throat came to the
lodge of the Big Buffalo, and gave him the pledge of the council that
he should be free with the next sun. The Big Buffalo once learned to
believe the pledge of the Iroquois. When the mighty Big Throat said
that he was free, he believed. He did not set a guard to sit with
wakeful eyes through the night in fear that the pledge was not true.
No, the Big Buffalo is a warrior and a chief; he is not a woman. He
trusted his red brothers, and rested his head to sleep. Then in the
dark came a chief, a dog of a traitor, and took away his white brother
and his white sister while their eyes were still heavy with sleep, and
carried them far over the hills to the lake of the Cayugas. Here they
hid like serpents in the long grass, and thought that they would kill
them. But the Big Buffalo is a warrior. Without a knife or a musket or
a hatchet he killed the Long Arrow and came across the Long Lake. He
knew that the Cayugas were his brothers, that they would not break the
pledge of the Long House."
The grave faces of the Indians showed no surprise, save for a slight
movement of the eyes on the part of one or two of the younger men,
when the Long Arrow was mentioned. Most of them had lighted their
pipes before sitting down, and now they puffed in silence.
"The White Chief speaks strangely," the spokesman said at last. "He
tells the Cayugas that their brothers, the Onondagas, have broken the
pledge of the council."
"Yes."
"He asks for aid?"
"No," said Menard, "he does not ask for aid. He asks that the Iroquois
nation restore to him what the dogs of the Long Arrow have taken away.
He has spoken to the Long House in the voice of the Great Mountain. He
has the right of a free man, of a chief honoured by the council, to go
freely and in peace. What if those who do not respect the law of the
council shall rob him of his rights? Must he go on his knees to the
chiefs? Must he ask that he be allowed to live? Must he go far back on
his trail to seek aid of the Onondagas, because the Cayugas will not
hold to the law?"
One of the great lessons learned during Menard's work under Governor
Frontenac had been that the man who once permits himself to be lowered
in the eyes of the Indians has forever lost his prestige. Now he sat
before the chiefs of a great village, weak from the strain of the long
days and nights of distress and wakefulness and hunger, his clothing
still wet and bedraggled, with no weapon but a knife, no canoe, not to
speak of presents,--with none of the equipment which to the Indian
mind suggested authority,--and yet made his demands in the stern voice
of a conqueror. He knew that these Indians cared not at all whether
the word of the council to him had been broken or kept, unless he
could so impress them with his authority that they would fear
punishment for the offence.
"The Big Buffalo is a mighty warrior," said the spokesman. "His hard
hands are greater than the muskets and hatchets of the Cayugas. He
fights with the strength of the winter wind; no man can stand where
his hand falls. He speaks wisely to the Cayugas. They are sorry that
their brothers, the Onondagas, have so soon forgotten the word of the
great council, Let the Big Buffalo rest his arms. The warriors of the
Cayugas shall be proud to offer him food."
They all rose, and after a few grunted words of friendship, filed away
to go over the matter in private council. Menard saw that they were
puzzled; perhaps they did not believe that he had killed the Long
Arrow. He turned to Teganouan, who had been sitting a few yards away.
"Teganouan, will you go among the braves of the village and tell them
that the Big Buffalo is a strong fighter, that he killed the Long
Arrow with his hands? It may be that they have not believed."
This was the kind of strategy Teganouan understood. He walked slowly
away, puffing at his pipe, to mingle among the people of the village
and boast in bold metaphors the prowess of his White Chief.
"They will give us a canoe," said Father Claude.
"Yes, they must. Now, let us sleep again."
They dropped to the ground, and Menard looked warningly at the circle
of young boys who came as close as they dared to see this strange
white man, and to hear him talk in the unpronounceable language.
Father Claude's eyes were first to close. The Captain was about to
join him in slumber when a low voice came from the door.
"M'sieu."
He started up and saw the maid holding the door ajar and leaning
against it, her pale face, framed in a tangle of soft hair, showing
traces of the wearing troubles of the days just passed.
"Ah, Mademoiselle, you must not waken. You must sleep long, and rest,
and grow bright and young again."
She smiled, and looked at him timidly.
"I have been dreaming, M'sieu," she said, and her eyes dropped, "such
an unpleasant dream. It was after we had crossed the lake--We did
cross it, M'sieu, did we not? That, too, was not a dream? No--see, my
hair is wet."
"No," he said, "that was not a dream."
"We were on the land, and I was so tired, and you talked to
me--something good--I cannot remember what it was, but I know that you
were good. And I thought that I--that I said words that hurt you,
unkind words. And when I wished and tried to speak as I felt, only the
other words would come. That was a dream, M'sieu, was it not? It has
been troubling me. You have been so kind, and I could not sleep
thinking that--that--"
"Yes," he said, "that was a dream."
She looked at him with relief, but as she looked she seemed to become
more fully awake to what they were saying. Her eyes lowered again, and
the red came over her face.
"I am glad," she said, so low that he hardly heard.
"And now you will rest, Mademoiselle?"
She smiled softly, and drew back within the hut, closing the heavy
door. And Menard turned away, unmindful of the wide-eyed boys who were
staring from a safe distance at him and at the door where the strange
woman had appeared. He sat with his back against the logs of the hut,
and looked at the ants that hurried about over the trampled ground.
The sun was high when he was aroused by Teganouan, who had spent the
greater part of the morning among the people of the village.
"Have you any word, Teganouan?"
"Yes. The warriors have learned of the strength of the Big Buffalo,
and his name frightens them. They bow to the great chief who has
killed the Long Arrow without a hatchet. They say that the Onondagas
should be punished for their treachery."
"Good."
"Teganouan has been talking long with a runner of the Seneca nation."
"Ah, he brings word of the fight?"
"Yes. The Senecas have suffered under the iron hand of the Great
Mountain. A great army takes up the hatchet when he goes on the
war-path, more than all the Senecas and Cayugas and Onondagas together
when every brave who can hold in his hand a bow or a musket has come
to fight with his brothers. There were white warriors so many that the
runner could not have counted them with all the sticks in the Long
House. There were men of the woods in the skins and beads of the
redmen; there were Hurons and Ottawas and Nipissings, and even the
cowardly Illinois and the Kaskaskias and the Miamis from the land
where the Great River flows past the Rock Demons. The Senecas fought
with the strength of the she-bear, but their warriors were killed,
their corn was trampled and cut, their lodges were burned."
"Did the Great Mountain pursue them?"
"He has gone back to his stone house across the great lake, leaving
the land black and smoking. The Senecas have come to the western
villages of the Cayugas."
"There are none in this village?"
"No. But the chiefs have sent blankets to their brothers, and as much
corn as a hundred braves could carry over the trail. They have taken
from their own houses to give to the Senecas."
A few moments later two young men came with baskets of sagamity and
smoked meat. Menard received it, and rising, knocked gently at the
door.
"Yes, M'sieu,--I am not sleeping."
He hesitated, and she came to the door and opened it.
"Ah, you have food, M'sieu! I am glad. I have been so hungry."
"Come, Father," said the Captain, and they entered and sat on the long
bench, eating the smoky, greasy meat as eagerly as if it had been
cooked for the Governor's table. Their spirits rose as the baskets
emptied, and they found that they could laugh and joke about their
ravenous hunger.
The chiefs returned shortly after, and came stooping into the hut in
the free Indian fashion. The old chief spoke:--
"The Big Buffalo has honoured the lodges of the Cayugas; he has made
the village proud to offer him their corn and meat. It would make
their hearts glad if he would linger about their fires, with the holy
Father and the squaw, that they might tell their brothers of the great
warrior who dwelt in their village. But the White Chief bears the word
of the Long House. He goes to the stone house to tell his white
brothers, who fight with the thunder, that the Cayugas and the
Onondagas are friends of the white men, that they have given a pledge
which binds them as close as could the stoutest ropes of deerskin. And
so with sad hearts they come to say farewell to the Big Buffalo, and
to wish that no dog may howl while he sleeps, that no wind may blow
against his canoe, that no rains may fall until he rests with his
brothers at the great stone house beyond the lake."
"The Big Buffalo thanks the mighty chiefs of the Cayugas," replied
Menard. "He is glad that they are his friends. And when his mouth is
close to the ear of the Great Mountain, he will tell him that his
Cayuga sons are loyal to their Father."
The chief had lighted a long pipe. After two deliberate puffs, the
first upward toward the roof of the hut, the second toward the ground,
he handed it to Menard, who followed his example, and passed it to the
chief next in importance. As it went slowly from hand to hand about
the circle, the Captain turned to the maid, who sat at his side.
"Do they mean it, M'sieu?" she whispered.
For an instant a twinkle came into his eye; she saw it, and smiled.
"Careful," he whispered.
Before she could check the smile, a bronze hand reached across to her
with the pipe. She started back and looked down at it.
"You must smoke it," Menard whispered. "It is a great honour. They
have admitted you to their council."
"Oh, M'sieu--I can't--" she took the pipe and held it awkwardly; then,
with an effort, raised it to her mouth. It made her cough, and she
gave it quickly to the Captain.
The Indians rose gravely and filed out of the hut.
"Come, Mademoiselle, we are to go."
The smoke had brought tears to her eyes, and she was hesitating,
laughing in spite of herself.
"Oh, M'sieu, will--will it make me sick?"
He smiled, with a touch of the old light humour.
"I think not. We must go, or they will wonder."
They found the chiefs waiting before the hut, Father Claude and
Teganouan among them. As soon as they had appeared, the whole party
set out through the village and over a trail through the woods to the
eastward. The ill-kept dogs played about them, and plunged, barking,
through the brush on either side. Behind, at a little distance, came
the children and hangers-on of the village, jostling one another to
keep at the head where they could see the white strangers.
When they reached the bank of the lake, they found two canoes drawn up
on the narrow strip of gravel, and a half-dozen well-armed braves
waiting close at hand. The chief paused and pointed toward the
canoes.
"The Cayugas are proud that the White Chief will sail in their canoes
to the land of the white men. The bravest warriors of a mighty village
will go with them to see that no Onondaga arrow flies into their camp
by night."
He signalled to a brave, who brought forward a musket and laid it,
with powder-horn and bullet-pouch, at the Captain's feet.
"This musket is to tell the Big Buffalo that no wild beast shall
disturb his feast, and that meat in plenty shall hang from the
smoking-pole in his lodge."
The canoes were carried into the water and they embarked,--Menard, the
maid, and two braves in one, Father Claude and four braves in the
other. They swung out into the lake, the wiry arms and shoulders of
the canoemen knotting with each stroke of the paddles; and the crowd
of Indians stood on the shore gazing after until they had passed from
view beyond a wooded point.
A few hours should take them to the head of the lake. They had reached
perhaps half the distance, when Menard saw that two of his canoemen
had exchanged glances and were looking toward the shore. He glanced
along the fringe of trees and bushes, a few hundred yards distant,
until his eyes rested on three empty canoes. He called to Father
Claude's canoe, and both, at his order, headed for the shore. As they
drew near, half a score of Indians came from the brush.
"Why," said the maid, "there are some of the men who brought us to the
lake."
"Yes," replied Menard, "it is the Long Arrow's band."
He leaped out of the canoe before it touched the beach, and walked
sternly up to the group of warriors. He knew why they were there. It
was what he had expected. When they had discovered the death of the
Long Arrow there had been rage and consternation. Disputes had
followed, the band had divided, and a part had crossed the lake to
hunt the trail of the Big Buffalo. He folded his arms and gave them a
long, contemptuous look.
"Why do the Onondagas seek the trail of the Big Buffalo? Do they think
to overtake him? Do they think that all their hands together are
strong enough to hold him? Did they think that they could lie to the
White Chief, could play the traitor, and go unpunished?"
Only one or two of the Onondagas had their muskets in their hands.
They all showed fright, and one was edging toward the wood. The
Cayugas in the canoes, at a word from Father Claude, had raised their
muskets. Menard saw the movement from the corner of his eye, and for
the moment doubted the wisdom of the action. It was a question whether
the Cayugas could actually be brought to fire on their Onondaga
brothers. Still, this band had defied the law of the council, and
might, in the eyes of the Indians, bring down another war upon the
nation by their act. While he spoke, the Captain had been deciding on
a course. He now walked boldly up to the man who was nearest the
bushes, and snatched away his musket. There was a stir and a murmur,
but without heeding, he took also the only other musket in the party,
and stepped between the Indians and the forest.
"Stand where you are, or I will kill you. One man"--he pointed to a
youth--"will go into the forest and bring your muskets to the
canoes."
They hesitated, but Menard held his piece ready to fire, and the
Cayugas did the same. At last the youth went sullenly into the bushes
and brought out an armful of muskets.
"Count them, Father," Menard called in French.
The priest did so, and then ran his eye over the party on the beach.
"There are two missing, M'sieu."
Menard turned to the youth, who, though he had not understood the
words, caught their spirit and hurried back for the missing weapons.
Then the Captain walked coolly past them, and took his place in the
canoe. For a long time, as they paddled up the lake, they could see
the Onondagas moving about the beach, and could hear their angry
voices.