THE TWO MEN MEET
I could not have slept, although I must have lost consciousness of our
surroundings, for I was aroused by Cassion's voice shouting some
command, and became aware that we were making landing on the river
bank. The sun was two hours high, and the spot selected a low
grass-covered point, shaded by trees. Chevet had awakened, sobered by
his nap, and the advance canoe had already been drawn up on the shore,
the few soldiers it contained busily engaged in starting fires with
which to cook our morning meal.
I perceived De Artigny with my first glance, standing erect on the
bank, his back toward us, directing the men in their work. As we shot
forward toward the landing he turned indifferently, and I marked the
sudden straightening of his body, as though in surprise, although the
distance gave me no clear vision of his face. As our canoe came into
the shallows, he sprang down the bank to greet us, hat in hand, his
eyes on me. My own glance fell before the eagerness in his face, and I
turned away.
"Ah! Monsieur Cassion," he exclaimed, the very sound of his
voice evidencing delight. "You have guests on the journey; 'tis
unexpected."
Cassion stepped over the side, and fronted him, no longer a smiling
gallant of the court, but brutal in authority.
"And what is that to you, may I ask, Sieur de Artigny?" he said,
coldly contemptuous. "You are but our guide, and it is no concern of
yours who may compose the company. 'Twill be well for you to remember
your place, and attend to your duties. Go now, and see that the men
have breakfast served."
There was a moment of silence, and I did not even venture to glance up
to perceive what occurred, although I felt that De Artigny's eyes
shifted their inquiry from Cassion's face to mine. There must be no
quarrel now, not until he knew the truth, not until I had opportunity
to explain, and yet he was a firebrand, and it would be like him to
resent such words. How relieved I felt, as his voice made final
answer.
"Pardon, Monsieur le Commissaire," he said, pleasantly enough. "It is
true I forgot my place in this moment of surprise. I obey your
orders."
I looked up as he turned away, and disappeared. Cassion stared after
him, smothering an oath, and evidently disappointed at so tame an
ending of the affair, for it was his nature to bluster and boast. Yet
as his lips changed to a grin, I knew of what the man was thinking--he
had mistaken De Artigny's actions for cowardice, and felt assured now
of how he would deal with him. He turned to the canoe, a new
conception of importance in the sharp tone of his voice.
"Come ashore, men; ay! draw the boat higher on the sand. Now, Monsieur
Chevet, assist your niece forward to where I can help her to land with
dry feet--permit me, Adele."
"It is not at all necessary, Monsieur," I replied, avoiding his hand,
and leaping lightly to the firm sand. "I am no dainty maid of Quebec
to whom such courtesy is due." I stood and faced him, not unpleased to
mark the anger in his eyes. "Not always have you shown yourself so
considerate."
"Why blame me for the act of La Barre?"
"The act would never have been considered had you opposed it,
Monsieur. It was your choice, not the Governor's."
"I would wed you--yes; but that is no crime. But let us understand
each other. Those were harsh words you spoke in anger in the room
yonder."
"They were not in anger."
"But surely--"
"Monsieur, you have forced me into marriage; the law holds me as your
wife. I know not how I may escape that fate, or avoid accompanying
you. So far I submit, but no farther. I do not love you; I do not even
feel friendship toward you. Let me pass."
He grasped my arm, turning me about until I faced him, his eyes
glaring into mine.
"Not until I speak," he replied threateningly. "Do not mistake my
temper, or imagine me blind. I know what has so suddenly changed
you--it is that gay, simpering fool yonder. But be careful how far you
go. I am your husband, and in authority here."
"Monsieur, your words are insult; release your hand."
"So you think to deceive! Bah! I am too old a bird for that, or to pay
heed to such airs. I have seen girls before, and a mood does not
frighten me. But listen now--keep away from De Artigny unless you seek
trouble."
"What mean you by that threat?"
"You will learn to your sorrow; the way we travel is long, and I am
woodsman as well as soldier. You will do well to heed my words."
I released my arm, but did not move. My only feeling toward him at
that moment was one of disgust, defiance. The threat in his eyes, the
cool insolence of his speech, set my blood on fire.
"Monsieur," I said coldly, although every nerve of my body throbbed,
"you may know girls, but you deal now with a woman. Your speech, your
insinuation is insult. I disliked you before; now I despise you, yet I
will say this in answer to what you have intimated. Monsieur de
Artigny is nothing to me, save that he hath shown himself friend. You
wrong him, even as you wrong me, in thinking otherwise, and whatever
the cause of misunderstanding between us, there is no excuse for you
to pick quarrel with him."
"You appear greatly concerned over his safety."
"Not at all; so far as I have ever heard the Sieur de Artigny has
heretofore proven himself quite capable of sustaining his own part.
'Tis more like I am concerned for you."
"For me? You fool! Why, I was a swordsman when that lad was at his
mother's knee." He laughed, but with ugly gleam of teeth. "_Sacre!_ I
hate such play acting. But enough of quarrel now; there is sufficient
time ahead to bring you to your senses, and a knowledge of who is your
master. Hugo Chevet, come here."
My uncle climbed the bank, his rifle in hand, with face still bloated,
and red from the drink of the night before. Behind him appeared the
slender black-robed figure of the Jesuit, his eyes eager with
curiosity. It was sight of the latter which caused Cassion to moderate
his tone of command.
"You will go with Chevet," he said, pointing to the fire among the
trees, "until I can talk to you alone."
"A prisoner?"
"No; a guest," sarcastically, "but do not overstep the courtesy."
We left him in conversation with the _père_, and I did not even glance
back. Chevet breathed heavily, and I caught the mutter of his voice.
"What meaneth all this chatter?" he asked gruffly. "Must you two
quarrel so soon?"
"Why not?" I retorted. "The man bears me no love; 'tis but gold he
thinks about."
"Gold!" he stopped, and slapped his thighs. "'Tis precious little of
that he will ever see then."
"And why not? Was not my father a land owner?"
"Ay! till the King took it."
"Then even you do not know the truth. I am glad to learn that, for I
have dreamed that you sold me to this coxcomb for a share of the
spoils."
"What? a share of the spoils! Bah! I am no angel, girl, nor pretend to
a virtue more than I possess. There is truth in the thought that I
might benefit by your marriage to Monsieur Cassion, and, by my faith,
I see no wrong in that. Have you not cost me heavily in these years?
Why should I not seek for you a husband of worth in these colonies?
Wherefore is that a crime? Were you my own daughter I could do no
less, and this man is not ill to look upon, a fair-spoken gallant, a
friend of La Barre's, chosen by him for special service--"
"And with influence in the fur trade."
"All the better that," he continued obstinately. "Why should a girl
object if her husband be rich?"
"But he is not rich," I said plainly, looking straight into his eyes.
"He is no more than a penniless adventurer; an actor playing a part
assigned him by the Governor; while you and I do the same. Listen,
Monsieur Chevet, the property at St. Thomas is mine by legal right,
and it was to gain possession that this wretch sought my hand."
"Your legal right?"
"Ay, restored by the King in special order."
"It is not true; I had the records searched by a lawyer, Monsieur
Gautier, of St. Anne."
I gave a gesture of indignation.
"A country advocate at whom those in authority would laugh. I tell you
what I say is true; the land was restored, and the fact is known to La
Barre and to Cassion. It is this fact which has caused all our
troubles. I overheard talk last night between the Governor and his
aide-de-camp, Colonel Delguard--you know him?"
Chevet nodded, his interest stirred.
"They thought themselves alone, and were laughing at the success of
their trick. I was hidden behind the heavy curtains at the window, and
every word they spoke reached my ears. Then they sent for Cassion."
"But where is the paper?"
"I did not learn; they have it hidden, no doubt, awaiting the proper
time to produce it. But there is such a document: La Barre explained
that clearly, and the reason why he wished Cassion to marry me. They
were all three talking when an accident happened, which led to my
discovery."
"Ah! and so that was what hurried the wedding, and sent me on this
wild wilderness chase. They would bury me in the woods--_sacre!_--"
"Hush now--Cassion has left the canoe already, and we can talk of this
later. Let us seem to suspect nothing."
This was the first meal of many eaten together along the river bank in
the course of our long journey, yet the recollection of that scene
rises before my memory now with peculiar vividness. It was a bright,
glorious morning, the arching sky blue overhead, and the air soft with
early autumn. Our temporary camp was at the edge of a grove, and below
us swept the broad river, a gleaming highway of silvery water without
speck upon its surface. Except for our little party of voyagers no
evidence of life was visible, not even a distant curl of smoke
obscuring the horizon.
Cassion had divided us into groups, and, from where I had found
resting place, with a small flat rock for table, I was enabled to see
the others scattered to the edge of the bank, and thus learned for the
first time, the character of those with whom I was destined to
companion on the long journey. There were but four of us in that first
group, which included Père Allouez, a silent man, fingering his cross,
and barely touching food. His face under the black cowl was drawn, and
creased by strange lines, and his eyes burned with fanaticism. If I
had ever dreamed of him as one to whom I might turn for counsel, the
thought instantly vanished as our glances met.
A soldier and two Indians served us, while their companions, divided
into two groups, were gathered at the other extremity of the ridge,
the soldiers under discipline of their own under officers, and the
Indians watched over by Sieur De Artigny, who rested, however,
slightly apart, his gaze on the broad river. Never once while I
observed did he turn and glance my way. I counted the men, as I
endeavored to eat, scarcely heeding the few words exchanged by those
about me. The Indians numbered ten, including their chief, whom
Cassion called Altudah. Chevet named them as Algonquins from the
Ottawa, treacherous rascals enough, yet with expert knowledge of water
craft.
Altudah was a tall savage, wrapped in gaudy blanket, his face rendered
sinister and repulsive by a scar the full length of his cheek, yet he
spoke French fairly well, and someone said that he had three times
made journey to Mackinac, and knew the waterways. There were
twenty-four soldiers, including a sergeant and corporal, of the
Regiment of Picardy; active fellows enough, and accustomed to the
frontier, although they gave small evidence of discipline, and their
uniforms were in shocking condition. The sergeant was a heavily built,
stocky man, but the others were rather undersized, and of little
spirit. The same thought must have been in the minds of others, for
the expression on Monsieur Cassion's face was not pleasant as he
stared about.
"Chevet," he exclaimed disgustedly "did ever you see a worse selection
for wilderness travel than La Barre has given us? Cast your eyes down
the line yonder; by my faith! there is not a real man among them."
Chevet who had been growling to himself, with scarce a thought other
than the food before him, lifted his eyes and looked.
"Not so bad," he answered finally, the words rumbling in his throat.
"Altudah is a good Indian, and has traveled with me before, and the
sergeant yonder looks like a fighting man."
"Ay, but the others?"
"No worse than all the scum. De Baugis had no better with him, and La
Salle led a gang of outcasts. With right leadership you can make them
do men's work. 'Tis no kid-gloved job you have, Monsieur Cassion."
The insulting indifference of the old fur trader's tone surprised the
Commissaire, and he exhibited resentment.
"You are overly free with your comments, Hugo Chevet. When I wish
advice I will ask it."
"And in the woods I do not always wait to be asked," returned the
older man, lighting his pipe, and calmly puffing out the blue smoke.
"Though it is likely enough you will be asking for it before you
journey many leagues further."
"You are under my orders."
"So La Barre said, but the only duty he gave me was to watch over
Adele here. He put no shackle on my tongue. You have chosen your
course?"
"Yes, up the Ottawa."
"I supposed so, although that boy yonder could lead you a shorter
passage."
"How learned you that?"
"By talking with him in Quebec. He even sketched me a map of the route
he traveled with La Salle. You knew it not?"
"'Twas of no moment, for my orders bid me go by St. Ignace. Yet it
might be well to question him and the chief also." He turned to the
nearest soldier. "Tell the Algonquin, Altudah, to come here, and Sieur
de Artigny."
They approached together, two specimens of the frontier as different
as could be pictured, and stood silent, fronting Cassion who looked at
them frowning, and in no pleasant humor. The eyes of the younger man
sought my face for an instant, and the swift glance gave harsher note
to the Commissaire's voice.
"We will reload the canoes here for the long voyage," he said
brusquely. "The sergeant will have charge of that, but both of you
will be in the leading boat, and will keep well in advance of the
others. Our course is by way of the Ottawa. You know that stream,
Altudah?"
The Indian bowed his head gravely, and extended one hand beneath the
scarlet fold of his blanket.
"Five time, Monsieur."
"How far to the west, Chief?"
"To place call Green Bay."
Cassion turned his eyes on De Artigny, a slight sneer curling his
lips.
"And you?" he asked coldly.
"But one journey, Monsieur, along the Ottawa and the lakes," was the
quiet answer, "and that three years ago, yet I scarce think I would go
astray. 'Tis not a course easily forgotten."
"And beyond Green Bay?"
"I have been to the mouth of the Great River."
"You!" in surprise. "Were you of that party?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"And you actually reached the sea--the salt water?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Saint Anne! I never half believed the tale true, nor do I think
overmuch of your word for it. But let that go. Chevet here tells me
you know a shorter journey to the Illinois?"
"Not by canoe, Monsieur. I followed Sieur de la Salle by forest trail
to the Straits, and planned to return that way, but 'tis a foot
journey."
"Not fitted for such a party as this?"
"Only as you trust to your rifles for food, bearing what packs we
might on our backs. With the lady the trail is scarcely possible."
"As to the lady I will make my own decision. Besides, our course is
decided. We go to St. Ignace. What will be your course from Green
Bay?"
"Along the west shore, Monsieur; it is dangerous only by reason of
storms."
"And the distance?"
"From St. Ignace?"
"Ay! from St. Ignace! What distance lies between there and this Fort
St. Louis, on the Illinois?"
"'Twill be but a venture, Monsieur, but I think 'tis held at a hundred
and fifty leagues."
"Of wilderness?"
"When I passed that way--yes; they tell me now the Jesuits have
mission station at Green Bay, and there may be fur traders in Indian
villages beyond."
"No chance to procure supplies?"
"Only scant rations of corn from the Indians."
"Your report is in accordance with my instructions and maps, and no
doubt is correct. That will be all. Take two more men in your boat,
and depart at once. We shall follow immediately."
As De Artigny turned away in obedience to these orders, his glance met
mine, and seemed to question. Eager as I was to acquaint him with the
true reason of my presence it was impossible. To have exhibited the
slightest interest would only increase the enmity between the two men,
and serve no good purpose. I did not even venture to gaze after him as
he disappeared down the bank, feeling assured that Cassion's eyes were
suspiciously watching me. My appearance of indifference must have been
well assumed, for there was a sound of confidence in his voice as he
bade us return to the canoes, and I even permitted him to assist me to
my feet, and aid me in the descent to the shore.