THE MURDER OF CHEVET
Who had killed him? What should I do? These were the two questions
haunting my mind, and becoming more and more insistent. The light
still burned in the mission house, and I could picture the scene
within--the three priests reading, or talking softly to each other,
and Cassion asleep on his bench in the corner, wearied with the day.
I could not understand, could not imagine a cause, and yet the
assassin must have been De Artigny. How else could I account for his
presence there in the night, his efforts at concealment, his bending
over the dead body, and then hurrying away without sounding an alarm.
The evidence against the man seemed conclusive, and yet I would not
condemn. There might be other reasons for his silence, for his secret
presence, and if I rushed into the house, proclaiming my discovery,
and confessing what I had seen, he would be left without defense.
Perhaps it might be the very purpose of the real murderer to thus cast
suspicion on an innocent man, and I would be the instrument. But who
else could be the murderer? That it could have been Cassion never
seriously occurred to me, but I ran over in my mind the rough men of
our party--the soldiers, some of them quarrelsome enough, and the
Indians to whom a treacherous blow was never unnatural. This must have
been the way it happened--Chevet had made some bitter enemy, for he
was ever prodigal of angry word and blow, and the fellow had followed
him through the night to strike him down from behind. But why did De
Artigny fail to sound an alarm when he found the body? Why was he
hiding about the mission house, and peering in through the window?
I sank my face in my hands, so dazed and bewildered as to be incapable
of thought--yet I could not, I would not believe him guilty of so foul
a crime. It was not possible, nor should he be accused through any
testimony from my lips. He could explain, he must explain to me his
part in this dreadful affair, but, unless he confessed himself, I
would never believe him guilty. There was but one thing for me to
do--return silently to my room, and wait. Perhaps he had already
descended to camp to alarm the men; if not the body would be early
discovered in the morning, and a few hours delay could make no
difference to Hugo Chevet.
The very decision was a relief, and yet it frightened me. I felt
almost like an accomplice, as though I also was guilty of a crime by
thus concealing my knowledge, and leaving that body to remain alone
there in the dark. Yet there was nothing else to do. Shrinking,
shuddering at every shadow, at every sound, my nerves throbbing with
agony, I managed to drag my body up the logs, and in through the
window. I was safe there, but there was no banishing from memory what
I had seen--what I knew lay yonder in the wood shadow. I sank to the
floor, clutching the sill, my eyes staring through the moonlight. Once
I thought I saw a man's indistinct figure move across an open space,
and once I heard voices far away.
The priests entered the room opposite mine, and I could distinguish
the murmur of their voices through the thin partition. These became
silent, and I prayed, with head bowed on the window sill. I could not
leave that position, could not withdraw my eyes from the scene
without. The moon disappeared, the night darkening; I could no longer
perceive the line of forest trees, and sitting thus I fell asleep from
sheer exhaustion.
I do not know that I was called, yet when I awoke a faint light
proclaiming the dawn was in the sky, and sounds of activity reached my
ears from the room below. I felt tired and cramped from my unnatural
position, but hastened to join the others. The morning meal was
already on the table, and we ate as usual, no one mentioning Chevet,
thus proving the body had not been discovered. I could scarcely choke
the food down, anticipating every instant the sounding of an alarm.
Cassion hurried, excited, no doubt, by the prospect of getting away on
our journey, but seemed in excellent humor. Pushing back the box on
which he sat, he buckled his pistol belt, seized his hat, and strode
to the door.
"We depart at once," he proclaimed briefly. "So I will leave you,
here, to bring the lady."
Père Allouez, still busily engaged, murmured some indistinct reply,
and Cassion's eyes met mine.
"You look pale, and weary this morning," he said. "Not fear of the
voyage, I hope?"
"No, Monsieur," I managed to answer quietly. "I slept ill, but shall
be better presently--shall I bear my blankets to the boats?"
"The _engagé_ will see to that, only let there be as little delay as
possible. Ah! here comes a messenger from below--what is it, my man?"
The fellow, one of the soldiers whose face I did not recall, halted in
the open door, gasping for breath, his eyes roving about the room.
"He is dead--the big man," he stammered. "He is there by the woods."
"The big man--dead!" Cassion drew back, as though struck a blow. "What
big man? Who do you mean?"
"The one in the second canoe, Monsieur; the one who roared."
"Chevet? Hugo Chevet? What has happened to him? Come, speak up, or
I'll slit your tongue!"
The man gulped, gripping the door with one hand, the other pointing
outward.
"He is there, Monsieur, beyond the trail, at the edge of the wood. I
saw him with his face turned up--_Mon Dieu_! so white; I dare not
touch him, but there was blood, where a knife had entered his back."
All were on their feet, their faces picturing the sudden horror, yet
Cassion was first to recover his wits, and lead the way without.
Grasping the soldier's arm, and bidding him show where the body lay,
he thrust him through the door. I lingered behind shrinking from being
again compelled to view the sight of the dead man, yet unable to keep
entirely away. Cassion stopped, looking down at the object on the
grass, but made no effort to touch it with his hands. The soldier
bent, and rolled the body over, and one of the priests felt in the
pockets of the jacket, bringing forth a paper or two. Cassion took
these, gripping them in his fingers, his face appearing gray in the
early light.
"_Mon Dieu_! the man has been murdered," he exclaimed, "a dastard blow
in the back. Look about, and see if you find a knife. Had he quarrel
with anyone, Moulin?"
The soldier straightened up.
"No, Monsieur; I heard of none, though he was often rough and harsh of
tongue to the men. Ah! now I recall, he had words with Sieur de
Artigny on the beach at dusk. I know not the cause, yet the younger
man left him angrily, and passed by where I stood, with his hands
clinched."
"De Artigny, hey!" Cassion's voice had a ring of pleasure in it. "Ay!
he is a hothead. Know you where the young cock is now?"
"He, with the Chief, left an hour ago. Was it not your order,
Monsieur?"
Cassion made a swift gesture, but what it might signify I could not
determine, as his face was turned away. A moment there was silence, as
he shaded his eyes, and peered out across the water.
"True, so I did," he said at last. "They were to depart before dawn.
The villain is yonder--see; well off that farthest point, and 'tis too
late to overtake him now. _Sacre_! there is naught for us to do, that
I see, but to bury Hugo Chevet, and go our way--the King's business
cannot wait."
They brought the body into the mission house, and laid it upon the
bench. I did not look upon the ghastly face, which the young priest
had covered, but I sank to my knees and prayed earnestly for the
repose of his soul. For a moment I felt in my heart a tenderness for
this rough, hard man who in the past had caused me such suffering.
Perchance he was not altogether to blame; his had been a rough, hard
life, and I had only brought him care and trouble. So there were tears
in my eyes as I knelt beside him, although in secret my heart rejoiced
that De Artigny had gone, and would not be confronted with his victim;
for there was no longer doubt in my mind of his guilt, for surely, had
the man been innocent, he would have sounded an alarm. It was
Cassion's hand which aroused me, and I glanced up at his face through
the tears clinging to my lashes.
"What, crying!" he exclaimed, in apparent surprise. "I never thought
the man of such value to you as to cause tears at his death."
"He was of my blood," I answered soberly, rising to my feet, "and his
murder most foul."
"Ay! true enough, girl, and we will bring to book the villain who did
the deed. Yet we cannot remain here to mourn, for I am on the King's
service. Come, we have lost time already, and the canoes wait."
"You would go at once?" I asked, startled at his haste, "without even
waiting until he is buried?"
"And why not? To wait will cost us a day; nor, so far as I can see,
would it be of the slightest value to Hugo Chevet. The priests here
will attend to the ceremony, and this handful of silver will buy him
prayers. _Pouf_! he is dead, and that is all there is to it; so come
along, for I will wait here no longer."
The man's actions, his manner, and words were heartless. For an
instant I stood in revolt, ready to defy openly, an angry retort on my
lips; yet before I found speech, Père Allouez rested his hand on my
shoulder.
"'Tis best, my child," he said softly. "We can no longer serve the
dead by remaining here, and there are long leagues before us. In the
boat your prayers will reach the good God just as surely as though you
knelt here beside this poor body. 'Tis best we go."
I permitted him to lead me out through the door, and we followed
Cassion down the steep path to the shore. The latter seemed to have
forgotten all else save our embarkation, and hurried the soldier off
on a run to get the boats in the water. The _père_ held to my arm, and
I was conscious of his voice continually speaking, although I knew
nothing of what he said. I was incapable of thinking, two visions
haunting me--the body of Hugo Chevet outstretched on the bench in the
mission house, and Rene de Artigny far away yonder on the water. Why
had it happened? What could ever excuse a crime like this?
On the beach all was in readiness for departure, and it was evident
enough that Moulin had already spread the news of Chevet's murder
among his comrades. Cassion, however, permitted the fellows little
time for discussion, for at his sharp orders they took their places in
the canoes, and pushed off. The priest was obliged to assume Chevet's
former position, and I would gladly have accompanied him, but Cassion
suddenly gripped me in his arms, and without so much as a word, waded
out through the surf, and put me down in his boat, clambering in
himself, and shouting his orders to the paddlers.
I think we were all of us glad enough to get away. I know I sat
silent, and motionless, just where he placed me, and stared back
across the widening water at the desolate, dismal scene. How lonely,
and heart-sickening it was, those few log houses against the hill, the
blackened stumps littering the hillside, and the gloomy forest beyond.
The figures of a few men were visible along the beach, and once I saw
a black-robed priest emerge from the door of the mission house, and
start down the steep path.
The picture slowly faded as we advanced, until finally the last
glimpse of the log chapel disappeared in the haze, and we were alone
on the mystery of the great lake, gliding along a bare, uninhabited
shore. I was aroused by the touch of Cassion's hand on my own as it
grasped the side of the canoe.
"Adele," he said, almost tenderly. "Why should you be so serious?
Cannot we be friends?"
My eyes met his in surprise.
"Friends, Monsieur! Are we not? Why do you address me like that?"
"Because you treat me as though I were a criminal," he said earnestly.
"As if I had done you an evil in making you my wife. 'Twas not I who
hastened the matter, but La Barre. 'Tis not just to condemn me
unheard, yet I have been patient and kind. I thought it might be that
you loved another--in truth I imagined that De Artigny had cast his
spell upon you; yet you surely cannot continue to trust that
villain--the murderer of your uncle."
"How know you that to be true?" I asked.
"Because there is no other accounting for it," he explained sternly.
"The quarrel last evening, the early departure before dawn--"
"At your orders, Monsieur."
"Ay, but the sergeant tells me the fellow was absent from the camp for
two hours during the night; that in the moonlight he saw him come down
the hill. Even if he did not do the deed himself, he must have
discovered the body--yet he voiced no alarm."
I was silent, and my eyes fell from his face to the green water.
"'Twill be hard to explain," he went on. "But he shall have a
chance."
"A chance! You will question him; and then--"
He hesitated whether to answer me, but there was a cruel smile on his
thin lips.
"Faith, I do not know. 'Tis like to be a court-martial at the Rock, if
ever we get him there; though the chances are the fellow will take to
the woods when he finds himself suspected. No doubt the best thing I
can do will be to say nothing until we hold him safe, though 'tis hard
to pretend with such a villain."
He paused, as if hoping I might speak, and my silence angered him.
"Bah, if I had my way the young cockerel would face a file at our
first camp. Ay! and it will be for you to decide if he does not."
"What is your meaning, Monsieur?"
"That I am tired of your play-acting; of your making eyes at this
forest dandy behind my back. _Sang Dieu_! I am done with all this--do
you hear?--and I have a grip now which will make you think twice, my
dear, before you work any more sly tricks on me. _Sacre_, you think me
easy, hey? I have in my hand so," and he opened and closed his fingers
suggestively, "the life of the lad."