THE CLEARING OF MYSTERY
The point of his sword was at De Artigny's breast, but the younger man
stood motionless, his lips smiling, his eyes on the other's face.
"Perchance, Monsieur," he said quietly, "it might be best for you
first to speak with this friend of mine."
"What friend? _Sacre!_ What is the fellow to me? Who is he? another
one of La Salle's spawn?"
La Forest, still bareheaded, his forehead bleeding, pressed down the
swordblade.
"The company is a good one," he said bluntly enough, "and just now
well worth belonging to. I am Francois de la Forest, Monsieur, one
time commandant at Detroit; at present messenger from the King of
France."
"King's messenger--you! _Mon Dieu!_ you look it. Come, man, what
mummery is this?"
"No mummery, Monsieur. I left France two months since, bearing the
King's own word to M. la Barre. 'Tis with his endorsement I journeyed
hither to restore Henri de Tonty to his rightful command of Fort St.
Louis."
"You lie!" Cassion cried hotly, eyes blazing hatred and anger, "'tis
some hellish trick."
"Monsieur, never before did man say that to me, and live. Were you not
felon, and thief I would strike you where you stand. Ay, I mean the
words--now listen; lift that sword point and I shoot you dead.
Monsieur de Tonty, show the man the papers."
Cassion took them as though in a daze, his hand trembling, his eyes
burning with malignant rage. I doubt if he ever saw clearly the
printed and written words of the document, but he seemed to grasp
vaguely the fact of La Barre's signature.
"A forgery," he gasped. "Ah, De Baugis, see here; these damned curs of
La Salle would play trick on me. Look at the paper."
The dragoon took it, and smoothed it out in his hands. His face was
grave, as his eyes searched the printed lines.
"'Tis the great seal of France," he said soberly, looking about at the
faces surrounding him, "and the signature of the governor. How came it
here?"
"By my hand," returned La Forest proudly. "You know me--Monsieur
Francois la Forest."
"Ay, I know you, ever a follower of La Salle, and friend of Frontenac.
'Twas through his influence you got this. 'Tis little use for us to
quarrel, M. Cassion--the order is genuine."
"_Mon Dieu_, I care not for such an order; it does not supersede my
commission; I outrank this De Tonty."
"Hush, do not play the fool."
"Better the fool than the coward."
"Wait," said La Forest sharply, "the matter is not ended. You are
Francois Cassion, of Quebec?"
"Major of Infantry, Commissaire of the Governor La Barre."
"So the titles read in this document. I arrest you by King's order for
treason to France, and mutilation of official records. Here is the
warrant, M. de Baugis, and your orders to convey the prisoner to
Quebec for trial."
Cassion's face went white, and he struggled madly for breath. De
Baugis grasped the paper, so startled at this new development as to be
incapable of comprehension.
"Under arrest? for what, Monsieur? Treason, and mutilation of official
records? What does it mean?"
"This--the man knows, and will not deny the charge. False testimony
sworn to, and signed by this Francois Cassion, charged Captain la
Chesnayne with cowardice and treason. In consequence the latter was
broken of his command, and his estates forfeited to the Crown. Later,
through the efforts of Frontenac, the King was convinced of injustice,
and the estates were restored by royal order. This order reached
Quebec, but was never recorded. This Cassion was then private
secretary to the governor, and the paper came into his hands. Later,
to hush up the scandal, he married Captain la Chesnayne's daughter
against her will. The day this was accomplished the lost order was
placed on file."
"You saw it?"
"Yes, I had the files searched secretly. The order was dispatched from
France five years ago, but was stamped as received the day Cassion
departed from Quebec."
My eyes were upon the speaker and I failed to note how the accused
man met this damning charge. It was his voice which drew my
attention--high pitched, harsh, unnatural.
"_Mon Dieu!_ 'twas not I--'twas La Barre!"
"Tell that in Quebec; though little good 'twill do you. M. de Baugis,
in the King's name I order this man's arrest."
I saw De Baugis step forward, his hand outstretched; then all was
confusion and struggle. With the hoarse snarl of a beast, Cassion
leaped forward, struck La Forest with his shoulder, and drove sword
point into De Artigny. De Tonty gripped him, but was hurled aside by
insane strength, reeling back so that the weight of his body struck me
to my knees. The next instant, his sword-point dripping blood, the
runner was beyond reach, speeding for the open gate. What followed I
know from word of others, and no view I had of it.
De Artigny had fallen, huddled in a heap on the grass, and I dragged
myself across to him on my knees. I heard oaths, a shuffling of feet,
a rush of bodies, a voice I did not recognize shouting some
order--then the sharp crack of a rifle, and silence. I cared not what
had occurred; I had De Artigny's head in my arms, and his eyes opened
and smiled up at me full of courage.
"You are badly hurt?"
"No, I think not; the thrust was too high. Lift me, and I breathe
better. The man must have been mad."
"Surely yes, Monsieur; think you he had hope of escape?"
"'Tis likely he thought only of revenge. Ah, you are here also, De
Tonty."
"Yes, lad; there is small use for me yonder. You are not seriously
struck?"
"I bleed freely, but the thrust was in the shoulder. I could stand, I
think, with your aid."
On his feet he leaned heavily on us both, yet would not be led away,
until La Forest joined us. He held in his hand some papers, yet
neither of us questioned him.
"Monsieur de Tonty," he said, "I would have private word with you."
"When I help De Artigny to his bed, and have look at his wound. Yet is
it not matter of interest to these as well?"
"I take it so."
"Then speak your message--M. Cassion is dead?"
"The sentry's bullet found his heart, Monsieur."
"I saw him fall. Those papers were upon him--are they of value?"
"That I know not; they possess no meaning to me, but they were
addressed to the man killed at St. Ignace."
"Hugo Chevet?" I exclaimed. "My uncle; may I not see them, Monsieur?"
De Tonty placed them in my hands--a letter from a lawyer in Quebec,
with a form of petition to the King, and a report of his search of the
archives of New France. The other document was the sworn affidavit of
Jules Beaubaou, a clerk of records, that he had seen and read a paper
purporting to be a restoration from the King to the heirs of Captain
la Chesnayne. It was signed and sealed. I looked up at the faces
surrounding me; startled and frightened at this witness from the
dead.
"They are papers belonging to Chevet?" asked De Tonty.
"Yes, Monsieur--see. He must have known, suspected the truth before
our departure, yet had no thought such villainy was the work of M.
Cassion. He sought evidence."
"That is the whole story, no doubt. La Barre learned of his search,
for he would have spies in plenty, and wrote his letter of warning to
Cassion. The latter, fearing the worst, and desperate, did not even
hesitate at murder to gain possession of these documents. Fate served
him well, and gave him De Artigny as victim. I wonder only that he did
not long ago destroy the papers."
"There is always some weakness in crime," commented La Forest, "and
the man has paid penalty for his. It would be my guess he desired to
place them in La Barre's hands in proof of his loyalty. But,
Messieurs, De Artigny needs to have his wound dressed. We can discuss
all this later."
* * * * *
It was two days later, and the bright sunshine rested on Fort St.
Louis flecking the sides of the great rock with gold, and bridging the
broad valley below. De Artigny, yet too weak to rise unaided, sat in a
chair Barbeau had made beside the open window, and to his call I
joined him, my arm on his shoulder as I also gazed down upon the scene
below. It was one of peace now, the silvery Illinois winding hither
and yon among its green islands, the shadowy woods darkening one bank,
and the vast meadows stretching northward from the other. Below the
bend an Indian village, already rebuilt and occupied, slept in the
sun, and I could see children and dogs playing before the tepees.
Down the sharp trail from the fort a line of Indian packers were
toiling slowly, their backs supporting heavy burdens which they bore
to two canoes resting against the bank. About these were grouped a
little party of white men, and when at last the supplies were all
aboard, several took their places at the paddles, and pushed off into
the stream.
There was waving of hands, and shouts, and one among them--even at
that distance I could tell La Forest--looked up at our window, and
raised his hat in gesture of farewell. I watched until they rounded
the rock and disappeared on their long journey to Quebec, until the
others--exiles of the wilderness--turned away and began to climb
upward to the fort gates. De Artigny's hand closed softly over mine.
"You are sad, sweetheart; you long too for New France?"
"No, Dear One," I answered, and he read the truth in my eyes.
"Wherever you are is my home. On this rock in the great valley we will
serve each other--and France."
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