MORE STUDIES IN STATUARY
"So he laughs at our warrant?" exclaimed Duncan Cameron. "Hut-tut! We'll
teach him to respect warrants issued under authority of 43d King George
III.," and the dictator of Fort Gibraltar fussed angrily among the
papers of his desk and beat a threatening tattoo with knuckles and
heels.
The Assiniboine enters the Red at something like a right angle and in
this angle was the Nor'-Westers' fort, named after an old-world
stronghold, because we imagined our position gave us the same command of
the two waterways by which the _voyageurs_ entered and left the north
country as Gibraltar has of the Mediterranean. Governor McDonell had
thought to outwit us by building the Hudson's Bay fort a mile further
down the current of the Red. It was a sharp trick, for Fort Douglas
could intercept Nor'-West brigades bound from Montreal to Fort
Gibraltar, or from Fort Gibraltar to the Athabasca. Two days after our
arrival, Cuthbert Grant, with a band of _Bois-Brulés_, had gone to Fort
Douglas to arrest Captain Miles McDonell for plundering Nor'-West posts.
The doughty governor took Grant's warrant as a joke and scornfully
turned the whole North-West party out of Fort Douglas. On the stockades
outside were proclamations commanding settlers to take up arms in
defense of the Hudson's Bay traders and forbidding natives to sell furs
to any but our rivals. These things added fuel to the hot anger of the
chafing _Bois-Brulés_. A curious race were these mongrel plain-rangers,
with all the savage instincts of the wild beast and few of the brutal
impulses of the beastly man. The descendants of French fathers and
Indian mothers, they inherited all the quick, fiery daring of the
Frenchman, all the endurance, craft and courage of the Indian, and all
the indolence of both white man and red. One might cut his enemy's
throat and wash his hands in the life blood, or spend years in
accomplishing revenge; but it is a question if there is a single
instance on record of a _Bois-Brulé_ molesting an enemy's family. When
the Frenchman married a native woman, he cast off civilization like an
ill-fitting coat and virtually became an Indian. When the Scotch settler
married a native woman, he educated her up to his own level and if she
did not become entirely civilized, her children did. One was the wild
man, the Ishmaelite of the desert, the other, the tiller of the soil,
the Israelite of the plain. Such were the tameless men, of whom Cuthbert
Grant was the leader, the leader solely from his fitness to lead.
It was late in the afternoon when the warden returned from Fort Douglas.
I was busy over my desk. Father Holland was still with us awaiting the
departure of traders to the south, and Duncan Cameron was stamping about
the room like a caged lion. There came a quick, angry tramp from the
hall.
"That's Grant back, and there's no one with him," muttered Cameron with
suppressed anger; and in burst the warden himself, his heavy brows dark
with fury and his eyes flashing like the fire at a pistol point.
Involuntarily I stopped work and the priest glanced across at me with a
look which bespoke expectation of an explosion. Grant did not storm.
That was not his way. He took several turns about the room, mastered
himself, and speaking through his teeth said quietly, "There be some
fools that enjoy playing with gunpowder. I'm not one of them! There be
some idiots that like teasing tigers. 'Tis not sport to my fancy! There
be some pot-valiant braggarts that defy the law. Let them enjoy the
breaking of the law!"
"What--what--what?" sputtered the Highland governor, springing first on
one side of Grant and then on the other, all the while rumbling out
maledictions on Lord Selkirk, and Governor McDonell and Fort Douglas.
"What do ye say, mon? Do I understand ye clearly, there's no prisoners
with ye?"
"Laughs at the _Bois-Brulés_. The fool laughs at the _Bois-Brulés_! I've
seen gophers cock their eye at a wolf, before that same wolf made a
breakfast of gophers! The fool laughs at your warrant, Sir! Scouted it,
Sir! Bundled us out of Fort Douglas like cattle!" The warden went on in
a bitter strain to tell of the effect of the posted proclamations on his
followers.
"So the lordly Captain Miles McDonell of the Queen's Rangers,
generalissimo of all creation, defies us, does he?" demanded Cameron in
great dudgeon, scarcely crediting his ears.
"Aye!" answered Grant, "but he can ill afford to be so high and mighty.
We went through the settlement and half the people are with us----"
"That's good! That's good!" responded Cameron with keen relish.
"They're heartily sick of the country," continued the warden, "and would
leave to-morrow if we'd supply the boats. Last winter they nearly
starved. The company's generous supply was rancid grease and wormy
flour."
"Fine way o' colonizing a country," stormed Cameron, "bring men out as
settlers and arm them to fight! We'll spike his guns by shipping a score
more away."
"We've spiked his guns in a better way," said Grant dryly. "Some of the
friendlies are so afraid he'll take their guns away and leave them
defenceless unless they fight us, they've sent their arms here for
safekeeping. We'll keep them safe, I'll warrant." Grant smiled, showing
his white teeth in a way that was not pleasant to see, and somehow
reminded me of a dog's snarl.
"Good! Good! Excellent, Grant." Such strategy pleased Cameron. "See
here, mon, Cuthbert, we've the law on our side--we've the warrants to
back the law! We'd better give yon dour fool a lesson. He's broken the
peace. We haven't. Come out, an' I'll talk it over with ye!"
The two went out, Grant saying as they passed the window--"Let him
tamper with the fur trade among the Indians and I'll not answer for it!
That last order not to sell----" The rest of the remark I lost.
"'Twould serve him well right if they did," returned Cameron, and both
men walked beyond hearing.
Father Holland and I were left alone. The fort became ominously still.
There was a distant clatter of receding hoofs; but we were on the south
side of the warehouse and could not see which way the horses were
galloping.
"I'm afraid--I'm afraid both sides will be rash," observed the priest.
The sun-dial indicated six o'clock. I closed and locked the office
desks. We had supper in the deserted dining-hall. Afterwards we strolled
to the northeast gate, and looking in the direction of Fort Douglas,
wondered what scheme could be afoot. Here my testimony need not be taken
for, or against, either side. All I saw was Duncan Cameron with the
other white men of the fort standing on a knoll some distance from Fort
Gibraltar, evidently gazing towards Fort Douglas. Against the sky, above
the settlement, there were clouds of rising smoke.
"Burning hay-ricks?" I questioned.
"Aye, and houses! 'Tis shameless work leaving the people exposed to the
blasts of next winter! Shameless, shameless work! Y'r company'll gain
nothing by it, Rufus!"
Across the night came faint, short snappings like a fusillade of shots.
"Looting the neutrals," said the priest. "God grant there be no blood on
the plains this night! These fool traders don't realize what it means to
rouse blood in an Indian! They'll get a lesson yet! Give the red devils
a taste of blood and there won't be a white unscalped to the Rockies!
I've seen y'r fine, clever rascals play the Indian against rivals, and
the game always ends the same way. The Indian is a weapon that's quick
to cut the hand of the user."
Little did I realize my part in the terrible fulfilment of that
prophecy.
"Look alive, lad! Where are y'r wits? What's that?" he cried, suddenly
pointing to the river bank.
Up from the cliff sprang a form as if by magic. It came leaping straight
to the fort gate.
"Some frightened half-breed wench," surmised the priest.
I saw it was a woman with a shawl over her head like a native.
"_Bon soir!_" said I after the manner of traders with Indian women; but
she rushed blindly on to the gate.
The fort was deserted. Suspicion of treachery flashed on me. How many
more half-breeds were beneath that cliff?
"Stop, huzzie!" I ordered, springing forward and catching her so tightly
by the wrist that she swung half-way round before she could check
herself. She wrenched vigorously to get free. "Stop! Be still, you
huzzie!"
"Be still--you what?" asked a low, amazed voice that broke in ripples
and froze my blood. A shawl fluttered to the ground, and there stood
before us the apparition of a marble face.
"The Little Statue!" I gasped in sheer horror at what I had done.
"The little--what?" asked the rippling voice, that sounded like cold
water flowing under ice, and a pair of eyes looked angrily down at the
hand with which I was still unconsciously gripping her arm.
"I'd thank you, Sir," she began, with a mock courtesy to the priest,
"I'd thank you, Sir, to call off your mastiff."
"Let her go, boy!" roared the priest with a hammering blow across my
forearm that brought me to my senses and convinced me she was no wraith.
Mastiff! That epithet stung to the quick. I flung her wrist from me as
if it had been hot coals. Now, a woman may tread upon a man--also stamp
upon him if she has a mind to--but she must trip it daintily. Otherwise
even a worm may turn against its tormentor. To have idolized that marble
creature by day and night, to have laid our votive offerings on its
shrine, to have hungered for the sound of a woman's lips for weeks, and
to hear those lips cuttingly call me a dog--were more than I could
stand.
"Ten thousand pardons, Mistress Sutherland!" I said with a pompous
stiffness which I intended should be mighty crushing. "But when ladies
deck themselves out as squaws and climb in and out of windows,"--that
was brutal of me; she had done it for Miriam and me--"and announce
themselves in unexpected ways, they need not hope to be recognized."
And did she flare back at me? Not at all.
"You waste time with your long speeches," she said, turning from me to
Father Holland.
Thereupon I strode off angrily to the river bank.
"Oh, Father Holland," I heard her say as I walked away, "I must go to
Pembina! I'm in such trouble! There's a Frenchman----"
Trouble, thought I; she is in trouble and I have been thinking only of
my own dignity. And I stood above the river, torn between desire to rush
back and wounded pride, that bade me stick it out. Over the plains came
the shout of returning plunderers. I could hear the throb, throb of
galloping hoofs beating nearer and nearer over the turf, and reflected
that I might make the danger from returning _Bois-Brulés_ the occasion
of a reconciliation.
"Come here, lad!" called Father Holland. I needed no urging. "Ye must
rig up in tam-o'-shanter and tartan, like a Highland settler, and take
Mistress Sutherland back to Fort Douglas. She's going to Pembina to meet
her father, lad, when I go south to the Missouri. And, lad," the priest
hesitated, glancing doubtfully from Miss Sutherland to me, "I'm thinking
there's a service ye might do her."
The Little Statue was looking straight at me now, and there were
tear-marks about the heavy lashes. Now, I do not pretend to explain the
power, or witchery, a gentle slip of a girl can wield with a pair of
gray eyes; but when I met the furtive glance and saw the white, veined
forehead, the arched brows, the tremulous lips, the rounded chin, and
the whole face glorified by that wonderful mass of hair, I only know,
without weapon or design, she dealt me a wound which I bear to this day.
What a ruffian I had been! I was ashamed, and my eyes fell before hers.
If a libation of blushes could appease an offended goddess, I was livid
evidence of repentance. I felt myself flooded in a sudden heat of shame.
She must have read my confusion, for she turned away her head to hide
mantling forgiveness.
"There's a crafty Frenchman in the fort has been troubling the lassie.
I'm thinking, if ye worked off some o' your anger on him, it moight be
for the young man's edification. Be quick! I hear the breeds returning!"
"But I have a message," she said in choking tones.
"From whom?" I asked aimlessly enough.
"Eric Hamilton!" she answered.
"Eric Hamilton!" both the priest and I shouted.
"Yes--why? What--what--is it? He's wounded, and he wants a Rufus
Gillespie, who's with the Nor'-Westers. The _Bois-Brulés_ fired on the
fort. Where _is_ Rufus Gillespie?"
"Bless you, lassie! Here--here--here he is!" The holy father thumped my
back at every word. "Here he is, crazy as a March hare for news of
Hamilton!"
"You--Rufus--Gillespie!" So she did not even know my name. Evidently, if
she troubled my thoughts, I did not trouble hers.
"He's told me so much about you," she went on, with a little pant of
astonishment. "How brave and good----"
"Pshaw!" I interrupted roughly. "What's the message?"
"Mr. Hamilton wishes to see you at once," she answered coldly.
"Then kill two birds with one stone! Take her home and see Hamilton--and
hurry!" urged the priest.
The half-breeds were now very near.
"Put it over your head!" and Father Holland clapped the shawl about
Frances Sutherland after the fashion of the half-breed women.
She stood demurely behind him while I ran up-stairs in the warehouse to
disguise myself in tartan plaid. When I came out, Duncan Cameron was in
the gateway welcoming Cuthbert Grant and the _Bois-Brulés_, as if
pillaging defenceless settlers were heroic. Victors from war may be
inspiring, but a half-breed rabble, red-handed from deeds of violence,
is not a sight to edify any man.
"What's this ye have, Father?" bawled one impudent fellow, and he
pointed sneeringly at the figure in the folds of the shawl.
"Let the wench be!" was the priest's reply, and the half-breed lounged
past with a laugh.
I was about to offer Frances Sutherland my arm to escort her from the
mob, when I felt Father Holland's hard knuckles dig viciously into my
ribs.
"Ye fool ye! Ye blundering idiot!" he whispered, "she's a half-breed.
Och! But's time y'r eastern greenness was tannin' a good western russet!
Let her follow with bowed head, or you'll have the whole pack on y'r
heels!"
With that admonition I strode boldly out, she behind, humble, with
downcast eyes like a half-breed girl.
We ran down the river path through the willows and jumping into a canoe
swiftly rounded the forks of the Assiniboine and Red. There we left the
canoe and fled along a trail beneath the cliff till the shouting of the
half-breeds could be no longer heard. At once I turned to offer her my
arm. She must have bruised her feet through the thin moccasins, for the
way was very rough. I saw that she was trembling from fatigue.
"Permit me," I said, offering my arm as formally as if she had been
some grand lady in an eastern drawing-room.
"Thank you--I'm afraid I must," and she reluctantly placed a light hand
on my sleeve.
I did not like that condescending compulsion, and now out of danger, I
became strangely embarrassed and angry in her presence. The "mastiff"
epithet stuck like a barb in my boyish chivalry. Was it the wind, or a
low sigh, or a silent weeping, that I heard? I longed to know, but would
not turn my head, and my companion was lagging just a step behind. I
slackened speed, so did she. Then a voice so low and soft and golden it
might have melted a heart of stone--but what is a heart of stone
compared to the wounded pride of a young man?--said, "Do you know, I
think I rather like mastiffs?"
"Indeed," said I icily, in no mood for raillery.
"Like _them_ for friends, not enemies, to be protected by _them_,
not--not bitten," the voice continued with a provoking emphasis of the
plural "_them_."
"Yes," said I, with equal emphasis of the obnoxious plural. "Ladies find
_them_ useful at times."
That fling silenced her and I felt a shiver run down the arm on my
sleeve.
"Why, you're shivering," I blundered out. "You must let me put this
round you," and I pulled off the plaid and would have placed it on her
shoulders, but she resisted.
"I am not in the least cold," she answered frigidly--which is the only
untruth I ever heard her tell--"and you shall not say '_must_' to me,"
and she took her hand from my arm. She spoke with a tremor that warned
me not to insist. Then I knew why she had shivered.
"Please forgive, Miss Sutherland," I begged. "I'm such a maladroit
animal."
"I quite agree with you, a maladroit mastiff with teeth!"
Mastiff! That insult again! I did not reproffer my arm. We strode
forward once more, she with her face turned sideways remote from me, I
with my face sideways remote from her, and the plaid trailing from my
hand by way of showing her she could have it if she wished. We must have
paced along in this amiable, post-matrimonial fashion for quite a
quarter of the mile we had to go, and I was awkwardly conscious of
suppressed laughing from her side. It was the rippling voice, that
always seemed to me like fountain splash in the sunshine, which broke
silence again.
"Really," said the low, thrilling, musical witchery by my side, "really,
it's the most wonderful story I have ever heard!"
"Story?" I queried, stopping stock still and gaping at her.
"Perfectly wonderful! So intensely interesting and delightful."
"Interesting and delightful?" I interrogated in sheer amazement. This
girl utterly dumfounded me, and in the conceit of youth I thought it
strange that any girl could dumfound me.
"What an interesting life you have had, to be sure!"
"I have had?"
"Yes, don't you know you've been talking in torrents for the past ten
minutes? No? Do you forget?" and she laughed tremulously either from
embarrassment, or cold.
"Well!" said I, befooled into good-humor and laughing back. "If you give
me a day's warning, I'll try to keep up with you."
"Ah! There! I've put you through the ice at last! It's been such hard
work!"
"And I come up badly doused!"
"Stimulated too! You're doing well already!"
"My thanks to my instructor," and catching the spirit of her mockery, I
swept her a courtly bow.
"There! There!" she cried, dropping raillery as soon as I took it up.
"You were cross at the window. I was cross on the flats. You nearly
wrenched my hand off----"
"Can you blame me?" I asked. "And to pay me back you turned my head and
stole my heart----"
"Hush!" she interrupted. "Let's clean the slate and begin again."
"With all my heart, if you'll wear this tartan and stop shivering." I
was not ready to consent to an unconditional surrender.
"I hate your 'ifs' and 'buts' and so-much-given-for-so-much-got," she
exclaimed with an impatient, little stamp, "but--but--" she added
inconsistently, "if--if--you'll keep one end of the plaid for yourself,
I'll take the other."
"Ho--ho! I like 'ifs' and 'buts.' Have you more of that kind?" I
laughed, whisking the fold about us both. Drawing her hand into mine, I
kept it there.
"It isn't so cold as--as that, is it?" asked the voice under the plaid.
"Quite," I returned valiantly, tightening my clasp. She laughed a low,
mellow laugh that set my heart beating to the tune of a trip-hammer. I
felt a great intoxication of strength that might have razed Fort Douglas
to the ground and conquered the whole world, which, I dare say, other
young men have felt when the same kind of weight hung upon their
protection.
"Oh! Little Statue! Why have you been so hard on us?" I began.
"_Us?_" she asked.
"Me--then," and I gulped down my embarrassment.
"Because----"
"Because what?"
"No _what_. Just because!" She was astonished that her decisive reason
did not satisfy.
"Because! A woman's reason!" I scoffed.
"Because! It's the best and wisest and most wholesome reason ever
invented. Think what it avoids saying and what wisdom may be behind
it!"
"Only wisdom?"
"You be careful! There'll be another cold plunge! Tell me about your
friend's wife, Miriam," she answered, changing the subject.
And when I related my strange mission and she murmured, "How
noble," I became a very Samson of strength, ready to vanquish
an army of Philistine admirers with the jawbone of my inflated
self-confidence--provided, always, one queen of the combat were looking
on.
"Are you cold, now?" I asked, though the trembling had ceased.
No, she was not cold. She was quite comfortable, and the answer came in
vibrant tones which were as wine to a young man's heart.
"Are you tired, Frances?" and the "No" was accompanied by a little
laugh, which spurred more questioning for no other purpose than to hear
the music of her voice. Now, what was there in those replies to cause
happiness? Why have inane answers to inane, timorous questions
transformed earth into paradise and mortals into angels?
"Do you find the way very far--Frances?" The flavor of some names tempts
repeated tasting.
"Very far?" came the response in an amused voice, "find it very far? Yes
I do, quite far--oh! No--I don't. Oh! I don't know!" She broke into a
joyous laugh at her own confusion, gaining more self-possession as I
lost mine; and out she slipped from the plaid.
"I wish it were a thousand times farther," and I gazed ruefully at the
folds that trailed empty.
What other absurd things I might have said, I cannot tell; but we were
at the fort and I had to wrap the tartan disguise about myself.
Stooping, I picked a bunch of dog-roses growing by the path, then felt
foolish, for I had not the courage to give them to her, and dropped them
without her knowledge. She gave the password at the gate. I was taken
for a Selkirk Highlander and we easily gained entrance.
A man brushed past us in the gloom of the courtyard. He looked
impudently down into her face. It was Laplante, and my whole frame
filled with a furious resentment which I had not guessed could be
possible with me.
"That Frenchman," she whispered, but his figure vanished among the
buildings. She showed me the council hall where Eric could be found.
"And where do you go?" I asked stupidly.
She indicated the quarters where the settlers had taken refuge. I led
her to the door.
"Are you sure you'll be safe?"
"Oh! Yes, quite, as long as the settlers are here; and you, you will let
me know when the priest sets out for Pembina?"
I vowed more emphatically than the case required that she should know.
"Are there no dark halls in there, unsafe for you?" I questioned.
"None," and she went up the first step of the doorway.
"Are you sure you're safe?" I also mounted a step.
"Yes, quite, thank you," and she retreated farther, "and you, have you
forgotten you came to see Mr. Hamilton?"
"Why--so I did," I stammered out absently.
She was on the top step, pulling the latch-string of the great door.
"Stop! Frances--dear!" I cried.
She stood motionless and I felt that this last rashness of an unruly
tongue--too frank by far--had finished me.
"What? Can I do anything to repay you for your trouble in bringing me
here?"
"I've been repaid," I answered, "but indeed, indeed, long live the
Queen! May it please Her Majesty to grant a token to her leal and
devoted knight----"
"What is thy request?" she asked laughingly. "What token doth the knight
covet?"
"The token that goes with _good-nights_," and I ventured a pace up the
stairs.
"There, Sir Knight," she returned, hastily putting out her hand, which
was not what I wanted, but to which I gratefully paid my devoir. "Art
satisfied?" she asked.
"Till the Queen deigns more," and I paused for a reply.
She lingered on the threshold as if she meant to come down to me, then
with a quick turn vanished behind the gloomy doors, taking all the
light of my world with her; but I heard a voice, as of some happy bird
in springtime, trilling from the hall where she had gone, and a new song
made music in my own heart.