BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER
For a time after D'Antons' departure into the unknown, the little
garrison of Fort Beatrix turned day into night. Not a man indulged in so
much as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and dawn; but from
sunrise until afternoon the place was as if it lay under an enchantment
of slumber. On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman and Red
Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell with a request to be allowed to leave
the fort, in company with Black Feather. He told how Black Feather was
of the opinion that many of the tribesmen were against the leadership of
Panounia, and that, if they could be found, it would be an easy matter
for Ouenwa to win their support. He, Ouenwa, was of the blood of the
greatest chief they had ever known. They would gather to the totem of
the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the English people, they could be
brought to the rescue of the settlement. So Black Feather had told the
tale to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed.
"And you would have to go with Black Feather?" inquired Kingswell, none
too cheerfully; for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger
brother.
"Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson of Soft Hand," replied
the boy. "When they see me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft
Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love for the English, and
of my hatred for Panounia, and of the great trading that will be done at
the fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. Thus we shall all
be saved--thus Mistress Beatrix shall escape capture."
At that Kingswell started and eyed his companion keenly. "You think
Panounia can break into the fort?" he inquired.
Ouenwa smiled. "Hunger can do it before the snow melts," he replied,
"and hunger will fight for Panounia and the black captain."
"What do you know of the black captain?"
"He is with the night-howlers. He will keep their courage warm. He will
struggle many times to bring us to our deaths and to capture the lady.
That is all I know."
"But how do you know so much, lad?" asked Kingswell.
Ouenwa looked surprised. "How could I know less, who dwelt within
eyeshot of the black captain for so many days, and who have learned the
ways of such wolves?" he asked, in his turn. "You know it already
without my telling, friend-chief," he added.
"Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the other.
Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold of the baronet's cabin
since the time of his rebuff at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course
he had seen the baronet frequently, and they had smoked some pipes of
tobacco together by the hearth of the departed Frenchman; but from the
presence of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. At the voice
of duty, however, he sought the baronet in his own house with excellent
composure. Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him so nerved
him to accept the risk of again seeing the displeasure in her dark eyes.
Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when they entered. Sir Ralph
welcomed them cordially. Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan
for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour of the fort, he was
deeply moved. He took a ring from his own hand and slipped it over one
of Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting-knife for Black
Feather, and a Spanish dagger for himself. He told Kingswell to supply
them unstintingly from the store, with provisions and clothing for
themselves and gifts for the natives whom they hoped to win.
"'Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A chance of our salvation, and
the only one, as far as I can see."
At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the room. At sight of the
visitors by the chimney, she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed
low in return. Her father advanced and led her, with the manner of those
days, to his own chair beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words,
of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black Feather intended to set
forth. The thought of it stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with
shining eyes.
"'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she said. "Lad, where have
you learned your bravery?"
Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. "Half of it is the blood of my
fathers," he replied, "and half is the teaching of Master Kingswell--and
half I gather from your eyes."
The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. The baronet concealed his
lips with his hand. Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the
shoulder.
"Brother, you have named one-half too many," he said, laughing, "so your
reason will carry more weight if you leave out that in which you mention
my teaching. But come, we must find Black Feather, and make arrangements
to leave as soon as dusk falls."
At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned
a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to
leave us, too!" she exclaimed.
Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw
the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the
note of anxiety in the clear young voice.
"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would
only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a
poor woodsman--and already our garrison is none too heavily manned."
"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure
that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need
you."
Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with ill-concealed surprise.
Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove
to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was
the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he
had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden
fear in the lady's face.
Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to
Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom,
heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and
entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine
apparel.
"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two
brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond
belief."
He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor--up and down, up and down,
with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back.
"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in
the forest to-night--away from the fire."
She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze.
"It is blowing for a storm," replied the young man. "The sky was clouded
over when they left. 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their
trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from prowling abroad for a
good many hours to come."
Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard in the wall, and from it
produced a violin. Kingswell stood by the chimney, watching her. The
baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. The girl touched the
strings here and there with skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then
returned to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. Suddenly she
looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes were as he had never seen them before.
They were full of firelight and dream. They were brighter than jewels,
and yet dark as the heart of a deep water.
"Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, though free from any
suggestion of indifference, sounded as if her whole being were far from
that simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kingswell quietly
reseated himself; and at that she nestled her chin to the glowing
instrument and drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly,
across the strings. A whisper of melody followed the touch and sang
clearer and more human than any human voice, and melted into the
firelight.
At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat down and reclined
comfortably with his head against the back of his chair. For awhile he
watched his daughter intently; then he turned his eyes to the heart of
the fire and journeyed far in a waking dream.
The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments of peace with the magic
strings. Kingswell, leaning back with his face in the shadow, could not
look away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded behind the singing
of the violin. The candles on the table flared at their sockets. The
logs on the hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. Outside the
wind raced and shouldered along the walls. And suddenly the player
stilled her hand, and, without a word to either of the men, took up one
of the guttering candles from the table and went quickly to her own
chamber. She carried the fiddle with her against her young breast, and
the bow like a wand in her hand.
Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. Kingswell got to his feet
with a sigh, and lifted his heavy cloak from the bench.
"I must go the rounds," he said. "Good night, sir."
With that he went out into the swirling eddies of the storm. The baronet
sat still for another hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts of
joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It had rung upon past glories
and called up more recent dishonours. And still another matter occupied
his mind, and was finally dismissed with a smile and a yawn. It was that
Beatrix had indulged in one of her deliriums of music in young
Kingswell's presence, and that she had never before played in any mood
but the lightest in the hearing of a stranger.
Kingswell paced beside the sentry at the drifted gate; but he kept his
thoughts to the picture of the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music
and firelight that had seemed to pulse and spread together about the
long room. Again he saw the candle flames leap high and waver, as if
lured from their tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clearest
of all was the player's face. His heart was filled to suffocation at the
memory of it. Had other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men heard
her soul and her dear heart singing and crying from the strings of the
violin?