Like a pursued man hunted through a dream, I labored on, leaden-limbed,
trembling; and it seemed hours and hours ere the blue starlight broke
overhead and Beacraft's dark house loomed stark and empty on the
stony hill.
Suddenly the ghostly call of a whippoorwill broke out from the willows.
Mount answered; Elerson appeared in the path, making a sign for silence.
"Magdalen Brant entered the house an hour since," he whispered. "She
sits yonder on the door-step. I think she has fallen asleep."
We stole forward through the dusk towards the silent figure on the
door-step. She sat there, her head fallen back against the closed door,
her small hands lying half open in her lap. Under her closed eyes the
dark circles of fatigue lay; a faint trace of rose paint still clung to
her lips; and from the ragged skirt of her thorn-rent gown one small
foot was thrust, showing a silken shoe and ankle stained with mud.
There she lay, sleeping, this maid who, with her frail strength, had
split forever the most powerful and ancient confederacy the world had
ever known.
Her superb sacrifice of self, her proud indifference to delicacy and
shame, her splendid acceptance of the degradation, her instant and
fearless execution of the only plan which could save the land from war
with a united confederacy, had left us stunned with admiration and
helpless gratitude.
Had she gone to them as a white woman, using the arts of civilized
persuasion, she could have roused them to war, but she could not have
soothed them to peace. She knew it--even I knew that among the Iroquois
the Ruler of the Heavens can never speak to an Indian through the mouth
of a white woman.
As an Oneida, and a seeress of the False-Faces, she had answered their
appeal. Using every symbol, every ceremony, every art taught her as a
child, she had swayed them, vanquishing with mystery, conquering,
triumphing, as an Oneida, where a single false step, a single slip, a
moment's faltering in her sweet and serene authority might have brought
out the appalling cry of accusation:
"Her heart is white!"
And not one hand would have been raised to prevent the sacrificial test
which must follow and end inevitably in a dreadful death.
* * * * *
Mount and Elerson, moved by a rare delicacy, turned and walked
noiselessly away towards the hill-top.
"Wake her," I said to Sir George.
He knelt beside her, looking long into her face; then touched her
lightly on the hand. She opened her eyes, looked up at him gravely, then
rose to her feet, steadying herself on his bent arm.
"Where have you been?" she asked, glancing anxiously from him to me.
There was the faintest ring of alarm in her voice, a tint of color on
cheek and temple. And Sir George, lying like a gentleman, answered: "We
have searched the trails in vain for you. Where have you lain
hidden, child?"
Her lips parted in an imperceptible sigh of relief; the pallor of
weariness returned.
"I have been upon your business, Sir George," she said, looking down at
her mud-stained garments. Her arms fell to her side; she made a little
gesture with one limp hand. "You see," she said, "I promised you." Then
she turned, mounting the steps, pensively; and, in the doorway, paused
an instant, looking back at him over her shoulder.
* * * * *
And all that night, lying close to the verge of slumber, I heard Sir
George pacing the stony yard under the great stars; while the riflemen,
stretched beside the hearth, snored heavily, and the death-watch ticked
in the wall.
At dawn we three were afield, nosing the Sacandaga trail to count the
tracks leading to the north--the dread footprints of light, swift feet
which must return one day bringing to the Mohawk Valley an awful
reckoning.
At noon we returned. I wrote out my report and gave it to Sir George. We
spoke little together. I did not see Magdalen Brant again until they
bade me adieu.
And now it was two o'clock in the afternoon; Sir George had already set
out with Magdalen Brant to Varicks' by way of Stoner's; Elerson and
Mount stood by the door, waiting to pilot me towards Gansevoort's
distant outposts; the noon sunshine filled the deserted house and fell
across the table where I sat, reading over my instructions from Schuyler
ere I committed the paper to the flames.
So far, no thanks to myself, I had carried out my orders in all save the
apprehension of Walter Butler. And now I was uncertain whether to remain
and hang around the council-fire waiting for an opportunity to seize
Butler, or whether to push on at once, warn Gansevoort at Stanwix that
St. Leger's motley army had set out from Oswego, and then return to
trap Butler at my leisure.
I crumpled the despatch into a ball and tossed it onto the live coals in
the fireplace; the paper smoked, caught fire, and in a moment more the
black flakes sank into the ashes.
"Shall we burn the house, sir?" asked Mount, as I came to the doorway
and looked out.
I shook my head, picked up rifle, pouch, and sack, and descended the
steps. At the same instant a man appeared at the foot of the hill, and
Elerson waved his hand, saying: "Here's that mad Irishman, Tim Murphy,
back already."
Murphy came jauntily up the hill, saluted me with easy respect, and drew
from his pouch a small packet of papers which he handed me, nodding
carelessly at Elerson and staring hard at Mount as though he did not
recognize him.
"Phwat's this?" he inquired of Elerson--"a Frinch cooroor, or maybe a
Sac shquaw in a buck's shirrt?"
"Don't introduce him to me," said Mount to Elerson; "he'll try to kiss
my hand, and I hate ceremony."
"Quit foolin'," said Elerson, as the two big, over-grown boys seized
each other and began a rough-and-tumble frolic. "You're just cuttin'
capers, Tim, becuz you've heard that we're takin' the war-path--quit
pullin' me, you big Irish elephant! Is it true we're takin' the
war-path?"
"How do I know?" cried Murphy; but the twinkle in his blue eyes betrayed
him; "bedad, 'tis home to the purty lasses we go this blessed day, f'r
the crool war is over, an' the King's got the pip, an--"
"Murphy!" I said.
"Sorr," he replied, letting go of Mount and standing at a respectful
slouch.
"Did you get Beacraft there in safety?"
"I did, sorr."
"Any trouble?"
"None, sorr--f'r me."