At this last exhibition of insubordination, every one fancied that the
commander’s temper would once more break out. But, to the surprise of
all, Clark remained quite calm, and took no notice of it. He ushered
his other officers to the door with his usual courtesy, and attended
them to the head of the stairs, whence he watched them go out with
father Gibault.
Then he turned to the sentry at the door, and said:
“Move your post to the head of the stairs, and let no one up. If you
hear any noise in my room, however loud, take no notice. Let no one
pass in or out without my orders.”
The backwoods soldier nodded his comprehension, and the colonel
re-entered his room, where, as he had expected, he found Adjutant
Frank, still in his chair, which he had drawn to the table, on which
rested his small feet with all the coolness in the world.
The little adjutant wore a hunting-shirt of fine blue cloth, with gold
fringes to replace the usual buck-skin ornaments; his leggins were of
white doe-skin, fringed with gold; and the white moccasin, that fitted
his little foot like a glove, was sewed with gold thread. Altogether,
a very natty little officer of rangers was Adjutant Frank, as he sat
playing with a little blue velvet cap with a gold tassel, and whistling
“Malbrook.”
Clark stood at the door, looking at him for several minutes. The lad’s
back was turned to him, and the white peruke, which he generally wore,
was now off, allowing the curls of a wonderful mass of long black hair
to escape over his shoulders.
Clark looked at him long and earnestly, and as he looked, he gave an
involuntary sigh. The boy was of a wonderful beauty and grace, he could
not help admitting, even with all the fierce jealousy and anger that
was gnawing at his heart. But the iron colonel had taken a resolution,
and he was not to be turned from it by pity.
Slowly, and without any precautions against noise, he locked the
door with a loud snap, and put the key in his pocket. Frank stopped
whistling, but he did not look round. He only gave a little hitch to
his sword-belt, and brought the hilt of his light rapier to the front.
Then he resumed his whistle and gradually broke into a low song:
“Le Colonel Clark est brave,
Mais il n’est qu’un esclave,
Sous la main, si douce et suave,
De Mademoiselle Rubie Roland.”
Clark heard the mocking words and wondered at the lad’s temerity, even
while his anger rose to white heat. Frank looked so little and slender,
so utterly unable to cope with the powerful and incensed colonel, that
such a taunt as his conduct implied made it seem as if he must be crazy.
For the first time the words of Simon Kenton, as to the boy having been
sun-struck, recurred to his mind, and for the moment a thrill of pity
came to Clark. But as he looked at the boy and noted the quiet bravado
of his manner, the supposition became untenable.
“There is too much method for madness, there,” thought the border
leader.
And, as he came to this conclusion, a stern frown settled on his brow,
and he went to the windows. He carefully closed the shutters and locked
the French casements so that no one could see in. Then, looking into
an inner room, he ascertained that there were no more openings to be
guarded.
He closed and locked the door of communication with equal deliberation,
then advanced to the table at which Frank sat, and laid his hand
heavily on his shoulder.
“Now, sir,” said Clark, between his shut teeth, “what is the meaning of
this?”
The lad looked up at him with an eye as fierce as his own.
“It means--take your hands off!”
For all answer Clark shook him fiercely, for it seemed as if the threat
imbued him with ten-fold rage.
But, to his surprise, after the first fierce look, the boy did not
either writhe or struggle, although the nervous grip of the powerful
borderer must have caused intense pain, as the fingers sunk into his
shoulder.
Feeling almost ashamed of himself, Clark released his hold, for
the first feeling of the soft, delicate shoulder he had griped had
convinced him that Frank was a mere child in his hands. He struck down
the boy’s feet off the table with his open hand, and then released him,
casting himself down in an opposite chair.
“Now, sir,” he said, sternly, “since you have learned your manners,
tell me what is the meaning of all this?”
The little adjutant was quite silent, but he was breathing hard, and
had changed his position. His face was now turned away from Clark and
hidden by the tangled mass of curls. He made no answer.
After a while Clark repeated the question.
“Well, sir, what does this mean? Why have you, whom I have treated like
my own son, suddenly found that nothing will do for you but insulting
your colonel and exciting mutiny among my troops?”
There was no answer. Still the averted figure looked sullenly away.
“I see you can not answer,” said Clark, sternly; “and I honor the shame
that leads you to remain silent. It shows me that Governor Henry’s
nephew has not lost all the instincts of a gentleman. It renders my
task less repulsive, for I warn you, John Frank, that the time has come
when you must atone for your conduct with your heart’s blood--ay, and
in this room. Had you shown fear, I should have strangled you ere this,
but I can not take advantage of superior strength over a stripling like
you. But die you must, and by my hand. Therefore, choose your weapons,
and do your best. You shall have every chance.”
The boy still kept his head averted, and murmured:
“Why should I die? What have I done?”
“I will tell you, John Frank,” said the colonel, in a low, stern voice,
with terrible distinctness. “I will tell you, and you at least shall
know all before I kill you. A year ago, I met Ruby Roland in Kentucky,
and from the moment I saw her I resolved she should be my wife. You
may start. I would sooner die than tell her, the proud beauty in her
scornful charms, that George Rogers Clark was a slave to her a year
since. I would not tell it to you if I had not resolved to kill you,
before I leave this room. Well, sir, since you came here--curse your
pretty baby-face--I have met _her_, and I have found that she loves
_you_; she, the pearl of all beauty and nobility, is fool enough to
cast away the treasures of a love, which I would die to possess, on an
insolent youngster like you, who values it not, and makes a jest of her
name. For these things I am going to kill you, boy, and just so I shall
kill every man that comes near Ruby Roland. She may never love me, but,
by the eternal heavens, I swear she shall never love another. She may
repel my love, but I will conquer hers. I have sworn to make her adore
me. Enough. On this table are two swords and two pistols. Choose which
you will, and take first shot.”
The averted figure trembled perceptibly.
“I do not want to kill you, colonel,” said a low voice.
“Nor can you,” said Clark, scornfully. “I was not born to be killed by
a boy. Take your shot, and aim well, for if you miss I kill you.”
The little adjutant trembled still more.
“I can not fight you, Clark,” he whispered.
“But you must,” cried the borderer, fiercely. “Do you wish to compel me
to murder you? You must die.”
The other rose from the chair and sprung behind the table. As he did
so, he motioned Clark away, with face averted, as if in great horror.
“Clark, Clark,” he panted out, “you know not what you say. I can not
fight _you_. If you kill me, you will never see Ruby Roland again.”
“I will chance that,” said Clark, grimly. “She may grieve for you a
while, but bah! she’ll not care for a boy like you, when a man loves
her. And mark me, boy, she loves me now, although she does not think
it. Come, take up the swords. I thought you had more courage, Frank. I
see you are only a coward, after all.”
The boy dropped his head on his hands so that his long black hair fell
all over his face and hid it from view. Then he sunk down on his knees
and burst out into a tempest of sobs, while he murmured, brokenly:
“Kill me, then--blind, blind, that will not see the truth. Would I had
died long ago!”
For the first time Clark was utterly astounded. He looked at the
kneeling figure, shaken with sobs such as no boy ever gave, and as he
looked a sudden light broke over his face. He looked at the other with
a keen intensity of gaze that, for the first time since he had known
his boy adjutant, took in every peculiarity of the slight, feminine
grace of that tiny figure. Then, with a sudden exclamation of joy,
wonder and doubt together, Colonel Clark rushed forward and clutched
eagerly at the form of RUBY ROLAND.
Ay, the moment he felt the soft, yielding flesh under his hands this
time, he wondered that he had never found it out before. His little
adjutant, with the pert tongue, and Ruby Roland whom he adored, were
one and the same, a warm, living woman, who hid her face under her dark
hair in his bosom, and refused to lift it, even for a glimpse of her
face, until he forced her up from her knees, with gentle violence.
Then she suddenly flung away from him with all her old impetuosity and
caprice, threw back her long black hair with a defiant toss, facing
him with glowing face and flaming eyes, and caught up a sword from the
table.
“Now, sir, kill me if you dare,” she cried. “You were bold enough with
Frank. Let me see you face Ruby. Go away. I hate you now!”
Clark laughed carelessly as he advanced.
“You must explain away your masquerade, and a hundred other little
things I mind me of, lady-bird, ere you can make me believe that. If
you do not love me, what do you here with me, alone, at midnight?”
In a moment she was pale and beseeching.
“Let me go, Clark, and I’ll never tease you again.”
“Not till you have promised to marry me to-morrow, ere father Gibault
departs.”
“I promise,” she whispered, and he unlocked the door.