IN THE WILDERNESS
The way was tolerably clear for a long distance, though shielded from
the view of the Indians by the intervening trees. When the strip of
woods failed them for shelter it was growing dusk, and, with the rise of
the wind, they could hardly have been distinguished from the waving
shrubbery. Valbonais paused and glanced back now and then, but no
pursuers were in sight.
“Take it a little more moderately,” Valbonais said. “We must not lose
sight of the river, or we may go astray. Though we have made a gain by
cutting off this point that juts into the stream. Ah, if we only had any
kind of a boat!”
“They might see us on the river.”
“Hardly at night, and not very clear at that. We must make for that dark
line ahead of us, a bit of woods where we can camp for the night.”
It was quite dark when they reached it, and with some difficulty he made
a light. It was largely scrubby pines and the soil was sandy, dry in
spite of the tremendous rain, though evidently there had not been as
much here. Valbonais found a dead, dry branch of pine, which he lighted,
and began to explore. A short distance in was a pile of stones heaped up
four or five feet, evidently some burial spot. He glanced at its
capabilities, then began tumbling out the smaller ones that seemed to be
largely at one side.
“What are you going to do?” asked Wawataysee.
“Make a sort of cave. Oh, you will see,” laughingly.
“But let me help,” she cried eagerly.
“No, no! Or, if you wish, will you take my knife and cut some pine
boughs, the bushiest ones?”
He had stuck his dry branch in the sand and piled a few others around
it. Renée stood by the fire, much interested.
Valbonais tore out the stones until he had a hollow place like a great
chair. This he partly filled with the ends of the boughs Wawataysee had
gathered.
“This will make a bed for you and the child. You will have to sleep
sitting up; but you ought to be able to sleep anywhere.”
“Oh, look! look!” cried Renée, clapping her hands. “A golden baby moon
down there in the sky! Is it not beautiful?”
The sky was of deepest azure, the stars mostly to the northwest. One was
almost at the point of the crescent, as if lighting each other on the
way.
“To-morrow or the next night it will be in her arms,” said the young
fellow.
“A baby star in a cradle,” exclaimed Renée. “Oh, is it not wonderful?
What is that?” and she suddenly shrank toward her companions.
“Only the cry of some night bird. These clumps of woods are not thick
enough to harbor wild animals, thank the saints! Now, ma’m’selle, you
sit here and try it.”
He had spread a blanket over the pine boughs. She sank gracefully into
the seat and leaned back her head with a certain air of luxuriance.
“Oh, it is splendid!” in a grateful tone.
Renée ran to try.
Valbonais stirred out the coals, took a piece of dried fish from his bag
and some corn cakes and toasted both. They were hungry enough to eat
without any demur—in truth, enjoyed it in the perfect freedom from fear.
“Now,” he said, “you must settle yourself for the night. I do not think
we shall be molested. The small band will be busy with their chief and
repairing damages. Then I found some of them were very superstitious
about a woman being in the party.”
“But I was held only for the money I would bring Black Feather.
Otherwise I would have been looked upon as a useless burden. They
dropped off poor Mère Lunde on the way, and yet she could have done them
good service. Come, Renée.”
“I am not a bit sleepy,” returned Renée. “It seems almost like being at
home with no fierce Indians about; only if Uncle Gaspard were here, and
M’sieu Marchand,” she was about to add, but checked herself.
“We must be up betimes to-morrow and on our way,” Valbonais said. “It
will not do to loiter.”
“What will you do meanwhile?” inquired Wawataysee.
“Sit here and tend the fire,” he said. “I shall only keep enough to see
about in case I have to defend myself from any midnight prowler.”
He folded the blankets around the two, who certainly looked comfortable
in their rocky bed. He pushed his way through the thicket and ran down a
short distance, where he had command of the river. Nothing was going
either way. How sweet and tranquil it all was, after the terrors of last
night! He could have stayed there hours watching the stars come out
brighter and brighter, and the soft wind weaving strange melodies,
whispering of hope.
Both girls were asleep when he returned. He sat down outside the
enclosure and leaned his shoulders against it. His gun was by his side,
his knife in his belt. He should have had a hatchet, too; that useful
article no one scarcely travelled without, but in the excitement he had
not thought of everything. Once he replenished the fire; then the fuel
gave out and he fell asleep.
Nothing molested them. The singing of some birds in the thicket roused
him. He hurried to the river; all was tranquil, silent, with no enemy in
sight. Then he glanced down the long and arid space, where even grass
grew sparsely in the sandy soil that held no moisture. They must start
early so as to escape the mid-day heat.
Wawataysee had risen and smoothed her ruffled plumes.
“It is so beautiful!” she said, with heartfelt pleasure. “And, oh, to be
free from horrid fears! I slept so tranquilly. Did you have any rest?”
“I forgot everything,” and he laughed with a glad sound. “I was not a
very good watcher, perhaps, but I think any unusual noise would have
startled me.”
“You are so good! What would we have done without you?” raising her
beautiful, grateful eyes.
He flushed warmly. “We cannot have much variety for breakfast,” with a
gleam of amusement. “We may fare better to-night.”
He lighted the small fire again, collecting the charred embers.
“Is it far to the river—and safe?”
“Not much of a run,” he answered. “The shore is shallow. I had a
reviving bath.”
“Come, Renée,” and she held out her hand to the child.
Meanwhile, Valbonais replaced the stones, wondering what hands had
brought them there in the first instance, and whether white or Indian
lay at rest beneath them. The girls were racing over the sand, bright,
fresh and glowing, and they partook of their simple breakfast and
started on their journey. The sun was not shining brightly, yet there
was no indication of rain. It was as if Nature was indulging in a
tranquil mood. Now and then a flock of birds went sailing over their
heads, and a squirrel out of place ran nimbly across the sand.
“You have no idea how far it is to St. Louis?” their companion inquired.
“Oh, hundreds of miles!” cried Renée.
“Hardly that,” said Wawataysee. “There have been so many delays. When I
came from the straits it was with the fleet, and I hardly took note;”
flushing as she recalled the delightful journey with her husband. “Yet
it seems to me we cannot have gone so very far up.”
“Is there any particular point that you can remember? There was the
Indian settlement where we met, little thinking then that we should be
mates on a return journey. Whether it would be safe to trust them——”
“There was another halt, up a little stream. A settlement of Peoria
Indians, who are kindly and who have adopted many habits from the
whites, are more intelligent than most other tribes. That is down
farther still. It was our first stopping place. They were very generous
with provisions.”
“That will be one of our troubles. Still there will be small game to
shoot and fish to catch.”
Although there was considerable travel down the Illinois and some quite
well-appointed stations, they were far between. The fur and trading
fleets, if the lines of flat boats and canoes could be called that,
carried abundant provisions. Roving bands of Indians and parties of
adventurous hunters crossing the interior were the only travellers, and
they often stopped at the forts.
They went farther out by the river. And suddenly there was a serious
surprise. Around a wooded bend came a canoe filled with Indians. Then
another and one of stores, and one figure was suspiciously studying the
shore. They had hidden among the trees, but were peering out cautiously.
“Oh!” Wawataysee whispered, “it is Elk Horn and his party! See, he is
standing up, looking this way! O Mother of God, come to the assistance
of thy children!” and, sinking on her knees, she clasped her hands in
supplication.
It was Elk Horn. He had sobered up and began to realize that he might
have made a better bargain with his prisoners. He had secured some more
arms and ammunition, and hoped now to overtake Black Feather. His glance
around was not indicative of the slightest certainty. He could not have
dreamed that the fugitives in the woods were the very ones he meant to
quarrel and perhaps fight about when he met Black Feather.
Wawataysee scarcely breathed until the last canoe was but a dusky line
on the river.
“We certainly are safe,” Valbonais said. “Of course, they could not
suppose we had escaped.”
“I was so afraid they were in search of a landing place. Oh, if they had
stopped!” in terror.
“Then we would have plunged farther in the woods, climbed trees even. I
do not mean to be taken a prisoner again; and surely, it will go hard
with me if you are, or hard with the abductor!” with a gleam of
resolution.
“I am glad they have gone up the river,” declared Wawataysee. “Now there
is no fear of meeting them.”
“If we could find some traders coming down——”
“And trust them?” There was a troubled light in her eye. “Oh, now that I
know there are two people in the world, perhaps three, hungering for
revenge on me, I am sore afraid at times. I shall never see a Huron
without reading a menace in his eye.”
Valbonais glanced at her inquiringly.
“You have heard part of the story. Let me join the tangled threads, and
you will the better understand my misgivings.”
“Let us go on now. Every hour is precious. And it will delight me to
listen to anything that has concerned thee,” bowing low to her.
So she told of her home and her affiliations with the French, being
related on her mother’s side, and how she had always liked them the
more, while her brother was proud of his Indian blood and his chieftain
father. It was not until she had met and loved François Marchand and
plighted her troth to him that she was informed of her brother’s
intentions toward her, and she prayed to him for the liberty of choosing
her own husband—admitted, indeed, that she had chosen him and could be
the wife of no one else. Then he had sent a messenger to say that her
escort was on the way with orders to bring him to her at once, and that
preparations were being made for a grand marriage. The trading fleet was
ready. She had only to step on board. At the first mission station they
had stopped for the priest to marry them.
“So, you see, I could never, never be the wife of any other man. And
this chief has two wives. He told my brother that I should be first: but
Indian women do not always accept their dismissal so easily.”
There was a proud, steadfast light in her eyes, the bloom of courage and
constancy on her soft cheek. How beautiful she was!
“And M. Marchand——” in a low tone, half inquiry.
“Whether he is dead or alive I do not know. But I am his in death as
well as life,” with a firmness that bespoke the utmost devotion.
No, she would never let another wrest from her the holy bond she had
given him with her sweet maidenhood love.
Night was coming on apace again. There was no cairn of stones to be
transformed into a sleeping chamber. Renée was very tired and a little
pettish.
“Is there nothing for supper but these dried, hard cakes and the fish?”
she asked discontentedly.
“And not even that for breakfast,” Valbonais said lightly. “I must get
up early and shoot some game. There is no corn matured yet, so if we
came to growing fields the juicy ears would not be there. But I think I
can find something,” hopefully.
This night they had to have a forest bed, but he found a place soft with
a kind of dried turf, and spread out one blanket for pallet and left one
to cover them with. Then he kindled a fire at some distance, for he had
heard the cry of an animal. Farther off, then nearer, a stealthy
creeping along. He reached for his gun and glanced cautiously around.
Presently he caught the glare of two sparks of flame coming nearer,
crouching down, and he fired.
“Oh, what is it?” Wawataysee sprang up in affright.
“Some animal. I think he is dead, however.” He lighted a torch and went
nearer, touched the creature with his foot. The shot had hit him
squarely, shattering his head.
“Only a poor fox. Nothing for our breakfast;” yet he gave a cheerful
laugh.
“Oh, I am glad it was nothing worse.”
“Do not dream of trouble. The good God will watch over us.”
She pressed his hand. She was glad to be near a lightsome, courageous
human being.
Presently she stole back to her bed. Nothing else came to startle them.
When she woke again the sun was shining. Valbonais had kindled a fire,
shot and dressed some birds and was broiling them before the coals.
“Was it a dream,” she asked, “or did you really shoot in the night?”
“Yes; and I have taken a part of the fox’s coat. It may be useful for
moccasin soles before we are through.”
“Poor thing!” she said pityingly.
The breakfast was delightful, after the two days of dried fish. Then
Renée found a patch of wild strawberries that the birds had not
discovered. They were dead ripe and luscious. Now they went on with
cheerful hearts, keeping the river in sight, but meeting nothing more
alarming than a herd of roaming deer. It was useless to fire at them;
birds would be more to the purpose. Toward night they struck a rude
cabin, made by hunters, as it did not look like Indian workmanship.
There had been a fire, but since that time it had rained. Inside was a
table and a bed of dried hemlock branches.
“I think we had better stay,” Valbonais announced. “It is a hunter’s
cabin, evidently, and no one has been here for some time. There is a
little stream of excellent water. We will trust luck, at all events.”
They had some supper and were glad of shelter, for it came on to rain,
but no such terrific storm as that which had worked such havoc with
Black Feather and his party. The soft patter on the leaves was
delightful music, though for awhile the rustle of the wind seemed almost
like the advance of human beings.
It was well they were under shelter, for it rained all the next day. No
one came to molest them. Valbonais caught such an excellent supply of
fish that he cooked some for the following day. If there was only any
ripe fruit!
“It was late in May when we left St. Louis,” Wawataysee said.
“And now it is June. What day I do not know.”
“Let us count back.”
But their reckoning was not alike. They forgot, and then recalled
incidents that had marked days, then lost count again. Renée was
wretchedly tired.
“Poor little thing!” exclaimed Wawataysee. “She has been very good and
courageous, but it is hard for her. And look at her poor little
moccasins—out to the ground.”
“Then Mr. Foxskin will serve us a useful purpose. I have nothing to
fasten them on with, but can tie them with strips of his skin to-morrow.
And yours?”
She flushed. Hers were in the same plight.
“But I can stand hardships better,” and she smiled cheerfully.
Renée slept all the afternoon and woke much refreshed. It had stopped
raining, and now they were full of plans for to-morrow. The moon came
out—the baby star had travelled nearly across it.
“I am glad it is a new moon. We shall have some benefit of it the rest
of our journey,” their guide said.
“Oh, when shall we get home?” cried Renée impatiently. “Do you suppose
there have been any more Indian assaults?”
“You have been remarkably favored at St. Louis. To the east, towns have
been burned, people taken captive by scores or murdered. And up north it
seems to have been a regular battlefield, with the French losers every
time. Think of the English holding our splendid Quebec and Montreal!”
“I have been in Quebec, monsieur,” declared Renée, with amusing dignity.
“And France, too,” added Wawataysee.
Then Renée found herself quite a heroine in the eyes of Valbonais, and
was delighted to recall her experiences.
They left the cabin and journeyed on; slept in the woods that night and
the next. There had been several feasts of berries; they saw some green
plums and green wild grapes, but neither were tempting. Now, some way,
it seemed as if they had lost their reckoning. The river certainly was
to the west of them.
“And we must go southward.” said Wawataysee.
Their good fortune had failed them to-day. They had found nothing. They
were tired and hungry. And if they were lost!——
They turned into an opening. Here ran a clear creek, at which they
quenched their thirst.
“Let us follow it some distance at least. It must go to the river. It
has quite a current.”
It suddenly widened out and grew larger as they went on. They glanced at
each other in dismay.
“If it goes to the river, how can we cross so wide a stream? Could
either of us swim with the child? I think it would be better to go back
and cross where it is narrower.”
So they retraced their steps and found that it was fed by a rivulet on
the other side, almost hidden by the grass. Valbonais paused a moment to
enjoy the picture. Everywhere the most serene quiet. Songs of birds, the
call of some animal, the rustle of a deer and the brown, startled eyes
gazing at one. The green of the foliage with its light and varying
shades, the long stretches of wild grass dotted with various-colored
flowers, and here and there a silvery streak of sand like a silver
ribbon.
On and on, the creek growing narrower. The man’s eyes caught sight of a
young fallen tree.
“I think I can bridge it over. Let me try this,” and he dragged the tree
to the edge, stood it up, letting it fall with some force. It just
touched the opposite shore.
“Now if I could find another. Why did I not capture a hatchet in my raid
on the Indians!”
“The water is clear and deep,” said Wawataysee; “too deep for one to
wade.”
“I could cross it with the child. Still I will see if there is not
another dead tree.”
This time it was a larger one. It took their united strength to raise
it, but it went straight across, making quite a promising bridge.
“Would you dare?” He glanced at the Indian girl with an assurance of her
courage.
“Would I dare?” She laughed melodiously. Then she looked steadily at it
a moment, started like an arrow from a bow and in a flash was across.
“Oh, how beautiful! Can I try?” Renée clapped her hands, and her face
was brimming with delighted eagerness.
“Wait a moment.” Valbonais picked up the blanket and strapped his gun to
his back, convoying them over safely and depositing them on the ground.
“I wonder if we dare trust the child?”
“Oh, I think so. It is such a step,” Wawataysee answered.
He went back to her. “You will not be afraid, little one? You can run
swiftly, and if you can keep a steady head——”
“Yes, yes!” Wawataysee stood with outstretched arms and smiled. Renée
started with a child’s audacity. The round logs, instead of the flat
surface, confused her and she hesitated, lost her balance and went down
with a cry. Valbonais sprang into the creek, but missed his first grasp
of her. The next brought her safely up and Wawataysee took her,
frightened and half strangled. Valbonais shook himself and laughed.
“I would rather the clothes had not taken a bath. And she is wet, but
not injured.”
“It slipped and rolled,” the child began, “and then I couldn’t keep on.
Oh, dear! I am all dripping.”
“Roll her in a blanket. I am sorry it is so near dark and we cannot tell
quite which way to go.”
“We must keep on toward the Illinois,” said Wawataysee. “Oh, and now I
think we came up a creek to the Peorias’ lodge. What if this should be
the stream? Then we are nearer home than I thought.”
Her eyes shone like stars, her voice was freighted with joy, for her
thought was an inspiration.
“I do not see how we could have gone out of the way,” he returned,
knitting his brows.
“The river winds. We may have shortened our journey a little by it. And
if we could find the lodge! Oh, I can’t help feeling that we are all
right!”
She was wringing Renée’s garments and rubbing her with a blanket.
Valbonais pressed the water out of his, and tried to catch the
inspiration.
“Now we must go on. Renée, you must keep the blanket about you,” the
elder said.
“But it is so warm. I am most smothered.”
“It will be cooler presently,” in a consoling tone.
“And I am so hungry!” she said, half crying.
They had eaten nothing since morning.
“We are all hungry. And if we can find those kindly Indians they will
give us a feast.”
“I hope she is right.” Valbonais thought.
They walked briskly onward for a while. The moon came up and shed its
silver radiance, setting the little stream with gems and showering the
trees with her effulgent flood. But to-night they could not enjoy
it—could hardly keep hope alive.
“I am so tired!” Renée began to cry in earnest and stopped short. The
reaction had come and she shivered with a chill. Her slight frame was in
a collapse.
“I will carry her,” said Valbonais. “We shall get along faster.”
Wawataysee took the other blanket and the gun. The summer night was
growing chilly here at the edge of the creek. They waded through the
other stream. Renée’s head drooped on the man’s shoulder. She had
forgotten her troubles in sleep. But presently he had to pause with his
burden.
“Let us sit here and rest awhile. And if you could sleep an hour it
would refresh you so much.”
Wawataysee leaned against a great tree bole that was like a column. The
relaxation was grateful. What with fatigue and hunger, nature was
overpowered and they all slept. When Wawataysee awoke the darkness
startled her. The moon had gone down. She stretched out her hand in half
terror.
“You have had a nice sleep,” began Valbonais cheerfully. “I, too, caught
a nap. It must be near morning. Do you feel that you can go on?”
“Oh, yes! And the child? How strong and courageous you are!”
He stood Renée down and she roused. “Oh, where are we?” she cried in
affright.
“Here, dear.” Wawataysee took her hand. “We are going to the Indian
lodge, where we shall get some breakfast. Can you walk?”
“Why, yes. But I _am_ tired. Will we soon be there? And, oh, I wish it
was not so dark!”
Still, she went on without further complaint. Darker and darker it
seemed. She gave her other hand to Valbonais. They both felt she lagged
a little.
Suddenly a rosy light shot up in the east, and out of it great spires of
crimson and gold that set the heavens aflame. The stars hung low in the
northwest, and one by one dropped out of sight. Countless birds filled
the air with melody, and every tree and shrub shook out its fragrance.
“Courage!” Wawataysee said, but her voice was tremulous with her
twenty-four hours’ fast. And the walk seemed interminable. Her feet were
shodden with lead.
Oh, what was this? Fields of young corn, shedding its peculiar fragrance
as the dew was vanishing in the drier air of morning. In the distance
hooded wigwams, a palisade to the north for shelter, blue-gray curling
wreaths going up from newly kindled fires. The barking of dogs and the
curious, pervasive sense of human life.
It seemed as if an army of dogs rushed out. An authoritative voice
checked them, and an Indian came forward to learn the cause of the
alarm. Wawataysee sank down on a stone and the world seemed whirling
round, while Renée, crying, fell into her lap.