WE CHOOSE OUR COURSE
Tim grinned at me, but did not appear particularly flattered at his
reception.
"Not quite so fast, yung lady," he said, stuttering a bit and holding
the pipe in his hand. "I reckon I wus thar all right, just as ye say,
an' thet I did yer a mighty mean turn, but I ain't such a dern ornary
cuss as ye think--am I, Cap?"
"No, you are not," I hastened to explain. "Miss Beaucaire does not
understand, that is all. We have been talking together for some time,
but I had forgotten to tell her that you were one of her rescuers.
Kennedy here, merely supposed he was doing his duty, until he learned
what Kirby contemplated. Then he refused to have any hand in it and
the two quarreled. Shall I relate that part of the story?"
Her eyes softened, her lips almost smiling.
"Yes," she said. "I am glad to know; tell me all."
I described Tim's part in the whole tragedy swiftly, while he shifted
awkwardly from one foot to the other and occasionally interjected some
comment or correction. He was not wholly at ease in the role of hero,
nor under the steadfast gaze of her eyes. As I stopped speaking she
held out her hand frankly.
"Then I shall count you my friend now," she said simply. "And I am so
delighted to understand everything. There are four of us here,
counting the mulatto girl, and we are in hiding not far from Yellow
Banks. You both think that Kirby and Rale must be hunting us already?"
"Probably; they are very certain not to be very far away. I was
planning our course when I glanced up and caught your eyes watching
me--"
"And I--I thought I saw a ghost," she interrupted. "And then, when,
you actually spoke, I--I was so glad."
Tim's eyes fell upon the map, lying outspread on the ground.
"An' whut did ye think wus best, Cap?" he inquired gravely. "'Tain't
likely we got all summer ter sit 'round yere an' talk in. I reckon we
done rested 'bout long 'nough. 'Tain't such a bad place, but my notion
is, we ought ter be joggin' 'long."
"Mine also. Come over here, both of you, and I'll give you my idea. I
figured our chances in this way."
In a few words I explained my choice of route, pointing it out on the
map and telling them briefly why I was afraid to seek refuge either at
Fort Madison or Fort Armstrong, or, indeed, at any of the nearer
settlements. Eloise said nothing, her gaze rising from the map to our
faces as we debated the question, for Tim spoke his mind freely, his
stubby forefinger tracing the course I had indicated.
"Thar's a trail south o' yere thet leads ter a town called Ottaway, an'
thar's another trail north o' yere--Injun, I reckon--whut runs straight
east. Whar we are is plum in atween the two ov 'em, but it looks like
it might be gud travelin'. Enyhow, thar ain't no rivers er nuthin' so
fer as I see. What's this Ottaway, enyhow?"
"There is a small settlement there and a blockhouse. Possibly there
are other settlements between here and there, not on the map."
"How fer do yer make it--frum this place ter thar?"
"Well, here is probably the stream we waded up last night--see. I
should say we must be about where I make this mark. To Ottawa? I will
make a guess that it is a bit over a hundred miles, and from there to
Chicago sixty or seventy more. Those last would be over a good trail."
"An' whar do yer reckon are them Injuns--the hostile ones; this yere
bunch o' Black Hawk's?"
"Somewhere up Rock River, or along the Green Valley. I'll point it out
to you--see; there is where Black Hawk had his village and his hunters
ranged all over this country, down as far as the Illinois. Of course,
I cannot tell where they are now, for that depends on how far the
soldiers have driven them, but it would be my guess they will be
somewhere in here--between Prophetstown and the Winnebago Swamp."
"Let's see; thet ain't so dern fer away either. I reckon this yere
course ye've just picked out wudn't take us mor'n twenty mile er so
away. 'Spose we'd run inter a raidin' party o' them red bucks. I
ain't got much hair, but I kin use whut I hav' got."
"I am not sure, Tim, but I would even prefer that to being overtaken by
Joe Kirby and the gang he'll probably have with him," I retorted, my
gaze on the questioning face of the girl. "However, there is little
chance of our encountering such a party. The soldiers are all coming
up from the south and are bound to force Black Hawk's warriors to the
other bank of the Rock. There will be nothing but barren country east
of here. What do you say, Miss Eloise?"
Her eyes met mine bravely, without a shadow of doubt in them.
"I shall go wherever you say," she replied firmly, "I believe you will
know best."
"Then I decide on this route. Once we get beyond the swamp, those
fellows are going to have a hard task following us, unless they have an
Indian trailer along with them. We have been here several hours; the
horses must be rested. Let's eat what we can again and then start. We
must find a way out of this labyrinth while we have daylight."
Kennedy stood up and stared about us at the desolate scene, the
expression of his face proving his dissatisfaction with the prospect.
"O' course, I'm a goin' 'long with yer, Cap," he acknowledged, dryly.
"I never wus no quitter, but this yere trip don't look so damned easy
ter me, fer all thet. Howsumever I reckon we'll pull through som'how,
on fut, er hossback. I'll wake up thet dark gurl an' then saddle the
hosses."
I watched him round the corner of the cabin, not wholly at ease in my
own mind, then gathered up the map and replaced it in my pocket, aware
that Eloise had not moved from her position on the grass.
"Is he right?" she questioned, looking up at me. "Is there any real
danger of Indians?"
"Some, perhaps; it is all Indian country, north and east of here--or
has been. I am not denying that, but this danger does not compare, in
my mind, with the peril which confronts us in every other direction. I
am trying to choose the least. Our greatest difficulty will be the
lack of food--we possess no guns with which to kill game, only pistols,
and an exceedingly small stock of ammunition. That is what troubles
Tim; that, and his eagerness to get back down the river. He fails to
realize what it would mean to you to fall again into Kirby's hands."
"Do you realize?"
"Do I? It is the one memory which controls me. Tell me, am I not
right? No, not about the route, but about the man. You despise the
fellow; you are willing to face any hardship so as to escape him?"
"I would rather die than have him touch me. I never knew the meaning
of hate before. Surely you cannot deem it possible that I could ever
forgive?"
"No; that would be hard to conceive; and yet, I wished to hear the
words from your own lips. Will you answer me one thing more--why did
you first assume the character of Rene, and why did you repose such
instant trust in me?"
She smiled rather wistfully, her long lashes concealing her eyes.
"I think I myself hardly knew," she admitted timidly. "It all
happened, was born of impulse, rather than through any plan. Perhaps
it was just the woman in me. After my father died, Delia thought it
best to tell us the story of Rene's birth. This--this was such a
terrible tale, and later we sought all through his private papers,
hoping he had taken some action to set those two free. There was no
proof that he had, no mention, indeed, except a memorandum of intention
to refer the matter to Lawyer Haines at the Landing. This merely
served to confirm what Delia had told us, and, as Haines had gone to
St. Louis, we were unable to see him. We were all of us nearly crazed;
I was even afraid Rene would throw herself into the river. So I
suggested that we run away and drew money out of my private account for
that purpose. My only thought was to take a steamer up the Ohio, to
some place where we were not known, and begin life over again. Rene
had been a sister to me always; we were playmates from childhood, and I
had grown up loving and trusting Delia ever since I was a baby. No
sacrifice was too great to prevent their being sold into slavery. Oh,
you cannot understand--I had no mind left; only a blind impulse to save
them."
I caught her hand in mine and held it firmly.
"Perhaps I do understand. It was my knowledge of this very condition
which first brought me to you."
"You heard about us on the boat--the _Warrior_? Did father tell you?"
"No; it was Kirby. He was actually proud of what he had done--boasted
to me of his success. I have never known a man so heartlessly
conceited. Eloise, listen. You may have thought this was largely an
accident. It was not; it was a deliberately planned, cold-blooded
plot. I tell you that Joe Kirby is of the devil's own breed; he is not
human. Rene's father told him first of the peculiar conditions at
Beaucaire."
"Rene's father! Does--does he still live?"
"No; but he did live for years after he disappeared, supporting himself
by gambling on the lower river. At one time he and Kirby were
together. After he died Kirby investigated his story in St. Louis and
found that it was true. Then he laid this plot to gain control of
everything, including both of you girls--a plot surely hatched in hell."
"You know this to be true? How?"
"Partly, as I have said, from Kirby's own lips. In addition Jack Rale
added what he knew--they are birds of a feather."
"But it seems so impossible, so like fiction. How could the man hope
to succeed; to consummate such a crime? Besides, why should he desire
us--Rene and I--whom he had never seen?"
"It can only be explained when you know the man. He had heard you
described as a beautiful woman--that was enough for his type. He had
convinced himself that Rene was a slave--his slave, once he had
successfully played his trick. He knew you to be an heiress with a sum
of money in your own right, which he could only hope to touch through
marriage. The man dreamed of owning Beaucaire, of possessing all it
contained. He was willing to risk everything to carry out his
hell-born scheme, and to ruin everyone who interfered with him. I am
telling you all this, Eloise, because it is now time you should know.
Will you not tell me just how it all came to you?"
Her hands clung to me, as though she dare not let go; her eyes were
filled with a mingling of wonderment and pain.
"Why, of course. We thought it best not to go until after we could see
the lawyer. I could not believe my father had neglected to set those
two free--he--he loved them both. Delia and Rene had gone down to the
Landing that night to see if he had returned. We were both of us
afraid to leave Rene alone--she was so despondent, so unstrung. It was
dark and I was all alone in the house. Then these men came. They did
not know me and I did not know them, but I was sure what they came for.
I was terribly frightened, without an idea what to do--only I refused
to talk. All I could do was to pray that the others might be warned
and not return. They searched the house and then left this man Tim to
guard me. He told me he was a deputy sheriff from St. Louis, and--and
I encouraged him to explain all he knew about the case. Then I made up
my mind what to do--I would pretend to be Rene, and let them carry me
off instead of her."
"But did you not realize the danger to yourself?"
"No, I suppose I didn't; or rather I did not care. All I thought about
was how to save her. These were law officers; they would take me to
St. Louis before a court. Then I could make myself known and would be
set free. They couldn't do anything else, could they? There was no
law by which I could be held, but--but, don't you see? The delay might
give Rene time to escape. That was not wrong, was it?"
"Wrong! It was one of the bravest things I ever heard of. And I know
the rest--your encounter with Kirby in the library. I overheard all of
that through the open window, and how you learned from him that certain
legal papers would have to be served on Eloise Beaucaire before any of
the slaves could be touched, or removed from the estate. That
knowledge only brought you new courage to play out your part. But why
did you trust me enough to go with me? And, after trusting me so
fully, why did you refuse to tell me who you really were?"
Her eyes fell before mine, and her cheeks were flushed.
"I--I do not believe I can tell you that, Lieutenant. You--you see I
am not even sure I know. At first, there in the library, I was
compelled to choose instantly between you, and--and something
infinitely worse. I--I supposed that man Kirby was dead; that--that
you had killed him to save me. I--I looked into your face, and--and it
was a man's face; you said you were an army officer. I--I had to
believe and trust you. There was no other way. Please do not ask me
to explain any more."
"I shall not--only just this. If you actually believed in me, trusted
me, as you say, why should you still claim to be Rene; and continually
remind me there was negro blood in your veins; that you were a negress
and a slave?"
"You think that strange? I did trust you, Lieutenant Knox, and I
trusted you more completely the longer we were together. But--but I
did not wholly understand. You were endeavoring to rescue Rene from
slavery. I could not conceive what interest you might feel if I should
confess myself Eloise. You were strange to me; we were there alone
with the negro, and--and somehow it seemed a protection to me to claim
a drop of black blood. Twice I thought to tell you--the words were on
my lips--but something stopped them. Possibly, just a little, I was
afraid of you."
"Then--but not now?"
"No, not now--not even a little; you have proven yourself all I ever
hoped you would be. I am glad--so glad--to say to you now, I am Eloise
Beau--"
She stopped suddenly, the word half uttered, the smile fading from her
lips. She withdrew her hands from my clasp and pressed them over her
eyes.
"My God!" she burst forth. "But I am not! I am not! Why, I never
felt the horror of it all before--I am not Eloise Beaucaire!"
A moment I stood motionless, seeming to hold my breath, my eyes open,
struck silent by the intense bitterness of that cry. Then the reaction
came, the knowledge that I must turn her thought elsewhere.
"Do not say that, or even think it," I urged, scarcely able to restrain
myself from grasping her in my arms. "Even if it shall prove
true--legally true--some way of escape will be found. The others are
safe, and you are going to need all your courage. Pledge me to forget,
to ignore this thing. I need you."
Her hands fell nerveless and her questioning eyes sought my face. They
were tearless, unabashed.
"You are right, Lieutenant Knox," she said frankly. "I owe my loyalty
now to you. I shall not yield again to despair; you may trust me--my
friend."
The day was not yet ended when we finally retraced our way across the
narrow dyke to the mainland, prepared to resume our journey. The
passage was slow and dangerous, and we made it on foot, leading the
horses. The woods were already beginning to darken as we forded the
north branch of the creek, and came forth through a fringe of forest
trees into a country of rolling hills and narrow valleys. The two
girls were already mounted, and Tim and I were busily tightening the
straps for a night's ride, when, from behind us, back in the direction
of the peninsula we had just quitted, there sounded the sharp report of
a rifle. We straightened up, startled, and our eyes met. There could
be but one conclusion--our pursuers had found the trail.