ANNETTE FORMS AN HEROIC RESOLVE.
All day long Annette was in sore trouble, for she felt that the
words of the rebel chief boded no good to herself or to her deliverer.
"Why should he think that I loved Captain Stephens?" the girl
murmured, as a soft tinge of crimson stole into her cheek. "I am sure
that I behaved in no way to him, that a girl should not act towards
the man who had risked his life to save hers."
With the dusk came her father, his horse covered with foam; for he
had ridden fast and far.
"Why is my daughter's cheek so pale?" he asked as he came into the
sweet, tidy cottage, with its trailing morning glories, and bunches
of mignonette.
"I have been a little disturbed, papa. The Metis chief and one of
his friends stayed here last night. O, I do fear that we are now very
near an outbreak. Is it not so, my father? Will you not tell me?"
"It is even so, child. Already nearly a thousand men, including
Bois-Brule's and Indians have arms in their hands, and await the
words of their leaders."
"But, papa, can good really come of this insurrection which you
propose? I mean, mon pere, can you and Monsieur Riel, with your
scattered followers, who have no money, no garrisons, no means of
holding out in a long struggle, hope to overcome the numerous trained
soldiers of the Government, with the money and the enthusiasm of a
nation at their back?"
"You talk, my daughter, as if some friend of Government had been
pouring his tale into your ear. Now, Annette, child, I love you very
dearly, and I am grateful to this young man who has saved your life;
but as the opinions which you have expressed could only have come
from him I must ask that further intercourse between you and him
ceases till this great issue has been fought out and settled."
"Captain Stephens, mon pere, has never uttered a word to me about
these matters; and the opinions which I have, worthless though they
be, are my own. Ah, papa, you surely have not forgotten the last
struggle. Monsieur Riel, then, had some sort of right to set up his
authority in a province which for a time came not under the
jurisdiction of the Company or of the Dominion; the clergy were at
his back; he had possession of the strongest Fort in the North-West
Territories, and provisions enough to supply his forces for a year.
Yet, at the very beating of the soldiers' drums he fled like a felon,
and was obliged to beg a mouthful of food in his flight to exile. The
circumstances now are not nearly so auspicious. How, then, can you
hope to succeed?"
"You are not familiar, child, with affairs in these territories; and
you neither know the extent of the discontent, nor the causes which
have led to it. The Half-Breed people and the Indian tribes have been
treated by government and their agents, worse than we would use our
dogs. Instead of sending honest and capable men to rule here, they
appoint adventurers whose only object is to make money during their
residence, at the expense of the people. You are not wholly ignorant
of the conduct of Lieutenant-Governor Tewtney. Since his arrival in
the territories he has never been known to give a patient hour to
hearing the grievances of the half-breed people; but he is forever
abroad grabbing up plots of choice land, and securing timber and
mineral leases; or furthering the schemes of knots of friends and
advisers gathered about him. I shall relate one instance which has
just came to light, and it will serve as an example of this man's
career. Some time ago a friend of his imported a large quantity of
meat, but upon arrival it was found to be unwholesome and foul. This
man went to Governor Tewtney and he said.
"'All my consignment of meat is spoilt. Isn't that a great loss?'
"'No loss at all my dear friend,' replied the Governor: 'give it to
the Indians and half-breeds.' Now you are aware that government had
undertaken to give relief to the Indians and to the Metis, with
employment that would bring them food. Well, this meat was given to
both, and for every pound of the foul meat the wretched Breed or
Indian was charged fifteen, cents. One of the chief's and also a
Metis, went to the Governor and complained that the meat was vile and
unwholesome; but they only received this in reply:
"'You are becoming very choice, you fellows. You will eat this meat,
or starve and be d--d.'
"Year after year, the half-breed who has toiled upon his holding, has
applied for a grant of this holding under the law, but has applied in
vain; and a friend of Mr. Tewtney coming in may drive him off his
farm, and profit by his toil and skill.
"All these things have been represented at Ottawa by the priests and
the people; and the only reply that has been obtained, in effect, is
this:
"'What a troublesome, noisy set these savages and half-breeds are!
Cease pestering us. We will not, and cannot, do more for you than we
have done.'
"When a new minister of these Territories was appointed, our priests
waited at his office and besought him for God's holy sake, to listen
to the people's wrongs; and to enquire into the doings of Governor
Tewtney; but it is a fact that he actually went asleep in his chair,
while the delegates were stating their case. Instead of making
enquiry into the grievances, he hastily packed his trunks and went
away to England to obtain a knighthood, which had been promised to
him. While he was running back and forth between his lodgings and
Downing street, the officials here were laying upon our backs the
last weight that our endurance could bear."
While he was speaking there suddenly arose, outside, a jingling of
bells, and a clashing of cymbals; and looking through the window
father and daughter beheld a numerous band of painted Indians
advancing, brandishing tomahawks, and singing war songs.
"I hope these savages will not make a bungle of things," the Colonel
said; "I wonder who has started them upon the war-path?" Then going
to the door he raised his voice.
"Where go my friends the Crees?"
The chief, a tall and magnificent savage, put his finger on his lips
and advanced:
"Me speak inside with the colonel. Chief Louis Riel has ordered our
braves to surround the Hickory Bush, when the moon rises. Captain
Stephens, police spy, and heap of other spies there. Take em all and
put em in wigwam a long way off. Mebbe shoot em. Tall Elk comes to
see if Great Colonel would like to come too."
"Thank you, chief; I would rather not be at the capture of Captain
Stephens. You know he saved la Reina here, from being drowned in the
whirlpool."
The "Queen" was the name by which Annette was known among all the
Indians and Metis that lived upon the plain. "But," continued the
Colonel, "I hope that Tall Elk and his braves will do no harm to
Stephens. He is not with us, but he is a brave, good man, and love
our people. In acting against us he is only doing his duty."
"Ugh! It is well," grunted the chief. "Will look after Stephens
myself."
But this assurance did not satisfy Annette, who stood, during the
dialogue, with throbbing heart and pale cheek. The threats of the
Rebel Chief still lingered in her ear; and she knew that her
deliverer's life would not be safe in the hands of the terrible man.
She said naught, but a bold resolution passed like a flame through
her brain. In a little while the chief departed, and at the head of
his painted warriors struck out across the dark prairie in the
direction of Hickory Bush. The Bush was about twelve miles distant,
and the rising of the moon would be in two hours.
In a little while the girl said, "Papa, I am so disturbed to-night
that I cannot sit up with you as long as usual: good-night." Then she
kissed her father who caressed her silken hair; and she left the room.
Now, Annette had as a companion or attendant, an orphan girl, named
Julie. She was not tall and graceful like Annette, but her olive face
was stained with delicate carnation, and her little mouth resembled a
rose just about to open. She was intelligent, active and
affectionate; and the great aim of her existence was to serve a
mistress whom she almost adored.
"Come to me, Julie," Annette whispered as she passed the girl.
"Well, mademoiselle, what can Julie do?"
"Captain Stephens, as you are aware, ma petite Julie, is to be
captured to-night by those savages who have just left our house.
Monsieur Riel hates my deliverer, and I shudder to think that he
should fall into his hands. I mean to-night to warn him of his danger.
"Brava!" exclaimed the girl; "c'est bon! It is so like my brave
mistress. Ah, mademoiselle, I have seen Monsieur le Chef look upon
you; and there was great love in his eye. But it was not the good,
the _holy_ kind. Ah! It was bad. He hates le Capitaine, because
he saved you from the chute.
"Ah, then my little Julie, you know? Yes, it is all as you say; and
this is why my heart flutters so for the fate of Monsieur Stephens. I
want my bay saddled and led quietly out to the poplar bush; and I
shall come there in a little."
Julie kissed the forehead of her mistress, and then tripped away
daintily and softly as a fawn to do the bidding.
Before ten minutes had elapsed, an Indian boy, of lithe and graceful
figure, walked swiftly down the path toward the bush. As he reached
the little grove, another figure emerged from the shadow and said in
a low tone:
"Tres bien!" This was Julie, and the Indian boy was Annette,
disguised so perfectly that her father could not have guessed the
truth were he standing by. She wore a buff coat and deer skin
leggings; and about her waist was a belt in which were stuck a long
knife and a pair of pistols. She patted her pony, took the bridle in
her little brown hand, and vaulted lightly into her seat. "There now,
Julie; return quickly, and go to your room."
"Au plaisir, portez-vous bien, ma maitresse."
"I shall take care of myself. Adieu;" and she galloped down the
grassy knoll, and out upon the prairie.
Although the plain was a great, dusky blur, this observant maiden
knew the route as accurately as if the meridian sun were shining; and
her horse, guessing that his mistress was on an errand of life and
death, flew lightly over the level sod, as if he were a thing woven
of the winds. She was aware that her horse could outdistance an
Indian pony; and after half an hour's ride knew that the band must
now be fully a couple of miles in the rear. But she kept on till she
judged that fifteen minutes more must bring her to the encampment at
Hickory Bush. Then through the hush of the night came to her ear a
far off, indistinct sound, which resembled galloping thunder. She
knew not what it could mean, unless indeed it was the tumult of some
distant waterfall, borne hither now because, mayhap, a storm was
brewing, and the dense air was a better carrier of the sound. The
moon was now pushing its wide yellow edge above the plain, and she
was enabled to see objects for a considerable distance around. But
nothing met her view, save here and there a hummock or a clump of
poplars. She rode on marvelling what the sound might be, for the
noise was constantly becoming louder, and growing
"Nearer, clearer, deadlier than before"
when lo! out of the west come what seemed a dim shadow moving across
the plain. With hushed breath she watched the dark mass move along
like some destroying tempest and, as it seemed to her, with ten
thousand devils at its core. Chained to the ground with a terrible
awe, she stood fast for many minutes, till at last in the dim light
she saw eye-balls that blazed like fire, heads crested with rugged,
uncouth horns and shaggy manes; and then snouts thrust down, flaring
nostrils, and rearing tails.
"My God, a buffalo herd!" she exclaimed. Close at hand was a tall
boulder in the shelter of which she instantly secured her horse; then
running a few paces to where stood a tall, sturdy poplar, she
clambered into its branches.
Then the tremendous mass, headed by maddened bulls, with blazing
eyes and foaming nostrils, drove onward toward the south, like an
unchained hurricane. Some of the terrified beasts ran against the
trees, crushing horns and skull, and fell prone upon the plain to be
trampled to jelly by the hundreds of thousands in rear. The tree upon
which the girl had taken refuge received many a shock from a crazed
bull; and it seemed to Annette from her perch in the branches, as if
all the face of the plains was being hurled toward the south in the
wildest turmoil. Hell itself let loose could present no such
spectacle as this myriad mass of brute life sweeping over the lonely
plain under the elfin light of the new-risen moon. Clouds of steam,
wreathing themselves into spectral shapes rose from the dusky,
writhing mass, and the flaming of myriad eyeballs in the gloom
presented a picture more terrible than ever came into the imagination
of the writer of the Inferno.
The spectacle, as observed by the girl some twenty feet from the
ground, might be likened somewhat to a turbulent sea when a sturdy
tide sets against the storm, and the mad waves tumble hither and
thither, foiled and impelled, yet for all the confusion and
obstruction moving in one direction with a sweep and a force that no
power could chain.
Circling among and around the strange dusk clouds of steam that went
up from the herd were scores of turkey buzzards, their obscene heads
bent downward, their sodden eyes gleaming with expectancy. Well they
knew that many a gorgeous feast awaited them wherever boulder, tree
or swamp lay in the path of the mighty herd. At last the face of the
prairie had ceased its surging; no lurid eye-ball light gleamed out
of the dusk; and the tempest of cattle had passed, and went rolling
out into the unbounded stretches of the dim, yellow plain.
When the ground was clear she descended from the tree, every limb
trembling, lest in the delay the Indians should have accomplished
their object. When she reached her horse, she found near by a heap of
dead and struggling buffalo, which in their headlong race had run
over the bluff front of the boulder. When she resumed her gallop she
observed that the great amplitude of rich grasses was like unto a
ploughed field. The herbage had been literally crushed into mire, and
this the innumerable hoofs had churned up with the soft rich soil.
The leguminous odors of the trodden clover and the rank masses of
wild pease, together with the dank earthy smell of the broken sod,
rose offensively in the girl's face. Her course now lay along an
upland covered with straggling copses of white oak and poplar. In the
dim valley beyond, lying drunken under the moonlight, was Hickory
Bush. Upon the solid crest of the little hill the hoofs rang out
sharply; but the girl's quick ear detected noises besides those which
came from the trample of her horse. Still she swept on, with a long
swing, resembling the flight of a swallow. A small grove lay in
front, and as she swerved around this a horseman sprang suddenly
before her.
"Stop!"