THE doubts and fears of the past weeks and the terror of the moment
alike dropped from Alagwa, giving place to measureless peace and rest.
Jack was well and strong again; his voice had rung out as no sick man’s
could ring. He had come to her aid. He would stand by her. She was
glad, glad, that he knew her secret. She was so tired of playing the
man. Closer she buried her head on Fantine’s ample bosom and let her
happy tears stream down.
Fantine did not speak. She stroked the girl’s dark hair and patted her
comfortingly on the back. But her eyes ranged forward, watching for
what was to come.
Those in the room were divided into two parties, facing each other. On
one side, close to the overturned table, stood Hibbs and his company,
hands on pistols, waiting. Beside them Williams was climbing to his
feet from the floor to which Jack’s blow had hurled him. Facing them
stood Jack with blazing eyes, grasping a long pistol, blue-barrelled,
deadly. Behind him Fantine held Alagwa in her arms. Over her shoulder
Cato and Rogers peered, grimly waiting. Between the two parties sat
Stickney, looking with plaintive, fever-filled eyes for the table so
suddenly wrenched from beneath his hands.
For a little the picture held. Then Alagwa remembered that Jack was
facing foes. Perhaps----
She whirled around, tearing herself from the French woman’s arms, and
sprang to his side, dropping her hand to the hunting knife at her belt.
She spoke no word, but her glittering eyes were eloquent. They bored
into those of Lieutenant Hibbs.
Perhaps Hibbs had no taste for a struggle. Perhaps he merely realized
that he had gone too far. Whatever his reasons, he let go his pistol
butt and laughed hoarsely.
“Have it your own way,” he scoffed, facing Jack with an assumption
of scorn. “This is a free country. Marry whom you d-- please. But if
you want to marry this boy--Humph! this--er--lady--you’ve got to do
it quick. If she isn’t your wife in an hour she goes out of this fort
for good and all. You’re white, and I’ll trust you to keep your wife
straight. But I’ll be d--d if I’ll trust any Indian-bred girl that
lives. I’ll give you an hour to send for Father Francisco and get tied
up. Understand! An hour! Not a minute more.”
Major Stickney rose totteringly to his feet. “But--but--but--” he
chattered, protestingly.
“Sit down!” Hibbs roared at him. “You’ve been preaching a h--l of a lot
about duty. All right! I’m doing my duty now. And part of it is to
drive out of this fort anybody that wants to see me and my men burned
at the stake. As far you”--he whirled on Peter Bondie--“if you and your
sister are afraid you can stay here.” He strode to the door then paused
on the threshold. “Remember! One hour!” he rasped, and trumped out of
the room, followed by his friends. A moment later the shrilling of a
bugle called the garrison to arms.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “That’s all right,” he sighed, smiling
at Alagwa. “You poor girl! What a little heroine you are. You were a
wonder as a boy, but as a girl--Good Heavens! How blind I’ve been. I
might have known that no boy could or would have done all that you have
done. Well, we haven’t much time----” He caught sight of Alagwa’s face
and broke off. “What’s the matter--er--Bob?” he asked, gently.
Alagwa raised her face to his. In her eyes burned a light that Jack had
never seen before--the light of renunciation. “The road is watched,”
she said. “Metea and his braves watch it. If we evade them and pass
unseen, they will come to the Maison Bondie at dawn, and if they find
us gone they will pursue. We can not escape them. Therefore you must
stay here, in the fort. I will go----”
“You?” Jack stared. Then he laughed. “You? My little comrade? My
little--Bob? I wasn’t just talking a moment ago. I will be very proud
and happy if you will be my wife. We’ve been jolly good friends, and
we’ll keep on--with a difference. You will marry me, won’t you--dear?”
He brought out the last word with a gulp.
Slowly Alagwa shook her head. “No!” she breathed.
Jack’s face showed surprise, perhaps disappointment, not to say
dismay. He stared at the girl and hesitated. Then he looked at his
watch. “Ten minutes of our hour is gone,” he said. “Bob, dear! you
must marry me! I’ll tell you why in a moment. But first”--he turned to
Rogers--“Rogers, go and get Father Francisco and bring him here. I’m
not of his church, but I suppose he won’t object on that score.”
Rogers nodded and started for the door, but stopped as Alagwa raised
her hand.
“Do not go,” she breathed. “It--is useless.”
Rogers hesitated, but Jack stepped over to him and spoke to him, and
with a nod of comprehension he went out.
Meanwhile Fantine had slipped to Alagwa’s side. “Men are all fools,”
she whispered, hurriedly. “They know not what they want. M. Jack spoke
today according to his kind. He thought of no girl in particular. He
only had fancies. Be not a fool and say him nay.”
Alagwa clutched the French woman’s arm. “Why did you tell him?” she
wailed.
“I told him nothing till he guess for himself. Parbleu! It was time!”
“He guessed? Guessed that I am Estelle Telfair----”
“Non! Non! He knows not that! He knows only that you are a girl and
that--Hush! He comes. I must go.” With a nod to Jack, the French woman
swept from the room, sweeping Cato before her.
Jack watched her go; then he went to Alagwa’s side and took her hands.
“Little comrade,” he said, gently. “You really _must_ marry me.”
“I can not.” The girl spoke so low that Jack could scarcely hear her.
“Why not?” he asked. “You don’t hate me, do you?”
Alagwa’s hands tightened in his. “Oh! No! No!” she breathed. “Not that!
Not that!”
“Then why----”
The girl raised her eyes. She was very young. But it was the day of
young marriages. The stress of life brought early maturity and Alagwa
was older far than her years. “Do you love me?” she asked, gravely.
Jack colored. Then he opened his mouth to begin the ready masculine lie.
But before he could utter it Alagwa cut him short. “Do not answer!”
she said, sadly but firmly. “I know you do not. You like me as a
comrade--a jolly good comrade--not as a wife. Soon you go back home and
you find the sweet, gentle lady of whom you speak today--or some other
like her. You have no place in your life for the brown wood-girl. For
the wood-boy you have a place, perhaps, but not for the wood-girl. I
know it. And I can not marry you!”
“That’s nonsense,” Jack spoke irritably. He had offered to marry the
girl because he thought she cared for him, because he felt that he owed
it to her, and because he felt his honor was involved. He had not yet
had time to think of her as anything but a boy--a comrade. Scarcely had
he realized that she was a woman. But the moment she refused him, his
desires began to mount. Jack was a real man and resembled most of his
sex.
“That’s nonsense!” he repeated. “There isn’t any ‘sweet, gentle lady.’
There was one, I admit. But she--she was older than I, and she’s
engaged and probably married and--Oh! I’ve forgotten her long ago. I’m
awfully fond of you and----”
“And I was fond of Wilwiloway--the chief that Williams murdered so
cruelly. The council of women say that he might take me to his wigwam.
But he say no; he want me not unless I love him. Shall I be less brave
than he? I did not love him and--and--you do not love me. So--so----”
“But I do love you!” For the moment Jack thought he did. “I do love
you,” he insisted; eagerly. “Haven’t I told you often how glad I was
that I found you? Hadn’t I planned to take you to Alabama with me?
Haven’t I sworn dozens of times that you were the jolliest little
friend I ever had? Doesn’t that show that I love you? I couldn’t say
more--thinking you were a boy! Come, be reasonable! The priest will be
here in a minute. Say you’ll marry me?”
Jack was speaking well. His arguments were unanswerable. His tones
were fervid. His wishes were unmistakable. But his words did not carry
conviction. He saw it and changed his arguments.
“You really must marry me, little comrade!” he pleaded. “Don’t you see
you must. You--You’ve been with me for more than a month and--and--You
remember what I said to you while we were riding down the Maumee--about
a girl getting talked about if she--I said if the man didn’t marry her
he ought to be shot. You remember? You won’t put me in such a position?
Oh! You really must marry me!”
But the girl shook her head. “No!” she said, firmly. “No!” She held out
her hand. “Good-by!” she said.
“Good-by?” Jack’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean?”
Alagwa’s pale lips curved into a smile. “Has the white chief
forgotten?” she asked. “The hour is almost done and I must go from the
fort. And you must stay.”
“Stay? I stay and you--Good Lord! My dear young woman, understand once
for all that when you go out of this fort I go too. Either you marry me
and stay, or we both go. That’s flat.”
Alagwa paled. “But you can not go with me,” she cried. “I--I will not
marry you, and if you travel with me now it--it would compromise me.”
“Piffle!” Jack shrugged his shoulders, utterly heedless of his change
of attitude. “If you go, I go too.”
“But--but it is death. Indeed, indeed, it is death.”
“All right!” Jack saw his advantage and pressed it hard. “All right,
death it is, then.”
Alagwa’s eyes filled with tears. Desperately she wrung her hands. “Oh!
You are a coward! A coward to treat me so,” she sobbed.
“All right. I’m a coward.” Jack made the admission cheerfully. “But I’m
going with you--unless you marry me and stay here.”
The door swung open, letting in the night. The parade ground was aglow.
Men with lanterns came and went. Wagons were being hurriedly piled
with luggage. Double lines of sentries guarded the walls. Evidently
Lieutenant Hibbs had obtained confirmation enough to alarm him and was
preparing for the worst.
As Jack glanced through the doorway Rogers entered, ushering in a man
who could be no one except Father Francisco. Behind trooped Fantine and
Cato, and back of them came Captain Hibbs, with Williams at his heels.
For a moment the captain glowered at the scene. “Tie them up, Father,”
he rasped. “The hour’s nearly gone, and, by God, I’ll keep my word.”
Jack turned to the girl. “Which is it to be, little comrade,” he asked.
With a sudden gesture of surrender the girl faced him. “Swear you will
never regret--never regret--never regret----” Her voice trailed away.
“Regret? Of course not. Come, Father! We’re ready.”
Father Francisco did his office promptly. Probably never before had he
married a man and a girl in boy’s clothes, but he asked no questions,
either as to that or as to the creeds of the strangely mated pair
before him. Creeds were for civilization and all it connoted, and
Father Francisco had been too long on the frontier to refuse his
offices to any who asked them. He tied Jack and Alagwa hard and fast,
delivered himself of a brisk and kindly little homily, blessed them,
pocketed the fee that Jack slipped into his hand, and went quietly away
to his duties.
A buzz of congratulations followed. Fantine wept over Alagwa’s curly
head. “Tell him who you are,” she whispered. “Tell him who you are.”
Then came Cato, who bowed over her hand and called her “Mist’ess.” Last
came Rogers.
“I’m mighty glad,” said the old man. “I always said you was a durned
nice boy and I calculate you’ll make a durned nice girl. I just want to
warn you about talking too much, but I guess it ain’t really necessary.
You ain’t always breaking in on them that’s older than you and trying
to air your opinions. Most folks keeps a-talkin’ and a-talkin’, but
you’re right quiet, and that’s a mighty good start toward a happy home.
I reckon you’ll do, even if you was brung up with the Injuns. I got
something for you. Leastways it’s for Jack, and I reckon it’s all the
same now.”
The old man dug a letter out of his pocket. “Here’s that epistle I was
tellin’ Jack about this afternoon,” he went on. “It come half an hour
ago, while you two was a-talkin’, and I got it and kept it till you
was through. It’s from Alabam’, and I reckon it’s from Jack’s folks.
I reckon you’d like to hand it to him. Anyway, I got to go now. Give
it to him when you like. I guess there ain’t anything in it that won’t
keep for a while.”
Alagwa took the letter. But Rogers was wrong in thinking that she was
glad to give it to Jack. Though proficient in the Indians’ picture
writing, she knew nothing of the white men’s lettering and she held it
in awe. Almost sooner would she have touched a snake. As quickly as
possible she handed it to Jack; then stood back and watched him as he
broke the seal.
As he began to read, something--perhaps it was Alagwa’s strained
attention--drew the eyes of the group upon him. Abruptly all grew
silent, as if something portentous was in the air.
Jack smiled as he read. Clearly the news was good. Then suddenly his
expression changed. A look of terror swept across his face. He flung up
his hands, reeled, and cried out. Then before even Alagwa could reach
him he toppled to the floor.
Instantly Alagwa was on her knees beside him. “Jack! Jack!” she wailed.
“Jack! Jack!”
Williams glowered at the pair in evil joy. Then he stooped and picked
the letter from the floor, to which it had fluttered from Jack’s
loosened fingers. For a moment he scanned it; then he looked up.
“I reckon this is what knocked him,” he jeered. “This here letter
says: ‘The girl you was sweet on ain’t married. She’s done broke her
engagement and she wants you to come back to her.’ An’ here he’s done
gone and tied up with a half-breed Injun cub. Ha! Ha!”
Alagwa’s face grew white. What was lacking in the letter her mind
supplied. Her brain reeled. Williams’s jeering laughter grew faint,
coming from an immeasurable distance; the candles spun round her in
enormous zigzags, the floor beneath her swayed. Blindly she stared,
all her being concentrated in one great determination not to faint.
Then she felt Fantine’s arms about her. Slowly self control came back
to her, and she raised her head. “Help me to get my husband to bed,”
she commanded.
* * * * *
Two hours later Alagwa, dressed for the road, stood looking down upon
Jack’s unconscious form. Her eyes were dry but her face betrayed the
ache that tore her heart.
She was not uneasy about Jack. The surgeon had seen him and had
declared that his set-back could be no more than temporary. “Good
Lord!” he exclaimed. “What would you have? From all accounts the boy’s
been under stress enough tonight to prostrate a well man. He’s blamed
lucky to get off as easy as he probably has. Take better care of him in
the future, madame!”
Alagwa had listened silently. She knew that more than exertion had
overcome Jack. Her mind was made up. Since Williams’s revelation she
had felt that she no longer had a place by her husband’s side. She had
saved his life in battle and had brought him safely back to his white
companions. Since then she had saved his life again by the care she
had taken of him. She had betrayed her friends in order that he might
be safe. And she had reaped her bitter reward. She did not blame Jack.
She blamed herself. She ought never to have married him. His life was
not hers. If for a moment she had thought it possible to go with him
and live the white man’s life in far Alabama the events of the night
had blotted the idea from her mind. She had done all she could to save
him. The fort, warned of the coming attack, would be able to hold out
till help came from the south. She could do nothing more. Her part in
his life was over. It remained only for her to take herself out of it.
She would join Metea and go with him to Tecumseh. After all, to go was
no more than her duty. Tecumseh had called her and she must obey. She
would go and confess to him that she had failed in her mission and that
she had warned his enemies of his coming attack on the fort. She would
tell him why she had failed, and she would accept whatever punishment
he meted out to her. Almost she hoped that it might be that of the
stake, so that she might expiate her fault by extremest suffering.
Whatever it was, she would submit. Now that she knew that Jack’s heart
belonged to another, life held nothing for her. Yes! She would go to
Tecumseh.
It did not occur to her that the great chief might not have sent for
her--that Metea might have been bought by the gold of Brito Telfair.
Once more she looked at Jack. The smoky candle gave little light, but
the moon, now riding in glorious majesty across a cloudless sky, shone
through the open window with a radiance almost like that of day. By its
gleam Jack’s boyish features stood out clear and distinct. Slowly she
bowed her head; and with a sob, she kissed him on the lips. “Take care
of him, Cato,” she ordered, to the round-eyed negro who stood by. “Take
care of him.” Then, dry-eyed, mute, she passed to the square and across
it to the gate of the fort.
The sentry made no attempt to stop her; he had no orders to stop those
who wished to go out; and without a word she passed forth into the
outer world.