THE PLEDGE OF A WYANDOT
A single glance told me who our unwelcome visitor must be. That giant
body, surmounted by the huge broad face, could belong to none other
than the Wyandot, Sau-ga-nash,--him who had spoken for the warriors
of his tribe before the torture-stake. He stood erect and rigid, his
stern, questioning eyes upon us, his lips a thin line of repression.
With a quick movement, I thrust the girl behind me, and faced him,
motionless, but with every muscle strained for action. The Indian spoke
slowly, and used perfect English.
"Ugh!" he said. "Who are you? A prisoner? Surely you cannot be that
same Frenchman we helped entertain last night?"
"I am not the Frenchman," I answered deliberately, vainly hoping his
watchful eyes might wander about the lodge long enough to yield me
chance for a spring at his throat, "though I was one of his party. I
only came here to bring comfort to this poor girl."
"No doubt she needs it," he replied drily, "and your way is surely
a good one. Yet I doubt if Little Sauk would approve it, and as his
friend, I must speak for him in the matter. Do you say you are also a
prisoner? To what chief?"
"To none," I answered shortly, resolved now to venture all in a trial
of strength. He read this decision in my eyes, and stepped back warily.
At the same instant Toinette flung her arms restrainingly about my neck.
"Don't, John!" she urged, using my name thus for the first time; "the
savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"
I saw the weapon as she spoke, and saw too the angry glint in the
fellow's eye as he thrust the muzzle menacingly forward. As we stood
thus, glaring at each other, a sudden remembrance made me pause.
"Sau-ga-nash"?--surely it was neither more nor less than a Wyandot
expression signifying "Englishman." That broad face was not wholly
Indian; could this be the half-breed chief of whom I had so often
heard? 'Twas worth the chance to learn.
"You are Sau-ga-nash?" I asked, slowly, Toinette still clinging to me,
her face over her shoulder to front the silent savage. "A chief of the
Wyandots?"
[Illustration: "Don't John! The savage has a gun hidden beneath his
robe!"]
He moved his head slightly, with a mutter of acquiescence, his eyes
expressing wonder at the question.
"The same whom the Americans name Billy Caldwell?"
"'Tis the word used by the whites."
I drew a quick breath of relief, which caused Mademoiselle to release
her grasp a little, as her anxious eyes sought my face for explanation.
"Recall you a day twelve years ago on the River Raisin?" I asked
clearly, feeling confident now that my words were no longer idle. "An
Indian was captured in his canoe by a party of frontiersmen who were
out to revenge a bloody raid along the valley of the Maumee. That
Indian was a Wyandot and a chief. He was bound to a tree beside the
river bank and condemned to torture; when the leader of the rangers,
a man with a gray beard, stood before him rifle in hand, and swore to
kill the first white man who put flint and steel to the wood. Recall
you this, Sau-ga-nash?"
The stolid face of the listening savage changed, the expression of
revengeful hostility merging into one of undisguised amazement.
"That which you picture has not left my memory," he answered gravely.
"Nor the pledge you gave to that white captain when he brought you
safely to Detroit?" I queried, eagerly.
"Nor the pledge. But what has all this to do here?"
"Only, Sau-ga-nash, that I am Major David Wayland's son."
The Indian sprang forward, his eyes burning fiercely; and thinking his
movement to be hostile, I thrust the girl aside that I might be free to
repel his attack. But he did not touch me, merely peering eagerly into
my face with a keen questioning look that read my every feature.
"You have the nose and forehead," he reflected aloud; "yes, and the
eyes. Before the Great Spirit, I will redeem my pledge; a chief of the
Wyandots cannot lie."
He paused, and I could mark the varied emotions that swayed him, so
deeply was he moved by this strange discovery. Unconsciously my hand
clasped Mademoiselle's, for now I felt that our fate hung on his
decision.
"'Tis a hard task, Master Wayland," he admitted at length, almost
wearily, "but for your father's sake it shall be done. I see only one
way for it, and that by water. Know you anything about the management
of boats?"
"Only as I have paddled upon the Maumee," I answered, doubtfully,
"although I handled a small sail when a mere boy in the far East."
"'Twill suffice if the fair weather hold, as is likely at this season.
At least it may be risked. The land trails are crowded by Indians from
far-off tribes, hastening hither in hope of fight and spoils. More than
a hundred came in to-day, painted for war, and angry because too late.
You could not escape encountering such parties, were you to flee by
trail eastward; nor would they show mercy to any white. The Silver-man
has returned to his home north of the river; but 'tis all that we who
are friendly to him can do to keep these warriors from attacking even
there. 'Tis the Indians from far away that make the trouble; and these
grow more numerous and powerful each day. We keep a guard at the house
to save the Silver-man and his family; and were more whites to seek
refuge there, we should lose all control. There is still safety at
the mouth of the Saint Joseph River, and 'tis there you must go. The
venture must be made to-night, and by water. Is it known to any Indian
that you are alive and within this camp?"
"To none."
"That is well; we can work best alone. Now listen. At midnight, Master
Wayland, a boat, pre pared for the trip, will await you, hidden under
the ruins of the Agency building. The river flows under the flooring
deep enough for the purpose, and I will place the boat there with my
own hand. Beyond that, all must rest upon your own skill and good
fortune. You will wait here," and he glanced about anxiously for some
means of concealment, "lying behind those robes yonder, until the hour."
"Here?" I questioned, thinking instantly of my duty to De Croix.
"But I would first have speech with the Frenchman. He is my friend,
Sau-ga-nash. Besides, I have left my rifle in the council lodge."
The face of the savage darkened, and his eyes gleamed ominously as they
roamed questioningly from my face to Toinette's.
"I said you were to stay hidden here," he answered shortly, his tone
showing anger, and his hand pointing at the robes. "Many of the
sleeping Pottawattomies are again astir without, and you could not hope
to gain the council lodge undiscovered. What care I for this Frenchman,
that I should risk my life to save him? I pledge myself only to Major
Wayland's son; and even if I aid you, it is on condition that you go
alone."
"Alone, say you?" and I rested my hand on Mademoiselle's shoulder. "I
would die here, Sau-ga-nash, and by torture, before I would consent to
go one step without this girl."
The half-breed scowled at me, drawing his robe about him in haughty
indifference.
"Then be it so," he said mockingly. "'Tis your own choice. I have
offered redemption of my pledge."
I started to utter some harsh words in answer; but before I could
speak, Toinette pressed her soft palm upon my lips in protest.
"Refuse him not," she murmured hastily. "'Tis the only chance; for my
sake, do not anger him."
What plan her quick wit may have engendered, I did not know; but I
yielded to the entreaty in her pleading eyes, and sullenly muttered the
first conscious lie of my life.
"I accept your terms, Sau-ga-nash, harsh as they are."
He looked from one to the other of us, his face dark with distrust and
doubt.
"You are not mine to dispose of," he said sternly to the trembling
girl, who visibly shrank from his approach, and clung once more to me.
"You are prisoner to Little Sauk; nor will I release one thus held by
the Pottawattomies. They and the Wyandots are brothers. But I trust
you, and not the word of this white man. Pledge me not to go with him,
and I will believe you."
She glanced first at me, then back into the swarthy, merciless face.
Her cheeks were white and her lips trembled, yet her eyes remained
clear and calm.
"I give you my word, Sau-ga-nash," she said quietly. "While I am held
as prisoner by Little Sauk, I will not go away with John Wayland."
Little as I believed these words to be true at the time, the sound
of them so dulled me with apprehension that I could only stare at
her in speechless amazement. It seemed to me then as if the power
of reason had deserted me, as if my brain had been so burdened as to
refuse its office. I recall that Toinette almost compelled me to lie
down against the farther side of the lodge, placing a pile of skins in
front of me and assuming a position herself where she could occasion
ally reach across the barrier and touch me with her soft hand. No
doubt she realized the struggle in my mind, for she spoke little after
the departure of the half-breed, as if anxious to permit me to figure
out the future for myself. Little by little I faced it, and came to
an irrevocable decision. It was to be Toinette or nothing. While it
might be true that she was in no immediate danger, and possibly could
be safely ransomed if I once escaped to civilization, yet the risk of
such venture and delay was too great; nor would my love abide so vast
a sacrifice on her part. I thought to say this to her; but there was
a look of firm decision in her sweet face, as her dark eyes met mine,
that somehow held me silent. I felt that in her own heart she must
already know what action I would choose, and the final moment would
prove sufficient test for her evident determination. Reassured here,
my thoughts turned to De Croix; but that was useless. I could send no
message to him; he was no longer in especial peril, and perhaps would
not willingly desert his newly found wife even to escape the savages.
Nay, it was to be Toinette and I, now and forever.
I do not clearly remember at this day what it was we spoke about in the
brief whispering that passed between us while we waited there. Neither
of us felt like voicing our real thoughts, and so we but dissembled,
making commonplaces fill the gaps between our silences. The night
found us undisturbed, and it shut down so darkly within the narrow
confines of the lodge that I lost all trace of her presence, but for an
occasional movement or the sound of her low voice. Without, the rapidly
increasing noise indicated a return of many savages to the camp, until
at last a fire was kindled in the open space, its red flame sending
some slight illumination where we were, but not enough to reveal the
interior of the lodge. An Indian brought the girl some food, entering
and leaving without uttering a sound; and we two ate together, striving
to speak lightly in order to make the coarse meal more palatable.
Suddenly I became aware of a faint scratching upon the skin of the
lodge, at my back. At first I supposed it to be some wild animal, or
possibly a stray dog; but the regularity of it showed a purpose of
some kind. Could it be De Croix? Or was it the half-breed with some
secret message he dared not deliver openly? I lifted the lodge covering
slightly, and placed my lips to the aperture.
"Is some one there?" I whispered cautiously "Who is it?"
"I am Sister Celeste," came the immediate low reply. "Are you the white
man I guided?"
"Ay," I answered, rejoicing at this rare good for tune, "and I beg you
to listen to what I say. There will be a boat awaiting us beneath the
old Agency building at midnight. You must be there with De Croix."
"De Croix?"
"Yes; I know not if that be his name to you, but I mean the Frenchman
whose life you saved. Will you take him thither at midnight, together
with the rifle I left in the council lodge?"
For a moment she did not answer. Doubtless it was a bitter struggle for
her thus to agree even to meet the man again. At last she made reply,
although I could plainly mark the faltering of her voice.
"The man of whom you speak shall be there," she said, "unless some
accident make it impossible."
As I drew back my head, and sat upright, Mademoiselle spoke
questioningly.
"With whom were you conversing just now, Monsieur?"
"The young woman of whom we have spoken so often," I answered
thoughtlessly. "She has pledged herself to bring De Croix to the
meeting-place."
"Indeed!" she exclaimed, with accent so peculiar I knew not how to
interpret it. "It almost makes me desire to form one of your party."