The Road to Frontenac

“You have had food?”

“Yes.”

“We must think now,” Menard said abruptly; “we must put our wits together. It is late in the night, and we should be free before dawn. Have you thought of any way?”

“Yes,” replied the priest, slowly, “we have thought of one. Teganouan is with our party. At the first he tried to keep out of sight, but of course he could not, once we were on the way. He was a long time at the Mission of St. Francis, and I at one time hoped that he would prove a true believer. It was drink that led him away from us,–an old weakness with him. This morning, when he passed me, I knew that he was ashamed. I dared not speak to him; but since then, whenever my eyes have met his, I have seen that look of understanding.”

“I fear you will not see it to-night,” said the Captain. “They are drinking.”

“Ah, but he is not. He is guarding the hut. Come, M’sieu, it may be that we can see him now.”

Menard rose, and with the priest peered through the cracks at the rear of the hut. After a moment they saw him, standing in the shadow of a tree.

“You are sure it is he, Father?”

“Ah, M’sieu, I should know him.”

Menard rested his hand on a strip of rotting bark in the wall. The priest saw the movement.

“Yes,” he said cautiously, “it would be very simple. But you will be cautious, M’sieu. Of course, I do not know–I cannot tell surely–and yet it must be that Teganouan still has a warm heart. It cannot be that he has forgotten the many months of my kindness.”

While they stood there, hesitating between a dozen hasty plans, a light step sounded, and in an instant their eyes were at the opening. A second Indian had joined the guard, and was talking with him in a low voice. Father Claude gripped the Captain’s arm.

“See, M’sieu,–the wampum collar,–it is the Long Arrow.”

Menard laid his finger on his lips. The two Indians were not a dozen yards away. The chief swayed unsteadily as he talked, and once his voice rose. He carried a bottle, and paused now and then to drink from it.

“Teganouan is holding back,” whispered Menard. “See, the Long Arrow has taken his arm–they are coming–is the door fast?”

“We cannot make it fast, M’sieu. It opens outward.”

Menard sprang across to the door and ran his hands over it, but found no projection that could be used to hold it closed. He stood for a moment, puzzling; then his face hardened, and he fell back to where the priest and the maid stood side by side.

“They will get in, M’sieu?”

“Yes. It is better.”

They did not speak again. The moccasined feet made no noise on the cleared ground, and it seemed a long time before they could hear the log fall from the door. There were voices outside. At last the door swung open, and the Long Arrow, bottle in hand, came clumsily into the hut and stood unsteadily in the square of moonlight. He looked about as if he could not see them. Teganouan had come in behind him; and the door swung to, creaking.

“The White Chief is the brother of the Long Arrow,” said the chief, speaking slowly and with an effort to make his words distinct. “He loves the Onondagas. Deep in his mind are the thoughts of the young white brave who lived in our villages and hunted with our braves and called the mighty Big Throat his father. He never forgets what the Onondagas have done for him. He has a grateful heart.” The effort of speaking was confusing to the chief. He paused, as if to collect his ideas, and looked stupidly at the three silent figures before him. “ … grateful heart,” he repeated. “The Long Arrow has a grateful heart, too. He remembers the kind words of the white men who come to his village and tell him of the love of the Great Mountain. He never forgets that the Big Buffalo is his brother–he never forgets. When the Big Buffalo took his son from the hunting party of the Onondagas he did not forget.”

Menard did not listen further. He was looking about the hut with quick, shifting eyes, now at the chief in the moonlight, now at Teganouan, who stood at one side in the shadow, now at the door. Could Teganouan be trusted to help them? He glanced sharply at the warrior, who was looking at his chief with an alert, cunning expression. His musket lay carelessly in the hollow of his arm, his knife and hatchet hung at his waist. The chief had only his knife; in his hand was the bottle, which he held loosely, now and then spilling a few drops of the liquor.

“The Long Arrow nev’r f’rgets,”–the chief’s tongue was getting the better of him. “His house is lonely, where the fire burns alone and the young warr’r who once laid ’s blanket,–laid ’s blanket by the fire, no long’r ’s there to warm the heart of the Long Arrow. But now his loneliness is gone. Now when he comes from the hunt to ’s house he’ll find a new fire, a bright fire, and a new squaw to warm ’s heart–warm ’s heart.” He swayed a little as he spoke, and Teganouan took a short step forward; but the chief drew himself up and came slowly across the patch of moonlight. His eyes were unnaturally bright, and they rolled uncertainly from one to another of the little group before him. His coarse black hair was matted and tangled, and the eagle feathers that at the council had stood erect from his head now drooped, straggling, to one side.

The maid had understood. The two men drew close to her on each side, and her hand rested, trembling, on Menard’s arm. All three were thinking fast. One scream, the sound of a struggle or even of loud voices, would bring upon them the whole drunken band. As the chief approached, the maid could feel the muscles harden on the Captain’s arm.

“Long Arrow’s lonely–his fire’s not bright when he comes from hunt–” Here and there in his talk a few words were distinguishable as he stood lurching before them. He reached out in a maudlin effort to touch the maid’s white face. She drew in her breath quickly and stepped back; then Menard had sprung forward, and she covered her eyes with her hands.

There was a light scuffle, but no other sound. A strong smell of brandy filled the hut. Slowly she lifted her head, and let her hands drop to her sides. The Long Arrow lay sprawling at her feet, his head gashed and bleeding, and covered with broken glass and dripping liquor. The priest had kneeled beside him, and over his bowed head she saw Teganouan, startled, defiant, his musket halfway to his shoulder, his eyes fixed on the door. Her eyes followed his gaze. There stood the Captain, his back to the door, the broken neck of the bottle firmly gripped in his hand.

She stepped forward, too struck with horror to remain silent.

“Oh, M’sieu!” she said brokenly, stretching out her hands.

He motioned to her to be quiet, and she sank down on the bench.

“Father,” he said.

The priest looked up questioningly. There was a long moment of silence, and the shouts and calls of the half-drunken revellers without sounded strangely loud. Then, as the priest gazed at the set, hard face of the Captain, and at the motionless Indian, he understood of a sudden all the wild plan that was forming in the Captain’s mind. He rose slowly to his feet, and stood facing Teganouan, with the light streaming down upon his gentle face.

“The sun has gone to sleep many times, Teganouan, since you left the great white house of the church at St. Francis. You have heard the counsel of evil men, who think only of the knife and the hatchet and the musket, who have no dream but to slay their brothers.” He was speaking slowly and in a kindly voice, as a father might speak to a son who has wandered from the right. “Have you forgotten the talk of the holy Fathers, when they told you the words of the Book of the Great Spirit, who is to all your Manitous and Okis as the sun is to the stars. Have you forgotten the many moons that passed while you lived in the great white house,–when you gave your promise, the promise of an Onondaga, that you would be a friend to the white man, that you would believe the words of the Great Spirit and live a peaceful life? Have you forgotten, Teganouan, the evil days when your enemy, the fire-water, took possession of your heart and led you away from the white house into the lodges of them that do wrong,–how when the good spirit returned to you and you came back to the arms of the Faith, you were received as a son and a brother? The holy Fathers did not say, ‘This warrior has done that which he should not do. Let him be punished. We have no place for the wrongdoer.’ No; they did not say this. They said, ‘The lost is found. He that wandered from the fold has returned.’ And they welcomed the lost one, and bade him repent and lead a right life. Have you forgotten, Teganouan?”

The Indian had slowly lowered his musket.

“Teganouan has not forgotten,” he replied. “He has a grateful heart toward the holy Fathers of the great white house. When he was sick, they brought him their good doctor and told him to live. He believed that the white men were his brothers, that they would do to him as the Fathers had promised. But when Teganouan came to the white men, and asked to be made like they were, he left behind in his village a brother and a sister and a father who said that he was a traitor, who said that he was false to the trust of his blood and his nation, that he was not of their blood.”

“And did he believe them? Did he not know, better than they could, that the faith of the white man is also the faith of the redman; that the love of the white man includes all who breathe and speak and hunt and trade and move upon the earth?”

“Teganouan has not forgotten. He heard the words of the Fathers, and he believed that they were true; but when the white Captain took from the Onondagas five score of their bravest warriors and called them slaves, when he took the brother of Teganouan, borne by the same mother and fed by the same hand, to be a slave of the mighty Chief-Across-the-Water, could he remember what the holy Fathers had said,–that all men were brothers?”

“Teganouan has heard what the White Chief, the Big Buffalo, has said, that the evil man who was treacherous to the Onondagas shall be punished?”

“Teganouan understands. But the evil man is far from the vengeance of the white man. The White Chief is here in our lodges.”

Menard left the door and came to the priest’s side. The jagged piece of glass, his only weapon, he threw to the ground.

“Teganouan,” he said slowly and firmly, looking into the Indian’s eyes, “you heard the great council at the Long House of the Five Nations. You heard the decision of the chiefs and warriors, that they whom Onontio had sent to bring a message of peace should be set free. You have broken the pledge made by your council. You have attacked us and made us prisoners, and brought us here where we may be tortured and killed and none may know. But when the Great Mountain finds that the Big Buffalo has not come back, when he sends his white soldier to the villages of the Onondagas and asks what they have done to him who brought his voice, what will you say? When the chiefs say, ‘We set him free,’ and look about to find the warrior who has dared to disobey the Long House, what will you say? When the young boys and the drunkards with loose tongues have told the story of the death of the Long Arrow, what will you say? Then you will be glad to flee to the white house of the holy Fathers, knowing that they will protect you and save you when the braves of your own blood shall pursue you.”

Teganouan’s eyelids had drooped, and now he was looking at the ground, where the chief lay.

“You will come with me, Teganouan. You will fly with us over the Long Lake, and through the forests and down the mighty rivers and over the inland sea, and there you shall be safe; and you shall see with your own eyes the punishment that the Great Mountain will give to the evil man who has been false to the Onondagas.”

He held out his hand, and silently waited. The priest’s head was raised, and his lips moved slowly in prayer. The maid sat rigid, her hands tightly gripping the edge of the bench. Though he knew that every moment brought nearer the chance of discovery, that the lives of them all hung on a thread as slender as a hair, the Captain stood without the twitching of a muscle, without a sign of fear or haste in his grave, worn face.

The Indian’s eyes wavered. He looked at the fallen chief, at the priest, at Menard; then he took the offered hand. No further word was needed. Menard did not know the thought that lay behind the cunning face; it was enough that the Indian had given his word.

“Quick, we must hide him,” said the Captain, looking swiftly about the hut. “We must disturb you, Mademoiselle–”

In a moment the three men had lifted the body of the Long Arrow and laid it away under the low bench. Teganouan scraped a few handfuls of earth from a corner and spread it over the spot where the chief had been.

“How far is it to the lake, Teganouan?”

“But a few rods.”

“And the forest is thick?”

“Yes.”

“We must cross the lake. Is there a canoe here?”

The Indian shook his head. Menard stood thinking for an instant.

“If you are thinking of me, M’sieu, I think I can swim with you,” said the maid, timidly.

“There is no other way, Mademoiselle. I am sorry. But we will make it as easy as we can.”

He stepped to the rear wall, and with a blow of his fist would have broken an opening through the rotted bank, but the Indian caught his arm.

“It is not necessary. See.” He set rapidly to work, and in a few silent moments he had unlaced the thread-like root that held the sheet of bark in place, and lowered it to the ground. He raised himself by the cross-pole that marked the top of the wall, and slipped through the opening. A few quick glances through the trees, and he turned and beckoned. Menard followed, with the knife of the Long Arrow between his teeth; and with Father Claude’s help the maid got through to where he could catch her and lower her to the ground.

The Indian made a cautious gesture and crept slowly through the yielding bushes. One by one they followed, the Captain lingering until the maid was close to him and he could whisper to her to keep her courage. They paused at the bank of the lake. The water lay sparkling in the moonlight. Menard looked grimly out; this light added to the danger. He found a short log close at hand and carried it to the water.

“Come, Mademoiselle,” he whispered, “and Father Claude. This will support you. Teganouan and I will swim. Keep low in the water, and do not splash or speak. The slightest noise will travel far across the lake.”

Slowly they waded out, dropping into the water before it was waist deep. Teganouan’s powder-horn and musket lay on the log, and the maid herself steadied it so that they should not be lost.

CHAPTER XVII.

NORTHWARD

Weak and chilled from the long swim through the cold water they dragged themselves across the narrow beach to the bushes that hung over the bank. Menard and Father Claude supported the maid, who was trembling and clinging to them. At the bank she sank to the ground.

“It is hard, Mademoiselle, but we must not stop. It is better to be weary than to rest in this condition. It would mean sickness.”

“Yes,” she said; “I know. In a moment I can go on.” She looked up and tried to smile. “It is so cold, M’sieu.”

Menard turned to Teganouan.

“How far is it to the villages of the Cayugas?”

“Not far. Half a sleep.”

“Is there a trail?”

“The trail is far. It passes the end of the Long Lake.” He raised his head and looked at the stars, then pointed to the southwest. “The nearest village lies there. If we go through the forest toward the setting sun, we shall meet the trail.”

“You think it will be wise to go to the Cayugas, M’sieu?” asked Father Claude.

“I think so. The chiefs must have returned before this time, or at least by the morrow.” He dropped into the Iroquois tongue. “Is not this so, Teganouan? Would the chiefs of the Cayugas linger among the Onondagas after the close of the council?”

“The Cayuga warriors await the word of the Long House. They know that their chiefs would hasten to bring it back to them.”

“Yes. It must be so, Father. And we can trust them to aid us. Perhaps they will give us a canoe. Teganouan must tell them he is our guide, sent by the Big Throat and the chiefs of the Onondagas to take us safely to Frontenac.”

The maid was struggling to keep awake, but her lids were heavy. Menard came to her and stood, hesitating. She knew that he was there; she could hear the rustle of his wet clothes, and his heavy breathing, but she did not look up.

“Come,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder, “we cannot wait here. We must go.”

She did not reply, and he hesitated again. Then he stooped and lifted her in his arms.

“You will go ahead, Teganouan,” he said, “and you, too, if you will, Father Claude. Choose an easy trail if you can, and be careful that no twig flies back.”

They set out slowly through the forest. The priest and the Indian laboriously broke a way, and Menard followed, holding the maid tenderly, and now and then, in some lighter spot where a beam of moonlight fell through the foliage, looking down at her gentle, weary face. She was sleeping; and he prayed that no sad dreams might come to steal her rest. His arms ached and his knees gave under him, but he had hardly a thought for himself. At last, after a long, silent march, the priest stopped, and said, supporting himself with one thin hand against a tree:–

“You are weary, M’sieu. You must let me take Mademoiselle.”

“No, Father, no. I have been thinking. I am afraid it is not right that she should sleep now. Even though she fail in the effort, exercise of her muscles is all that will prevent sickness. And yet I cannot,”–he looked again at her face as it rested against his shoulder,–“I cannot awaken her now.”

The Father saw the sorrow in the Captain’s eyes, and understood.

“I will take her, M’sieu.”

Carefully Menard placed her in Father Claude’s arms and turned away.

“Teganouan,” he said, trying to recover his self-possession, “should we not be near the trail?”

“Yes, more than half the way.”

“Can we reach it more quickly by heading a little to the north?”

“We would reach the trail, yes; but the way would be longer.”

“Never mind; once on the trail it will be easier than in this forest. Turn to the north, Teganouan.”

He could hear the maid’s voice, protesting sleepily, and Father Claude talking quietly to her. He looked around. The priest said in a low tone:–

“Come, M’sieu, it is hard to awaken her.”

“We must frighten her, then.”

He caught her shoulders and shook her roughly. Slowly her eyes opened, and then the two men dragged her forward. At first she thought herself back among the Onondagas, and she begged them not to take her away, hanging back and forcing them almost to carry her. It cut Menard to the heart, but he pushed steadily forward. Later she yielded, and with a dazed expression obeyed. Once or twice she stumbled, and would have fallen but for the strong hands that held her. Father Claude rested his hand on her forehead as they walked, and Menard gave him an anxious, questioning glance. The priest shook his head.

“No,” he said, “there is no fever. I trust that it is nothing worse than exhaustion.”

Menard went on with relief in his eyes.

In less than half an hour after reaching the trail, they came upon the outlying huts of the village. Over the hills to the east the dawn was breaking, and all the sleeping birds and beasts and creeping things of the forest were stirring into life and movement. Teganouan went ahead of the party and soon roused a member of the Cayuga branch of his clan, the family of the Bear. Through the yawning services of this warrior they were guided to an unused hut. Teganouan searched farther, and returned with a heap of blankets for the maid, who had dropped to the ground before the hut. Menard carried her within and made her as comfortable as possible, then withdrew and closed the door.

“Have the chiefs returned from the council at the village of the Onondagas?” he asked of the warrior, who stood at one side watching them with curiosity in his gaze.

The Cayuga bowed.

“Will my brother carry a message from the White Chief, the Big Buffalo, to his chiefs? Will he tell them, as soon as the sun has risen, that the Big Buffalo has come to talk with them?”

The warrior bowed and walked away.

“We are safe now, I think, Father. We must get what little sleep we can between now and sunrise.”

“Should not one of us watch, M’sieu?”

“We are not fit for it. We have hard work before us, and many a chance yet to run.”

“Teganouan will watch,” said the Indian.

Menard’s face showed surprise, but Father Claude whispered, “He has learned at the mission to understand our language.”

They lay on the ground before the hut, in their wet clothes, and in a moment were asleep. Teganouan built a fire close at hand, and sat by it without a motion, excepting the alert shifting glances of his bead-like eyes, until, when the colours in the east had faded into blue and the sun was well above the trees, he saw the chiefs of the village coming slowly toward him between the huts, a crowd of young men following behind them, and a snarling pack of dogs running before. He aroused Menard and Father Claude.

The chiefs sat in a circle about the fire, the two white men among them. The other Indians sat and stood in a wider circle, just within earshot, and waited inquisitively for the White Chief to state his errand.

“My brothers, the white men, have asked to speak with the chiefs of the Cayugas,” said the spokesman, a wrinkled old warrior, whom Menard recognized as one of the speakers at the Long House.

“The Big Buffalo is on his way to the stone house of Onontio. He is far from the trail. His muskets and his knives and hatchets were taken from him by the Onondagas and were not returned to him. He asks that the chiefs of the Cayugas permit him to use one of their many canoes, that he may hasten to carry to Onontio the word of the Long House.”

“The White Chief comes to the Cayugas, who live two sleeps away from their brothers, the Onondagas, to ask for aid. Have the Onondagas then refused him? Why is my brother so far from the trail?”

“The chiefs of the Cayugas sat in the Long House; they heard the words of the great council, that the Big Buffalo and the holy Father and the white maiden should be set free. They know that what is decided in the council is the law of the nation, that no warrior shall break it.”

The little circle was silent with attention, but none of the chiefs replied.

“It was still in the dark of the night when the Big Throat came to the lodge of the Big Buffalo, and gave him the pledge of the council that he should be free with the next sun. The Big Buffalo once learned to believe the pledge of the Iroquois. When the mighty Big Throat said that he was free, he believed. He did not set a guard to sit with wakeful eyes through the night in fear that the pledge was not true. No, the Big Buffalo is a warrior and a chief; he is not a woman. He trusted his red brothers, and rested his head to sleep. Then in the dark came a chief, a dog of a traitor, and took away his white brother and his white sister while their eyes were still heavy with sleep, and carried them far over the hills to the lake of the Cayugas. Here they hid like serpents in the long grass, and thought that they would kill them. But the Big Buffalo is a warrior. Without a knife or a musket or a hatchet he killed the Long Arrow and came across the Long Lake. He knew that the Cayugas were his brothers, that they would not break the pledge of the Long House.”

The grave faces of the Indians showed no surprise, save for a slight movement of the eyes on the part of one or two of the younger men, when the Long Arrow was mentioned. Most of them had lighted their pipes before sitting down, and now they puffed in silence.

“The White Chief speaks strangely,” the spokesman said at last. “He tells the Cayugas that their brothers, the Onondagas, have broken the pledge of the council.”

“Yes.”

“He asks for aid?”

“No,” said Menard, “he does not ask for aid. He asks that the Iroquois nation restore to him what the dogs of the Long Arrow have taken away. He has spoken to the Long House in the voice of the Great Mountain. He has the right of a free man, of a chief honoured by the council, to go freely and in peace. What if those who do not respect the law of the council shall rob him of his rights? Must he go on his knees to the chiefs? Must he ask that he be allowed to live? Must he go far back on his trail to seek aid of the Onondagas, because the Cayugas will not hold to the law?”