The Hunters of the Hills

"You are a swordsman, I'll admit that," said Boucher.

"Yes, a better than the raw lad, Gaston Lafitte, or Raoul de Bassempierre who was ill, and a better than a third whom I recall."

"What do you mean, mummer?"

"There was a certain Raymond de Neville who played at dice with another whom I could name. Neville said that the other cheated, but he was a great swordsman while Neville was but an indifferent fencer, and the other slew him. Yet, they say Neville's charges were true. Shall I name that man, Boucher?"

Boucher, livid with rage, sprang at him.

"Mummer!" he cried. "You know too much. I'll close your mouth forever!"

Now it seemed to Boucher that a very demon of the sword stood before him. His own fierce rush was met and he was driven back. The ghosts of the boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man Raoul de Bassempierre, and of the indifferent swordsman, Raymond de Neville who had been cheated at cards, came back, and they helped Willet wield his weapon. His figure broadened and grew. His blade was no longer of steel, it was a strip of lightning that played around the body and face of the dazzled bravo. It was verily true that the hands of four men grasped the hilt, the ghosts of the three whom he had murdered long ago, and Willet who stood there in the flesh before him.

A reluctant buzz of admiration ran through the crowd. Many of them had come from Paris, but they had never seen such swordsmanship before. Whoever the hunter might be they saw that he was the master swordsman of them all. They addressed low cries of warning to Boucher: "Have a care!" "Have a care!" "Save your strength!" they said. But de Galisonnière stood, tight-lipped and silent. Nor did Robert and Tayoga feel the need of saying anything to their champion.

Now Boucher felt for the first time in his life that he had met the better man. The great duelist who had ruffled it so grandly through the inns and streets of Paris looked with growing terror into the stern, accusing eyes that confronted him. But he did not always see Willet. It was the ghosts of the boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man Raoul de Bassempierre and of the indifferent swordsman, Raymond de Neville, that guided the hunter's blade, and his forehead became cold and wet with perspiration.

De Galisonnière had moved in the crowd, until he stood with Robert and Tayoga. He was perhaps the only one of the honnêtes gens in the garden, and while he was a Frenchman, first, last and all the time, he knew who Boucher was and what he represented, he understood the reason why Robert had been drawn into the garden and he was willing to see the punishment of the man who was to have been the sanguinary instrument of the plot.

"A miracle will defeat the best of plans," he said to de Courcelles.

"What do you mean, de Galisonnière?" asked de Courcelles with a show of effrontery.

"That an unknown hunter should prove himself a better swordsman than your great duelist and bravo, Boucher."

"Why do you call him my duelist and bravo, de Galisonnière?"

"I understand that you brought young Lennox into the garden, apparently his warm friend on the way, and then when he was here, stood aside."

"You must answer for such insinuations, Captain de Galisonnière."

"But not to you, my friend. My sword will be needed in the coming war, and I'm not called upon to dull it now against one who was a principal in a murderous conspiracy. I may be over particular about those with whom I fight, de Courcelles, but I am what I am."

"You mean you will not fight me?"

"Certainly not. A meeting would cause the reasons for it to be threshed out, and we are not so many here in Canada that those reasons would not become known to all, and you, I fancy, would not relish the spread of such knowledge. The Intendant is a powerful man, but the Marquis Duquesne is the head of our military life, and he would not be pleased to hear what one of his officers so high in rank has done here tonight."

All the blood left de Courcelles' face, and he shook with anger, but he knew in his heart that de Galisonnière spoke the deadly truth. Besides, the whole plan had gone horribly wrong. And it had been so well laid. Who could have thought that a wandering hunter would appear at such a time, take the whole affair into his hands, and prove himself a better swordsman than Boucher, who was reputed not to have had his equal in France. It was the one unlucky chance, in a million! Nay, it was worse! It was a miracle that had appeared against them, and in that de Galisonnière had told the truth. Rage and terror stabbed at his heart, rage that the plan laid so smoothly had failed, and terror for himself. No, he would not challenge de Galisonnière.

"You will notice, de Courcelles," said the young Captain, "that Boucher is approaching exhaustion. Perhaps not another man in the world could have withstood his tremendous offense so well, but the singular hunter seems to be one man in a world, at least with the sword. Now, the seconds will give them a little rest before they close once more, and, I think, for the last time."

"For God's sake, de Galisonnière, cease! It's bad enough without your unholy glee!"

"'Bad enough' and 'unholy glee,' de Courcelles! Not at all! It's very well, and my pleasure is justified. I fear that villany is not always punished as it should be, and seldom in the dramatic manner that leaps to the eye and that has the powerful force of example. Ah, a foul blow before the seconds gave the word! Boucher has gone mad! But you and I won't trouble ourselves about him, since he will soon pay for it. I think I see a change in the hunter's eye. It has grown uncommonly stern and fierce. He has the look of an executioner."

De Galisonnière had read aright. When the treacherous blow was dealt and turned aside barely in time, Willet's heart hardened. If Boucher lived he would live to add more victims to those who had gone before. The man's whole fiber, body and mind, was poison, nothing but poison, and the murdered three whom Willet had known cried upon him to take vengeance. He began to press the bravo and Boucher's followers were silent. De Galisonnière was not the only one who had marked the change in the hunter's eye.

"You will note, de Courcelles," said he, "that your man, Boucher, has thrown his life away."

"He's not my man, de Galisonnière!"

"You compel me to repeat, de Courcelles, that your man, Boucher, has thrown away his own life. It's not well to deal a foul blow at a consummate swordsman. But I suppose it's hard for a murderer to change his instincts. Ah, what a stroke! What a stroke! It was so swift that I saw only a flash of light! And so, our friend, Boucher, has sped! And when you seek the kernel of the matter, de Courcelles, it was you who helped to speed him!"

De Courcelles, unable to bear more, strode away. Boucher was lying upon his back, and the bravo had fought his last fight. Willet looked down at him, shook his head a little, but he did not feel remorse. The ghosts of the untrained boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man, Raoul de Bassempierre, and of Raymond de Neville, who had been murdered at dice, guided his hand, and it was they who had struck the blow. Robert helped him to put on the waistcoat and coat, as a group of men, Bigot, Cadet, and Pean at their head, invaded the garden.

"What's this! What's this!" exclaimed Bigot, staring at the motionless prostrate figure with the closed eyes.

Then de Galisonnière spoke up, and Robert was very grateful to him.

"It was done by Mr. Willet, as you see, sir, and if ever a man had justification he has it. The quarrel was forced upon him, and, during a pause, Boucher struck a foul blow, which, had it not been for Mr. Willet's surpassing skill, would have proved mortal and would have stained the honor of all Frenchmen in Quebec. Colonel de Courcelles will bear witness to the truth of all that I have said, will you not, de Courcelles?"

"Yes," said de Courcelles, though he shook in his uniform with anger.

"And so will Count Jean de Mézy. He too is eager to give testimony and support me in what I say. Is it not so, de Mézy?"

"Yes," said de Mézy, the purple spots in his face deepening.

"Then," said the Intendant, "I see nothing left to do but bury Boucher.

He was but a quarrelsome fellow with none too good a record in France.

And keep it from the ladies at present."

He returned with his courtiers to the house, and the dancing continued, but Robert felt that he could not stay any longer. Such cynicism shocked him, and paying his respects to Bigot and his friends, he left with Tayoga and the hunter for the Inn of the Eagle.

"It was a great fight," said Tayoga, as they stood outside and breathed the cool, welcome air again. "What Hayowentha was with the bow and arrow the Great Bear is with the sword."

"I don't like to take human life," said the hunter, "and it scarcely seems to me that I've done it now. I feel as if I had been an instrument in the hands of others, giving to Boucher the punishment deferred so long."

"There will be no trouble about it," said Tayoga. "I read the face of Bigot and no anger was there. It may be that he was glad to get rid of the man Boucher. The assassin becomes at times a burden."

But Willet remained silent and thoughtful.

"I've a feeling, Robert," he said, "that our mission to Quebec will fail. We've passed through too much, and all the signs are against us. As for me, I'm going to get ready for war."

"Maybe the Governor General will arrive tomorrow," said Robert, "and if so we can give him our letters and go. I was glad to come to Quebec, and I'll be equally glad to leave."

"And we can see the lodges of the Hodenosaunee again," said Tayoga, his eyes glistening.

"Yes, Tayoga, and glad I'll be to be once more among your great people, the hunters of the hills."

It was about two o'clock in the morning, when Robert went to bed, and he slept very late. Willet awoke shortly after dawn, dressed himself and went to the window, where he stood, gazing absently at the deepening sunlight on the green hills, although he saw the incidents of the heated night before far more vividly. He was a man who did not favor bloodshed, though it was a hard and stern age, and the slaying of Boucher, who would have added another to his victims, did not trouble him even the morning after. In his mind was the thought, expressed so powerfully, that the mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. However, his anxiety to be away from Quebec had grown with the hours. The dangers were too thick, and they also had a bad habit of increasing continually.

When Robert awoke he found the hunter and Tayoga awaiting him.

"I've ordered breakfast," said Willet, "and it will be ready for us as soon as you dress. After that I'll have to comply with some formalities, owing to last night's affair, and then if the Governor General arrives this afternoon, we can deliver our letters and depart. It seems strange, Robert, that we should be here such a little while and that both you and I should fight duels. Perhaps it will be Tayoga's turn today, and he too will have to fight."

"Not unless Tandakora seeks me," said the young Onondaga.

"Did you see what became of him last night, Tayoga?" asked Willet.

"I watched him all the time you and the Frenchman were fighting, and I watched also when we came back to the inn. He would willingly have thrown a tomahawk in the dark at the head of any one of us, but he knew I watched and he did not dare."

"And that Ojibway savage is another of our troubles. He's gone clean mad with his hate of us."

Their late breakfast was served by Monsieur Berryer himself with much deference and some awe. The large room also held many more guests than usual at such an hour, but most of them ate little, only an egg or a roll, perhaps, or they dallied over a cup of coffee, reserving most of their attention for Willet, whom they regarded covertly, but with extraordinary interest. The youth with him had shown himself to be a fine swordsman, as Count Jean de Mézy could testify, but the elder man, who had appeared to be a hunter, and who claimed to be one, was such a master of the weapon as had never before appeared in New France. And it was said by the French officers that his equal could not be found in old France either. The interest aroused by his fame was increased by the mystery that enshrouded him, and they gave him an attention that was not at all hostile. In truth, it was strongly compounded with admiration. A man who had removed Pierre Boucher as he had done, was to be regarded with respect. Boucher had given every promise of becoming a public danger in Quebec, and perhaps they owed gratitude to the hunter, Bostonnais though he was.

Late in the afternoon they had word that the Marquis Duquesne had come and would receive them. Again they arrayed themselves with the greatest care, and took their way to the Castle of St. Louis. They found a man very different in appearance and manner from the Intendant, Bigot. Tall, austere, belonging to a race that was reckoned very noble in France, the Marquis Duquesne was not popular in New France. He had none of the geniality and easy generosity of Bigot, as he spent his own money, but he had shown a military energy and foresight which the British governors to the south were far from imitating. While Canada did not love him, it respected him and his boldness, and his daring and foresight had deeply impressed the powerful Indian tribes whose friendship and alliance were so important in the coming war.

The manner of the Marquis was high, when he received the three in his chamber of audience, but it was not deficient in courtesy. He looked intently at each of them in turn.

"You come, so I am told, from the Governor of New York," he said, "and judging from what I have heard he has chosen messengers who are able to make a stir. Two days in Quebec and already you have fought two duels, one of them ending fatally."

"My lord," said Willet, gravely, "they were not of our seeking."

"That also, I hear. They tell me, too, Mr. Willet, that you are an incomparable swordsman, and it must be true, or you would not have been able to defeat Boucher. But that matter is adjusted. You will not be held here because of his death. It seems that the Intendant, Monsieur Bigot himself, does not wish to carry it further. But the letters from the Governor of New York?"

"Mr. Lennox has them," said Willet.

Robert bowed and took from an inner pocket of his waistcoat the letters he had carried through so many dangers. They were contained in a small deerskin pouch, and were only two in number. Bowing again, he handed them to the Governor General, who said:

"Pray be seated, and excuse me for a few minutes while I read them."

He read slowly, stopping at times to consider, and when he had finished he read them over again.

"Do you and Mr. Willet know the contents of these letters?" he said to Robert.

"We do," replied the youth. "They were read to us by the Governor of New York before he sealed them. If we were robbed of them on the way to Quebec, and he knew the way was dangerous, we were to continue our journey and deliver the message to you verbally."

"Their nature does credit to both the heart and head of the Governor of New York. He makes a personal appeal to me to use all my influence against the war seemingly at hand. He says that England and France have nothing to gain by attacking each other in the American woods, which are large enough to hide whole European kingdoms. But he wishes the letters to be a secret with him and me and you three who have brought them. You understand that?"

Robert bowed once more.

"The second letter explains and amplifies the first, contains, I should say, his afterthoughts. As I said, 'tis a noble act, but what can I do? A war may look to many men like a sudden outburst, but it is nearly always the result of conditions that have been a long time in the growth. Your hunters, your traders and your surveyors pressed forward into the Ohio country, which is ours."

He looked at them as if he expected them to challenge the French claim to the Ohio regions, but they were wisely silent.

"The letters do not demand an immediate reply," he continued. "His Excellency prays me to consider. Perhaps I shall send one later through a trusted messenger by sloop or schooner to New York, and naturally, I shall choose one of my own officers."

"Naturally, my lord," said Robert. "We did not expect to take back the answer."

The Marquis Duquesne looked at him very keenly.

"You speak as if you were relieved at not having the errand," he said. "Perhaps there is something else on your mind which you wish to do and with which such a mission would interfere."

Robert was silent and the Marquis laughed.

"I will not press the question, because I've no right to do so," he said. "But I will let it remain an inference."

Then his eye rested upon Tayoga, at whom he looked long and searchingly, and the eye of the Onondaga met him with an answering gaze, fixed and unfaltering.

"Captain de Galisonnière has told me," said the Marquis, "that you are a young chief, or coming chief, of the Iroquois, that despite your youth you have thought much and have influence with your people. How do the Iroquois feel toward the French who wish them so well?"

"They do not forget that this Quebec is the Stadacona of one of their great warrior nations, the Mohawks," replied Tayoga.

The Marquis started and flushed.

"Quebec is ours," he said slowly, after taking due thought. "You cannot undo what was done two centuries ago."

"The nations of the Hodenosaunee do not forget, what are two centuries to them?"

"When you return to the Long House in the vale of Onondaga, and the fifty sachems meet in council, tell them Onontio has only kindness in his heart for them. The war clouds that hang over England and France grow many and thick, and my children are brave and vigilant. They know the ways of the forest. They travel by day and by night, and they strike hard. The English are not a match for them."

"If I should tell them what Onontio tells to me they would say: 'Go back to Quebec, which is by right the Stadacona of our great warrior nation, the Mohawks, and say to Onontio that his words are like the songs of birds, but we, the Hodenosaunee, do not forget. We remember Frontenac, and we remember Champlain, the first of the white men to come among us with guns, the use of which we did not know, killing our warriors.'"

"Time makes changes, Tayoga, and the Iroquois must change too."

Tayoga, was silent, but his haughty face did not relax a particle. The Marquis was about to say more upon the subject, but he had a penetrating mind and he saw that his words would be wasted.

"We shall see what we shall see," he said. "My master, His Majesty King Louis, keeps his promises. Mr. Lennox, as I take it, still clinging to my inference, it will be some time before you see the Governor of New York again. But, when you do see him, and if my letter has not then reached him, tell him it is coming by ship to New York. As for you and your comrades, I wish you a safe journey whithersoever you go. An aide-de-camp will give the three of you, as you go out, passports which will be your safe conduct until you reach the borders of Canada. Of course, I cannot speak with certainty concerning anything that will happen to you beyond that point. Mr. Willet, I am sorry that a sword such as yours is not French."

Willet bowed, and so did Robert. Then the three withdrew, receiving their safe conducts as they went. At the inn they made hurried preparations for departure, deciding that they would cross at once to the south side of the St. Lawrence and travel on foot through the woods until they reached the Richelieu, where in a secret cove a canoe belonging to Willet lay hidden. The canoe would take them into Lake Champlain and then they could proceed by water to the point they wished.

Robert wrote a note of thanks to the Intendant for his courtesy, expressing their united regrets that the brevity of time would not permit them to pay a formal call, and as it departed in the hands of a messenger, de Galisonnière came to say farewell.

"It's likely," he said, "that if we meet again it will be on the battlefield. I see nothing for it but a war, but if we do meet, Mr. Willet, you must promise that you will not use that sword against me."

"I promise, Captain de Galisonnière," said Willet, smiling, "but if the war does come, and I hope it may not, it will be fought chiefly in the woods, and there will be little need for swords. And now we wish to thank you for your great kindness and help."

He shook hands with them all, showing some emotion, and then left hastily. The three deferred their departure, concluding to spend the night at the inn, but before dawn the next morning they crossed the St. Lawrence and began their journey.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BOWMEN

Robert looked back and saw the roofs and spires of Quebec sitting on its mighty rock, and he remembered how much had happened during their short stay there. He could recall the whole time, hour by hour, and he knew that he would never forget any part of it. The town was intense, glowing, vivid in the clear northern sunlight, and he had seen it, as he so often had longed to do. A quality in his nature had responded to it, but at the last his heart had turned against it. The splendor of that city into which he had enjoyed such a remarkable introduction had in it something hot and feverish.

"You're thinking a farewell to Quebec, Robert," said the hunter. "It looks grand and strong up there, but I've an idea there'll be a day when we'll come again."

"Americans and English have besieged it before," said Robert, "but they've never taken it."

"Which proves nothing, but we'll turn our minds now to our journey into the south. It's good to breathe this clean air again, and the sooner we reach the deep woods the better I'll like it. What say you, Tayoga?"

The nostrils of the Onondaga expanded, as he inhaled the odors of leaf and grass, borne on the gentle wind.

"I have lived in the white man's house in Albany," he said, "and in our own log house in the vale of Onondaga, and I know the English and the French have many things that the nations of the Hodenosaunee have not, but we can do without most of them. If the great chiefs were to drink and dance all night as Bigot and his friends do, then indeed would we cease to be the mighty League of the Hodenosaunee."

They traveled all that day on foot, but at a great pace, showing their safe conduct twice to French soldiers, and so thin was the line of settlements along the St. Lawrence that when night came they were beyond the cultivated fields and had entered the deep woods. The three, in addition to their weapons, carried on their backs packs containing blankets and food, and as Willet and Tayoga put them down they drew long breaths of relief like those of prisoners escaped.

"Home, Tayoga! Home!" said the hunter, joyfully. "I've nothing against cities in general, but I breathed some pretty foul air in Quebec, and it's sweet and clean here. There comes a time when you are glad no house crosses your view and you are with the world as it was made in the beginning. Don't these trees look splendid! Did you ever see a finer lot of tender young leaves? And the night sky you see up there has been washed and scrubbed until it's nothing but clean blue!"

"Why, you're only a boy, Dave, the youngest of us three," laughed Robert. "Here you are singing songs about leaves and trees just as if you were not the most terrible swordsman in the world."

A shadow crossed Willet's face, but it was quick in passing.

"Let's not talk about Boucher, Robert," he said. "I don't regret what I did, knowing that it saved the lives of others, but I won't recall it any oftener than I can help. You're right when you term me a boy, and I believe you're right, too, when you say I'm the youngest of the three. I'm so glad to be here that just now I'm not more'n fifteen years old. I could run, jump, laugh and sing. And I think the woods are a deal safer and friendlier than Quebec. There's nobody, at least not here, lying around seeking a chance to stick a rapier in your back."

He unbuckled his sword and laid it upon the grass. Robert put his beside it.

"I don't think we'll need to use 'em again for a long time," said the hunter, "but they're mighty fine as decorations, and sometimes a decoration is worth while. It impresses. Now, Tayoga, you kindle the fire, and Robert, you find a spring. It's pleasant to feel that you're again on land that belongs to nobody, and can do as you please."