Montlivet

He linked his arm in mine. "Do you know," he said abruptly, "the prisoner has spirit and to spare. He may be a man of importance after all."

I answered like a fool. "I think not. He is dressed like a yeoman."

Cadillac put me at arm"s length, and puffed his cheeks with silent laughter. "Plumage, eh? Are you willing to be judged by your own?" He stopped to let his glance rest on my shabby gear. "Truly it must be a long year since you fronted a mirror, or you would not be so complacent. No, monsieur, the prisoner is a gentleman. No yeoman ever carried his head with such a poise. But who is he? I would give all the pistoles in my pocket--though, in faith, they"re few enough--if I could understand English. But you may be able to help me. Go speak to the prisoner in Huron. He must have picked up something of the Indian speech in his trip here."

This was my opportunity. "Monsieur," I said, "I should like an understanding. Remember how little all this can mean to me,--a trader,--and do not think me churlish if I try to keep myself free from this intrigue. I will go to the prisoner now, if you wish; but, that done, I beg you to hold me excused of any further service in this matter."

Cadillac looked me over, and now his glance went, not to my doublet, but to the man within. "A trader!" he said curtly. "A trader carrying contraband brandy. A good commandant would send you back where you belong. No, no, monsieur, wait! I am not threatening you. Though you know as well as I that the thumb-screws are rather convenient to my hand should I care to use them. But there should be no necessity for that. Montlivet, I hardly understand your reluctance in the matter of this Englishman. We should be one in this affair, whatever our private concerns. Even Black Gown and I--and the world says we are not lovers--are working together. Why do you draw back?"

I could not meet him with less than the truth. "You have stated the reason, monsieur. My private concerns,--they seem large to me, and I fear to jeopard them by becoming entangled here. I regret this. You have shown me great clemency in the matter of the brandy,--though if you had confiscated it I should still have pushed on,--and for that, and for your own sake, monsieur, I should be glad to serve you."

He looked at my outstretched palm, and laid his own upon it. ""T is fairly spoken," he said slowly, "and I think you mean it." Then he grew peevish. "A pest on this country!" he cried. "We are all kings in disguise, and have a monarchy hidden in our hats. And what does it amount to? No bread, no wine, no thanks; a dog"s life and a jackal"s death,--and all to hold some leagues of barren land for his petticoat-ridden majesty at Versailles. Oh, why not say it? We can tell the truth here without losing our heads."

"The king"s arm"--I began.

"Is long," he interrupted. "Yet, in truth, your face is longer. Are you so eager to be gone? Well, get you to the prisoner, and, my hand on it, I shall ask for nothing more."

CHAPTER III

BEHIND THE COMMANDANT"S DOOR

The commandant"s door had come to be the portal through which I stepped from safety into meddling. Yet I opened it now with laughter peeping from my sleeve. To bait the Englishman in Huron seemed a good-natured enough jest, and full of possibilities.

But one look at the prisoner drained my laughter. He was lying on a bench, his face hidden in his out-flung arms, and his slenderness and helplessness pulled at me hard. I knew that despair, and even tears, must have conquered now that he was alone, and I wished that I might save his pride, and slip away until he had fought back his bravery, and had himself in hand.

But he had heard my step, and drew himself up to face me. He turned with composure, and fronted me with so much dignity that I stood like a blundering oaf trapped by my own emotion. There was no emotion in his look. He had been thinking, not despairing, and his face was sharpened and lighted with such concentration that I felt slapped with cold steel. He looked all intellect and determination,--a thing of will-power rather than flesh and brawn.

My Huron speech seemed out of place, but there was no choice left me, so I used it. There was refuge for my dignity in the sonorous syllables, and I spoke as to a fellow sachem. Then I asked the prisoner his name, and waited for response.

None came. I knew that I had spoken rapidly, so I tried again. I chose short words, and framed my sentences like a schoolmaster. The prisoner listened negligently. Then he put out his hand. "Pardon, monsieur. But I speak French,--though indifferently," he said, with a slight shrug.

My anger made my ears buzz; I would not bandy words with a man of so small and sly a spirit. I turned to leave.

But the prisoner stepped between me and the door. "You were sent here with a message," he said; "I am listening."

His sunken brown eyes were so deep in melancholy that I could not hold my wrath. "Was it a gentleman"s part to lead me on to play the clown?"

I asked. "I came in kindness."

He smiled a little,--a bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. "I am not, like you, a gentleman by birth, monsieur," he said slowly, "and so often trip in my behavior. Granted that you were amusing,--and you were, monsieur,--can you blame me for using you for a diversion? I infer that you have come to tell me that the time left me, either for amus.e.m.e.nt or penitence, is short."

It was bravely said, but I knew from the careful repression of his tone that his hardness was a brittle veneer. He was young to carry so bold a front when his heart must be hammering, and I would willingly have talked any doggerel to have afforded him another smile.

"I know nothing of your future," I hastened, "save that, arguing from your youth, it will probably be a long one. It was your past that I was sent to ask concerning. The commandant sent me. Since you speak French, my mission is over. The commandant will come himself."

The prisoner laid his hand upon a chair. "Will you sit? I would rather it be you than the commandant, if it must be any one. What were you sent to ask?"

I waved away the chair, for I thought of the pa.s.sing moments and of what I had promised Father Carheil. "I must hasten," I said irritably.

"What was I to ask? Why, your name, the account of your capture,--the story of your being here, in brief."

He saw that I glanced at the door, and he walked over to it. "Wait!"

he interposed. "I can answer you in a line. But one question first.

Monsieur, I--I"--

"Yes, monsieur."

"Monsieur, I--I must think a moment. Be patient, if you will."

His voice was calm, but there was something in his look that forced my pity. "Tell me nothing that I must not tell the commandant," I warned.

"But be a.s.sured of my good will."

I think he did not hear. He sat with his forehead on his hand, and I knew that he was thinking. He looked up with a new decision in his glance.

"Monsieur, you lead a strange life in this place. I see nothing but men. Have you no families?"

I swore under my breath. I had expected some meat from his remark, and he gave me trivialities. I had no time for social preliminaries, and I felt sudden distaste for him. I pointed him to the window.

"We are not all men. There are Indian women in plenty. Shall I draw the shade that you may see? There are many of my countrymen to tell you that they find them fair."

"But are there no white families in the settlement?" He was leaning forward, and he ignored the insult of my air.

I shook my head. "None, monsieur. None short of Montreal."

He tapped the floor, and frowned. His look went beyond me, and he was absorbed. "None short of Montreal. Indeed you live a strange life.

Monsieur, is it far to Montreal?"

I shrugged. "Yes, it is a long journey. Come, monsieur, we waste time. I wish you good-day."

He glanced up quickly. His was a misleading face, for while his words were meaningless, and showed him of a small and trifling mind, his look was yet keen. He saw that I had wearied of him, and he put out his hand to beg my attention.

"Wait, monsieur!" he cried.

"Monsieur, you waste my time."

"I shall waste no more. I have made up my mind. Listen. I promised you my story." He had regained all his quiet arrogance. "It is soon told. I am an Englishman,--or a colonist, if you like the term better.

I was in a village on the Connecticut frontier, when your savages came down upon us. No, I am wrong. They did nothing so manly as to come down upon us boldly. They slid among us like foul vermin afraid of the light. They achieved a notable victory, monsieur. I see that you recognize their prowess, and that the feast you have prepared for them is lavish. It was a n.o.ble battle. I regret you could not have seen it. There were some hundreds of the Indians, and a scattering handful of us. A quiet farming community, monsieur, that worked hard, supped early, and slept the deep sleep of quiet living and sober minds. We waked to find the scalping knives at our throats, and the death scream of children in our ears. Look over the bags of scalps, and see the number of women and old men that your braves had to overcome. You will be proud of them, monsieur."

I clenched my hand, and wished myself elsewhere. "But our Hurons say they were neutral," I defended.

He lifted his brows. "You prefer to give all the praise to the Algonquins?" he asked smoothly. "I understand. Yes, I have heard that the Algonquins stand even closer to you than your Hurons here. They are more than brothers. Indeed, it is said that your Count Frontenac calls them his children. Well, they did you credit. It took ten of them to silence Goodman Ellwood"s musket, but they butchered him in the end. If you find a scalp with long silky white hair, monsieur, it belongs to John Ellwood. Value it, and nail it among your trophies, for it cost you the lives of a full half-dozen Algonquin braves."

I kept my eyes down. I had come here to unearth a certain fact, and I would pursue it. "But were the Hurons neutral?" I persisted.

I could not even guess at what raw nerve I touched, but he suddenly threw his arms wide as men do when a shot is mortal. His cool insolence dropped from him, and he was all fire and helpless defiance.

He stamped his foot, till, slender as he was, the boards rang. "Were the Hurons neutral?" he mocked, in a voice so like my own I could have sworn it was an echo. "What manner of man are you? Are you made of chalk? If you had seen a child"s brains dashed out against a tree, would you stop to ask the Indian who held the dripping corpse what dialect he spoke? Oh, a man should be ashamed to live who has seen such things, and who keeps his sword sheathed while one of your Indian family--brothers or children--remains alive! If you had blood in your veins, you would be man enough not to put even an enemy upon the rack, in this way, and force him to live that time over to glut your curiosity. Here is my answer, which you may take to your commandant.

I am an Englishman, I am your prisoner, and you are to remember that I am, first, last, and at all times, your foe. Now go to your commandant, and tell him to keep himself and his schoolboy orations out of my way."