When Wilderness Was King Part 29

She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light.

"I have not said who I may be," she answered evasively. "Whatever name I may once have borne was long ago forgotten, and to the simple children about me I am only Sister Celeste. 'T is enough to live by in this wilderness, and the recording angel of G.o.d knows whether even that is worthy. But I have been waiting to learn why you are here, creeping through the bushes like a savage! Nor do I believe you to be altogether alone. Was there not one with you yonder at the house? Why did he cry out so loudly, and fall?"

"He imagined he saw a ghost within. He claimed to have recognized the face of a dead woman he once knew."

"A dead woman? What is the man's name? Who is he?"

"Captain de Croix, an officer of the French army."

She sighed quickly, as if relieved, one hand pressed against her forehead, and sat thinking.

"I know not the name, but it seems strange that the chance sight of my face should work such havoc with his nerves. Spoke he not even the name of the woman?"

"I think he cried some name as he fell, but I recall it not."

"And you? You are only seeking a way of escape from the savages?"

For a moment I hesitated; but surely, I thought, this strange young woman was of white blood, and seemingly an enthusiast in the religion I also professed, and I might safely trust her with my purpose.

"I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians."

"A maiden,--Elsa Matherson?"

"Nay, another; one I have learned to love so well that I now willingly risk even torture for her sake. You are a woman, and have a woman's heart; you exercise some strange power among these savages. I beg you to aid me."

She sat with clasped hands, her eyes lowered upon the gra.s.s.

"Whatsoever power I have comes from G.o.d," she said solemnly; "and there be times, such as now, when it seems as if He held me unworthy of His trust."

"But you will aid me in whatever way you can?"

"You are sure you love this maiden?"

"Would I be here, think you, otherwise?"

She did not answer immediately, but crept across the little s.p.a.ce separating us until she could look more closely into my face, scanning it earnestly with her dark eyes.

"You have the appearance of a true man," she said finally. "Does the maid love you?"

"I know not," I stammered honestly, confused by so direct a question.

"I fear not; yet I would save her even then."

I felt her hand touch mine as if in sudden sympathy.

"Monsieur," she spoke gravely, "love has never been kind to me, and I have learned to put small trust in the word as it finds easy utterance upon men's lips. A man swore once, even at the altar, that he loved me; and when he had won my heart he left me for another. If I believed you were such a man I would rather leave this girl to her fate among the savages yonder."

"I am not of that school," I protested earnestly. "I am of a race that love once and forever. But you, who are you? Why are you here in the midst of these savages? You bear a strange likeness to her I would save, but for the lighter shade of your hair."

She drew back slightly, removing her hand from mine, but with gentleness.

"It would do you little good to know my story," She said firmly. "I am no longer of the world, and my life is dedicated to a service you might deem sacrifice. Moreover, we waste time in such idle converse; and if it be my privilege to aid you at all, I must learn more, so as to plan safely."

"You have the freedom of the camp yonder?"

"I hardly know," she responded sadly. "G.o.d has placed in my poor hands, Monsieur, a portion of His work amid those benighted, sin-stained creatures there. Times come, as now, when the wild wolf breaks loose, and my life hardly is safe among them. I fled the camp to-night,--not from fear, Christ knows, but because I am a woman, and too weak physically to bear the sight of suffering that I am helpless to relieve. It is indeed Christ's mercy that so few of your company were spared to be thus tortured; but there was naught left for me but prayer."

She stooped forward, her hands pressed over her eyes as though she would shut out the horror.

"Yet know you who among the whites have thus far preserved their lives?" I urged, in an agony of suspense. "Were any of the women brought alive to the camp?"

"It was my fortune to see but one; nor was I permitted to approach her,--a sweet-faced girl, yet she could not be the one you seek, for she wore a wedding-ring. She was saved through the friends.h.i.+p of Black Partridge, and I heard that she is a daughter of the Silver-man."

"Ay! Mrs. Helm! Thank G.o.d! But was she the only one?"

"Truly, I know not; for I was forced away from sight of much that went on. Little Sauk has a white maiden hidden in his lodge, who was brought from the battle. I have not seen the girl, but know this through others who were angry at his good-fortune."

"Could we reach there, think you, un.o.bserved?"

She rose, and gazed anxiously across the stream, her face showing clear and fair in the faint light of those distant fires, while I caught the glimmer of a pearl rosary about her white throat and marked a silver crucifix resting against her breast.

"It will be life itself you venture in such an attempt," she said softly, "even its loss through torture; yet 't is a deed that might be done, for the Indians are fairly crazed with blood and liquor, and will pay small heed to aught save their heathen orgies."

"Then let us venture it."

She turned slightly and looked at me intently, her dark eyes filled with serious thought.

"Yes, we will go," she responded at last, slowly. "If through G.o.d's grace we may thus preserve a life, it will be well worthy the sacrifice, and must be His desire."

For another moment we waited there silently, standing side by side, gazing anxiously across the dark water, and listening intently to the varied discordant sounds borne to us on the night air. I know not what may have been in her thought; but upon my lips there was a silent prayer that we might be safely guided in our desperate mission. I wondered still who this strange young woman could be, so surrounded by mystery, a companion of savages, and still gentle and refined in word and manner. I dare not ask again, nor urge her confidence; for there was that of reserve about her which held me speechless. I glanced aside, marking again the clear pure contour of her face, and my look seemed instantly to arouse her from her reverie.

"I expect little trouble until we near the centre of the camp," she said, thoughtfully. "'T is dark amid the northern lodges, and we shall meet with no warriors there unless they be so far gone in intoxication as to be no longer a source of danger. But come, friend, the longer we tarry the less bright grows the hope of success."

A slender bark canoe rested close beneath the bank, and she motioned me into it, grasping the paddle without a word, and sending the narrow craft with swift, silent strokes across the stream. The other sh.o.r.e was unprotected; so, hesitating only long enough to listen for a moment, much as some wild animal might, she crept forward cautiously into the black lodge-shadows, while I instantly followed, imitating as best I could her slightest movement. We met no obstacle to our advance,--not even the snarls and barkings of the innumerable curs, usually the sleepless guardians of such encampments of savages. I soon saw that as we crept around lodge after lodge in our progress, the light of the blazing fires in our front grew constantly brighter and the savage turbulence more p.r.o.nounced.

At last the girl came to a sudden pause, peering cautiously forward from beneath the shadow of the lodge that hid us; and as I glanced over her shoulder, the wild scene was revealed in each detail of savagery.

"'T is as far as you will dare venture," she whispered, her lips at my ear. "I know not the exact limit of our progress, but the lodge of Little Sauk lies beyond the fire, and I must make the rest of the distance alone."

"But dare you?" I questioned uneasily. "Will they permit even you to pa.s.s unharmed?"

She smiled almost sadly.

"I have many friends among them, blood-stained as they are, and little as I have accomplished for the salvation of their souls. I have been with them much, and my father long held their confidence ere he died.

I have even been adopted into the tribe of the Pottawattomies. None are my enemies among that nation save the medicine-men, and they will scarce venture to molest me even in this hour of their power and crime.

Too well they know me to be under protection of their chiefs; nor are they insensible to the sanct.i.ty of my faith. Ay, and even their superst.i.tion has proved my safeguard."

The expression of curiosity in my eyes appealed to her, and as if in answer she rested one hand upon her uncovered head, the hair of which shone like dull red gold in the firelight.