Lords of the North Part 29

"And didn't succeed," broke in Louis regretfully.

At that, we both laughed in spite of ourselves, laughed as comrades.

And the laugh brought back memories of old Laval days, when we used to thrash each other in the schoolyard, but always united in defensive league, when we were disciplined inside the cla.s.s-room.

"See here, old crony," I cried, taking quick advantage of his sudden softening and again playing suppliant to my adversary. "I own up! You owe me two scores, one for the despatches I saw taken from you, one for knocking you down in Fort Douglas; for your knife broke and did not cut me a whit. Pay those scores with compound interest, if you like, the way you used to pummel me black and blue at Laval; but help me now as we used to help each other out of sc.r.a.pes at school! Afterwards, do as you wis.h.!.+ I give you full leave. As the son of a seigneur, as a gentleman, Louis, help me to free the woman!"

"Pah!" cried Louis with mingled contempt and surrender. "I not punish you here with two thousand against one! Louis Laplante is a gentleman--even to his enemy!"

"Bravo, comrade!" I shouted out, full of grat.i.tude, and I thrust forward my hand.

"No--no--thanks much," and Laplante drew himself up proudly, "not till I pay you well, richly,--generous always to mine enemy!"

"Very good! Pay when and where you will."

"Pay how I like," snapped Louis.

With that strange contract, his embarra.s.sment seemed to vanish and his English came back fluently.

"You'd better leave before the warriors return," he said. "They come home to-morrow!"

"Is Diable among them?"

"No."

"Is Diable here?"

"No." His face clouded as I questioned.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Will he be back?"

"Dammie! How do I know? He will if he wants to! I don't tell tales on a man who saved my life."

His answer set me to wondering if Diable had seen me hold back the trader's murderous hand, when Louis lay drunk, and if the Frenchman's knowledge of that incident explained his strange generosity now.

"I'll stay here in spite of all the Sioux warriors on earth, till I find out about that knave of an Indian and his captives," I vowed.

Louis looked at me queerly and gave another whistle.

"You always were a pig-head," said he. "I can keep them from harming you; but remember, I pay you back in your own coin. And look out for the daughter of L'Aigle, curse her! She is the only thing I ever fear! Keep you in my tent! If Le Grand Diable see you----" and Louis touched his knife-handle significantly.

"Then Diable _is_ here!"

"I not say so," but he flushed at the slip of his tongue and moved quickly towards what appeared to be his quarters.

"He is coming?" I questioned, suspicious of Louis' veracity.

"Dolt!" said Louis. "Why else do I hide you in my tent? But remember I pay you back in your own coin afterwards! Ha! There they come!"

A shout of returning hunters arose from the ravine, at which Louis bounded for the tent on a run, das.h.i.+ng inside breathlessly, I following close behind.

"Stay you here, inside, mind! Mon Dieu! If you but show your face; 'tis two white men under one stone-pile! Louis Laplante is a fool--dammie--a fool--to help you, his enemy, or any other man at his own risk."

With these enigmatical words, the Frenchman hurried out, fastening the tent flap after him and leaving me to reflect on the wild impulses of his wayward nature. Was his strange, unwilling generosity the result of animosity to the big squaw, who seemed to exercise some subtle and commanding influence over him; or of grat.i.tude to me? Was the n.o.ble blood that coursed in his veins, directing him in spite of his degenerate tendencies; or had the man's heart been touched by the sight of a white woman's suffering? If his alarm at the sound of returning hunters had not been so palpably genuine--for he turned pale to the lips--I might have suspected treachery. But there was no mistaking the motive of fear that hurried him to the tent; and with Le Grand Diable among the hunters, Louis might well fear to be seen in my company. There was a hubbub of trappers returning to the lodges. I heard horses turned free and tent-poles clattering to the ground; but Laplante did not come back till it was late and the Indians had separated for the night.

"I can take you to her!" he whispered, his voice thrilling with suppressed emotion. "Le Grand Diable and the squaw have gone to the valley to set snares! And when I whistle, come out quickly! Mon Dieu! If you're caught, both our scalps go! Dammie! Louis is a fool. I take you to her; but I pay you back all the same!"

"To whom?" The question throbbed with a rush to my lips.

"Stupid dolt!" snarled Louis. "Follow me! Keep your ears open for my whistle--one--they return--two--come you out of the tent--three, we are caught, save yourself!"

I followed the Frenchman in silence. It was a hazy summer night with just enough light from the sickle moon for us to pick our way past the lodges to a large newly-erected wigwam with a small white tent behind.

"This way," whispered Louis, leading through the first to an opening hidden by a hanging robe. Raising the skin, he shoved me forward and hastened out to keep guard.

The figure of a woman with a child in her arms was silhouetted against the white tent wall. She was sitting on some robes, crooning in a low voice to the child, and was unaware of my presence.

"And was my little Eric at the hunt, and did he shoot an arrow all by himself?" she asked, fondling the face that snuggled against her shoulder.

The boy gurgled back a low, happy laugh and lisped some childish reply, which only a mother could translate.

"And he will grow big, big and be a great warrior and fight--fight for his poor mother," she whispered, lowering her voice and caressing the child's curls.

The little fellow sat up of a sudden facing his mother and struck out squarely with both fists, not uttering a word.

"My brave, brave little Eric! My only one, all that G.o.d has left to me!"

she sobbed hiding her weeping face on the child's neck. "O my G.o.d, let me but keep my little one! Thou hast given him to me and I have treasured him as a jewel from Thine own crown! O my G.o.d, let me but keep my darling, keep him as Thy gift--and--and--O my G.o.d!--Thy--Thy--Thy will be done!"

The words broke in a moan and the child began to cry.

"Hush, dearie! The birds never cry, nor the beavers, nor the great, bold eagle! My own little warrior must never cry! All the birds and the beasts and the warriors are asleep! What does Eric say before he goes to sleep?"

A pair of chubby arms were flung about her neck and pa.s.sionate, childish kisses pressed her forehead and her cheeks and her lips. Then he slipped to his knees and put his face in her lap.

"G.o.d bless my papa--and keep my mamma--and make little Eric brave and good--for Jesus' sake----" the child hesitated.

"Amen," prompted the gentle voice of the mother.

"And keep little Eric for my mamma so she won't cry," added the child, "for Jesus' sake--Amen," and he scrambled to his feet.

A low, piercing whistle cut the night air like the flight of an arrow-shaft. It was Louis Laplante's signal that Diable and the squaw were coming back. At the sound, mother and child started up in alarm.

Then they saw me standing in the open way. A gasp of fright came from the white woman's lips. I could tell from her voice that she was all a-tremble, and the little one began to whimper in a smothered, suppressed way.

I whispered one word--"Miriam!"

With a faint cry of anguish, she leaped forward. "Is it you, Eric? O Eric! is it you?" she asked.