The Mississippi Bubble Part 22

"'Tis myself and no one else," replied Law. "But why this melodrama, Sir Arthur? Why reject my hand?"

"I have sworn to extend to you no hand but that bearing a weapon, Mr.

Law!" said Pembroke. "This may be accident, but it seems to me the justice of G.o.d. Oh, you have run far, Mr. Law--"

"What mean you, Sir Arthur?" exclaimed Law, his face a.s.suming the dull red of anger. "I have gone where I pleased, and asked no man's leave for it, and I shall live as I please and ask no man's leave for that. I admit that it seems almost a miracle to meet you here, but come you one way or the other, you come best without riddles, and still better without threats."

"You are not armed," said Sir Arthur. He gazed at the bronzed figure before him, clad in fringed tunic and leggings of deer hide; at the belt with little knife and ax, at the gun which now rested in the hollow of his arm. Law himself laughed keenly.

"Why, as to that," said he, "I had thought myself well enough equipped.

But as for a sword, 'tis true my hand is more familiar, these days, with the ax and gun."

"The late Jessamy Law shows change in his capacity of renegade," said Pembroke, raspingly. His face displayed a scorn which jumped ill with the nature of the man before him.

"I am what I am, Sir Arthur," said Law, "and what I was. And always I am at any man's service who is in search of what you call G.o.d's justice, or what I may call personal satisfaction. I doubt not we shall find my other trinkets in good order not far away. But meantime, before you turn my hospitality into shame, bring on your men and follow me."

His face working with emotion, Law turned away. He caught up the body of the dead buck, and tossing it across his shoulders, strode up the winding pathway.

"Come, Gray, and Ellsworth," said Pembroke. "Get your men together. We shall see what there is to this."

At the summit of the river-bluff Law awaited their arrival. He noted in silence the look of surprise which crossed Pembroke's face as at length they came into view of the little panorama of the stockade and its surroundings.

"This is my home, Sir Arthur," said he simply. "These are my fields. And see, if I mistake not, yonder is some proof of the ability of my people to care for themselves."

He pointed to the gateway, from the loop-holes guarding which there might now be seen protruding two long dark barrels, leveled in the direction of the approaching party. There came a call from within the palisade, and the sound of men running to take their places along the wall. Law raised his hand, and the barrels of the guns were lowered.

"This, then, is your hiding-place!" said Pembroke.

"I call it not such. 'Tis public to the world."

"Tus.h.!.+ You lack not in the least of your old conceit and a.s.surance, Mr.

Law!" said Pembroke.

"Nay, I lack not so much in a.s.surance of myself," said Law, "as in my patience, which I find, Sir Arthur, now begins to grow a bit short about its breath. But since the courtesy of the trail demands somewhat, I say to you, there is my home. Enter it as friend if you like, but if not, come as you please. Did you indeed come bearing war, I should be obliged to signify to you, Sir Arthur, that you are my prisoner. You see my people."

"Sir," replied Sir Arthur, blindly, "I have vowed to find you no matter where you should go."

"It would seem that your vow is well fulfilled. But now, since you deal in mysteries, I shall even ask you definitely, Sir Arthur, who and what are you? Why do you come hither, and how shall we regard you?"

"I am, in the first place," said Sir Arthur, "messenger of my Lord Bellomont, governor at Albany of our English colonies. I add my chief errand, which has been to find Mr. Law, whom I would hold to an accounting."

"Oh, granted," replied Law, flicking lightly at the cuff of his tunic, "yet your errand still carries mystery."

"You have at least heard of the Peace of Ryswick, I presume?"

"No; how should I? And why should I care?"

"None the less, the king of England and the king of France are no longer at war, nor are their colonies this side of the water. There are to be no more raids between the colonies of New England and New France. The Hurons are to give back their English prisoners, and the Iroquois are to return all their captives to the French. The Western tribes are to render up their prisoners also, be they French, English, Huron or Iroquois. The errand of carrying this news was offered to me. It agreed well enough with my own private purposes. I had tracked you, Mr. Law, to Montreal, lost you on the Richelieu, and was glad enough to take up this chance of finding you farther to the West. And now, by the justice of heaven, as I have said, I have found you easily."

"And has Sir Arthur gone to sheriffing? Has my friend become constable?

Is Sir Arthur a spy? Because, look you, this is not London, nor yet New France, nor Albany. This is Messasebe! This is my valley. I rule here.

Now, if kings, or constables, or even spies, wish to find John Law--why, here is John Law. Now watch your people, and go you carefully here, else that may follow which will be ill extinguished."

Pembroke flung down his sword upon the ground in front of him.

"You are lucky, Mr. Law," said he, "lucky as ever. But surely, never was man so eminently deserving of death as yourself."

"You do me very much honor, Sir Arthur," replied Law. "Here is your sword, sir." Stooping, he picked it up and handed it to the other. "I did but ill if I refused to accord satisfaction to one bringing me such speech as that. 'Tis well you wear your weapons, Sir Arthur, since you come thus as emissary of the Great Peace! I know you for a gentleman, and I shall ask no parole of you to-night; but meantime, let us wait until to-morrow, when I promise you I shall be eager as yourself. Come!

We can stand here guessing and talking no longer. I am weary of it."

They came now to the gate of the stockade, and there Pembroke stood for a moment in surprise and perplexity. He was not prepared to meet this dark-haired, wide-eyed girl, clad in native dress of skin, with tinkling metals at wrist and ankle, and on her feet the tiny, beaded shoes. For her part, Mary Connynge, filled with woman's curiosity, was yet less prepared for that which appeared before her--an apparition, as ran her first thought, come to threaten and affright.

"Sir Arthur!" she began, her trembling tongue but half forming the words. Her eyes stared in terror, and beneath her dark skin the blood shrank away and left her pale. She recoiled from him, her left hand carrying behind her instinctively the babe that lay on her arm.

Sir Arthur bowed, but found no word. He could only look questioningly at Law.

"Madam," said the latter, "Sir Arthur Pembroke journeys through as the messenger of Lord Bellomont, governor at Albany, to spread peace among the Western tribes. He has by mere chance blundered upon our valley, and will delay over night. It seemed well you should be advised."

Mary Connynge, gray and pale, haggard and horrified, dreading all things and knowing nothing, found no manner of reply. Without a word she turned and fled back into the cabin.

Sir Arthur once more looked about him. Motioning to the others of the party to remain outside the gate, Law led him within the stockade. On one hand stood Pierre Noir, tall, silent, impa.s.sive as a savage, leaning upon his gun and fixing on the red coat of the English uniform an eye none too friendly. Jean Breboeuf, his piece half ready and his voluble tongue half on the point of breaking over restraint, Law quieted with a gesture. Back of these, ranged in a silent yet watchful group, their weapons well in hand, stood numbers of the savage allies of this new war-lord. Pembroke turned to Law again.

"You are strongly stationed, sir; but I do not understand."

"It is my home."

"But yet--why?"

"As well this as any, where one leaves an old life and begins a new,"

said Law. "'Tis as good a place as any if one would leave all behind, and if he would forget."

"And this--that is to say--madam?"

Sir Arthur stumbled in his speech. John Law looked him straight in the eye, a slow, sad smile upon his face.

"Had we here the plank of poor La Salle his s.h.i.+p," said he, "we might nail the message of that other renegade above our door--'_Nous sommes tous sauvages_!'"

CHAPTER IX

THE DREAM

That night John Law dreamed as he slept, and it was in some form the same haunting and familiar dream. In his vision he saw not the low roof nor the rude walls about him. To his mind there appeared a little dingy room, smaller than this in which he lay, with walls of stone, with door of iron grating and not of rough-hewn slabs. He saw the door of the prison cell swing open; saw near it the figure of a n.o.ble young girl, with large and frightened eyes and lips half tremulous. To this vision he outstretched his hands. He was almost conscious of uttering some word supplicatingly, almost conscious of uttering a name.

Perhaps he slept on. We little know the ways of the land of dreams. It might have been half an instant or half an hour later that he suddenly awoke, finding his hand clapped close against his side, where suddenly there had come a sharp and burning pain. His own hand struck another. He saw something gleaming in the light of the flickering fire which still survived upon the hearth. The dim rays lit up two green, glowing, venomous b.a.l.l.s, the eyes of the woman whom he found bending above him.

He reached out his hand in the instinct of safety. This which glittered in the firelight was the blade of a knife, and it was in the hand of Mary Connynge!