The Road to Frontenac Part 13

Father Claude bent forward, with his eyes close to the inscription that had been painted on the white inner bark, with charcoal and bear's grease.

"Can you read it?" asked Menard, holding the torch high.

The priest nodded. Both of these men knew the Indian writing nearly as well as their own French.

[Transcriber's Note: An ill.u.s.tration of picture-writing appears here in the text with the following caption:

NOTE.--By this picture-writing the Long Arrow (of the clan of the Beaver) tells the Beaver (of the same clan) that he has taken up the hatchet against the party in the canoe, and he asks the Beaver to a.s.sist him. The parallel zigzag lines under the long arrow tell that he is travelling by the river, and the two straight lines under these that he has two warriors with him. The attack is to be made in either three or four sleeps, or days, as indicated by the three finished huts and one unfinished.

The Beaver has seen this sign, as shown by his signature at the bottom. The seventeen slanting lines under the foot mean that he has seventeen warriors and they are travelling on foot, southward, as shown by the fact that the lines slope toward the sun.

That the figures in the canoe are French is shown by their hats.

The priest has no paddle, the maid is represented with long hair.]

"He does not know of the two men you got at Montreal, M'sieu. He tells of only six in our canoe."

"No? But that matters little. The Beaver has hurried after him with nearly a score. They can give us trouble enough. What do you make of the huts? Do they mean three days or four?"

"It looks to me," said the priest slowly, "that he was interrupted in drawing the fourth."

"Well,"--Menard threw his torch into the brook, and turned away into the dusk of the thicket,--"we know enough. The fight will be somewhere near the head of the rapids. Perhaps they will wait until we get on into the islands."

"And meantime," said the priest, as they crackled through the undergrowth, "we shall say nothing of this to Lieutenant Danton or the maid?"

"Nothing," Menard replied.

In three days more they had pa.s.sed Rapide Flat, after toiling laboriously by the Long Sault. They were a sober enough party now, oppressed with Danton's dogged attention to duty and with the maid's listless manner.

They were pa.s.sing a small island the next morning, when Perrot gave a shout and stopped paddling.

"What is it?" asked Menard, sharply.

Perrot pointed across a spit of land. In the other channel they could see a bateau just disappearing behind a clump of trees. It was headed down-stream. Menard swung the canoe about, and they skirted the foot of the island. Instead of a single bateau there were some half dozen, drifting light down the river, with a score of _coureurs de bois_ and _voyageurs_ under the command of a bronzed lieutenant, Du Peron, a sergeant, and a corporal. The lieutenant recognized Menard, and both parties landed while the two officers exchanged news.

"Can you spare me a few men?" Menard asked, when they had drawn apart from the others.

The lieutenant's eye roamed over the group on the beach, where the men of both parties were mingling.

"How many do you want? I'm running shorthanded. We have all we can manage with these bateaux."

"There's a war party of twenty on my trail," said Menard. "If I had my own men with me I should feel safe, but I have my doubts about these fellows. I haven't room for more than two."

"What's the trouble?--that La Grange affair?"

Menard nodded.

"I heard that they had a price on your head. There's been a good deal of talk about it at Frontenac. A converted Mohawk has been scouting for us, and he says that the Onondagas blame you for that whole galley business."

"I know," said Menard, grimly. "You could hardly expect them to get the truth of it."

"It was bad work, Menard, bad work. The worst thing La Grange did was to butcher the women and children. He was drunk at the time, and the worst of it was over before d'Orvilliers got wind of it. Do you know who is leading this war party?"

"The Long Arrow."

"Oh, yes. A big fellow, with a rather noticeable wampum collar. He came to Frontenac as a Mission Indian, but got away before we suspected anything. Our scout told me that his son was in the party that was taken to the galleys. He's been scouting along the river ever since. Likely as not he followed you down to Quebec. How many men have you now?"

"Five, and Father Claude."

"He could shoot at a pinch, I suppose. I'll let you have the best two I have, but--" Du Peron shrugged his shoulders--"you know the sort that are a.s.signed for this transport work. They're a bad lot at best.

But they can shoot, and they hate the Iroquois, so you're all right if you can keep them sober. That will make nine, with yourself,--it should be enough."

"It will be enough. How is the transport moving?"

"Splendidly. Whatever we may say about the new Governor, our Intendant knows his business. I judge from the way he is stocking up Frontenac, that we are to use it as the base for a big campaign."

"I suppose so. You will report, will you, at Montreal, that we were safe at Rapide Flat? And if you find a _coureur_ going down to Quebec, I wish you would send word to Provost that Mademoiselle St. Denis is well and in good spirits."

The lieutenant looked curiously at the maid, who was walking with Father Claude near the canoe. Then the two officers shook hands, and in a few moments were going their ways, Menard with two villainous _voyageurs_ added to his crew. That afternoon he pa.s.sed the last rapid, and beached the canoe at La Gallette, thankful that nothing intervened between them and Fort Frontenac but a reach of still water and the twining channels of the Thousand Islands, where it would call for the sharpest eyes ever set in an Iroquois head to follow his movements.

They ate an early supper, and immediately afterward Father Claude slipped away. The maid looked after him a little wistfully, then she wandered to the bank, and found a mossy seat where she could watch the long rapid, with its driving, foaming current that dashed over the ledges and leaped madly around the jagged rocks. Menard set his men at work preparing the camp against attack. When this was well under way he called Danton, who was lying by the fire, and spent an hour with him conversing in Iroquois. By that time the twilight was creeping down the river. Menard left the boy to form a speech in accord with Iroquois tradition, and went on a tour of inspection about the camp.

The new men had swung thoroughly into the spirit of their work; one of them was already on guard a short way back in the woods. The other men were grouped in a cleared place, telling stories and singing.

Father Claude came hurriedly toward the fire, looking for Menard. His eyes glowed with enthusiasm.

"M'sieu," he said, in an eager voice, "come. I have found it."

"What?"

"It has come to me,--about the canoe."

Menard looked puzzled, but the priest caught his arm, and led him away.

"It came while we ate supper. The whole truth, the secret of the allegory, flashed upon me. I have worked hard, and now it is done.

Instead of leaving out the canoe, I have put it back, and have placed in it six warriors, three paddling toward the chapel, and three away from it. Over them hovers an angel,--a mere suggestion, a faint, s.h.i.+ning face, a diaphanous form, and outspread hands. Thus we symbolize the conflict in the savage mind at the first entrance of the Holy Word into their lives, with the blessed a.s.surance over all that the Faith must triumph in the end."

At the last words, he stopped and drew Menard around to face the portrait of the Lily of the Onondagas, which was leaning against a stump.

"Is it too dark, M'sieu? See, I will bring it closer." He lifted the picture, and held it close to Menard's eyes. He was trembling with the excitement of his inspiration.

The Captain stepped back.

"I should like to know, Father, where you have had this picture."

"It was in my bundle. I have"--for the first time he saw the sternness in Menard's face, and his voice faltered.

"You did not leave it at Montreal?"

Father Claude slowly lowered the canvas to the ground. The light had gone out of his eyes, and his face was white. Then suddenly his thin form straightened. "I had forgotten. It was M'sieu's order. See,"--he suddenly lifted the picture over his head and whirled to the stump,--"it shall go no farther. We will leave it here for the wolves and the crows and the pagan redmen."