Montlivet Part 24

"The gulls are wise," I said to the woman. "We could not plan a better water defense to our camp."

The gra.s.s came down to the water, and we pulled the canoes over short turf and into beds of white blossoms. A cloud of b.u.t.terflies rose to greet us; they too were satin-white, the color that a bride should wear, and they fluttered over us without fear. The smell of the gra.s.ses rose like incense. With all the light and perfume there was a sense of quiet, of deep content and peace. Even the woods that fringed the meadow seemed kindly. They did not have the sombre awe of the heavy timber, but looked sun-drenched and gay.

"We shall stay here," I said. "Unload the canoes."

Five men with good sinews, some understanding, and well-sharpened axe blades, can make a great change in the forest in one day. When the sunset found us I had a fortified house built for my wife. It was framed of fragrant pine, and occupied the extremity of a spit of land that lay next the meadow. Its door opened on the water, and I made the opening wide so that the stars might look in at night. All about the sides and rear of the house were laid boughs, one upon another, and on the top of this barricade was stretched a long cord threaded with hawk's bells. The lodges for myself and the men we placed in the rear, and behind them we laid still another wall of brush to separate us from the forest. I was satisfied with the defenses. With the reeds in front and the brush behind, any intruder would sound his own alarm.

The woman took Singing Arrow and went to her house early that night, but I sat late over my charts and journal. I had much to study and more to plan.

Yet I was abroad the next morning while the stars were still reflected in the bay. Labarthe was with me, and we took Singing Arrow's light canoe and packed it with supplies and merchandise. Then we breakfasted on meal and jerked meat and were ready to start.

But the rest of the men were not yet astir, and the woman's house was silent. I walked to it and stood irresolute. I disliked to wake her.

Yet I could not leave her without some message. But while I pondered I heard her step behind me. She came up from the water, and she looked all vigor and morning gladness.

"Why the canoe so early?" she called. "Do we have fish for breakfast?"

I took her hand. "Come with me to the water." I led her to the canoe and pointed out the bales of supplies. "You see we are ready for work.

We shall be back in a few days."

She dropped my hand. "Then why did you build that house?"

"Why not, madame?"

"But you say that we are to go this morning."

"I must go, madame."

"And you intend to leave me here?"

"Why, yes, madame."

"But you said 'we.'"

I looked some amazement. "I take Labarthe with me. I leave three men with you on guard. There is nothing to fear."

And then she threw back her head. "I do not think that I am afraid,"

she said more quietly. "But--I was not prepared for this. It had not occurred to me that you would go away."

I stopped a moment. "I do not go for pleasure. Indeed, I cannot imagine a fairer spot in which to linger and forget the world. But did you think that I would sit in idleness, madame?"

She looked down. "I do not know that I thought at all about it. It has gone on like a play, a dream. Perhaps I thought it would continue.

Your plan is to travel from tribe to tribe, and come back here at intervals?"

"That is my plan. I shall buy furs and cache them here. I shall try not to be away more than a week at a time. I regret that I surprised you. I did not think but that you understood."

She stood biting her lips and smiling to herself in half-satiric, half-whimsical fas.h.i.+on. "It says little for my intelligence that I was unprepared. You are a man, not a courtier. I should have known that you would not waste an hour. I wish that I might go with you."

"Madame, I wish it, too."

She looked up more briskly. "But that would be impossible. Have you instructions for me, monsieur?"

"Madame, if you are afraid, come with me."

"I am not afraid if you say that it is safe, monsieur."

"Thank you, madame. I think that it is entirely safe. Pierre is a good deal of a fool and more of a knave, but in some few respects there is no one like him; he is a rock. You are my wife and in his charge.

He will guard you absolutely."

"Are we in danger of attack?"

"I can imagine no possible reason for attack, else I should not leave you. The Indians are friendly. One thing troubles me. Your cousin---- Should"----

She looked up. "Should Lord Starling find me?" she completed. "Well, he would tarry here until you came. He would at least show that courtesy. I can promise as much as that for the family name, monsieur."

I smiled at her. "I shall await the meeting," I said with unction. I motioned Labarthe to the paddle, and I kissed the woman's hand.

"I salute your courage. I shall see you within the week, madame."

She looked straight at me. "And until then, good fortune."

But I paused. "Wish me opportunity. That is all that I ask from you or of you,--opportunity. Good-by for a week, madame."

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH I USE OPPORTUNITY

I squatted beside many camp fires in the next week. I sat in the flattened cones of the Chippewas' tepees and smoked innumerable pipes of rank tobacco with the old men. I traded some, but talked more, and at the end of the week I started home. I waited for a pleasant day and a westerly wind, for the small canoe was perilously laden with skins.

There was scarcely room for Labarthe and myself to crowd down on our knees and use our paddles.

We slipped into Sturgeon Cove late in the afternoon, and swept with the wind up the stretches of the bay to the camping ground. Summer was at flood tide, and the air was pungent and the leaves s.h.i.+ning. The sunset shone through tattered ends of cloud, so that the west was hung with crimson banners. It was my first homecoming.

Before we reached the camp I saw the woman. She had strayed down the sh.o.r.e to the west,--too far for safety, I thought,--and was standing alone on the sand, looking toward the sunset. Her head was back, and her arms flung out to the woods and the s.h.i.+ning sky. I have sometimes found myself stretching my own arms in just that fas.h.i.+on when I have been alone and have felt something pressing within me that was too large for speech. I motioned Labarthe to s.h.i.+p his paddle that I might look. The western glow was full upon the woman, and her lips were parted. The open sleeves of her skin blouse fell away from her arms, which had grown gently rounded since I saw her first. I could not see her eyes, but she looked somewhere off into the untraveled west,--the west that was the portal of my enterprise. What was her thought? I must not let myself trap it unaware. I gave a long, low call; the call of the loon as he skirts the marshes in the twilight.

She turned instantly and saw us. I bent forward. The drabbled plume of my hat swept the water, and I heard Labarthe curse under his breath, and beg me remember that the canoe was laden. But just then I had no caution in me.

The woman's arms dropped. She had a moment of indecision, and she stood looking at me with the sunset in her face and eyes. Then she suddenly thrust out both hands towards me across the stretch of water.

I could see her smooth-skinned brown fingers, and one wore my ring.

She bade me welcome. I bent to my paddle, and would have crashed the canoe up to the sh.o.r.e.

But she forestalled me. She was already on her way back to the camp, and if she knew that I had started toward her she did not let me see.

So I had, perforce, to follow. She walked with the free, gliding step of a woman whose foot had been trained on polished surfaces. I watched her, and let Labarthe paddle our way through the reeds.

We reached the camp, deafened by Pierre's bellow of greeting. The woman had kept pace with us, and stood waiting for us to disembark.

She was breathing quickly and the blood was in her brown cheeks; her great eyes were frankly opened and s.h.i.+ning. I pushed by the men and bent to kiss her hand.

"Madame, thank you for my welcome home."