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Title: The doom trail

Author: Arthur D. Howden Smith

Release date: May 1, 2023 [eBook #70683]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Brentano's

Credits: Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOOM TRAIL ***







  THE DOOM TRAIL


  BY

  ARTHUR D. HOWDEN SMITH

  _Author of_
  "Spears of Destiny," "The Audacious
  Adventures of Miles McConaughy,"
  "The Wastrel," etc.



  NEW YORK
  BRENTANO'S
  _Publishers_




  COPYRIGHT 1922, BY
  BRENTANO'S

  COPYRIGHT 1921, BY
  THE RIDGWAY COMPANY


  _All rights reserved_



  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I  The Fray in Mincing Lane
  II  Small Talk and Mulled Ale
  III  Before the Lords of Trade
  IV  Five Berths on the New Venture
  V  The Fifth Passenger
  VI  The Opening of Hostilities
  VII  A Truce
  VIII  I Hear First of the Doom Trail
  IX  The Governor in Council
  X  The Red Death
  XI  Ta-Wan-Ne-Ars Understands
  XII  Into the Wilderness
  XIII  The Trailers
  XIV  Along the Great Trail
  XV  Joncaire is Hospitable
  XVI  Trapped
  XVII  La Vierge Du Bois
  XVIII  The Mistress of the False Faces
  XIX  The Moon Feast
  XX  The Argosy of Furs
  XXI  A Scout of Three
  XXII  Red Death and Black Death
  XXIII  Governor Burnet is Defied
  XXIV  An Appeal to the Long House
  XXV  The Council of the Roy-an-ehs
  XXVI  The Evil Wood
  XXVII  Ga-Ha-No's Sacrifice
  XXVIII  The Might at the Long House
  XXIX  The Barring of the Doom Trail
  XXX  Pearl Street to Hudson's River




PROLOGUE

O my reader, rest a while at our Council Fire before you set your
feet upon the long trail which leads into the dim regions of Ta-de,
which is--or was--Yesterday.

See, we will sprinkle tobacco leaves upon the flames and on the
spirals of the smoke ascending upward our words shall be carried to
the ears of Ha-wen-ne-yu, the Great Spirit.

Behold, O my reader, we give you a White Belt in token that our words
are straight.

That which has been is no more.  We of the Ho-de-no-san-nee, the
People of the Long House, are scattered so that only Ga-oh, the Old
Man of the Winds, can tell where the remnants dwell.  The Long House,
where our women sowed and reaped and our warriors hunted, is the
spoil of the white man.  His roads have wiped out the trails stamped
by our war parties in the days of our power.  His towns have replaced
our villages.  He has chased the wild things into the recesses of the
Adirondack hills.

The Great League itself, which Da-ga-no-we-da and Ha-yo-wont-ha, the
Founders, intended should live for all time, is no more than a memory
locked in our breasts.  The Council Fire which they kindled no longer
burns at Onondaga.  Gone is the Ho-yar-na-go-war, the Council of the
Roy-an-ehs, whose word was supreme from the shores of the Great Lakes
to the lands of the Wa-sa-seh-o-no, whom the white men call the
Sioux, and the O-ya-da-ga-o-no, whom the white men name the
Cherokees.  The Seneca Wolves have abandoned their watch at the
Western Door of the Long House which opens upon the Thunder Waters of
Jagara; the Mohawk Wolves no longer guard the Eastern Door by the
shores of the Ska-neh-ta-de, which the white men have renamed the
Hudson.

It is meet that we should mourn.  But hear us, O my reader, hear us
further.

Once we were a nation.  Once we were strong.  Once even the white man
feared us.  Once it was for us to say who should rule the land
outside the Long House, Frenchman or Englishman.  The white men were
weak then.  They clamored for our aid.  We chose the side of the
Englishman.  He triumphed.

Remember, O my reader, but for us you might not have been here to sit
by our Council Fire to-night.  Black Robe and de Veulle, Murray and
Joncaire, would have won the struggle; the French King would have
become master.  All that has come to pass would never have been.  The
unfolding years would have told another story.  But the People of the
Long House cast their fortunes with Governor Burnet, who in our
tongue was called Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, and Ormerod, whom the Keepers of
the Faith renamed O-te-ti-ani.  It was Ta-wan-ne-ars and the warriors
of the Eight Clans who helped O-te-ti-ani and Corlaer, the Dutchman
with the fat belly, to break down the barriers of "The Doom Trail"
and overcome the "Keepers of the Trail."

Remember that, O my reader.  This tale which follows is true talk.
It was as it is written.

Na-ho!




THE DOOM TRAIL



I

THE FRAY IN MINCING LANE

"Watch! Ho, watch!"

The words rang through the misty darkness of the narrow street.  I
gathered my cloak around me and skulked closer to the nearest
house-wall.  Could it be possible the Bow Street runners had picked
up my trail again?

And a new worry assailed me.  Did the cry come from in front or
behind!  The fog that mantled London, and which so far had stood my
friend, now served to muffle the source of this sudden alarm.  Which
way should I turn?

"Watch!  Curse the sleepy varlets!"

The houses past which I had been feeling my way came to an end.  An
alley branched off to the right and from its entrance echoed the
click of steel--music after my own heart.  The blood coursed faster
in my veins.  No, this could be no trap such as had awaited me ever
since I had stepped from the smuggler's small boat.  Here was
sword-play, a welcome change from the plotting and intrigue which had
sickened me.

I cast my cloak back over my shoulder and drew my sword from its
sheath, as I ran over the uneven cobbles which paved the alley.
Dimly I saw before me a confused huddle of figures that tussled and
stamped about in the ghostly mirk of the fog.

"Hold, friend," I shouted.

"Make haste," panted a voice from the middle of the group.  "Ha, you
scoundrel!  You pinked me then."

One man against a gang of assassins!  So that was the story.  It
savored more of Paris than of the staid London of merchants and
shop-keepers over which the Hanoverian exercised his stolid sway.

But I had scant time for philosophy.  A figure detached itself from
the central swarm and came lunging at me with cutlass aswing.  I
parried his blade and touched him in the shoulder.  He bellowed for
aid.

"This is no fat alderman, bullies.  He wields a swift point.  To me,
a brace of ye."

They were on me in an instant, my first assailant in front, an
assassin on either hand, slashing with hangers and cutlasses that
knew no tricks of fence, but only downright force.  Their former prey
was left with one to handle.

"Get to his rear, one of you, fools," snarled the ruffian in command
whilst he pounded at my guard.

But I backed into a handy doorway and barely managed to fend them
off.  And all the while the real object of their attack continued his
appeals for the watch.

'Twas this which spoiled the fray for me.  I could not but wonder, as
I dodged and parried and thrust, what would happen if his cries
should be heard and the watch appear.  Would they know me?  Or
perchance should I have the opportunity to slip quietly away?

I stole a glance about me.  Several windows had gone up along the
street, and nightcapped heads protruded to add their clamor to that
of my friend.

Surely--  Aye, they had done it.  The ruffian on my left leaped back
with ear aslant toward the alley entrance.

"Quick, bullies," he yelled.  "'Tis the watch!"

With a celerity that was almost uncanny they disengaged their blades
and melted into the fog.  Their footfalls dwindled around the corner
as I detected the clumping footfalls of the approaching guardians of
London's peace.

This brought me to my senses.  I sheathed my sword and ran across the
roadway, glancing to right and left for the best route of escape.
But I reckoned without the other participant in our brawl.

"Be at ease, my master," he said in a voice which had a good thick
Dorset burr in it--I liked him from that moment.  It sounded so
homelike; I could fairly see the rolling fields, the water meadows,
the copses, all the scenes that had meant so much to me in boyhood,
even the sprawling roofs and chimney stacks of Foxcroft House itself.

"I have reasons not to be at ease," I answered dryly, and would have
passed him, but he clutched my arm.

"We have seen an end to the rascals," he strove to reassure me.
"'Tis only the watch you hear.  Hark to the jingling of their staves."

"I know that full well, my friend," I answered him, goose-flesh
rising on my neck as the jingling staves and clumping feet drew
nearer; and my thoughts fastened upon the dungeons of the Tower about
which we had heard frequent tales at St. Germain.  "But I happen to
have pressing reasons for avoiding the watch."

My friend pursed his lips in a low whistle.

"So sets the wind in that quarter!  Yet you came fast to my help
against those cut-purses a moment back."

I laughed.  The watch were all but in the alley's mouth.  'Twas idle
to think of running now.  Indeed, to have done so would have been to
banish whatever slight chance I might have had.

"Oh, I am no highwayman," I said.

"Well, whatever you may be, you aided Robert Juggins in his peril,
and 'twill be a sore pity if a Worshipful Alderman of the City may
not see you through the scrutiny of a band of lazy bench-loafers."

"That is good hearing," I answered.

"Will they have your description?"

"I think not, but if they ask me to account for myself I shall be at
fault.  I am but lately landed from France, and I have no passport."

He pursed his lips once more in the quaint form of a low whistle.

"I begin to see.  Well, my master, we will talk of your plight anon.
For the present I have somewhat to say to our gallant rescuers which
will put their thoughts upon other matters than young men fresh
landed from France without passports to identify themselves by."

He swept a shrewd glance over me from my hat to my heels.

"There is a foreign cut to your wig that I do not like," he
commented.  "However, we will brazen it out.  Here they come."

The watchmen rounded the corner into the alley, lanterns swinging
high, staves poised.

"Ho, knaves," proclaimed a pompous voice, "stand and deliver
yourselves to us."

"And who may you be?" demanded my friend.

"No friends to brawlers and disturbers of the peace, sirrah," replied
the stoutest of the watchmen, stepping to the front of his fellows.
"We are the duly constituted and appointed constables and watchmen of
his Honor the Worshipful Lord Mayor."

"It would be nearer truth to say that you are the properly
constituted and habituated sleepers and time-servers of the city,"
snapped my companion.  "Draw nearer, and examine me."

"Be not rash, captain," quavered one of the watchmen.  "He hath the
appearance of a most desperate Mohock."

"Nay, sir," adjured the captain of the watch portentously, "do you
approach and render yourselves to us.  'Tis not for law-breakers to
order the city's watchmen how they shall be apprehended."

"You fool," said my friend very pleasantly, "if you would only trust
your eyes you would see a face you have many times seen before
this--aye, and shall see again in the morning before the bench of
sheriffs when you plead forgiveness for your dilatory performance of
the duties entrusted to you."

The watchmen were confused.

"Be cautious, my masters," pleaded the one with the quavering voice.
"'Tis like enough a desperate rogue and a strong."

My friend left my side and strode forward toward the captain of the
watch, who gave back a pace or two until he felt the stomachs of his
followers at his back.

"How now," said he who had called himself Robert Juggins, "hold up
that lantern, you, sirrah, with the shaking arm.  Look into my face,
lazy dogs that you are.  Dost know me?"

"'Tis Master Juggins," quoth the quavering voice.  "Praise be for
that."

"You know me, now!" pressed Master Juggins, poking his finger into
the fat figure of the captain.

"Sure, you are Master Juggins," assented that official with sullen
reluctance.

"And is an alderman of the city and a cupmate of the Lord Mayor and
Sheriffs and the Warden of the Worshipful Company of Merchant Traders
to the Western Plantations, on his way home from a meeting of his
gild, within the city precincts--aye, in Mincing Lane, under the
shadow of Paul's--I say am I to be held up by cut-purses, stabbed in
the arm, forced to defend my very life--and then denounced and
threatened with arrest by the watchmen paid by the city to protect
its citizens?"

Master Juggins stopped perforce for breath.

"How say you, knaves!" he resumed.  "Of what use have you been!  Did
you come at my call!  Aye, like the sluggards you are.  Have you done
aught to run down the thieves and assassins who work under your noses!

"You stand here trying to prove that 'tis I, and not they, who have
sought to rob myself.  Go to!  Ye are worthless, and I shall see that
the Sheriffs and the Magistrates at Bow Street know of it."

"But, good Master Juggins," begged the captain, now thoroughly
aroused to his plight, "sure you----"

"Sure I will," retorted Master Juggins, who had caught another
lungful of breath.  "Had it not been for this good citizen here--" he
swept an arm in my direction--"it had been a corpse you would have
found.  So much for your diligence and courage!"

"But we will be after the scoundrels, worshipful Master Alderman,"
pleaded the captain.

"Aye, we shall be hard on their heels, Master Juggins," assured he of
the quavery voice.

"Doubt not our diligence, worthy sir!" appealed a third.

"Can you but give us a description of the knaves!" suggested a fourth.

"Shall I do your work for you!" replied Master Juggins in his
delightful Dorset burr.  Zounds!  How I liked the man with his broad
humor, his ready courage and prompt good sense!

"Nay, but----"

"But me no buts.  Be about your rounds.  And if you see any
hang-dog-looking rogues or homeless knaves or masterless men, do you
apprehend them for the night and lodge them in the Fleet.  In the
morning you may let me know what you have done.  I will then consider
whether your belated efforts may overset your cowardice and laziness
in the beginning."

"It shall be as you say, good Master Juggins," assented the captain
meekly.  "Which way went your assailants?"

"What!  More questions?" exploded Master Juggins.  "Nay, this is too
much."

The watchmen turned in their tracks and herded out of the alley like
bewildered cattle, all clumping boots, jingling staffs, waving
lanterns and jumbled wits.  My savior removed his hat and mopped his
brow with a white kerchief.

"So much for that," he remarked cheerfully.  "Now----"

But he was interrupted from an unexpected quarter.  The captain of
the watch returned alone.

"I crave your pardon, Master Juggins," he began.

"You well may," agreed Master Juggins.

"Aye; but, good sir, if you will be so kind----"

"Kind I will not be.  What, sirrah, after all the insults I have
listened to and being nearly murdered into the bargain?"

"No, but worshipful Master Alderman, do you but bear with me an
instant.  I have a thought----"

"'Tis impossible," pronounced Master Juggins solemnly.

I felt my heart warm to the man.  If he was typical of the London
citizens then was I glad to be quit of St. Germain and all its
atmosphere of petty intrigues and Jesuitical sophistries.

"Aye, but I have," insisted the captain.  "We have been warned to
keep a watch for a dangerous malefactor, an enemy of the State, one
Ormerod, an emissary of the Pretender who is here on an errand
against the Crown."

Juggins favored me with a cursory glance of a somewhat peculiar
nature.  It was not exactly hostile, and yet much of the friendliness
which had characterized his manner was gone.

I felt cold chills running down my back.  Would he give me up?  What
right after all had I to expect better treatment from a total
stranger, a man who had nothing to gain from shielding me?  My
knowledge of the world had been acquired mainly from the life of the
French Court, and I may be entitled to forgiveness if I was skeptical
of any man's disinterestedness of purpose.  'Twas not the way with
those with whom I had been familiar.

"Go on," said Juggins coldly to the watchman, withdrawing his
attention from me.

"Why, worshipful sir, there is no more to say.  It is just that I
thought, the attack being made upon you, a well-known citizen, it
might have been----"

"And how should I know this person of whom you speak!"

"Why, sir, that I can not----"

"Be about your duties, sirrah," interrupted Master Juggins, "and
pester me no longer."

The captain stumped off to where his faithful band awaited him, the
several curious-minded citizens who had listened to the altercation
from the vantage-point of their bedroom windows retired to resume
their slumbers, and Master Juggins strode back to my side.

"Is your name Ormerod!" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I am Harry Ormerod, once a captain of foot under the Duke of
Berwick; and I formerly had the honor to be chamberlain to the man
whom some people call King James the Third."

"You are a Papist?"

"No, sir."

"But you are a rebel, a conspirator against the Crown?"

"I do not expect you to believe me, of course," I answered as lightly
as I could, "but I am not a rebel--in spirit or intent, at any
rate--and I am not conspiring against the Crown at this
moment--although I have done so in the past--and I am at this moment
a fugitive from justice."

"Humph," said Master Juggins thoughtfully.

He stood there in the middle of the alley, caressing his shaven chin,
heedless of the thin trickle of blood that flowed from the wound in
the flesh of his left arm.

"Ormerod," he murmured.  "Harry Ormerod.  But surely--of course--why,
you are Ormerod of Foxcroft in Dorset."

I shook my head sadly.

"No, my friend; if you know that story you must know that I was
Ormerod of Foxcroft House."

Master Juggins was suddenly all animation.

"I know it well," he returned.  "You and Charles, your elder brother,
were both out in the '19.  Charles died in Scotland, and you escaped
with the remnants of the expedition to France."

"And Foxcroft House was sequestrated to the Crown," I amended
bitterly.

"The Hampshire branch have it now," went on Master Juggins.  "They
toadied it through the Pelhams."

"Yes, ---- them!"

I had forgotten my surroundings, forgotten the dingy cobbles of
Mincing Lane, forgotten the strange circumstances under which I had
met this strange person who seemed so intimately versed in my family
history.  My thoughts were back for the moment in the soft green
Dorset countryside of my boyhood.  I lived over again the brave days
at Foxcroft when Charles had been master and I his lieutenant.  But
the moment passed, the memories faded, and my eyes saw again the drab
buildings of the alley and the odd figure of my deliverer--whom I had
first delivered.

"And you, sir," I said.  "May I ask how it happens you know so much
concerning the fortunes of a plain Dorset family?"

He seemed not to hear me, standing there in a brown study, and I
spoke to him again sharply.

"Yes, yes; I heard," he answered, almost impatiently.  "I was--But
this is no place for discussion.  Come with me to my house.  I live
in Holborn, not many minutes' walk from here."

Some trace of my feelings must have been revealed in my attitude--my
face he could not have seen in the darkness--for he continued:

"You need not fear me, Master Ormerod.  I mean you no harm.  I could
not do harm to your father's son."

"But you?" I asked.  "Who are you, sir?"

He chuckled dryly.

"You know my name," he answered, "and you heard the watch acknowledge
my civic dignity.  For the rest--if you have spent much time in
Dorset you should know a Dorset voice."

"I do that," I assented heartily, "and 'tis grateful to my ears."

"Then be content with that, sir, for a few minutes.  Come, let us be
on our way.  I have reasons for not wishing to invite a second attack
upon us."

He set off at a great pace, his head buried in his cloak collar, and
I walked beside him, puzzled exceedingly.




II

SMALL TALK AND MULLED ALE

Ten minutes later we stopped before a tall, gabled house of brick and
timber on the near side of Holborn.  My companion produced a key from
his person and unlocked a heavy door which opened upon a staircase
leading to the second story.  The first floor was occupied by a shop.
Over the window was hung a small stuffed animal, who seemed to be
attempting to climb the front wall as the wind swayed him to and fro.

"Enter, Master Ormerod," said Juggins.  "You are right welcome.  I
hope you have none of the country gentleman's scorn for the home of
an honest merchant."

"A beggar must not be a chooser," I answered.  "But if I were not
indebted to you for my liberty I should still be glad to visit a
Dorset man who knows how to fight and who remembers the woods of
Foxcroft."

"Well spoken," applauded Juggins as he fastened the door behind us
and lit the candle in a lantern which was ready on a shelf in the
vestibule at the foot of the stairs.  "So I might have expected your
father's son to speak."

"That is the second time you have called me 'my father's son,'" I
said.  "Prithee, Master Juggins, had you acquaintance with my father?"

"Bide, bide," he replied enigmatically.  "We shall settle all that
anon.  After you, sir."

And he ushered me up the stairs, which were hung with the skins of
many kinds of animals, some of which I did not even know.  At
intervals, too, were suspended various savage weapons--bows, arrows
and clubs--gaily painted and decorated with feathers.

The stairs gave upon a large hall, similarly decorated, and through
this we passed into a comfortable chamber which stretched across the
front of the house.  At one side blazed a warm fire under a massive
chimney-piece; candelabra shed a soft glow over thick rugs and skins,
polished furniture and well-filled shelves along the walls.

Master Juggins relieved me of my cloak and hat and motioned to a deep
chair in front of the fire.

"Rest yourself, Master Ormerod.  Presently we shall have provender
for the inner man as well."

"But your arm!" I suggested, pointing to the bloody stains on his
coat sleeve.  "I am not unskilled in such matters, if----"

"I doubt not, sir; but I have one at hand, I make bold to say, has
forgotten more than you ever learned of cures and simples."

He went to the door by which we had entered and clapped his hands.

"Ho, Goody!  Art abed after all?"

"Abed!  Abed!" answered a thin, old voice that was inexpressibly
sweet, with a Dorset burr that made Master Robert's sound like the
twang of a Londoner.  "The lad is mad!  Gadding around at all hours
of the night; aye, sparking in his old age, I'll be bound, with never
a thought to his granny at home or the worries he pours on her head.
Abed! says he.  When did I ever feel the sheets, and not knowing he
was warm and safe and his posset-cup where it belongs--which is in
his stomach!  Abed!  Didst ever find----"

She stepped into the room, a quaint little figure in hodden-gray, a
dainty cap perched on her wispy white hair, her brown eyes gleaming
in the candle-light, the criss-crossed wrinkles of her cheeks shining
like a network of fine lace.  In her hands she held a tray supporting
a steaming flagon and divers covered dishes of pewterware.

Juggins favored me with a humorous glance.

"Sure, I grow more troublesome year by year, granny," he said as she
paused at sight of me.  "Here I am come home later than ever,
bringing a guest with me."

But she made no answer, and as I looked closer at her I saw that she
had perceived the blood on his sleeve.  She tottered in her tracks,
and I jumped to take the tray from her hands.  But she regained her
self-command, waved me away with a nod of her head and stepped
quickly across the chamber to a table by the fire.

In an instant she was at Master Juggins' side and had stripped the
coat off his arm and shoulder.  Then she stepped back with a sigh of
relief, and for the second time looked at me.

"'Tis nothing, after all," she said.  "But ever since he came back
from those years amongst the savages when I had thought him dead a
score of times and----"

She broke off to glance swiftly at Juggins' face.

"Who did it!  Was it----"

She hesitated, and he answered before she could continue:

"Aye; it was he, granny, or minions hired by him.  But enough of that
for the present.  You have not spoken to our guest.  Who think you he
is?"

"Whoever he may be, if he helped you in danger, Robert, he is a good
lad and we owe him thanks."

She swept me a stately curtsey such as might have graced a court ball
at Versailles.

"No, the boot is on the other leg," I protested.  "'Tis I who owe
gratitude to Master Juggins, for he has taken me in out of the cold
and the fog--and worse dangers perhaps."

"Poor young gentleman," she said softly.  "For you are gentle, young
sir.  I did not live my youth in gentlefolks' houses for naught, and
I can see gentility when it comes before my eyes, old though they be."

"You have not asked his name," suggested Master Juggins.

She looked at us inquiringly.

"'Tis Master Ormerod."

"Ormerod!  Not----"

"Aye; Master Harry."

"But he is in France!"

"Nay; he is here."

"But----"

She drew closer, and studied my features under the candles that shone
from the mantel-shelf.

"Is he in danger?" she asked breathlessly.

"The watch were after him when he came to my rescue," replied Juggins.

"Yet he came."

She patted my cheek with her hand.

"That was a deed which you need never be shamed of, Master Ormerod,
and you shall win free to safety, whatever it may be or wherever, if
Robert and I have any wits between us."

"But, granny," protested Juggins, "he is a rebel.  He has just landed
from France on a mission against the Crown."

"A rebel!  Against the Crown?"

Her eyes flared.

"Tut!  A likely tale!  And what if he has?  Is he not an Ormerod?
His father's son!"

She wheeled around upon me.

"Your father was Sidney Ormerod!"

"Yes," I assented dazedly.

"Are you in truth a rebel!" she demanded without giving me time to
catch my breath.

"Faith, I was one."

"But are you one now!"

"Not in my own heart; but the Bow Street runners think otherwise."

"A fig for them!" she cried.  "Men have little enough sense, and when
you place 'em in authority they grow imbecile.  Sit yourself down
again, Master Ormerod, the while I set a bandage about this arm of
Robert's, and then you shall have a draft of mulled ale and a dish of
deviled bones and thereafterward a bed with sheets that have lain in
Dorset lavender.  Hath it a welcome sound to you!"

The tears came into my eyes.

"I am happier this night than I have been any time since Charles and
I left Foxcroft," I said.  "But pray tell me why you two, who are
strangers to me, should be so interested in an outcast?"

"He does not know?" exclaimed the little old lady.

"I have told him nothing," said Juggins, smiling.

"Tut, tut," she rebuked him.  "Was it well to be tight-mouthed with
an Ormerod?"

"I found him in the fog out there--or rather he found me," answered
Jugging humorously.  "And I did not know he was this side of St.
Germain."

"Well, 'tis time enough he knew he was amongst the right sort of
friends," the little lady said, her fingers all the time busied in
adjusting bandages to the wounded arm.  "You are too young, Master
Ormerod, to remember old Peter Juggins----"

A light burst upon my addled wits.

"Why, of course!" I cried.  "He was steward under my father, and in
his father's time before him!  But you?"

"Peter was my husband," she said simply.  "Robert here is our
grandson.  As I said, sir, it was all too long ago for you to
remember; but when Peter died your father offered his place to
Robert.  Robert would have none of it.  He had the wandering bee in
his bonnet.  He was young, and he must see the world.  He would make
his fortune, too.  No life as an estate steward for him."

"And wise I was, too, granny," interjected Master Juggins.  "Even you
will grant that now."

"Be not too elevated by your good fortune," she retorted.  "Had you
followed your grandfather at Foxcroft your counsel might have
restrained Master Harry and his brother from their madness----"

"I wish it might have," I said bitterly, thinking of Charles' lonely
grave on a mist-draped hillside in the Scotch Highlands.

"But in that case," Master Juggins gravely pointed out, "you would
not have been at hand to rescue me tonight."

"Nor would you have been getting yourself mixed into intrigues which
would place you in fear of assassination," she snapped.  "Have done
with your foolery, Robert.  Master Ormerod knows naught of his
father's kindness to you."

"He shall have earnest enough of it anon," returned Juggins heartily.
"But do you go on, granny.  You make a brave tale-teller."

She tweaked him by the ear as if he had been a small lad, gave a
final pat to the neat bandage she had fastened over his wound and
continued:

"Many a gentleman would have taken in bad part such an answer to an
offer made in kindness, Master Ormerod.  But not your father.  No,
after trying all he could by fair means to dissuade Robert from his
course, he asked where his fancies drifted, and then supplied him
with money for the voyage to the Western Plantations and to enable
him to secure a start when he entered the wilderness."

"Granny still has the Londoner's idea of New York Province,"
explained Juggins humorously.  "'Tis a wilderness in the Western
Plantations.  And in New York, which has grown a fine, thriving town
since we wrested it from the Dutch, they regard England as a welcome
market for furs over against the side of Europe."

"'Tis north of the Virginias and this side of the French settlements
in Canada, is it not!" I asked, more in politeness than in interest.

"Aye, Master Ormerod; and you could drop all of England and Scotland
and Wales into it, and then go out and win new lands from the savages
if you felt over-crowded."

"Y'are driving beside the point, Robert," declared the little old
lady with round displeasure.  "Would you seek to belittle the
generosity of Master Ormerod's father?  No?  Then have done."

She turned to me.

"Indeed," she added, "'tis as I have told you, sir; we are greatly
indebted to you.  All that you see here we owe to your father's
kindness.  'Twas that permitted Robert to go overseas and to set
himself up as a fur-trader there and afterwards to return and
establish his business down-stairs, which hath grown so that it is
more than he can handle--aye, and to become in good time, as he has,
Warden of the Worshipful Company of Merchant Traders to the Western
Plantations.  All of it, I say, we owe to you."

"All of it, granny," reaffirmed Master Juggins himself.  "Y'have not
made it one whit too strong for me.  But now, look you, Goody, the
hour is late for old folks----"

"You are not so young yourself, Robert," she remarked tartly.

"Nay, granny dear, I do not seek the last word with you," he laughed.
"'Tis only that I would find out before we sleep how I may be of aid
to Master Ormerod."

"Aid?" quoth she.  "All that we have in the world is his, if he wants
it; aye, the clothes off our backs."

She swept me another curtsey, deeper than ever--just such a one, I
fancy, as she made to my mother when she brought her the
housekeeper's keys.

"Good night to you, Master Ormerod.  And remember, this house, poor
though it be for your father's son, is to be your home until you have
a better."

I rose and bowed my acknowledgments, but I could not speak.  My heart
was too full.  Here in this bleak, unfriendly London, which had
greeted me with suspicion and persecution, I had found friendship and
assistance.  My fortunes, at ebb an hour before, now seemed about to
flow toward a happier future.  It was almost too good to believe.

"I have no claim upon you, Master Juggins," I exclaimed as the door
closed behind his grandmother.  "Remember that.  And let me not
imperil for one moment two friends of my father, who revere his
memory as I had not supposed any did, save myself."

He pushed me down into my chair by the fire.

"There is no question of claim, sir.  'Tis a privilege.  Now do you
set this glass to your lips.  How tastes it?"

"Most excellent.  In France they must spice their mulled drinks to
make them palatable.  No need to add aught to good, ripe English ale."

"You have not lost the tongue of an Englishman, Master Ormerod, and
for that let us be thankful.  Aye, 'tis a crotchet of mine to drink a
posset of ale, fetched from a brewer in Dorset whose ways are known
to me, each night before I rest.  It settles the digestion--although
my friends the savages in North America do protest that naught is
necessary upon retiring save a long drink of clear, cold water."

"You have fought hard for the comfort I see around me?" I suggested.

"Aye, but we shall have time anon to speak of that.  Do you tell me
now of your present plight.  Fear not to be frank with me, Master
Ormerod.  I do not mix in politics.  I am none of your red-hot
loyalists who would hang a man because he remarks that our worthy
King is Hanoverian by birth.  But on the other hand I'll have naught
to do with these plotters who fume over the exiled Stuarts.

"The Stuarts went, sir, because they over-taxed the forbearance of a
long-suffering people.  They might have returned ere this, as you
know, had they possessed the good sense to appreciate what their
whilom people required.  But they lacked that good sense, Master
Ormerod, and with all deference I say to you they will never return
unless they learn that lesson--and abjure Popery--very soon."

I leaned forward in my chair and interrupted him, the words bubbling
from my lips.

"I could not have put neater my own feelings, Master Juggins.  When I
was a lad not yet of age I risked all I had for the Stuart cause.
What came of it?  A life of exile that might have ruined me, as it
has many a better man.  My family's estate was sequestrated; my
outlawry was proclaimed.  I have no place to lay my head, save it be
by the bounty of a foreigner.

"Have I secured any moral satisfaction by these sacrifices?  At first
I thought I had.

"They told me it was all for the Good Cause, the Cause that some day
must triumph.  The man you call the Pretender--it irks my lips to
brand him so, despite how I have suffered in his name--took me by the
hand, made me a chamberlain at his trumpery Court.  I received a
commission to fight under an English prince in foreign wars, mayhap
against my own land.  'Tis only accident has averted that so far.

"But when I looked closer I found that I had done nothing for my
country.  For this prince, whom some men call King and some
Pretender, yes.  But for my country, nothing."

"This made me think the harder, Master Juggins.  At the beginning I
had taken zest in the plots and plans which were aimed to bring about
his restoration to power.

"But the longer I studied them the more insincere they became.  I
found my leader a catspaw of foreigners, used to undermine England's
prestige.  His spies were in the pay of Papists.  His aims were not
the good of England, but his own aggrandizement, the winning back of
my country to the Pope, the furthering of France's ambitions."

Master Juggins reached over and smote me on the knee.

"Hast learned that, lad?  Why, then, there's no more loyal Englishman
in London!"

"So you think," I answered.  "So I think.  But hear me out.  I
brought myself to abandon my friends in France, the only friends I
had.  I told my feelings to a certain great gentleman who handles
affairs at St. Germain.  He cursed me for a turncoat, would have
ordered his lackeys to flog me from the palace.  I left him--in
disgrace.  The doors of my friends were closed to me.  I thought I
would make my way to England and begin a new life.

"So I applied to the English ambassador for a passport.  He laughed
at me.  Did I think he was so innocent as to be blinded by such
transparent trickery?  Nay, the Pretender must seek otherwhere, for
means to plant a fresh spy in England.  In desperation then I sold a
miniature of my mother's----"

Master Juggins held up his hand.

"Where?" he asked eagerly.

"How?" I replied, not understanding.

"Where sold you this miniature?  To what dealer!"

"'Twas a Jew named Levy close by the Quai de l'Horloge."

"Good," he said with satisfaction.  "It shall be recovered."

"But, Master Juggins----"

"Tush, sir," he brushed my objection aside.  "'Tis naught.  Some day
you shall refund the money, if you wish.  But I would not have you
lose the miniature.  I loved your lady mother, if I may say so."

I pressed his hand, and struggled for words to answer.  But he would
have none, and insisted that I continue my story.

"So you secured funds?" he said.  "And next?"

"I bought passage from a smuggler of Dieppe, who landed me three
weeks since in Sussex.  I made my way to Dorset, hoping to find old
friends who would help me to gain a pardon; but in Dorchester High
Street I was recognized by one of my cousins who now hold Foxcroft
House, and he raised a hue and cry after me, fearing no doubt that I
sought to regain the estate.

"Since then I have been hunted like a beast.  My last shilling was
spent this morning.  Tomorrow, had I escaped so long, I planned to
sell my sword, and if all else failed to seek a press-gang."

"Let us thank God you heard my cries," said Juggins earnestly.

He rose from his chair, a stout, square-built man with a shrewd,
weather-beaten face and a manner of authority, despite the simplicity
of his demeanor and attire.

"I do," I said, "and with no lack of reverence, my friend, I also
thank you."

He gave me a keen look.

"You call me friend.  Do you mean the word!"

"Why not?"

"I was your father's servant," he said, and he said it so that the
words were at once proud and humble.

I caught his hand in mine.

"You were his friend, too; and who am I, an outlaw without name or
fortune, to set myself above a man who has prospered like you through
the diligence of his own hands and brains?"

Master Juggins drew a deep breath and wrung my hand hard.

"You'll do, lad," he said.  "My help would have been yours on any
terms.  But you have made it a glad privilege for me to help you.
Doubt not we shall find a way.

"Now get you to bed.  I shall have somewhat to say to you on the
morrow."




III

BEFORE THE LORDS OF TRADE

How long I might have slept I know not, but the pallid sun that
strove to pierce the fog-reek proclaimed high noon when Master
Juggins waked me.  He would not listen to my protestations of regret,
but directed my attention to the pile of clothes he carried over his
arm.

"See, we shall make a 'prentice lad of you," he said.  "I have a
youth downstairs of about your build, and these are his Sunday
clothes."

"But what will he do?" I asked.

"Why, purchase new gear with a right merry heart."

"And must I in truth wear these!" I demanded with some disgust as I
felt their coarseness of texture.

"Aye, indeed, Master Harry."

His tone sobered.

"I have been abroad since rising," he continued, "and forgive me if I
say 'twas well for you we met last night.  Your cousin is come up to
London, frantic with fear lest you should succeed in replacing him,
and he hath pulled wires right and left, so that all are convinced
you are here for no less a purpose than the murder of the King."

I cursed with a fluency conferred by two languages.

"There is no hope of a pardon now," proceeded Juggins.  "I am not
altogether without influence, and I had hoped--  But 'tis doubly
hopeless.  If you were Scots or Irish, it might be done.  But few of
the English gentry besides you and Master Charles rose in the '19.
You are a marked man, and with your cousin's interest against you
'twill be impossible even to gain a hearing for you."

"There is naught to do, then, save go back to France and the friends
who now distrust me," I said bitterly.

"Never say so," remonstrated Master Juggins with energy.  "I have an
idea of another course which may commend itself to you.  Come, don
these poor garments, which will none the less cloak you with safety,
and join me in granny's morningroom."

The coffee which the old lady poured us in blue-bordered china bowls
put new life and hope in me.  I settled back in my chair, heedless of
my baggy breeches and woolen stockings, and puffed at the long clay
pipe which Juggins had filled for me.

Granny Juggins gave me an approving pat on the shoulder.

"That is well, Master Harry.  Worry never solved any difficulty.  And
now I must be going about my duties; but remember that what Robert
tells you hath my endorsement."

"And what is that?" I inquired in some curiosity as the door closed
behind her.

He smoked in silence for several moments.

"I am resolved to take you fully into my confidence, Master Harry,"
he began at last, "and I should not do so if I doubted your
discretion."

"I shall strive to justify your trust," I said.

"No doubt.  'Tis a delicate matter."

He fell silent again.

"Did it not seem strange to you that such an assault as you saw last
night should have been made upon an ordinary merchant?" he asked
suddenly.

"I thought they meant robbery."

"Robbery!  They never made a demand upon me.  They meant murder."

"That is strange," I conceded.

"The truth is, lad," he went on, "I am at grips with a deadly enemy.
'Tis a curious story, concerned with high politics, great spoils of
trade, intrigues of Church and State--mayhap the future of a
continent.  And as it happens Robert Juggins is at the hub of it.

"Do you think you would like to play a hand--on England's behalf and
to checkmate the very foreign influences which sickened you of the
Jacobite cause?  There are reasons why I think you might be of aid to
me.  I need a strong arm combined with an agile mind, a mind used to
French ways and the French tongue."

I would have answered, but he checked me.

"If you accept you must be prepared to fight your old friends, for
the enemy I have spoken of is Jacobite at heart and works under cover
for the return of the Pretender through the weakening of England and
the paramount influence of France.  Remember that before you commit
yourself.

"You must be prepared for no half-way measures.  You have seen how my
enemy fights.  He does not stop at assassination.  If you meet him
weakly you will only insure your own death.  On the other hand, if
your efforts are successful you will have earned gratitude from the
Government which should secure your pardon."

"Even as I told you last night, Master Juggins, I am for England
now," I answered.  "If such a plot as you speak of is under way, then
surely 'tis for loyal Englishmen to thwart it.  Count me with you, I
pray."

"I will," he said quietly.  "Now hark to these facts.  At the
instance of myself and my associates in the Company of Merchant
Traders to the Western Plantations, the Provincial Government of New
York several years ago secured the royal assent to a law prohibiting
the sale of Indian trading-goods to the French in Canada.

"Our object was twofold.  The best and cheapest trading-goods are
manufactured in England.  If we can keep them to ourselves and compel
the French to use more costly and less durable goods made on the
Continent we shall be able to underbid them with the Indians.  So the
fur-trade will come more and more into our hands."

"Is that so important?" I asked curiously.

"'Tis all-important, lad."

Juggins leaned forward and tapped me on the knee.

"North America," he went on, "is the richest land in all the
world--how rich it is or how vast no man knows.  'Twill require
centuries to exploit it.  Since first we colonized there we have
contended with France, not only for further power, but for the actual
right to breath.  Our two countries can not agree to divide this
domain, limitless though it be.  Sooner or later one must oust the
other."

"But the fur-trade?" I insisted, my curiosity now fully aroused.

"Aye; the fur-trade is the key to it all.  The English settled along
the more southerly seaboard, with fertile lands, have devoted
themselves mainly to farming.  The French in Canada, with an
inclement climate, have been driven to spread out their settlements
in order to find room for subsistence.  The English power is limited,
but compact; the French is spread all around us.  Both nations
supplement their farming by trading with the savages for furs, and
these furs are the principal export from New York to England.

"I said the fur-trade was the key.  It is so, because neither the
French nor we are yet sufficiently powerful to ignore the strength of
the Indian tribes.  The fur-trade is the source of the savages for
securing trade-goods.  They will be bound closest to the country
which gives them the best terms.  If we can deprive the French of the
ability to buy their goods as cheaply as we do, then we shall be able
to trade to better advantage, with the Indians and so increase their
friendship for us.  At the same time the volume of the provincial
trade will be increased."

"I see," I answered.  "But you spoke before of a two-fold object in
depriving the French of the right to obtain trade-goods through New
York?"

"So I did, and that brings me to the enemy whom I mentioned.  Heard
you ever in Paris of one Murray--Andrew Murray!"

I shook my head.

"He hath connections with the French, and, too, with the Jacobites;
but they would be well covered, no doubt.  Murray owns the Provincial
Fur Company of New York, which is the largest of all the trading
agencies.  He hath set himself deliberately to drive out of existence
all the independent traders and secure the entire trade for himself.
The trade with the French in Canada likewise is in his hands.

"Before the Provincial Government passed the prohibitive law of which
I spoke, he carried on this trade openly, and the French traders,
helped by a government subsidy, more often than not underbid our
traders--using English goods, mind you, for the purpose.  And then
the French traders would sell their skins in the London market at a
lower price than our own traders could afford to charge.

"After the passage of the law, in spite of efforts to enforce it,
Murray contrived to build up a clandestine means of shipping goods to
Canada, and while the French are more pressed for cheap trade-goods
than they were, nevertheless they are better off than they should be,
and our traders are put at a disadvantage.  Now the time for which
the law was passed is expired, and the Provincial Government hath
enacted it again.  It comes up this afternoon before the Lords
Commissioners for Trade and Plantations, when Murray will petition
for its rejection."

"But surely he will lose," I objected.

Juggins shook his head.

"I fear not.  The best we can hope for is a compromise."

"Yet you say he is in alliance with the French and the Jacobites!"

"I say that, Master Harry, but I can not prove it.  Remember, even
you, who have recently come from St. Germain, had never heard of him.
Moreover, he is hand in glove with the Pelhams and all the corrupt
officials in Whitehall.  He hath buttered many a grasping hand, and
if he can secure his operations a few years longer he will have laid
the groundwork for England's overthrow in the New World.

"I leave to your imagination the effect upon our people at home of a
disastrous war with France at this juncture.  King George is scarce
settled on his throne, and so good an excuse would pave the way for
the Stuarts' return."

"And Murray?"

"So ambitious a man as he must have his object in view.  He could ask
a dukedom--whatever he willed."

"Yes, that is true," I assented.  "'Tis a dangerous plot."

Juggins looked at me keenly.

"You are still desirous to join in thwarting it!"

"More so than ever.  But I see not how I can be of service to you."

"If the Lords of Trade have received the orders I expect, then you
can be of great service to me and to your country.  For myself, I
stand in no worse plight than the loss of some small sums of money,
which I can do without at need.  My interest is impersonal, Master
Harry, and 'tis because he knows it to be so that Murray attempted my
life last night."

"Let me call him out," I urged impetuously.

Juggins laughed.

"Then would you climb Tower Hill in short order.  No, lad, you are an
humble 'prentice to Master Robert Juggins."

He rose.

"Come, you shall have your first lesson.  You may attend me to the
hearing before the Lords of Trade, and you shall carry me a bag of
papers rather than a sword."

"But so I shall not aid you," I demurred.

"Aye, but you shall.  I wish you to observe what passes at the
hearing, and to study Murray.  For if he wins his stay, as I fear he
will, then it is my purpose to send you to New York for such evidence
as will wreck his conspiracy."

"And I will go gladly," I said, a thrill of exultation in my heart at
the bare thought of a man's part to play.

"I would I might go with you," sighed Juggins.  "But I am old and
fat, and granny can ill spare me.  No, it calls for youth and
strength.  But a truce to talk.  Let us to Whitehall."

He collected some documents and maps, placed them in a green
string-bag and gave it to me to carry.

"And remember," he cautioned me at the door, "do you keep at least
two paces behind me.  Speak only when I speak to you and hold your
head low and your shoulders stooped.  Slouch, if you can.  If any
address you look stupidly at them and mumble an answer.  I will
explain that you are slow-witted."

But none of the men who stopped Master Juggins during our walk
deigned to notice the humble 'prentice lad who followed him.  I
avoided all scrutiny and reached Whitehall with considerable more
self-confidence than I had started with.

The Lords of Trade sat in a lofty chamber of a dirty, gray stone
building over against the river.  At one end was a dais with a long,
closed-in desk across it.  Behind this nodded my lords in periwigged
majesty, five of them, two fat and pompous, one small and birdlike,
one tall and cadaverous and one who looked like nothing at all.

"That is Tom Pelham," whispered Master Juggins, pointing at the last
as we took our seats.

But I had already transferred my gaze to an extraordinary creature
who stood by a window on the opposite side of the room.  It was a
black man, squat and enormously broad, whose long, powerful arms
reached almost to the floor.  He had a square, woolly head, with
little, pig-eyes that were studying the people in the room with a
kind of animal cunning.

As I watched him, fascinated, his eyes found my face and he surveyed
me, apparently without any human interest whatsoever, but as a wild
beast might consider a fat stag when too full to care about a kill.
He was dressed in a bright-red livery coat with gold lace, and the
cocked hat which he held was covered with silver embroidery.

I felt Juggins tugging at my arm.

"Do you see him?" he whispered.

I shuddered involuntarily, whilst the beady, pig-eyes gloated over me.

"I never saw anything so hideous in my life," I answered.

Juggins laughed, as his eyes followed mine.

"No, I meant not the negro.  'Twas Murray I spoke of.  He sits
several seats farther on."

I looked as directed and picked out a man who lounged back
comfortably in a chair, talking with a group of merchants who seemed
to hang on his words.  He was elegantly clad, yet very quietly,
rather in the fashion of a fine gentleman than a rich trader.

Though sitting, he showed himself to be a large man of massive frame.
His face was dead-white in complexion, with big features, strongly
marked.  He wore an immense periwig in the prevailing mode, and there
was about him an air of pride and self-confidence.  Though he must
have been middle-aged, he carried himself like a young man or a
soldier.

"He is no enemy to be slighted," I said.

"No, he thrives upon opposition; but----"

A secretary rapped for order.

"To the King's Most Excellent Majesty in Council," he recited from a
document he held, "the humble petition and representation of Samuel
Baker, Samuel Storke, Richard Janeway and others, merchants of
London, trading to New York, in behalf of themselves and the rest of
the persons concerned in the New York trade; which petition, having
been considered by his Majesty's Council, hath been referred, with
his gracious consent, to the Right Hon. the Lords Commissioners for
Trade and Plantations."

"You will note," whispered Master Juggins in my ear, "that the name
of Murray is not included in the list.  That was the cleverest move
he made.  He appears here, not as the principal, which he is, but at
the request of these merchants, who are his decoys, and ostensibly in
their interest."

The secretary read on for some minutes, and then came to a stop,
looking expectantly at their lordships, who promptly awoke from the
naps they had been taking.

"You have heard the petition and reference of the Council read,"
gabbled Pelham in whining voice.  "We will now hear arguments by the
opposing sides.  Who opens?"

There was some hesitation.

"If it pleases your lordships," spoke up a merchant in the group
surrounding Murray, "we would have the opponents of the petition
heard first."

"Be it so.  Who appears against the petition?"

Master Juggins rose beside me.  His arguments were substantially
those he had used with me, bulwarked additionally by a mass of facts
and statistics.  He drew, too, upon several documents in the bag I
carried, letters and statements from Governor Burnet of New York and
other merchants of that province.  When he sat down it seemed to me
that no Englishman who thought of his own country's interest could
resist the logic of his appeal.

There was a smattering of applause, and then the same merchant who
had spoken before introduced Murray, with the remark that he had
kindly consented to give his opinion, as he had recently come on a
visit to London from the province of New York, where he was in
residence.

"The gentleman who preceded me," began Murray, "and who, I am told,
once spent some time in our province many years ago, is unfortunately
laboring under a misapprehension of the situation.  It is not, my
lords, as though we had the misfortune to be at war with France.
Through the grace of God, the two countries have now been for some
years at peace with one another, and their subjects in the New World
have striven not to be behind-hand in drawing closer the bonds of
trade which in themselves are the best preventative of war."

"Hear, hear," cried his supporters.

"There is no difficulty about this matter which we are discussing,"
he resumed.  "We manufacture in this country more goods of a certain
kind than we can consume ourselves.  These goods are in great demand
amongst the savage tribes which inhabit the interior of North America.

"Both the French and our own traders have use for these goods in the
fur-trade, which is growing to be of increasing worth to the London
merchants.  The French, by reason of their location on the shores of
the Great Lakes, which stretch like inland seas across our
wilderness, have access to the trade of many tribes which we do not
reach.

"If we withhold from the French the goods they require for trading
with these tribes they will seek them from the manufacturers of the
Low Countries and Germany.  Thus our merchants at home will be
deprived of a profitable trade, and we provincials will not be
bettered.  Also, the supply of furs for the London market, much of
which comes from the French posts, will be reduced.  It seems to me,
your lordships, that this prohibitory legislation will only have
crippling effects upon trade and hinder the good relations between
France and England and their colonies."

He said much more in the same vein, whilst Juggins twisted uneasily
in his seat and the attending merchants and even their sleepy
lordships hung upon his words.  For he was a ready speaker.  When he
sat down there was hearty applause and Pelham nodded his head as if
to say--

"Well done."

But our opponents were not through with us.  The merchant who acted
as master of ceremonies caused a start of surprize, in which I
joined, by bringing forward a handsomely dressed gentleman, whose
laced coat and gold-hilted sword showed conspicuously in such drab
surroundings.

'Twas Raoul de Veulle; yes, Raoul de Veulle, whose mad exploits and
escapades, love-affairs and gambling-debts, had kept all Paris
gossiping these past three years and had just driven him into an
exile, the facts concerning which had been mysteriously secret.  I
had known de Veulle well--as a dim star of restricted orbit may know
a bright planetary light whose radiance reaches beyond his immediate
universe.  Once, in fact, we had come together, clashed over a
question of honor in which--But I will tell of that in its place.

Now de Veulle stood before us, his handsome face smiling, bowing low
before their interested lordships.  In charming, broken English he
repeated his brief message.  He had been requested by his Excellency
the French ambassador to appear in this matter in answer to a plea
offered by the petitioners to the ambassador for corroborative
testimony to the justice of their assertions from a responsible
French source.

He himself--he shrugged apologetically--as it happened was
Canadian-born; he was just starting upon his way to take up an
appointment in the Canadian Government.  He ventured to say he knew
whereof he spoke.  He agreed unhesitatingly with what Monsieur Murray
had stated.  On behalf of the French Government and of the Canadian
authorities he begged to say that such legislation as New York wished
to have perpetuated would have most unhealthy effects upon the trade
and politics of their two countries.  He thanked their lordships for
their forbearance, made a second courtly bow and withdrew.

Master Juggins sprang to his feet, his honest face aflush.

"Many of the assertions of Master Murray and----"

Pelham waved him to his seat.

"We have heard enough," pronounced the whining voice.  "You have no
other first-hand witnesses from overseas!"

"No, your lordships," admitted Juggins reluctantly.

"Then further talk is fruitless," he went on, while his colleagues
nodded their sleepy assent.  "We are agreed that there seems to be
some difference of opinion concerning this measure.  Were it not for
the fact that his Majesty's Governor of New York appears to favor the
bill, we should consider the case made out against it unanswerable.
But in view of Governor Burnet's approval we are resolved that the
matter shall be referred back to him with a request for a full report
upon the issues raised, and pending the receipt of this report and a
decision being reached his Majesty's Government will not take action
in the premises.

"Good relations with the Government of his Most Catholic Majesty must
be preserved, and the utmost care should be maintained that no
injustice be done, however unwittingly, to any of the subjects of the
two countries.

"What is the next case for consideration?"

The petitioners, much gratified, flocked around Murray and his
ape-like servant, and I followed Master Juggins from the chamber and
out into Whitehall.

"The scoundrel!" he exclaimed.  "But 'twas no more than I had
expected."

"And what will happen next?" I asked.

"If I know Governor Burnet as well as I think I do, Murray and his
French friends will draw slight comfort from their triumph today."

"Why?  What can he do?"

"Nothing official, 'tis true; but remember he is three thousand miles
from London and therefore able to think for himself.  With you to
help him----"

I felt something brush against my coat sleeve and looked around.  I
had just time to see the back of a gaudy red coat and a woolly black
head, crowned by an ornate cocked hat, disappearing in the crowd.

"Do you see?" I said.

"Aye," responded Juggins grimly; "I might have known it.  Well, 'tis
a lesson in time.  We will not forget it."




IV

FIVE BERTHS ON THE NEW VENTURE

We turned from Whitehall into the crowded Strand.

"Murray will figure that this delay gives him time to bribe and buy
his will, either in Governor Burnet's Council or in the Government
here," continued Master Juggins, with a watchful eye against the
return of the spy.  "At the worst he will think that he should be
able to withstand the law's execution for several years, and in that
time much may be done--aye, much may be done, and in more than one
way."  he concluded grimly.

"Then doubtless Murray will send at once a swift messenger to New
York so that his friends may set to work in his interest," I
suggested.

Juggins stopped abruptly in the center of the footway.

"No, he will go himself.  'Tis too important for trusting to another.
That was well thought of, Master Harry.  We must not let him get
ahead of us.  You must sail on the first passage available.  Do you
follow me."

And he started off as fast as his legs could carry him, bumping and
prodding his person against all who did not move from his path.

"Whither are we bound now?" I panted.

"To Master Lloyd's Coffee-House, where the ship-owners resort for
trade.  We shall find news of the sailings there."

We followed the Strand past Temple Bar into Fleet Street, and so trod
a path into the labyrinth of the City--that congested hive of
humanity whence the mighty energies of England radiated in a constant
struggle for control of the world's arteries of trade.  Used though I
was to the busy life of Paris, I was amazed by the throngs of people
hurrying to and fro, the concentration of effort that was everywhere
visible, the numbers of different races represented on the sidewalks,
the signs and letterings that hung over doorways and in windows,
proclaiming the multiplicity of endeavors to which the merchants of
the city were committed.

"Mark well what you see around you, Master Harry," Juggins instructed
me.  "London hath prospered under King George.  Here are come traders
out of Muscovy, Cathay, the further Indies, the Spanish Main, the
country of the Moors, Turkey, our own Western Plantations.  And here
at last is Master Lloyd's Tavern."

Many men stood on the cobbles outside talking.  The coffee-room and
taproom also were filled.  Master Juggins pushed his way through the
shifting groups until he reached a burly, stout man who sat by
himself at a table, sucking fragrant Mocha from a bowl.

"And what will you ha', Bob Juggins!" demanded the burly man in a
sulky voice.

As he spoke he pushed the bowl of coffee from him and produced a
dog-eared record-book, bound in filthy sheepskin, from a pocket in
the skirts of his coat.

"A good afternoon to you, Tom Jenkins," returned Juggins.  "You
gentry are sitting late this afternoon."

"We ha' been making up the subscriptions for the Baltic Fleet,"
yawned the burly man.

"And how are sailings to the Western Plantations?"

"Ameriky?"

"Aye, New York province."

"From Bristol?"

Master Juggins hesitated, then shook his head.

"No, I must have an early passage," he decided.  "'Twould take too
long to ride thither."

The burly man consulted his record-book.

"We ha' the ship _New Venture_, Abbot, master, sailing from Greenwich
the end of the week--say, Saturday post meridian.  What's your cargo?"

"'Tis not cargo, but a man I would send on her."

Master Jenkins shook his head forebodingly.

"I fear me she's full up, Bob."

"How does that happen?"

"But yesterday we sold four places on her--and she hath limited
quarters for passengers."

Juggins threw me a humorous glance.

"I'll be bound 'tis Master Murray of New York she's to carry," he
declared.

"Why, that's true," admitted Jenkins.  "And some Frenchy, a friend o'
his."

I forgot my role of 'prentice lad, and shoved myself across the table.

"Not de Veulle?  The Chevalier de Veulle?" I challenged him.

Jenkins looked at me with mingled amusement and indignation.

"Who's your green lad that hankers for the Frenchies so?" he asked
Juggins.

My master sent me spinning to the floor.

"Mind your place, boy," he rebuked me.

Then he continued half-apologetically to Master Jenkins--

"This de Veulle put a slight upon me before the Lords of Trade, and
the lad--'tis a good youth and devoted, though fresh come out of
Dorset, as you may see--was most indignant on my behalf."

Jenkins blinked his eyes.

"Humph," said he.

"And now about the passage?" resumed Juggins.  "I'll pay well.  Sure,
you can always find room for an extra man on shipboard."

"What will you pay?"

"Three guineas."

"Four," countered Jenkins in a monotonous tone.

"Four, then," agreed Juggins, "and may the extra guinea find a hole
in your pocket."

The ship-owner nodded dispassionately, and made an entry in his book.

"Four guineas," he repeated.

Juggins drew the coins from a purse and clinked them on the table.

"You'll never lose a debt, will you, Tom?"

"Not if I can help it," Tom agreed.

"And is it de Veulle sails with Murray?"

"Aye; he goes on some Government mission for Canada."

"But why does he not sail from Havre in a French ship for Quebec?"

"The St. Lawrence is frozen.  There will be no French ships for
Canada for two months yet."

Juggins pursed his lips in that quaint gesture of a whistle which was
a characteristic trait.

"They use our goods," he muttered; "they use our rivers, our
trading-posts, our people, the tribes which are friendly to us--and
now they use our ships."

"Often," admitted Jenkins disinterestedly.  "Since the Peace of
Utrecht we ha' done a sight o' shipping business with the Frenchies."

"'Tis to our shame," declared Master Juggins roundly.

"Why, 'tis business," answered Jenkins with his first show of
interest.  "Would you have a merchant reject the trade that came his
way?"

"Aye, if 'twas not to his interest to accept it," rejoined Juggins.

"Show me a heathen, let alone a Frenchy, will pay a farthing more
than an Englishman, and I'll show you a better customer," said the
ship-owner.  "Trade is trade.  Leave politics to governments.  If I
make not my own living, will the gentry at Westminster carry my
debts?  I think not."

Juggins swelled with indignation.

"God help England when men like you come to rule it, Tom Jenkins!" he
declared.  "Good afternoon to you."

"One moment," interposed Jenkins.  "You ha' not given me the name of
my passenger."

"Must you have it?"

"Aye.  How else shall I know whom to admit on board?"

"'Tis this youth here."

"He who hath the interest in the Frenchy?" responded Jenkins.  "Well,
lad, keep your hands off him, despite his insults to your master.
And what's your name?"

"Bill," I said in a voice I made as hoarse as I could.

"Bill," he repeated.  "'Tis a good plain name.  But you must ha' more
to it.  So the custom officers will say."

"'Tis Juggins," interposed my master.  "The lad is a cousin once
removed.  He goes to seek employment in the New World.  To tell the
truth, though strong and willing, he is not overburdened with wits.
But he can swing an ax as well as any one, and his muscles should
bring him good hire on some wilderness farm."

"Aye," agreed Master Jenkins tonelessly.

He wrote the name carefully in his record-book, slipped it back in
his coat-tails and returned to his bowl of Mocha.  The sucking of his
lips was the last sound I heard as we left the table.

In the street Juggins turned upon me indignantly.  "Would you ruin
us, Master Harry!" he demanded.  "Zooks, you were like to plunge
yourself into trouble by your forward manner!  I'll wager Jenkins is
wondering now whether you are a criminal or only a half-wit."

"Not he," I replied confidently.  "He hath his four guineas, and a
reasonable explanation for the receiving of it, and he will not worry
about Government or the character of the man who paid him."

"Mayhap," said Juggins doubtfully.  "But for your own sake, lad, mind
the playing of your part till you have the Atlantic behind you.  Why
did you flare up over this de Veulle?"

"Because I know him."

This time 'twas Juggins who forgot our parts, for he stopped me in
front of St. Paul's and grasped my arm.

"You know him?  But----"

"I know him and I hate him," I answered doggedly.

"Why?  What hath he done!"

"Oh, he owes me nothing.  Like enough he thinks the obligation is the
other way.  He is one of the gallants of the Court in Paris.  He came
out of Canada some three years ago, and made a reputation for
gambling, fickleness and daredeviltry of all kinds.  I never had the
money to mingle with him and his friends, but once in the Toison d'Or
I heard him slur the poor young man I then served."

"James!"

"I called him King James in those days," I answered.  "Yes, de Veulle
was mocking the petty motley of our exiled Court, mocking it as much
as anything else because he sought to humiliate the two Englishmen in
the room.

"'What is this King but a puppet figure for us to dandle in England's
face!' he said.  'And what are his courtiers but other puppets to
dress the show?'"

"His toadies all laughed.  They laughed so that they did not see the
other Englishman and me rise in our seats.

"'And the most comical thing of all,' ended de Veulle, 'is to think
of this Puppet King, with a Puppet Court, ruling over a Puppet
England while France pulls the strings--as will surely happen some
day.'"

"It was then I knocked him out of his chair."

Master Juggins gripped me by the hand with a warmth that surprized me.

"Good lad!" he exclaimed.  "I would have done it myself!"

"What!  You are no Jacobite!"

"I am no Jacobite," he replied in some confusion, "but no more were
you a Jacobite when you struck him.  'Twas for England, Master Harry;
and a man's country means more than any king that ever ruled.  But
what came after?"

"We fought in the upper room of the Toison d'Or--de Veulle and I and
a friend of his and my friend.  My friend was badly wounded."

"And you?"

"I disarmed my opponent."

"Only that!" remonstrated Juggins whimsically.

"Well, I disarmed him several times.  When we began to fence I found
he knew little of the small-sword--remember, he had been brought up
in Canada--and 'twould not have been pretty to slay a man so at my
mercy.  Also, to treat him as I did was more humiliating to his pride
than death."

"You did well, Master Harry.  But granny will be awaiting us.  We
must hasten."

He walked in silence until we had reached the house in Holborn.

"How comes de Veulle in London?" he asked suddenly as we climbed the
stairs.

"He was in some trouble in Paris--what, I know not.  The rumor was
that he was ordered into exile.  But if he sails for Canada, as
Master Jenkins says----"

"And on the same ship with Murray," interposed Juggins excitedly,
"after appearing in Murray's behalf this afternoon----"

"--then there may be more to his enterprise than the mere punishment
of exile from the Court," I concluded.

"'Tis so!" exclaimed Juggins.  "Beyond doubt 'tis so.  Aye, Master
Harry, this will be no ordinary struggle I send you upon.  And mayhap
de Veulle will recognize you."

I struck him heavily on the shoulder.

"Do you think 'my father's son' will draw back on such excuse at this
hour!" I said.

He laughed ruefully, and raised his hail for granny.

"Ho, Goody!  Goody, hast lain abed all day!  Here are two hungry
forest-runners will eat your kitchen bare."

Granny tripped into the hall, a mug of bitter ale in either hand.

"I heard what you said, and Master Harry's answer," she rebuked him.
"Think shame on yourself, Robert, to hint that he would hesitate
before peril--and you sending him into it, too," she added somewhat
illogically, I thought.  "Now, do both of you drain these.  'Twill
wash the taste of the streets and taverns from your mouths."

We obeyed her.

"And what luck did you have?" she demanded next.

"He leaves us Saturday," said Juggins simply.

She cried out.

"So soon!  Must it be, Robert?  Sure, the lad should have some
respite from toil and fear!"

"If he is to go, he must go then," rejoined Juggins.  "'Twas because
I felt as you did that I said what you heard, granny."

"And 'twas because he had a sound heart in him that he answered as he
did," she snapped.  "If he is to go, he should go, I dare say; and
the greater the peril, the greater the reward.  Now come with me.
The meal is made ready."

She plied us with questions as we ate, demonstrating a keenness of
mind that continually amazed me.

"So Master Murray hath engaged three berths on his own behalf, aside
from the Frenchman," she commented.  "Who could he have with him?"

"The negro servant," I hazarded.

"That is true," assented Juggins.  "He is Tom, Murray's body-guard.
An evil brute, by all accounts."

"But still there is a third place," insisted granny.

"Another servant!" I suggested.

Juggins shook his head.

"I have had our men watched as well as may be, but never have we seen
a trace of any other follower or servant."

"Have you done aught towards securing Master Harry's equipment?" she
inquired.

"No," he answered.  "The less he is cumbered with the better.  All he
needs for forest work he can find to better advantage in New York."

"But arms!" she pressed.

"There I have somewhat will be of aid to him," he agreed.

And he went to a cupboard, from which he produced a bundle of rolled
cloths.  Layer after layer was unwound, and finally he drew from the
wrappings a gun such as I had never seen before.  It was long in the
barrel, well-stocked, yet very light and handy.

"You may exclaim over it, Master Harry," remarked Juggins as he
surrendered it into my admiring hands; "but you can have no idea of
its value until you have seen it tested in the great forests, where a
man's life depends upon the swiftness and accuracy with which he can
shoot.  I learned that in my own youth, and so when I returned to
London I had this gun made for me by the King's own gunsmith, after
plans I drew for him.  There is none other like it."

"And it is for me?" I asked, delighted as a child with a new toy.

"What better use could it have?" he replied.  "Oh, yes, and these go
with it."

He brought from the same cupboard a shot-pouch of beaded deerskin and
a powder-horn, ornamented with dull silver that would not catch the
light.  Also a belt of hide from which there hung in sheaths a
delicately balanced hatchet and a long, broad-bladed knife.

"These you will discover no less useful than the gun," he explained,
drawing the weapons from their coverings.  "This which you call a
hatchet is the tomahawk of the Indians, used for fighting at close
quarters and for throwing.  This other is the scalping-knife, and a
deadly blade it is, too.  You will feel them strange at first, but
among my friends in New York there is a Dutchman named Corlaer who
will instruct you in the ways of the wilderness."

"You will not be letting Master Harry go upon his adventures without
smoothing the path for him, will you, Robert?" interposed granny,
looking up from the work-table by which she sat.

"No, indeed; he shall have letters to Governor Burnet himself, whom I
met before he went overseas, and to Master Cadwalader Colden, the
Governor's surveyor-general and a member of his Council, a fine,
loyal gentleman with whom I have had some correspondence.  They will
see to him, more especially because he brings news of value to their
plans; and he may be used to thwart the intrigues they struggle
against."




V

THE FIFTH PASSENGER

Granny Juggins drew my face down to a level with her puckered old
lips.

"God preserve you, Master Harry.  No, I am not weeping.  'Tis--  No
matter.  Remember always that so long as my heart beats there is room
in it for you--and forget not that your mother would be hungry for
pride in you if she were but with us."

She drew away anxiously.

"You do not mind that I say that, who was her servant?"

I swept her into my arms.

"I love you for it, granny.  Never shall I forget your kindness and
the welcome you gave to the stranger from the night."

She kissed me tenderly.

"I am an old woman, Master Harry," she said, "and I may not live to
see it; but the day will come when you will be no longer a fugitive
from justice.  So be not disheartened."

"And how could I be disheartened," I demanded, as I set her down,
"with two friends such as I may boast of?"

There was a mist before my eyes, and I was not sorry when Juggins
broke in upon our farewells.

"Come, come," says he.  "You will be unmanning the lad, granny----"

"'Tis to his credit he hath so much sentiment," she returned, wiping
clear her eyes with a shaky hand.  "But 'tis time he went, Robert."

"Aye, John Waterman will be waiting us at the Temple Stairs, and we
have little time to spare if we are to get aboard before the other
passengers.  This de Veulle would recognize him, I fear, even in his
disguise."

I could not forbear a grimace at the reference to my get-up, a
linsey-woolsey shirt, with homespun jacket and breeches and a bobbed
scratch-wig, the whole designed to give me a rustic appearance, which
there can be no doubt that it did.

"Never mind, Master Harry," admonished Juggins as he clapped an ugly
beaver of ancient style upon my head.  "In New York you will rig
yourself in forest-runner's garb, and forget that you ever played the
bumpkin.  Give granny a last kiss, and----"

She flew at me, light as a bird; her arms clasped momentarily about
my neck; I felt her kiss on my cheek; and then she was gone from the
room.  I may as well say here that I never saw her again, although
many a night as I lay under the stars I was to remember her quaint
ways, her sweet, shrill voice and loving smile.

But I had no opportunity for such thoughts as Juggins and I hurried
through the streets toward the river, where a wherry was awaiting us.
All the way he kept up a running fire of last-minute advice and
instructions.

"Guard well the letters I have given you, the one to Corlaer no less
than those to Governor Burnet and Master Colden.  Corlaer, though he
be only a rude, unlettered woodsman, is none the less of importance
in the wilderness country.  He hath the confidence of the Indians of
the Six Nations, a mighty tribe, or rather confederacy of tribes,
Master Harry.  They were recently but five nations in their league,
but the Tuscaroras, after troubles with the colonists in the
Carolinas, came north several years ago and were accepted at the
Council-Fire at Onondaga."

"Are they friendly to Murray?" I asked as we reached the river and
climbed aboard the wherry.

"Nay, I think not.  But you will learn beyond question in New York.
I have writ as strongly as a man may to Governor Burnet, but I would
have you say to him all that you can think of to urge him to a
vigorous course.  'Tis no hour for half-way measures.  We must crush
Murray once and for all.  If legal measures may not suffice, then let
us go without the bounds of the law."

We came presently to Greenwich reach, and steered a passage through
the river traffic to the side of the _New Venture_, a slovenly craft
of fair burthen, whose loose rope-ends and frazzled rigging
emphasized the confusion on her decks.

Master Abbot, her captain, a melancholy man in a tar-stained coat,
met us at the rail.

"The young man is not sure of himself afloat, and would seek his
berth," said Master Juggins, after the preliminaries had been passed.

"As he pleases," agreed Captain Abbot indifferently "Y'are the first
aboard, lad, and may choose your quarters."

"What choice have I?"

"Why, you may bunk with the second mate or one of the other
passengers.  But no," he corrected himself; "I should have said with
one of two of the other passengers.  The lady hath a cabin to
herself."

"The lady!" I exclaimed.

Master Juggins pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

"So you carry a lady," he commented.

"Aye," replied Abbot, lapsing into his customary manner of
indifference, "and a sore nuisance it is, too, although it makes but
one in the cabin."

"Who is she?"

"I know not."

He turned to me.

"And now, young sir, what do you say?  Will it be the second mate or
a passenger for companion!"

"The second mate," I said.

He nodded his head, called a seaman to carry my luggage below and
point the way, and walked off.

Master Juggins drew me back to the rail.

"'Tis best I should not wait," he said.  "Stay below till you be safe
out of Thames mouth, Master Harry.  You should be safe enough now,
but care is a sure precaution."

"I will not forget," I promised.

"And one thing more, lad.  Do not stint your wants for money.
Governor Burnet will aid you to draw whatever you may desire through
the bankers in New York.  Remember, you spend on my behalf.  I would
willingly use all I have to thwart Murray.  You will require
trade-goods for the savages, and perhaps equipment for yourself.
Purchase the best.  Spend--and spare not."

"You are too kind," I mumbled.

"Say rather your father was too kind.  'Tis little enough I have been
able to do for you--sending you away, an exile, on a mission of
danger.  Yet I would have you look upon it as a privilege, if you
will, Master Harry.  When all is said and done, we are at war with
France.  'Tis no war of generals and armies and admirals and fleets,
I grant you.  But war it is.

"True, there is the Peace of Utrecht, with all its ponderous
provisions sullying so many square inches of white parchment.  It
proclaims peace.  And nevertheless I say to you that we are at war."

He smote the rail with his hand by way of emphasis.

"What kind of a war?" I asked.

"Why, a war for the right to grow and to flourish, a war for trade.
At other times, mark you, nations clash over questions of honor or
territory.  So their statesmen say.  Actually there is a question of
trade or merchantry at the bottom of every war that has been fought
since the world began.

"The Romans crushed the Carthaginians--because they wanted another
corner of Africa?  Never!  Because only by so doing could they make
the Mediterranean a Roman lake and insure its control by their
shipping.

"And so today we are fighting with France for control of the trade of
the Atlantic--and control of the Atlantic trade means control of the
Western Plantations, America.  We are fighting, Master Harry, with
laws and tariffs and manufacturing skill and shipping instead of with
men and deadly weapons."

"What is the immediate stake for which we fight?" I questioned,
interested as always when this extraordinary man unloosed himself in
conversation.

"The fur-trade.  The country which wins the fur-trade will win
control over the greatest number of savages.  And the country which
is so placed, especially if it be England, will win the military
struggle which some day will have to be fought for dominion in
America.  So I would have you feel yourself a soldier, a general of
trade, sent out upon a venture of great danger and importance.  It
may be, Master Harry, that you carry on your shoulders the future of
England and of nations yet unborn."

He fired me so that I forgot my clumsy garments and outward
character.  I felt, I think, as any young knight who rides forth upon
a deed of errantry and adventure.

"All that I can, I will do!" I exclaimed.

"Good.  I can not ask more."

He clasped my hand in a wringing grip.

"I see a wherry approaching from up-river.  I had best be gone.  Good
luck to you, lad, and write as occasion serves."

He went over the side with his lips pursed as if to whistle and a
look of doleful pleasure on his face.  Him, too, as it happened, I
was never to see again.  In fact, I wonder whether I should not have
leaped over the vessel's side at that moment had I realized how
complete was to be the severance of my life from all that I had known
before.

But I did not know.  I walked away from the rail with a light heart,
inspired by Master Juggins' parting words and the vision he had
called up before my eyes.  I cast only a casual glance at the
approaching wherry, which was still too far for me to observe whom
she contained.

By the cabin entrance under the poop I found the seaman who had
collected my scanty baggage, and he escorted me down the shallow
stairs into a dark passage, which led to the main cabin, a room at
the stern which ran the width of the ship and was lighted by three
windows.  It was mainly occupied by a table and four benches clamped
to the deck.  Off the passage itself, opened four doors, two on
either side.

"Where do you berth?" the seaman asked me, pausing at the foot of the
ladder-stairs.

"With the second mate."

He opened the first door on the right-hand, or starboard, side,
revealing a space so tiny that I marveled how two men could force
themselves into it at once.  It was so low that I could not stand
upright, so cramped that there was room only for one person outside
the two short, shallow bunks which occupied two-thirds of its area.

"Do all the passengers lodge aft here?" I asked him carelessly as he
disposed of my trappings.

"All save the negro; he is to sleep in the galley behind the
companionway."

When he had gone I curled up in the lower bunk, which the second mate
obviously had surrendered to me, and spent the remainder of the day
in dozing and finishing off the shore-food Granny Juggins had
prepared for my hours of seclusion.  I listened long for the other
passengers, but they kept the deck, probably watching the work of
getting under way and taking a last look at the shores of England--as
I should have liked to do myself.

I had not known my country much in recent years, and truth to tell,
she did not seem to care for me.  None the less I loved the
emerald-green countryside, the soft sunshine through low-hanging
clouds, even the turgid reek of smoky, crowded old London.

At last I must have dozed, for I was awakened suddenly by the
strangest of sounds--a woman's voice singing.  Clear and true, the
soprano notes came through the bulkhead at the foot of my bunk.  It
was a song I had never heard before, with a Scots accent to the words
and a wonderful lilting melody that was somehow very sad all the
while it was pretending to merriment.  I had never been in
Scotland--except for the sad venture of the '19; and that had left no
pleasant memories, God knows--but the song set me to mourning for the
heather-clad moors and the gray bens and the black lochs which its
words lamented.

I rose from my bunk, and, stealing to the door, set it open, so that
I might hear the better.  The passage outside was empty, and the salt
sea-air blew down the open companionway an occasional gust of talk.
But I paid no attention to that.

I was so interested in the song and the singer's voice that I forgot
even to watch the door of the cabin next to mine where she was
singing.  And judge to my surprize, as I leaned with my head bowed by
the low lintel and my eyes fixed on the gently heaving deck, when the
singer's door swung open and she stepped into the passage, almost at
my side.

Her surprize, as was but natural, was greater than mine.  So we stood
there a moment within a long yard of each other, gazing mutely into
each other's eyes.  She was a slim, willowy lass, in a sea-green
cloak that clung to her figure in the slight draft that eddied
through the passage.

Her face, flower-white in the dim light that came down the
companionway, had a sweetness of expression that belied the proud
carriage of her head and an air of hauteur such as I had seen about
the great ladies of King Louis' Court.  Her hair was black and all
blown in little wisps that curled at her forehead and neck.  Her eyes
were dark, too.  Afterward I learned that they were of a dark brown
that became black in moments of anger or excitement.

"I heard you singing," I said.

She turned and made to reënter her cabin.  But I raised my hand
involuntarily in a gesture of appeal.

"I am sorry," I went on quickly.  "I did not mean to be rude.  I--I
could not help it."

She regarded me gravely, evidently puzzled by the incongruousness of
my voice and my plowboy garments.

"You are never Scots, sir!" she answered finally.

"No, but I know Scotland."

A light dawned in her eyes with the words.

"Ah, then you will be knowing the song that I sang!  'Lochaber No
More' 'tis called, and a bitter lament of exiles out of their own
homeland."

"No, I never heard it before--but I have a brother buried on a
hillside far north of Lochaber, in the Clan Donald country."

The sorrow that came into her face was beautiful to see.  None but a
person who had Gaelic blood could have sympathized so instantly and
so generously with a stranger's grief.

"That will have been the great sadness upon you," she cried in the
odd way that the Highland Scots have of using English.  "Oh, sir,
your woe will have been deep!  So far from his own home!"

"Yes," I assented; "and he an exile, too."

In that moment I felt for the last time all the old raging hatred of
the Hanoverian usurper, the hatred that springs from blood spilled
and unavenged; and even though the reason within me stilled the
tempest that memory had stirred, I knew, or something within me knew,
that I never could be happy under the immediate rule of King George.

"An exile!"

She leaned toward me, her eyes like stars.

"You will be one of the Good People!"

I did not answer her, too confused in my wits to know what to say;
and suddenly my confusion spread to her.

"It is wild I am talking, sir!" she exclaimed.  "Never heed my words.
Sure, who would be trusting his heart's blood to the stranger that
stepped in his path!"

"I think I would trust mine to you," I answered boldly.

She smiled faintly

"From your manner you would be no Englishman, sir, saying such pretty
things without consideration."

"I have been long out of England."

"Then your sorrow will not be so great for parting with all you have
held dear.  Lucky is your lot."

"You have never been to America?" I asked.

"I had never been out of Scotland until I came south to take ship
today.  Ah, sir, there is a great sorrow at my heart for the country
I love."

We said nothing while you might have counted ten, and in the silence
she looked away from me.

"I hope you will sing often," I said fatuously.

"I sing as the feeling comes to me," she retorted.

She gathered her cloak around her, and shut her cabin door.

"And you go with us to New York?" I asked--no less fatuously.

Her eyes danced with a glint of humor.

"Pray, sir, will there be any other stopping-place in the ocean!"

I laughed.

"My name," I began--and then I stopped abruptly.

My name at present was William Juggins, and I had a feeling of
reluctance at practising deceit upon this girl at our first meeting.
But she saved me from my quandary.

"You will not be what you might seem, sir," she said gravely.  "That
I can see, and perhaps you will not think me indiscreet if I say so
much."

"'Tis true," I assented eagerly.  "Indeed----"

"But you will be meeting my--" she hesitated ever so little--"my
father presently, no doubt, and he will make us known to one another.
Now I must go on deck."

And she walked by me with a faint swish of skirts that sounded like
an echo of far-off fairy music.

Her father!  Who could he be?  And then realization smote me.

Plainly, she could not be de Veulle's daughter--nor Captain Abbot's.
She was Murray's.

I went back into my cabin and shut the door, feeling not altogether
satisfied, despite the fragrance of her person which still lingered
in my nostrils, the recollection of her dainty charm, the indefinable
tone of high breeding which had emanated from her.

Murray's daughter!  I rebelled against the idea.  It could not be.
It ought not to be.  What right had he to a daughter--and such a maid
as this?  'Twas absurd!  Manifestly absurd!

Why, I must hate the man.  I had no other recourse.  And he had a
daughter!  And above all this daughter!




VI

THE OPENING OF HOSTILITIES

When I came on deck the next morning we were driving down-channel
before a smart northwest wind.  The sky was blue overhead; the low
rollers were just capped with foam; the air was clean and tangy; the
brownish, salt-stained canvas shone in the sunlight; the cordage
hummed and droned.

Murray stood by the weather rail with the negro, Tom, at his elbow.
As I emerged from the companionway Tom leaned forward and whispered
something to his master.  Murray walked straight across the deck to
my side, his eyes fastened upon my face.

"How now, Master Juggins," he said heartily, his hand outstretched,
"and did you leave your good uncle--or is it cousin?--well!"

I perceived that he took me for the lout I was dressed to represent,
and strove to play up to the disguise.

"Well enough, sir," I answered sullenly, shifting clownishly from
foot to foot.

"'Tis good!" he exclaimed.  "Faith I am vastly relieved.  I have a
warm regard for honest Robert Juggins.  He has spoken of me, perhaps?"

The question, designed to catch my simple mentality unawares, gave me
considerable amusement.

"Oh, aye," I muttered.

"We have been rivals in our ventures, as you doubtless know,"
continued Murray, taking a pinch of snuff in a manner which the Duc
d'Orleans might have envied.

"But he doesn't take it seriously, sir," I assured him gravely.

"Eh!  What's that?"

"He laughs about it, sir."

And I goggled at him stupidly.  After a moment's inspection of my
countenance he seemed constrained to accept the remark as witless
innocence, for a grim light of humor appeared in his eyes.

"Laughs, does he!  Zooks, I might have known it.  He is a merry soul,
Robert Juggins, and I should like to see him footing a morris to a
right merry tune.  Mayhap we shall see it some day.  Who knows?"

"Who knows, sir?" I repeated vacantly.

"And you are to cast your fortunes in America, lad!" he resumed.

"Oh, aye, sir."

"What I might have expected from a fine, upstanding young fellow," he
applauded me.  "We need many of your like.  You may count upon my
good offices in New York.  Faith, I shall be glad to do a favor if I
can, for Robert Juggins' nephew--or did you say cousin?"

"I am----"

But he saved me from the lie.

"Ah, here is come one of our fellow passengers," he interrupted.

I turned to see de Veulle approaching us.

"'Tis a French gentleman," pursued Murray, bent upon winning my
confidence with his easy manners and glib tongue, "on his way to
Canada.  He can tell you rare tales of the wilderness and the
savages.  Ha, _chevalier_, meet a young countryman of mine.  Such is
the timber we use to exploit the new plantations.  Master
Juggins--the Chevalier de Veulle."

All unsuspecting, de Veulle made me a slight bow, a look of
indifferent disdain in his face at sight of my plebeian figure.  The
disguise was good, and I hoped I might cozen him for a time at least.
But no man forgets another who has toyed with his life, and his
indifference was dissipated the instant his eye met mine.

"Juggins?" he exclaimed in bewilderment.  "You said Juggins, Monsieur
Murray?"

"Sure, 'tis so," returned Murray urbanely.  "Not our friend, the
doughty trader, you understand, but----"

"_Parbleu!_" swore de Veulle.  "This man is no more named Juggins
than I am!"

In his excitement his English, which was broken enough at best,
became almost incoherent.  Murray favored me with a brief glance of
suspicion.

"Who then?" he demanded.

"Ormerod!  'Tis Harry Ormerod, the Jacobite refugee!"

Murray snapped his fingers to Tom, the negro, who had been a silent
witness to our conversation.  In an instant he stood beside us, his
baleful yellow eyes glaring at me.

"Is this the man who came with Master Juggins to the hearing before
the Lords of Trade?" snapped Murray.

"He de man, massa," Tom answered in a husky voice that had a snarl in
it.

"You are sure!"

"Yes, massa."

"Tom doesn't make mistakes," remarked Murray with a gesture of
dismissal to the negro.  "May I ask who you are, sir?" he addressed
me.

"I suppose you may," I replied coolly; and with a sense of relief I
ripped the bobbed scratch-wig off my head and tossed it into the sea.
"Does that help you at all?" I inquired of de Veulle.

He stared back at me, his face all drawn with hatred.

"I knew you with it on," he said savagely.  "It became you.  Why
should a deserter wear the clothes of a gentleman?"

I laughed at him, but Murray intervened quickly.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

De Veulle made a gesture of disgust in my direction.

"This person, who was in the immediate entourage of the Pretender,
abandoned his leader not long ago and fled to England to seek a
pardon, repudiated and detested by all honorable men in Paris.  But
in England his protestations of loyalty were refused, for they
naturally doubted the sincerity of one who wearied so soon of an
unfortunate cause."

"Is this true?" Murray asked me.

"Within reason," I said.

Murray stared from one to the other of us.  Plainly he was
whimsically amused by our altercation.

"Stap me, but I rejoice to see that we may look forward to an
entertaining voyage!" he exclaimed.  "I had feared 'twould be most
tedious.  Are you seeking satisfaction from the gentleman,
_chevalier_?"

"I shall fight him when I choose, on ground of my own choosing,"
replied de Veulle curtly.

"And by no means with small-swords," I jeered.

He gave me a black look.

"You will pray me to kill you if you ever fall into my power,
Ormerod.  I can wait until then."

"As you please."

He turned and left us.  Murray took snuff very deliberately, first
offering the box to me--which he had not done before--and scrutinized
me politely from head to foot.

"I fear I have been patronizing in my conduct, sir," he observed.
"Pray accept my apologies."

"You are most kind," I said ironically.

"'Twas a perfect disguise," he went on.  "And your manner, if I may
say so, was well conceived."

"I thank you."

"In short, I find you an opponent of totally different importance.
You are an opponent?" he shot at me.

"Sure, sir, that is for you to say," I made answer.  "So far as I
know at this time we merely happen to be passengers together on this
craft."

He laughed.

"I might have known it!" he exclaimed.  "'Twas not like Juggins to
send a bumpkin to Burnet.  He hath been an enemy I might not scorn at
any moment.  And for a mere merchant he hath extraordinary spirit."

This was said with an air of condescension which irked me.

"You, sir," I remarked, "are no less a merchant.  Why pretend to
gentrice?"

A remarkable change came over the man.  He ceased from tapping on his
snuff-box.  A wave of color suffused his face and neck; his eyes
flashed.  He straightened his back and shoulders and frowned upon me.

"Pretend--gentrice!" he rasped.  "Sir, you are insulting.  I have the
blood of kings in my veins.  I am of the Murrays of Cobbielaw.  I
quarter my arms with the Keiths, the Humes, the Morays--with every
great family of Scotland.  My grandfather four times removed was
James V.

"I pretend to gentrice!  I tell you there are few families in Europe
can boast my lineage."

"It hath a Jacobite color to it," I could not resist observing.

He cooled rapidly at this, and the broad Scots accent which had crept
into his speech soon disappeared.

"That is easily said--and easier disproved," he returned.  "For
myself, there is no more loyal adherent of King George, as you are
likely to learn, sir, if you plan to backslide in the Pretender's
interest when you reach New York.  We provincials may be distant many
thousands of miles from Court, but we are none the less careful in
our devotion to the sovereign."

"So I have been told," I said dryly.  "As for Master Juggins, his
grandfather was steward to my father, and still I think him as much
entitled to respect as any man, noble or common, who can prattle of
sixteen quarterings.  Family, sir, is not the more creditable for
being talked about."

Murray laughed harshly.

"You have a sour tongue, young sir.  I say to you plainly that if
'twere in my interest I might make things uncomfortable for you here.
We may yet sight a King's ship."

It was my turn to laugh.

"When that time comes, we will attend to it.  I thank you for warning
me in advance."

He pocketed his snuff-box, swung around on his heel and strode off
across the deck; but he had not reached the mainmast when he seemed
to change his intent and returned to my side.

"Master Ormerod," he said, "I was in error to speak as I did of your
friend.  I crave your pardon."

He spoke so simply and unaffectedly as to take my breath away.  There
was naught for me to do but accept the apology in the spirit
apparently intended.

"Sure, sir," I replied, "let us forget what hath passed."

"Willingly," he agreed.  "There is enough contention, without
belittling the most sacred thing in the world by needless bickering."

"And what is the most sacred thing in the world?" I asked.

"Good blood," he said quite straightforwardly.  "But I must go below
now.  I have some papers to attend to.  And I shall also attempt to
induce the Chevalier de Veulle to preserve the amenities of life
whilst we are restricted to such confined quarters."

"He shall not have to labor against my hostility," I promised as he
departed.

Despite myself, I was taken with the man.  His queer vanity, his
unmistakable breeding, his ready wit, the assurance of power and
self-sufficiency which radiated from him and explained, as I thought,
his readiness to admit himself in the wrong, all these joined to
inspire respect for his parts, if not admiration for his character.

During the rest of that day I made myself at home about the ship,
talking with the seamen and their officers and watching vainly for
the lady of the green cloak who had awakened me with her song.  But
she kept her cabin until the second afternoon, when we were sailing
easily with a fair wind abeam.  I found her then as I returned from a
walk forward, standing with her hand on the poop-railing to steady
her.

"I fear you are a poor sailor," I called to her.

She inclined her head for answer.

"Well, I have met your father," I said, coming to her side, "and I
make no doubt he would present me were he here, so----"

"Sir," she said stiffly, "I have no desire for your company."

I stared at her, mouth agape.

"If I have offended----" I began.

"I may as well tell you," she interrupted me again, "that I have no
personal liking or disliking for anything you have said or done in my
presence.  But I have heard that about you which will make me have no
inclination for your company."

"And I shall ask you to tell me what that is," I retorted with
mounting indignation.  "It is not fair that you should accept the
slurs of an enemy behind my back."

She hesitated.

"That may be so," she admitted, "but you will be willing to answer me
two questions?"

"Surely."

"You are Captain Ormerod, formerly chamberlain to King James II?"

"Yes."

"And you not long ago abandoned the King's service and fruitlessly
sought a pardon in London?"

"Yes."

I can not very well describe the scorn of voice and manner with which
she addressed me.

"That is enough for me," she said.  "You are a traitor, a deserter,
proven out of your own mouth."

"But----"

"No, sir; there is naught you can say would interest me.  I should
despise you none the less had you deserted in the same circumstances
to my own side.  It makes it no less culpable that you deserted from
my side because our fortunes were at low ebb.  And indeed I think it
will be a sure sign there is a God in heaven that such a black
traitor as you will be, should be scorned even by the wicked men of
the usurper in London."

"But you shall hear me," I protested.  "This is absurd, what you say.
You have taken two bare statements of fact and twisted into them the
implications skilfully made by a personal enemy.  You----"

"Last night, sir," she said cuttingly, withdrawing the folds of her
cloak so that they might not touch me, "you played upon my sympathies
with your tale of exile and a brother buried in the Clan Donald
country, and I was all for sympathy with you and sorrow for your
sorrow.  You as much as told me you were one of the Good People.  You
let me deceive myself, after you had deceived me first.  Oh, you will
have acted unspeakably!"

"What I told you was true!"

"It could never have been."

"I swear it was.  I was out in the '19; I fled to Scotland with my
brother; he died and was buried there; I escaped with the remnants of
the expedition; I am an exile at this moment."

"An exile!  Phaugh!  Think on the honest men can truly say that in
their misfortune this day!  And you--I could weep for the shame that
your dead brother and the mother that bore you will be feeling as
they look down upon you!"

With that she was gone, and I was left cursing--cursing de Veulle,
whose treacherous tongue had planted the distorted shreds of truth in
her mind; cursing Murray, who must have stood by and listened to it
all, smugly amused; cursing my cousin who had put me in such a
plight, after winning my inheritance; cursing the men and women at
St. Germain who repaid years of sacrifice and ungrudging loyalty with
such canards; cursing Juggins for having embarked me upon this ship
with the girl; cursing myself for getting into such a false position;
cursing the girl----

But no.  Common sense came to my rescue then.  There was something
unaccountably fine about her attitude, something I should never have
thought to uncover in Murray's daughter, however beautiful and
attractive she might be.  There was devotion for you, faithfulness to
a lost cause, the single-minded truthfulness which only a good woman
can possess.

Heir indignation was the index to her personality.  By it I might
know that she was really worth while, that to win her respect must be
an achievement for any man.

And that brought a new thought into my mind.  Could the two men she
was with have her respect?  Could she respect her father, Murray?
Aye, perhaps; for if he labored secretly in the Jacobite interest
she, with her flaming, misdirected loyalty to the Stuarts, would
excuse his deceptions and crimes, if only they brought back her King
to the throne.

I was familiar with the way men and women of her persuasion ignored
the well-being of their country, apart from their King.  They could
see no difference between the two.  What did it matter if France
profited by the issue, so long as James replaced George?

This brought me to de Veulle.  Surely she could not respect him!  If
she knew what I knew--  But manifestly she, who had never been out of
Scotland before, could know nothing of his career in Paris.

And he had a way with him, there could be no denial of that.  He was
a handsome devil, with the flair which appeals to all women, good and
bad.  Aye, he might win her regard for a time; but I was prepared to
stake all that she would unmask him in the end.

The twilight faded rapidly, and I found myself with no appetite for
the crowded main cabin, where de Veulle and Murray played piquet, or
my stuffy berth.  I strolled the deck, immersed in thought.  There
was so much to think about.  The episode with this girl, whose name
even I did not know, had brought into vivid opposition the events of
the past and the uncertain future which lay before me.

I conned over what Juggins had told me, memorized anew many of the
messages he had entrusted to me, speculated upon the possible turn of
affairs.  I planned in some vague way to win a fortune in that
unknown New World ahead of me, and with the proceeds in one hand and
a pardon in the other, return and reclaim Foxcroft from those
abominable Hampshire cousins.

With chin cupped in hand I leaned upon the starboard rail in the
black well of shadow which was formed by the overhang of the
forecastle, and the towering piles of canvas that clothed the
foremast.  Somewhere beyond the wastes of watery darkness that veiled
my eyes lay England, the home which had disowned me.  I----

Without any warning a huge arm was twisted around my shoulders and a
hand so huge that my teeth could make no impression in it was clamped
down over my mouth.  Another arm encircled my waist.  My arms were
pinned to my sides.  My legs kicked feebly at a muscular body which
pressed me against the bulwark.  Fighting back with all my strength,
I was nevertheless lifted gradually from the deck and shoved slowly
across the flat level of the fife-rail.

Do what I might, I could not resist the pressure of those tremendous
arms which seemed to have a reach and a power twice those of my own.
I gasped for breath as they squeezed my lungs--and in gasping I
sensed a queer taint in the air, a musky odor which I did not at once
associate with the seamen or any one else on board the ship.

It was no use.  I could not resist.  The snakelike arms mastered me.
One shifted swiftly to a grip on my legs.  I was whirled into the air
and dropped clear of the railing--falling, falling, until the cold
waters engulfed me.




VII

A TRUCE

I came to the surface, fighting for breath, my hands battling
fruitlessly at the slimy side of the ship, which slid past as
relentlessly as the passage of time.  I tried to cry out, but the
salt water choked me.  Not a sound came from the decks above.  The
blackness was absolute, except for the mild gleam of a watch-lanthorn
on the poop.

Danger and the peril of death often have been my lot, but never in
all my life--no, not even when the Keepers of the Trail had bound me
to the torture-stake--have I experienced the abysmal fear which
clutched my heart as I struggled to save myself from the chilling
waters whose numbing embrace was throttling my vitality no less
surely than the long arms which had cast me overboard.

Death was only a brace of minutes away--not death from drowning, but
death from the bitter cold that paralyzed my limbs and smote my
heart.  In the mad desperation of my fear I heaved myself waist-high
out of the water, hands clutching and clawing for the support which
reason must have denied me to expect.

I was sinking beneath a smooth-running wave along the counter when my
fingers came in contact with a dripping rope, which slipped through
their grip and lashed me in the face.  This time I did contrive to
cry out, a brief, choked yell of exultation.  My hands possessed
themselves of it again, and I rove a loose knot in the end.

Had I dared, I would have rested myself in this loop before beginning
to attempt the climbing of the mossy wall of the ship's side; but the
coldness of the water forbade it.  Only by the utmost power of will
could I force myself to the necessary effort.  A few moments' delay,
and I should be incapable of action.

With teeth clinched I drew myself upward along the rope, thrusting
forward with my feet for purchase against the side.  Sometimes I
slipped on the wet planks, and then I was put to it to hold my
position.  But after I withdrew my body from the water, what with the
urgency of my effort and the stimulation of the exercise, some degree
of my strength returned; and presently I was able to pull myself up
the rope, hand over hand, until I reached a small projecting
structure at the level of the deck to which was fastened the
starboard rigging of the mainmast.  How I blessed the untidy
seamanship of Captain Abbot, which would have aroused the wrath of
any true sailor, no doubt.

On this bit of a platform I rested myself, below the level of the
bulwarks, one arm thrust round a tautened stay.  And now for the
first time I gave thought to my experience.  I suppose that at the
most not more than five minutes had elapsed since I had been heaved
overboard, and obviously no one had witnessed the incident, for the
deck was as quiet and deserted as it had been when I was attacked.

Who had done it?  I accepted as a primary fact the impossibility that
it could have been one of the crew.  I had speaking acquaintance with
only two of them, Captain Abbot, himself, and Master Ringham, the
second mate, a taciturn Devon man, whose conversation consisted of
curses, grunts and monosyllables.  Neither could have any grudge
against me.

No, I must seek the assailant in the camp of my known enemies, and
those immense, twining arms could belong only to the ape-like negro.
With the realization, hot blood drummed in my ears.  I scrambled over
the bulwark in a flash, and crouched down upon the deck to survey the
situation.  It was one against three--no, four, I reflected bitterly;
for I made no doubt the girl would array herself against me.  I must
have some weapon.

I looked around me, noting that the watch were all ensconced upon the
forecastle or the poop.  Then I remembered that ranged around the
bottoms of the masts were long handbars of wood, iron-tipped, which
were used in making fast the sail-ropes.  I ran across to the
mainmast and tore one from its slot.

Nobody had yet seen me in the pitch darkness, and I stole across the
deck to the door which gave entrance to the poop, my water-soaked
shoes quite soundless.  The door was ajar, and I opened it very
carefully, listening to the murmur of voices in the main cabin.
There was no light in the passage which led to the main cabin from
the foot of the shallow stairs that descended from the deck level;
but the main cabin itself was brilliantly lighted by several
lanthorns.

Murray and de Veulle were sitting on the bench which ran across the
stern, the table in front of them littered with cards.  Murray, a
look of placid satisfaction on his face, was pouring rum into two
glasses.  De Veulle was laughing as if he had listened to the
merriest tale in the world.  So much I saw when the entrance into the
main cabin was darkened by the body of the negro, Tom.

He saw me descending the stairs, and apparently took me to be one of
the officers coming off watch.  At any rate, he stepped back into the
main cabin and stood there, waiting to give me room.  The passage was
not more than fifteen or sixteen feet long, and as I approached him I
smelled again that rancid, musky odor--the body smell, as I afterward
discovered, of the savage, black or red--which had overwhelmed my
nostrils just before I was pitched over the side.

'Twas that decided me.  I took a firm grip on my improvised club,
and, stepping into the pool of light in the main cabin, swung square
around, face to face with Tom.  He threw up both hands and staggered
back with a wild scream of terror, eyes popping from his ashen-gray
face.

I gave him no time for recovery, but brought down the iron-tipped end
of the handbar with all my force across his skull.  The blow would
have killed any save a black man.  I meant it to kill him.  As it
was, he dropped like a slaughtered ox, and lay in a crumpled heap of
tawdry finery on the floor.

Doors banged in the passage, and I stepped to one side, setting my
back to the bulkhead, the while I fastened my eyes upon the startled
amazement with which Murray and de Veulle regarded me.  'Twas Murray
recovered first.

"Zooks," he remarked, taking snuff with his usual precision.  "It
seems that Tom is growing in the way of making mistakes."

"Aye, and such mistakes are like to react upon others," I replied
fiercely.

"If I were a refugee from justice, I should be careful how I
threatened law-abiding subjects," he answered calmly.  "Well, well,
it seems we have more company."

I followed his glance to the passage, where stood the girl of the
green cloak, whilst over her shoulder peered the square, puzzled
features of my silent cabinmate, Master Ringham.

The girl said nothing, her eyes shifting gravely from one to the
other of us.  But Master Ringham's official status got the better of
his distaste for words.

"What hath happened?" he asked.  "Is the negro dead!"

"I think so," I said.  "He--"

"Not he," corrected Murray cheerfully.  "You know not Tom, good
Master Ormerod.  He hath a skull on him can only be opened with
blasting-powder."

"It matters little," I returned.  "The rascal attacked me above,
Master Ringham.  I pursued him down here.  There is naught more to be
said.  I will settle with his master."

The second mate looked questioningly toward Murray.  I hated to
compromise so, but I had not missed the veiled threat he had
addressed to me nor his use of the name Ormerod.  Remember, I was
still known to the crew as Juggins.

I was uncertain what attitude the captain might take if he was told
that I was a political refugee.  There might be a reward at
stake--and sailors were human like other men.  What was one man's
life to them--and he a stranger--if so many hundred pounds would
purchase it!

"Why, that is fairly spoken," rejoined Murray, somewhat to my
surprize.  "I know naught of the circumstances, Master Ringham, but
perhaps I may settle with our friend here.  As for the negro, I will
attend to him."

"And the captain?" questioned the second mate uncertainly.

"Oh, I see no reason why we should bother Master Abbot at this
juncture.  There will be time enough if we fail to agree upon the
issue."

"There must be no more violence," warned Ringham, his eyes on me, his
words addressed to all of us.

"Violence!" rejoined Murray jovially.  "Let us reject the idea
altogether.  Why should we disdain sweet reason's rule?  Eh?  Master
Orm--er--Juggins?"

I bowed ironically.

"If there is any further disagreement Captain Abbot shall be called,"
I said to Ringham.  "That I promise you."

Ringham nodded and clumped back to his bunk, doubtless relieved at
not being required to surrender more of his time off-watch.  But the
girl stood her ground, her eyes accusing all of us.

"Well, Marjory," said Murray pleasantly, "and do you plan to join in
our debate?"

That was the first time I heard her name, and--why, I can not say--I
heard it without surprise, as if I had always known it to be hers.
It suited her, as names sometimes express the character and
appearance of their possessors.

"What hath happened?" she asked in the same words the second mate had
used.

"You have heard," said Murray.

She shook her head.

"That is not all.  This--" she hesitated--"gentleman's clothes are
wet.  Tom does not attack people without orders."

Murray shrugged his shoulders.  De Veulle answered her, leaning
across the table, his eyes burning with hatred for me.

"You know what this man hath done, mademoiselle," he cried.  "You
know his record in the past.  You know that he comes with us to spy
out our plans, to thwart, if may be, what we undertake to do.  Is any
fate too hard for him?  Why should you concern yourself?"

His voice grew coaxing.

"'Tis no matter for ladies' soft hands to dabble in."

"Then there has been fighting?" she asked.

I could stand it no longer.

"Fighting!" I snapped.  "Aye, if you call assassination fighting.  An
attack in the dark upon an unarmed man, throwing him overboard to
drown as you might a blind puppy, never a chance for his life!"

"Yet you are here, sir?" she said quietly.

"'Tis only by the intervention of Providence that I was saved--or the
untidiness of our captain, who left a rope trailing over the side."

I grew sarcastic.

"You were pleased to say today that it was proof of a God in heaven
that I had suffered misfortune.  Sure, will you deny that the same
God hath protected me against your father's----"

"My father!" she repeated questioningly.

"Well, what is he!" I returned cuttingly.  "Mayhap you have some pet
name for a parent who practises assassination."

"You have no right to say that, sir," she said with spirit.

"No right!  Did not you yourself say Tom never acted without orders!"

"But----"

"And furthermore, if this case is not enough, let me tell you that
this man here"--I pointed to Murray; for some reason I disliked to
call him her father, even in wrath--"set a gang of ruffians to murder
a friend of mine in London."

"Do you know that for a fact, sir!" die demanded with her unflinching
gravity.

"I do."

Murray rose from his seat behind the table.

"Your proof, sir?" he asked coldly.

"Proof!" I answered weakly.  "Why, I was there!"

"Aye, sir," he rejoined with dignity.  "But your proof that I hired
assassins?"

I was silent.

"As for Tom," he continued, "if he had drowned you I do not believe
that I should have wept many tears.  You are in my way, sir.  But you
have no reason to assume from my daughter's casual words that I was
accomplice to his acts.  Could you prove it before the captain or any
court of law?"

I saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew that he was playing with me.

"No," said I shortly; "I could not prove it, even against him.  I
have no witnesses."

"And you could not even go into a court of law," he pursued, "for you
are an outlaw, denied benefit of law or clergy."

"Yes," I flared in answer; "and you, sir, what think you might be
your fate in New York if I denounced you to Governor Burnet for
attempted murder!  Would he make use of the opportunity--or no!"

The realization of this trump card I held had come to me in a flash
of inspiration.  Now it lay face up for all to see, and there could
be no doubt it gave my enemies cause for uneasiness.  Murray regarded
me thoughtfully; a worried look replaced the cynical satisfaction
with which de Veulle had watched my badgering; the bewilderment upon
Marjory's face was deepened.

"I do not think I am so weakly situated as you had supposed," I
mocked them.  "Aye, you may denounce me to the captain for a Jacobite
conspirator, and it may be he will see fit to believe you.  You are
three to my one.  But when we reach New York, and I am brought before
the officers of the Crown, I may have a different story to tell.
Think you the governor would be loath to implicate a French officer
and the man who is leading the fight against his struggle to control
the fur-trade?"

Murray nodded his head slowly, and sank back in his seat.

"Sure, you are a lad after my own heart," he said.  "That was well
thought of.  'Tis checkmate--for this present."

"Nonsense," stormed de Veulle.  "Why should we fear his trumpery
tales?  Who are we to be denounced by him?"

"Because I know somewhat of Governor Burnet," replied Murray
good-humoredly.  "Nay, _chevalier_, I dislike to yield my point as
much as any man; but Master Ormerod hath stopped us.  We must have a
truce."

But he reckoned without Marjory.  The lady of the green cloak stood
forward in the center of the cabin, passionate indignation shaking
her whole figure.

"Oh, why do you talk like this?" she exclaimed.  "Are we criminals
that we must bargain with a criminal?  It is as if we were embarked
upon an enterprise as vile as his life of spying and intrigue!"

I had not made any headway in regaining her good opinion, 'twas
evident, and that must be the excuse for my barbed retort.

"You show unwonted sensibility, my lady," I said.  "Sure, no men with
good consciences would stoop to bargain with such as I."

"I fear me, Marjory," said Murray gently, "that you have no
appreciation of the tangled path which must be trod by those who
concern themselves with affairs of state.  The good and the bad are
strangely intermingled.  Sometimes we must consort with those we
despise in order to gain a good cause.  Sometimes we must use tools
which irk us to fashion a policy to a righteous end.  Sometimes we
must stoop to tricks and plays which soil and shame.

"It can not be otherwise.  And after all, what does it matter that
you and I have cause to regret, if we may see the attainment of our
goal?  Shall we regret the payment of a bitter price?  'Twould be
parsimonious, I say.  'Tis not we who count, who are but pawns; but
the cause we serve."

"I like it not," she flamed.

"Like it or not, 'tis inevitable."

He turned to me.

"It seems then, Master Ormerod, that we must proclaim a truce for the
time being."

"It is your necessity," I told him flatly.

"And yours," he returned urbanely.  "What guarantees shall we
exchange?"

I thought.

"Why, we can neither afford to risk the denunciation of the other," I
said at last.  "You, because you know that the Provincial Government
would seize any excuse to incommode you.  I, because I know that the
Provincial Government would find it difficult to protect me against
your charge, even though it exploited mine."

"The advantage would seem to be on my side," he remarked tentatively.

I leaned across the table so that his eyes met mine fully.

"Not so much as you might think," I asserted.  "Have I the look of
one who would fail in a desperate venture?"

"No, no," he answered smilingly.  "So be it, then.  But the truce
holds good only for the period of our voyage together?"

"That is understood," I agreed.

His eyes hardened.

"Did you ever hear of the Red Death and the Black Death, Master
Ormerod!"

I shook my head, puzzled.

"You have met the Black Death.  You have yet to meet the Red Death.
And you may meet the Black Death again," he added as Tom groaned
where he lay on the floor.

Marjory shuddered.

"Enough of this!" she exclaimed.  "Is it understood there is to be no
killing on this ship?"

"It is, my dear," Murray responded.  "And now I think you had best
withdraw.  This has been a trying interview for you, I fear."

She looked from one to the other of us, as if half in doubt; and then
gathered her cloak around her.  We all three, as with one accord,
bowed low as she stepped into the passage.

Murray opened a lanthorn and snuffed the candle within.

"You must be weary, Master Ormerod," he said solicitously.  "It hath
been a trying evening for you too, I fear."

"Ah, the devil played a strong hand, Master Juggins," de Veulle
chimed in, with a yawn.  "You do not object to your old name, I hope?
It fits you like a snug shirt."

"Not in the least," I retorted.  "'Tis an honest name.  You will
note, I hope, that the devil, as always, was checkmated, even though
he had two of the minor fiends of darkness at his elbow."

Murray laughed, the fine, resonant laugh of a well-bred, honorable
gentleman.

"Zooks, _chevalier_, have done.  The man hath a rare metal."

"If wit fails, try small-swords," I suggested as I left the cabin.




VIII

I HEAR FIRST OF THE DOOM TRAIL

One day followed another and one week ran into the next as the _New
Venture_ made her southing and bore west toward the New World.  The
weather was blustery and raw.  Gales stormed down out of the polar
regions and drenched us with snow.  Head winds baffled us.  Once a
tall-masted stranger chased us for two days and a night before we
lost her and might continue our course.

But we who shared the tiny quarters under the poop contrived to live
together without further quarrels.  It seemed almost as if the
opposition of the elements had overwhelmed the bitterness of
conflicting human interests.

The girl with the green cloak--I called her Marjory in my
thoughts--ignored my existence.  She spent much of her time with de
Veulle, walking the deck with him, reading or playing at cards.  I
liked to think she did it to provoke me.  Sometimes, too, she chatted
with the seamen, and they taught her the trick of handling the wheel.
But I did not speak to her after the night she came into the main
cabin and found the negro, Tom, lying on the floor at my feet.

De Veulle gave me a wide berth.  He did not like to be reminded
before others of that duel in the Toison d'Or.  Tom's eyes never left
me if I was within the range of their vision; their blind, yellow
glare haunted my dreams.  He snarled sometimes like a caged wild
beast when I walked near him.  But he never lifted a finger against
me.

With Murray my relations were outwardly friendly.  He liked much to
talk, and indeed he demonstrated a considerable acquaintance with the
great men of his period.  But he never dropped a hint concerning the
enterprise in which he was now engaged.  Nor for that matter did he
ever seek to draw me out on the mission I served.

He was a man of extraordinary perspicacity.  Once he had determined
accurately the measure of an opponent he never made the mistake of
underrating his enemy.

"Most of the failures in life come from overconfidence, Master
Ormerod--" he called me by my real name with scrupulous courtesy when
we were alone, and was equally scrupulous to dub me Juggins if
Captain Abbot or one of the crew happened to be present--"as I dare
swear you know.  I have long made it a rule of my life never to
believe that any other man could be less diligent about his affairs
than I myself.

"If I find myself in opposition to a man--yourself, let us suppose--I
do you the credit of granting you my own degree of intellect.  So, I
have learned, may one's interests be safeguarded."

For the rest, he exhibited much concern in the personalities at
Versailles and St. Germain, and aired his views regarding the
existing state of the English nobility and Court with a vanity which
would have savored of the popinjay had it not been for his undoubted
earnestness and the strange spell which the man's personality wove
about him.  Most of all, however, he delighted to discuss his own
genealogy and the history of the famous Scots families with whom he
was connected.  He could descant on such topics for an entire
afternoon--and with an uncommon candor and entertaining flow of
intellect.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of our intercourse was that we
talked together, more or less, every day for nearly two months; and
at the end of that time I had the material for delineating the
character of a man of gentility and fine feeling in matters of honor,
who possessed the friendship or intimacy of many famous personages in
Europe and America.

I knew that he claimed to be a younger son of a good Scots house,
fallen into decay by reason of the Jacobite wars.  I knew that he
played a good hand at piquet, and was entirely honorable in gambling.
I knew he had a dainty taste in snuff, cravats and linen.

And I knew absolutely nothing else, gained from his own admissions
and observance of his habits.  He was patronizingly cordial to
Captain Abbot and the other officers of the ship; he controlled Tom
as I should a dog; he treated Marjory with consideration, even
affection, although not as I should have expected him to treat a
daughter; he observed toward de Veulle exactly the right mixture of
the older man of the world and the boon comrade.

He never referred to the enmity between us or the bargain we had made
until the day we sailed through the Narrows, the entrance to New
York's inner harbor, and saw far in the distance, behind tree-covered
islands in a long perspective of forest shore-lines, the miniature
provincial capital huddled on the point of the big island which the
Dutch named Manhattan, an occasional steeple pointing skyward above
the two and three story houses and the frowning ramparts of Fort
George.

"We part for a time, Master Ormerod," he said, coming upon me where I
leaned on the railing in the waist of the ship, viewing this unknown
land where I must retrieve my fallen fortunes.  "Our truce expires
when we disembark."

"That is true," I assented.

"There is somewhat I would venture to observe upon, if you will
permit me," he continued detachedly.

I inclined my head, thinking mainly of the exquisite beauty of this
woodland setting, with the early Spring foliage already turning
green, and the wide spaces of emptiness so close to a principal
center of civilization.

"You are a youth of boldness and courage.  I do not seek to flatter
you by saying so.  You possess intelligence.  You may go far in the
provinces, always supposing you do not succeed in winning a pardon.
I opine that a pardon might be won if you went about it in the right
way.  There are gentlemen at Whitehall, who--"

His hesitation was eloquent.

"And you would suggest?" I asked him, faintly amused as I perceived
the drift of his intention.

"Think well before you commit yourself to this venture.  Mark me,
sir, it means little to me.  You know nothing of what you embark
upon.  You can not hope to overcome me.  Why, the governor of this
province, with all the semi-regal powers at his command, has failed
to balk me in my plans.  My influence is no less in London.  If you
continue as you have begun you will end, I fear, in an early grave.
I say it not as a threat.  'Tis merely a prediction."

"I fear me I should lose your good opinion did I take your advice," I
replied.

He looked me straight in the eyes.

"You would," he said curtly, and he turned on his heel and left me.

Three hours later we lay at anchor in the East River under the lee of
Nutten Island, which some called the Governor's because it was part
of his official estate.  The extent of the shipping was surprizing
considering the size of the town, and we were fortunate to secure
small boats to ferry us ashore.  They landed us at a wharf on a canal
which ran up into the town along the middle of Broad Street.  From
here I had my baggage carried by a water-man to the George Tavern in
Queen Street which he recommended as being favored by the gentry.

Murray's party I overheard giving directions for the conduct of their
effects to Cawston's Tavern in Hanover Square, a comfortable open
place which we traversed on our way to the George.  The streets were
all shaded by a variety of trees--locusts, beeches, elms--and in some
parts and along certain blocks they were paved.

The houses, many of them, were stanchly built of brick and tiles,
often of more than one color.  Their gable ends fronted upon the
streets.  The more pretentious ones had gardens behind, and many had
platforms on the roof whence the members of the family might secure a
broad view of the town and bay.

Along the water-front there were frequent warehouses, and the chief
impression that I gained was one of bustling wealth and prosperity.
Indeed, although New York was then, and for many years afterwards,
inferior in population to Boston and Philadelphia, it vied with them
in the volume of its trade.

After a meal which was as good as any I had ever eaten in Paris or
London I inquired of Master Kurt van Dam, the proprietor of the
George, where I might find Governor Burnet.  Van Dam was a
broad-bodied, square-headed Dutchman.  He sat in the ordinary,
smoking a long clay pipe, and if the waiter had not pointed him out
to me I should not have been able to distinguish him from a dozen
other natives of the town, precisely similar in build and each
sprawled back upon a bench or chair, puffing at a pipe which reached
from his lips to his knees.

"You vant to sbpeak to der gofernor, eh?" he said slowly.  "Hah!
Myndert!"

He recalled the waiter who had piloted me to his side.

"Haf you seen der gofernor dis morning?"

Myndert had not.

"Veil, it maype he is at der Fort," reflected Master van Dam.

"He vouldt pe, if he vas," said a stout burgher on the next bench.
"Put he is not."

"You are sure?"

"_Ja._"

A third stout Dutchman removed his pipe from his mouth and blew a
mouthful of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Der gofernor is still at Cabptain van Horne's," he said, and
immediately replaced the pipe in his mouth.

"To be sure," assented van Dam.  "Der gofernor is only a little time
married to Captain van Horne's dotter.  He life with dem vile der
house in der Fort is mate bpretty for her."

"And where is Captain van Horne's house!" I asked.

"In der Broad-Vay not far oop from der Fort.  You valk across through
Hanofer Square."

I thanked him and walked forth.

In Hanover Square, which was only a few steps distant, there was a
crowd collected about the entrance to Cawston's Tavern.  Murray was
standing in the doorway, Tom on one side of him, and a huge,
red-haired giant in buckskin, with knife and tomahawk at his belt on
the other.  I stared at the red-haired man, for he was the first
woodsman I had seen, observing with curiosity his shaggy locks and
fur cap and the brutal ferocity of his face.

I stared so long that I attracted the attention of Murray, who broke
off his conversation, with the group surrounding him, and with a pale
smile pointed me out to his buckskin retainer.  The man scowled at
me, and one hand went to his knife-hilt.

I spoke to the citizen nearest me.

"What is the occasion of the crowd?" I asked.

"'Tis Master Murray, the fur-trader, hath returned from London after
winning his case before the Lords of Trade," he answered.

"How is that?"

He regarded me suspiciously.

"Are you a stranger?"

"I am but just landed from the same ship as carried Master Murray," I
assured him.

"Ah!"

His manner became impressive; plainly he considered himself one who
imparts portentous news.

"Master Murray, as you will soon learn, sir, is our most enterprising
merchant.  He hath built up with much difficulty a valuable trade
with the French, with the result that the business of the province
hath doubled.

"But the governor will have none of it, or so he says.  He hath done
all that he may, even to passing laws against Master Murray's trade;
but now, it seems, Master Murray hath carried his case to the Lords
of Trade, who have refused to approve the laws."

I thanked the man and pushed on through the crowd.  So that was the
story Murray was telling!  And plainly he had the prestige and the
following to make himself a dangerous force, even, as he had boasted,
against the governor and the provincial authorities.

But on the outskirts of the gathering I chanced to overhear another
conversation which indicated that Murray's hold upon public opinion
was perhaps not so strong as my first informant had led me to believe.

"He hath the devil's own luck," murmured a prosperous-appearing
citizen.

"Aye," said his neighbor bitterly; "they will ply a grand traffic
over the Doom Trail."

The odd name, so sinister in its implication, struck my imagination.
I lingered behind the two, pretending to peer over their heads.

"And 'tis these fools here who will pay for it in the long run,"
answered the other.

"And yourself and I," rejoined the second.

As I turned to leave, I met again the threatening glance of the
red-haired giant which sought me out across the crowd.  I tapped the
nearest of the pair of disgruntled citizens upon the shoulder.

"Pray, sir, who is the tall fellow in buckskin on the steps?"

The man edged away from me as suspiciously as the first one I had
accosted.

"I am a stranger in your town," I added.

"'Tis a frontiersman," he replied reluctantly; "one called 'Red Jack'
Bolling."

"An ugly knave," I commented.

But the citizen and his friend only eyed me askance, and I walked on,
reflecting on the current of intrigue which I had uncovered beneath
the placid life of the little town within two hours of my landing.

I was walking through Bridge Street, with the leafing tree-boughs
overhead and the walls of Fort George before me, when another and
smaller crowd rounded the corner from the Broad-Way, a street which
formed the principal thoroughfare of the town and took its name from
the wide space between the house-walls.

In the lead came an Indian.  He was the first of his race I chanced
to see, and sure, 'tis strange that we were destined to be
friends--aye, more than friends, brethren of the same Clan.  He was a
large man, six feet in his moccasins, and of about the same age as
myself.  He stalked along, arms swinging easily at his side, wholly
impervious to the rabble of small boys who tagged behind, yelling and
shrieking at him.

His handsome face, with its high-arched nose, was expressionless.
His eyes stared straight in front of him.  He wore the go-lea, or
breechcloth, and thigh-leggings of soft, tanned deerskin.  A single
eagle feather rose from the scalp-lock which hung from his shaven
head.

He was naked from the waist up, and on his massive chest was painted
in yellow and red pigments the head of a wolf.  He wore no other
paint, and he was weaponless, except for the tomahawk and knife which
hung at his belt.

The children danced around him like so many little animals.  They
never touched him, but some of the more venturesome hurled pebbles
from the walk at his brawny shoulders.

"Injun Jim came to town, with his breeches falling down," they
chanted.

"Scalp-taker, scalp-taker," shrieked another.

"Big Injun drink much fire-water," howled a group.

"Injun dirt, Injun dirt, always 'feared that soap will hurt,"
proclaimed others.

I can not repeat all the catch-calls and rimes which they employed,
some of them too disgusting for print.  Sure, the gamins of Paris,
with their natural ability at verbal filth, might have listened
respectfully to these children of a far province, attempting to
humiliate one of the race who had formerly been lords of the whole
land.

I looked to see some citizen intervene, but several who sat on their
doorsteps or lounged in front of shops, smoking the inevitable pipe,
viewed the spectacle with indifference or open amusement.  And the
Indian stalked along, his dignity unruffled through it all.

My wrath boiled over, and I charged down upon the tormentors.

"Be off," I shouted.  "Have you no proper play to occupy your time?"

They fled hilariously, pleased rather than outraged by the attack,
after the perverse habit of children who prefer always to be noticed
instead of ignored.  The citizens who had witnessed the persecution
of the Indian chuckled openly at the discomfiture of his assailants,
and then returned to their pipes.

I was proceeding on my way when I was dumfounded by hearing the
Indian address me.

"Hold, brother," he said in perfect English, but with a certain thick
guttural accent.  "Ta-wan-ne-ars would thank you."

"You speak English!" I exclaimed.

A light of amusement gleamed in his eyes, although his face remained
expressionless as a mask.

"You do not think of the Indian as these ignorant little ones do?" he
asked curiously.

"I--I know nothing of your people," I stammered.  "I am but this day
landed here."

"My brother is an Englishman?" he questioned, not idly but with the
courteous interest of a gentleman.

"I am."

"Ta-wan-ne-ars thanks you, Englishman."  He extended his hand.

"Your kindness was the greater because you obeyed it by instinct."

I regarded him with increasing amazement.  Who was this savage who
talked like a London courtier?

"I helped you," I said, "because you were a stranger in a strange
city, and by the laws of hospitality your comfort should be assured."

"That is the law of the Indian, Englishman," he answered pleasantly;
"but it is not the law of the white man."

"It is the law our religion teaches," I remonstrated, feeling that I
must defend this indictment of my race.

"Your religion teaches it to you and you try to apply it to
yourselves," he objected.  "But you do not even try to apply it to
the Indian.  The Indian is a savage.  He is in the way of the white
man.  He must be pushed out."

I took his hand in mine.

"All white men do not feel so," I said.

"Not all," he assented.  "But most."

"I go now," I continued, "to Governor Burnet.  I shall ask him to
make a law that Indians shall be as safe from mockery as from
violence in New York."

"Governor Burnet is a good man.  My brother will speak to friendly
ears.  He does not say '---- Injun' and 'dirty beast' because we live
differently from him.  He is a man."

"You call me brother," I said.  "I have no friends in this land.  May
I call you brother?"

That wonderful expression of burning intelligence lighted his face
again.

"My brother has befriended Ta-wan-ne-ars.  Ta-wan-ne-ars is his
friend and brother.  Ta-wan-ne-ars will not forget."

He raised his right hand arm high in the gesture of greeting or
farewell, and we separated.




IX

THE GOVERNOR IN COUNCIL

Where Garden Street[1] crosses the Broad-Way I met the town
bellringer brandishing his bell.


[1] Now Exchange Place.


"'Tis Friday afternoon of the week," he bellowed, "and all
householders shall take notice they must collect their refuse and
offal and dump the same in the river or the swamps beyond the city
limits.  And they are to sweep the streets before their shops and
dwellings and destroy or remove the sweepings after the same fashion.
Proclaimed by order of the worshipful mayor and aldermen."

He was beginning his oration all over again, when I approached him
with a request for the location of Captain van Horne's house.

"Do you but follow your nose straight before you," he directed me,
"until you come to the red-brick mansion with the yellow-brick walk
this side of the Green Lane.[2]  That is his."


[2] Now Maiden Lane.


Except for the walk he had specified, the house the bell-ringer
described had nothing about it to distinguish it from those adjacent,
and I could not forbear a smile at thought of the different degrees
of magnificence which were deemed necessary by the potentates of the
Old World and the New.

The negro servant who answered my knock admitted that the governor
was within.

"But Massa Burnet done hab de gen'lemen ob de Council wid him jus'
now, sah," he added doubtfully.

"I am this minute landed with letters for the governor from London,"
I said.

"Oh, bery well, sah.  Dat be a dif'runt matter.  Yo' come dis way,
please.  Massa Burnet be plumb glad to see yo'.  Dis way, please."

He ushered me into the wide hallway which ran from front to rear of
the house, and knocked on the door of the first room on the right.

"Enter," roared a jovial bass voice.

The negro threw open a leaf of the door and stood aside.

"Dis gen'lemun done jus' lan' f'om London wif letters fo' yo'
Exluncy," he announced.

I saw before me a group of eight men gathered around a dinner-table,
which was spread with maps and papers in place of eatables.  At the
head sat the man of the bass voice, ruddy-faced, comfortable in
girth, with the high forehead of the thinker and the square jaw of
the man of action.

"I am Governor Burnet, sir," he said.  "Who are you?"

"These letters will explain, your Excellency," I replied, not caring
to reveal my identity before so many persons.

I tendered them to him.

"Hah, from Master Juggins!" he exclaimed with heightened interest.
"You sailed on the New Venture?"

"Yes, your Excellency--with Master Murray."

"That is well.  Be seated, sir; be seated," ordered the governor as
he slit the packet.

I found a chair by the fireplace, and watched in silence whilst he
read through the close-writ pages, with an occasional word or
interjection to the others, who had risen from their places and were
clustered about him.  They were, as I afterward learned, the most
prominent men of the governor's faction in the province, who strove
to uphold his authority and aid him in his effort to clinch the
control of the fur-trade in English hands--Abraham van Horne, the
governor's father-in-law; James Alexander, Robert Walter, Rip van
Dam, a cousin to my friend, the proprietor of the George; John
Barberie, Francis Harrison and Cadwalader Colden, the
surveyor-general, he who later writ "The History of the Five Indian
Nations," and who made himself remarkably acquainted with the history
of provincial relations with the savages.

"So!  Humph!"

The governor laid down the covering letter which accompanied the
detailed report of the operations of Murray in London.

"You are Master----"

He examined the letter again.

"Humph!  Yes."

His keen eyes deliberately scanned my face.

"I see.  Better----"

He turned from me to his councilors.

"It is apparent from what Master Juggins has writ that Murray has
triumphed, gentlemen, even if not so absolutely as he would have our
citizens believe.  However, we know the worst, and we may prepare for
it.  If I may have your indulgence, I would crave an adjournment of
our meeting to enable me to discuss some aspects of the situation
more intimately with Master Juggins' messenger."

There was a murmur of assent, followed by a scraping of chairs and
fluttering of papers as the meeting broke up.

"One moment, your Excellency," I interposed.  "I have also a letter
from Master Juggins for the Honorable Cadwalader Colden of your
Council--if he is here."

"Indeed, he is," assented the governor.  "A moment, if you please,
Colden."

A thin, bustling man, with very bright black eyes and a dark
complexion, who had been sitting at the governor's right hand,
detached himself from the exodus and resumed his chair.  His nervous
fingers quickly tore loose the envelope of the letter I handed him,
and he began devouring its contents, regardless of the confusion
around him.

"Until tomorrow, gentlemen!"

The governor bowed the Council out, and shut the door upon the last
of them.  He beckoned me forward.

"Sit here beside us, Master Ormerod--for so I see you are rightly
named, although you traveled under Master Juggins' name.  Master
Juggins vouches for you.  That is sufficient for me.  What say you,
Colden?"

"Quite sufficient," agreed the surveyor-general.  "Do you wish me to
remain, sir?"

"Certainly.  Glad to have you.  This is no matter to be manhandled by
the whole Council; but zooks, a man must have advice now and then,
whether he takes it or not!  Now, Master Ormerod, do you tell us as
fully as you may what you know of Murray.

"Begin at the beginning.  Spare nothing.  Tell us how you yourself
came into this.

"Master Juggins hath slated you for a prominent part.  I respect his
judgment, but more than our immediate fortune hinges upon the issue
of what we do, and I must know all."

The while he was talking he walked to the fireplace, selected a clay
pipe, walked back to his chair, crammed the pipe with tobacco and
cracked flint and steel to a slow-match of wadding, with which he
lighted it.  Colden sat low down in his chair, finger-tips joined,
drinking in everything which was said.  He was like a vigilant
terrier in his watchful eagerness.

I recounted the circumstances of my meeting with Juggins, the hearing
before the Lords of Trade and the incidents of the voyage, not
forgetting Tom's assault upon me and the strange bargain I had made
with Murray.

"Then are you safe from denunciation," broke in the governor.  "We
think little of Hanoverian or Jacobite in New York.  Here, Master
Ormerod, you will find only Englishmen laboring to wrest a living
from the wilderness and to extend their country's power and richness.
What you were matters little.  'Tis what you are we judge you by.

"The bargain was typical of Murray.  He is no ordinary villain.
Already he hath persuaded the discontented elements in the province
that I would take the bread from their mouths by stopping his trade.
But he knows well that I would leap upon the excuse to lay him by the
heels, and he will see to it that no suspicion of your past escapes."

"He threatened me with the Red Death this morning," I said.  "Can you
tell me what he meant by it?"

The governor and Colden exchanged significant glances.

"Bolling hath been in the town this week past," remarked the latter.

"I saw him on my way here," I said.  "Ah, then, 'tis----"

"'Tis a saying of the frontier," explained the governor.  "They call
this red-headed Bolling and Murray's negro, Tom, the Red and the
Black Deaths, for Murray is charged with having used them to remove
from his path those persons he considers dangerous or whom he honors
with his dislike."

"In the crowd attending Murray I also heard talk of the Doom Trail,"
I continued.

Governor Burnet smiled grimly.

"That is the popular name for the route by which Murray smuggles his
trade-goods to Canada."

"But why the name, your Excellency?"

"Because 'tis said to be the sealing of a man's doom if he seeks the
trail or any information concerning it.  Is not that the story,
Colden?"

"'Tis a story which hath more than legend to substantiate it," agreed
the surveyor-general.

"Has the traffic been suspended during Murray's absence?" I asked.

"No," replied the governor.  "Bolling and Black Robe have kept it in
motion."

"And who is Black Robe?"

The governor laughed outright.

"You are red-hot for dangerous information, Master Ormerod.  Black
Robe is the Indian's name for one Père Hyacinthe, a Jesuit
missionary, who, according to some of the tales our agents bring,
shares with Murray the credit for conception of the conspiracy we are
debating.

"But where Murray plots for the overthrow of English rule in America
in order to bring back the Jacobites and enrich himself, Black Robe's
ambition is to establish France as the supreme temporal power in the
world and to extend the influence of the Pope by making his religion
universal on this continent as it is in South America."

"Sometimes I almost doubted the plot could be so formidable as
Juggins claimed," I said; "but----"

"Master Ormerod," returned the governor earnestly, "it is the most
formidable blow which ever was aimed at us.  It is formidable because
it is based on a clever idea, upon a sound conception of the economic
situation, and because it is prepared in secret and those who should
be alive to the alarms we have sounded not only refuse to heed us,
but would stop our mouths, so that we may not any more annoy them.

"Today, thanks to the law I had passed, which the Lords of Trade have
now suspended, trade-goods in Montreal cost twice what they do at
Albany.  And this, mind you, despite the secret trade which Murray
plies.  Without that aid the French would never be able to meet our
competition."

"Where do Black Robe and Murray make their headquarters?" I inquired.

"Murray spends part of his time here in New York or in Albany, but
most of the year he is absent.  He says he is on
trading-expeditions--and we may not disprove it.  But we think he
stays at a station which is said to form a depot for the stores
smuggled over the Doom Trail.  Black Robe is reported to have a
chapel there."

"'Tis called La Vierge du Bois," added Colden.

"And where is it!"

"If I knew, I should order a levy of the militia and burn it down at
risk of my head," retorted the governor.

"But you must have some idea where it is?" I pressed incredulously.

Governor Burnet put down his pipe and unrolled a large scroll map
which lay amongst the papers on the table.

"You forget that you have left the Old World of limited spaces behind
you," he replied.  "This province over which I rule is greater than
all Britain--how much greater not even our surveyor-general, who
knows more than any other man, can say."

He spread the map before me, and I gazed with fascination at the
courses of unknown rivers, chains of untraversed mountains, broad
savannas the foot of the white man had seldom trod, lakes like seas
and immense blank spaces without even a mark upon them to denote
their character.

"This is New York, Master Ormerod.  Our settlements are confined to
the coast districts, the island of Nassau[3]--" he motioned toward
the window--"and the valley of Hudson's River.  We have barely begun
the task of colonization.  There is room here for every soul in
England--and to spare."


[3] Long Island.


With his pipe-stem he pointed to the upper left corner.

"All this country is virgin forest.  On the north and northwest 'tis
bounded by the inland sea which we call Lake Cadaraqui;[4] to the
southeast stretch the Adirondack Mountains.  Somewhere between those
boundaries runs the Doom Trail.  There are thousands of square miles
of wilderness to search for it."


[4] Lake Ontario.


"And the Keepers of the Trail to guard its mystery," put in Colden.

"Who are they?" I questioned, as anxious as a small boy for further
details.

"The _Ho-nun-ne-gwen-ne-yuh_," he repeated.  "So far as we know,
Master Ormerod--and we know only what our agents have been able to
learn at second and third hand--they are bands of mercenaries,
Cahnuagas, Adirondacks and Shawendadies, all renegades of the
Iroquois, who are retained by Murray to protect the Trail.

"They roam that belt of forest you saw depicted on the map, and 'tis
death for them to find any man, white or red, within it, save he
bears Murray's sign manual.  The Indians are a superstitious people,
and they have come to believe that there is some supernatural agency
behind the Keepers of the Trail.  In plain English, they fear the
Trail is haunted."

"By what?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You would have to make a more profound study of their folk-lore than
I have been able to in order to comprehend the precise gist of their
belief.  But they tell us that the False Faces, a race of demons from
the underworld, to whom Murray has sold his soul, have rallied to his
aid."

"Ridiculous!" I exclaimed.

"No doubt," assented the surveyor-general; "but the superstition is a
factor in the problem."

"At every turn we run against the shrewdness and wit of this fellow
Murray," exploded the governor.  "'Tis at once a tribute to his
ability, and perhaps an index to our inferiority, that we have never
been able to secure certain information of his operations."

"'Tis evident, your Excellency," I ventured, "that the Lords of Trade
will accept only positive evidence that he hath evaded the law."

"That means legal proof of smuggling," reflected the governor.

"And now that the Lords of Trade have suspended our law, his
operations are no longer illegal, strictly speaking," said Colden.
"But I make no doubt he will continue to handle the bulk of his goods
over the Doom Trail, for he will not care to have his dupes in the
province realize the enormous tribute they pay to France through him."

"The suspension of the law may well be permanent," I suggested.
"'Twas Master Juggins' conviction that Murray would scatter bribes
right and left, at home and in London, to win his point.  And he hath
the French Treasury to draw upon."

Governor Burnet brought his fist down upon the table with a thud.

"Gadslife!" he swore.  "There is naught for it but war!  We must be
after the dog!  We must run him down!  He hath Government at his
orders.  If he continues much longer as he doth today he may secure a
petition to his majesty for my recall."

He sank back in his chair and stared reflectively at the map which
was still spread out between us.

"It shall be done, gentlemen," he said more quietly after an interval
of several minutes.  "But we must move unofficially.  What say you,
Colden!"

"We can do nothing with official support," rejoined the
surveyor-general, "and 'tis probable we shall receive the
instructions of the Lords of Trade to suspend the law by the next
Bristol packet."

"There can be no question of that," agreed the governor.  "Well, the
law shall be suspended.  I will have the suspension publicly
proclaimed.  We will affect to mourn deeply over it.  Aye, that is
the course to pursue.  Murray will grow bolder with his success, and
we must put him off his guard."

He turned the pages of Juggins' letter.

"Then under cover we must concert the measures to be taken.  That
will be for Master Ormerod.  Do you still crave the opportunity,
knowing now the full measure of its perils, sir!"

"I am more anxious, if possible, sir," I answered.  "Master Juggins
was good enough to think I had the qualities for the venture.  As you
will have read, I have spent some years at Versailles and St.
Germain.  I speak French sufficiently well to pass on the frontier
for a Frenchman.  As for danger--why, your Excellency, the man who
has ruined his life can have no fear for it.  He has all to gain and
nothing to lose."

"True," assented the governor.  "But you know nothing of woodcraft or
the life amongst the savages."

"Master Juggins gave me a letter to one Peter Corlaer, a----"

Colden sat suddenly erect.

"Corlaer is now in the kitchen!" he exclaimed.

He turned to the governor.

"Peter came this morning with the Seneca chief, if your Excellency
will remember."

"So he did.  We will have him in."

Colden went out, and returned at once with two companions.  One I
recognized, to my amazement, as the Indian I had befriended an hour
or two earlier.  He greeted me with a faint smile.  To the governor
he rendered the splendid arm-high salute, and his deep voice boomed
out--

"_Qua, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go!_"[5]


[5] "Hail, Great Swift Arrow"--the Indians' name for the Governor of
New York, whoever he might be.


The other man was more like a tavern-keeper than a woodsman.  Of a
naturally large stature, he looked even larger than he was by reason
of the fleshiness of his hogshead of a body.

At first glance he seemed all paunch, but when you studied him
closely you saw that his fat was firm and hard and formed a sheathing
for the most powerful set of muscles any man ever had.  His face was
tremendous, with little, insignificant features; but his eyes, behind
the rolls of fat which almost masked them, twinkled with constant
interest and animation, belying the air of stolid stupidity he
affected.

"This is Corlaer, Master Ormerod," said the governor.  "And with him
is come a friend of ours, one of the two war-chiefs of the Six
Nations.  Peter, Master Ormerod hath a letter for you from Master
Juggins in London."

"_Ja_," he said vacantly.

I handed him the letter.  He turned it over and over in his hand and
picked at the seal.  Then he handed it to the Indian.

"You read idt," he said.




X

THE RED DEATH

I looked from one to the other with astonishment; but 'twas the
governor who intervened.

"Your pardon, Peter," he said good-humoredly enough, "but that letter
happens to deal with a most confidential subject."

"Oh, _ja_," said Corlaer indifferently.  "But I do not readt."

"Take the letter, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go," said the Indian.  "Ta-wan-ne-ars
does not seek your secrets.  But you need have no fears.  This young
Englishman is Ta-wan-ne-ars' friend."

"How!  What is that?" exclaimed the governor, much perplexed.  "You
know Master Ormerod?"

"Ta-wan-ne-ars knows not the Englishman's name," replied the Indian
with his grave smile; "but he knows the Englishman's heart."

And in his sonorous English, with a slightly guttural intonation, he
recounted how I had rescued him from his childish persecutors.

The incident recalled my promise, and I broke in impetuously upon his
closing words.

"Aye, your Excellency, but he hath forgotten to add that I pledged
myself to beseech you to make it illegal to mock at Indians in the
city streets."

"An excellent thought," approved Colden.  "We have trouble enough
winning the friendship of the tribes without subjecting the visiting
chiefs to humiliation in our midst."

"It shall be done at once," declared the governor.

He drew forward a fresh sheet of paper and hurriedly scrawled upon it
the necessary instructions, then rang a bell and to the negro who
answered said:

"Zach, do you carry this at once to Rollins the Bellman and bid him
proclaim it through the streets at dusk upon his lights-round, and
also at every general proclamation."

He returned his attention to the Indian.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars," he continued, "I need your friendship.  I need the
friendship of every one of your people for our King."

"Why," interposed the Indian, "has Go-weh-go-wa[1] become involved in
war with some other king?"


[1] Literally, the Great Crown--Indian name for British ruler.


"Not in a war with knife and tomahawk," answered the governor, "but
in a secret struggle, wherein some of his own subjects are
endeavoring to stab him in the back."

The Seneca drew himself erect.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars is your friend, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go.  He is not the friend
of Onontio[2] who rules at Quebec.  Most of the white people are not
well-wishers to the Indian, but you are of those we count our
friends.  I am come here with Corlaer to prove my friendship."


[2] The French Governor General of Canada, regardless of identity.


"How is that?" asked the governor with interest.

Colden and I leaned forward.  Corlaer stood by the table in precisely
the same position he had assumed when he gave the letter to the
Indian.  He had not moved a muscle.  In his face only his little
eyes, behind their ramparts of flesh, stirred with the animation of
life.

"On the frontier 'tis said that Joncaire, the Frenchman who governs
the trading-post by the Falls of Jagara,[3] is about to begin the
building of a stone fort."


[3] Niagara.


"A fort!" protested the governor.  "Sure, 'tis impossible!  'Twould
be a direct violation of the Peace of Utrecht."

"Why, we are still in negotiation with Paris over Joncaire's defiance
of the treaty in establishing a trading-post upon ground allotted to
us," cried Colden.

"Idt is true," spoke up Corlaer.

His voice was high and squeaky, and sounded ridiculous coming from
such a giant.

"Hath the building begun?" demanded the governor.

"I think nodt.  Ta-wan-ne-ars broughdt me der wordt at Onondaga.  We
comedt to you as fast as we couldt."

"Ta-wan-ne-ars came because it was partly the fault of his people
that the French are settled by Jagara," said the Indian.

"Yes," replied the governor.  "Onontio and Joncaire first made the
Oneidas drunk, and then bargained with them to sell the Senecas'
land."

"They had no right to do so," assented Ta-wan-ne-ars somberly.  "But
now will you believe that Ta-wan-ne-ars is your friend?"

"I believe," said the governor.  "But I pray you tell me why you feel
for us this friendship!  When I came to New York to govern the
province my predecessor told me that the experiment of having you
educated by the missionaries had failed, that you had returned to the
forest, closer wedded than ever to Indian ways."

The Indian's face lighted up again with that grave smile which showed
itself with scarcely a contraction of the muscles.

"Yes, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, it failed to win Ta-wan-ne-ars from the ways
of his people.  Those ways are best for the Indian.  You can not take
a people like mine, who have lived in the wilderness as long as they
can remember, and remake them in a few years so that they can live
like white men.

"Once, your histories say, your people lived like mine.  Well, I
think it will take as long to bring the red man to your present ways
as it has taken yourselves to reach them.

"But Ta-wan-ne-ars learned that of the two white races the English
were the kindest to the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.[4] The French always have
persecuted us.  They try by most subtle means to convert us to their
religion, which is not any better than our own religion.  The English
come to us bluntly and say, 'Be Christians,' and if we do not wish to
be they let us alone.


[4] The people of the Long House--Indian name for Iroquois.


"The French always have fought with us.  The English have aided us.
The French pay little for our furs; the English pay much.

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, I think the white man can never be an honest friend
to the Indian, for he wants what the Indian has; but Ta-wan-ne-ars
prefers the Englishman to the Frenchman, whatever may be the issue.

"_Na-ho!_"[5]


[5] "I have finished."


I can give no adequate conception of the impressiveness with which
this speech was delivered by a savage speaking in a tongue strange to
him.  Every word rang in my ears.

"Who is this man?" I whispered to Colden as he finished.

"He is one of the two war-chiefs of the Iroquois League, both of whom
are Senecas.  His name, which signifies 'Needle-Breaker,' is actually
a form of title which goes with the office.  Moreover, he is nephew
to the Roy-an-eh Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, who is Guardian of the Western Door
of the Long House."

"He is what is called a sachem?" I asked curiously.

"There is no such title in use amongst the People of the Long House,"
replied the learned surveyor-general.  "'Tis an Algonquin word, I
believe.  The Iroquois equivalent is _roy-an-eh_, the title I gave to
the uncle of Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"But our friend here has no such rank.  The _roy-an-ehs_ are
hereditary nobles, the title descending by the female line and
generally from uncle to nephew.  'Tis quite possible, of course, that
Ta-wan-ne-ars will succeed his uncle in due course.  Indeed, the fact
that he hath been named principal war-chief of the League, with the
charge of guarding the Western Door, would almost indicate as much.

"He was taken as a youth and given to the missionaries--with the
result that you see."

He broke off, for the governor was addressing me.

"Have you any objection, Master Ormerod, to my acquainting the chief
and Corlaer with what we have been discussing?"

I shook my head.

"Very well."

He turned to the Indian.

"The letter which you hold in your hand, Ta-wan-ne-ars, is from
Master Robert Juggins, of London, who was some time in the province
when you were a lad."

"I remember Master Juggins," interrupted Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "He sent me
my first musket.  Is this Englishman his friend?"

"Yes," said the governor.  "He comes direct from Master Juggins,
recommended to me for use in the plight I find myself in."

"I will help the Englishman," agreed Ta-wan-ne-ars eagerly.

He smiled at me.

"This Englishman is honest.  He is kind.  If he fights, I will aid
him."

"Do you see?" whispered Colden in my ear.  "You have saved an Indian
from ridicule.  In his estimation that is a greater service than
rescue from the stake."

"But you know nothing of the cause I am enlisting you in," protested
the governor.

"That matters little," said Ta-wan-ne-ars composedly.  "If you and
this Englishman and Colden are in it, it is an honest cause.  What
say you, Corlaer?"

"It vill pe goodt enough for me," declared the Dutchman solemnly.

The governor laughed.

"My friends and I do thank you for the compliment you do us,
Ta-wan-ne-ars.  But I must lay our case before you, for we seek your
counsel.  Do you know that Andrew Murray is landed today and that he
hath secured the consent of the Lords of Trade in London to the
suspension of our law against the exporting of trade-goods to Canada?"

Both the Indian and Corlaer were startled from their customary
stoical attitudes.

"Yes," continued the governor, "Murray landed this morning, together
with a French officer, the Chevalier de Veulle, who----"

He stopped at sight of the passion in the Seneca's face.  But 'twas
Corlaer who spoke first.

"That is fery stranche news, gofenor, for on der frontier there is
talk that an enfoy is coming to deliver a message to der tribes at
Jagara from der King of France.  Joncaire is calling a grandt council
to meetd in der Summer.  All der Indians from beyondt der Lakes and
der West vill come."

"Strange news!" repeated the governor.  "You may well say so!  Murray
overrides our law; Joncaire sets out to build a stone fort upon our
soil at Jagara; the French King sends an officer, experienced on the
frontier, with a special message for a grand council of the tribes.

"All these three events come simultaneously.  'Tis impossible that
accident so disposed them.  Here we have the first indication of the
culmination of the plot.  Aye, 'tis graver than I had supposed."

Ta-wan-ne-ars laid down the unopened letter from Juggins upon the
table.

"Let some other read this," he said.  "But it serves no purpose.
This Englishman and Ta-wan-ne-ars are brothers.  Corlaer, too, will
take the Englishman into his friendship--not because he carried this
writing across the sea, but because he is a man to be trusted.  So
much is to be read in his face.  And now, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, I would
ask that Ta-wan-ne-ars may retire.  What you have told me has clouded
my heart with hatred, and I may not think straight."

His right arm swept up in the gesture of farewell, and the door
closed upon his bronzed back.

"What hath happened to irk him so?" inquired the governor in surprize.

"Idt was this de Veulle who ran away with der dotter of his uncle,
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh," replied Corlaer, stirred again from his habitual
silence.

"I remember," interposed Colden.  "'Twas some four years ago.  I
remember having seen the maid at a council at Albany.  She was called
Ga-ha-no,[6] a pretty child and wondrous dainty for an Indian."


[6] Hanging Flower.


Corlaer seemed to ponder momentarily.

"I haf been many years with der Indians, gofenor; but nefer didt I
see redt people lofe as we do.  They know not what passion is.  But
Ta-wan-ne-ars was different.  If he learnedt nothing else from her
missionaries he learnedt to lofe der white man's way."

"'Tis a sad story," commented the governor.  "Is it certain de Veulle
took her?"

"He didt not take her.  She ran away with him."

"The chief will not attempt to take revenge here?"

Corlaer smiled.

"He will wait many years, if he must, to refenge himself in his own
way."

"I wonder what became of her," I said.  "'Tis only some three years
since de Veulle appeared in Paris."

Corlaer shrugged his shoulders.

"Suppose you findt der Doom Trail andt come to La Vierge du Bois.
Maybe then you know."

"That is exactly what we wish to do, Corlaer!" exclaimed the Governor.

"You don't want much, gofernor," replied the big man dryly.

"Do you think it can not be done?"

Corlaer reflected, ponderous as a sleepy moose.

"Idt has not been done."

"Does that necessarily mean it never will be done?"

"No, but----"

"But what?"

"It will take much time andt money--andt then all depends upon der
Indians."

"What Indians?"

The governor was extremely patient with the mental processes of the
frontiersman.

"Der Six Nations."

"Why do you specify them?"

Again Corlaer was buried in thought.  And I saw that his eyes, which
ordinarily twinkled, now smoldered with a slow-burning fire.

"If we findt der Trail, gofernor, what then?  We haf der Keepers.
They are a strong bandt.  We must fight them.  You can not sendt
soldiers.  That wouldt be war.  We must fight them with Indians.
Andt what Indians couldt you get but der Iroquois?"

"Can we get the Iroquois?"

"I do not know," confessed Corlaer.  "But if you get them, you smash
der Trail."

"I see," said the governor.  "Yes, there is every reason why the
Iroquois should join us.  Look you, Corlaer, this is the obvious plan
of the French.  With Murray's aid they will cram their magazines with
trade-goods this Summer.  They will make an impressive showing for
the tribes that attend Joncaire's council.  They will push ahead the
building of the fort at Jagara.  Once that is finished, they will
have a curb on the necks of the Iroquois.  They will be able to hold
up the fleets of fur canoes from the Upper Lakes that now pass down
to our post at Oswego on the Onondaga's River.  In two seasons they
will have wrested the trade entirely from our hands, and then if they
are ready they can strike with musket and scalping-knife.

"And who, think you, will bear the brunt of the first blow?  Who but
the Iroquois, whom the French have dreaded since Champlain's day?"

"True, only too true," murmured Colden.

"Yes," assented Corlaer; "you haf der right of it, gofernor.  What is
your plan?"

"I shall send this young man"--he laid his hand on my arm--"with you
and Ta-wan-ne-ars to spy out the ground at Jagara, to search the
wilderness for signs of the Trail, to work upon the Iroquois in our
interest.  Master Ormerod knows naught of forest warfare, but he hath
had experience with the French and he knows de Veulle of old."

"When do we start?" replied Corlaer simply.

"So soon as may be.  I must see Ta-wan-ne-ars again and concert
certain matters with Master Ormerod.  But within the week you must
leave for Albany.  You need spare no expense, Peter.  My own funds
are pledged to this, and Master Juggins, too, is offering his aid."

Corlaer deliberately donned his cap of fur.

"It will not be money, but friendship andt hate will serfe your turn,
gofernor," he said.

"You have not yet read the letter from Juggins," I reminded him as he
walked toward the door.

"So I haf not," he admitted, and took the letter from me and slipped
it inside his leather shirt.

"Will you have it read?" asked Colden.

"No, der young man is all right.  Ta-wan-ne-ars has chudged him."

With that he was gone, and a sense of bewilderment stole over me.  It
seemed incredible that either of the two odd characters of the
wilderness with whom I had talked could really have existed.

But Governor Burnet lost no time in doubts.  He paced the room,
rubbing his hands together with satisfaction.

"We have done well, Colden.  We could not have done better.  Master
Ormerod, you were indeed fortunate in going to the help of the
Seneca.  You earned, not only his friendship, but that of Peter as
well.  No letter from Juggins could have served you so handily.
Peter hath the mind of an Indian for all his white face, and he looks
at things as they do.  He likes you."

"I can scarce believe in my good fortune," I replied.  "'Tis a change
for the better, and a marked one, believe me, your Excellency."

"You are to be congratulated," he returned heartily.  "But I must ask
you to excuse me.  I have much work to do.  Pray grant me the
pleasure of your company for dinner tomorrow.  Colden, will you show
Master Ormerod out?"

It was dusk in the streets, a soft purple dusk that became velvet
darkness under the trees; and I felt in no humor to return to the
drab company which the tavern offered.  I was lifted out of myself by
a mood of exaltation.  After years which had been starred With
humiliation, penury, discontent, I saw opening before me the golden
path of adventure.

I drank in the tree smells and the odor of the ground underfoot, and
longed for the great forests I had traced on the governor's map.  And
so I wandered at hazard until I found myself in an alley leading down
to the waterfront--and heard of a sudden the thud of flying feet.  I
spun around in time to see a monstrous bulk come sailing through the
air, knife and tomahawk whirling in either hand.

"I'll kill yer, varmint," howled an ugly voice.  "I'll cut yer heart
out and skin yer and take yer scalp!"

I dodged the knife and grappled the wrist which swung the tomahawk,
twisting myself behind him so as to hinder his attack.  But he was
far stronger than I and slung me back in front of him as if I were a
sack of chaffed wheat.  I still clung to his tomahawk hand and
contrived to knock up another blow of his knife, but he must have
disemboweled me in the next vicious sweep of the blade.

"_Hah-yah-yah-eeee-eee-ee-e!_"

The ferocious yell made my blood run cold.  It startled my assailant
even more.  His muscles slackened just long enough for me to leap
clear of him.

"----!" he snarled.

He drew one arm back to hurl his knife at me, but something whirred
past my shoulder and his head jerked violently to one side.  There
was a sharp clang, and he fled precipitately, shouting curses.

Against the near-by house-wall a small, bright object glimmered
through the shadows, and I stooped to snatch it up--only to leap
instantly erect as a voice spoke at my elbow.

"My brother was in danger," said the voice quietly.  "Ta-wan-ne-ars
saw the Red Death follow Ormerod from the Governor's House, so
Ta-wan-ne-ars followed him."

The tall figure of the Seneca was scarcely discernible in the gloom.

"Was it Bolling?" I asked.

He raised the shining object from the ground.  It was his tomahawk,
and curled about the blade was a lock of greasy red hair.  He pointed
to it.

"That time Ta-wan-ne-ars missed," he said grimly.  "Some day the
light will be better--and Ta-wan-ne-ars will not miss."

"Although you missed, you saved my life," I answered warmly.  "'Tis
an obligation I shall not forget."

He laid his fingers to his lips.

"Hark," he said.

I listened, and from the water-front came the thunderous voice of the
bellman.

"Half-after-eight-o'clock, and a fine night with a south-west breeze.
And all householders are cautioned they shall set out their
lanthorns, and if any nightwalker shall injure the same he shall be
fined twenty pounds for each offense and jailed in the Bridewell.

"And his Excellency the governor is pleased to proclaim that whereas
divers persons have mocked, assailed or sought to humiliate Indian
visitors to the city, the governor has made a rule that such persons,
upon apprehension, shall be set in the stocks for twelve hours the
first time and upon the second offense shall be publicly whipped at
the cart's tail along the Broad-Way."

Ta-wan-ne-ars replaced his tomahawk in its sheath.

"There is no talk of obligations between brothers," he said.  "Come,
we will walk together to your tavern."




XI

TA-WAN-NE-ARS UNDERSTANDS

"No, we will go to Murray's tavern," I said.  "I will ask him if he
thinks he can commit assassination here in the town as he does in the
forest."

"Good," rejoined Ta-wan-ne-ars impassively.  "I will accompany my
brother there."

I remembered that de Veulle lodged at Cawston's, and hesitated.

"Let my brother Ormerod be at ease," added the Indian.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars has mastered his hatred."

"Very well," I replied.  "I shall be glad of your company, but we
must not be tempted to violence.  There are reasons for my meekness."

"It would not be courteous for Ta-wan-ne-ars to slay his enemy in New
York when he is the guest of Ga-en-gwa-ra-go," returned the Seneca as
he walked lightly beside me.

"I, too, hate your enemy," I said.

He was silent for as much as ten paces.

"My brother means de Veulle?" he asked.

"Yes; I once crossed swords with him."

"And he lives!  Did he wound my brother?"

I recounted briefly the circumstances of the duel at the Toison d'Or.
He made no comment until I had finished.

"I am glad my brother spared him," he said then.  "For Ta-wan-ne-ars
has often prayed to Ha-wen-ne-yu, the Great Spirit, to give him the
life of this man who lives as though he were one of the fiends of the
Ga-go-sa.[1]


[1] False Faces.


"It is a bond between us that we have the same enemy.  We did not
need such a bond, Ormerod, but it is a proof that we were meant to be
brothers."

At the next corner we met the bellman, trotting heavily.

"A citizen tells me he hath heard a horrid screech," he panted.  "Do
you know aught----"

"Yes," I told him.  "I was attacked by a desperado named Bolling----"

"God save us, I knew there would be mischief with that villain in our
midst!" interrupted the bellman.

"There would have been sore mischief done had not this Indian, who is
visiting the governor, come to my aid," I rejoined.

"Did you slay the man?" asked the bellman apprehensively.

"No; he fled."

"'Tis a savage rogue, and a deadly.  Gadslife, my master, but you had
a fortunate escape.  I will run to the watch house and give an alarm.
Aye, we should have a file of soldiers from the fort.  This is no
easy task that is set for us.  I will----"

His threats and adjurations died away in the distance, as he hurried
on, his regular duties forgotten.

"What think you hath become of Bolling?" I asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"He is beyond the city limits, brother.  There are no palisades for
him to pass, and flight will be easy.  He must have had a swift horse
in readiness, for he would have been obliged to flee equally had he
slain you."

"Will they catch him?"

Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed briefly, a trick he had which I afterward
discovered to be rare, although not unknown, amongst the Indians.

"Those who are charged with his pursuit?  No, brother; as well might
the beaver pursue the wild pigeon.  He will be buried in the
wilderness tomorrow.  But some day Ta-wan-ne-ars will come up with
him--or perhaps it may be you, Ormerod.  That will be a bad day for
the Red Death."

At Cawston's we looked in vain for Murray or any of his party in the
taproom and ordinary, so without a word to the servants we ascended
the stairs to the upper floor.  In the hall I halted momentarily,
considering which door to knock upon, when the puzzle was solved by
the opening of the one by which we stood.

My Lady Green Cloak appeared, and she started back in amazement,
tinged with fear, at sight of me and the stalwart, half-naked figure
of the Seneca, arms folded across his painted chest, his
eagle's-feather reaching almost to the ceiling.

I bowed to her.

"Good evening, Mistress Murray," I said.  "I am come with my friend
for a word with your father."

"He is engaged," she answered quickly.

"That may be, but I must speak with him on a matter of much
importance."

"What is that, sir!"

She began to recover her self-possession.

"What interest have you in common!" she added.

"None, save it be to dislike the other," I replied.  "But I am
obliged to ask your father for the second time if he condones
assassination in the dark."

Her eyes widened with horror, then darkened with stony anger.

"Sir, you are monstrous impertinent!" she exclaimed.  "How dare you
suggest such a thing!"

"Because it occurred a quarter-hour past."

"And because you are assailed by some foot-pad in a disreputable part
of the town, is that a reason for you to charge Master Murray with
assassination!" she demanded with high contempt.

"Oh, I have proof," I said airily.

But my anger grew with hers.  It maddened me that this girl, who I
knew was honest, should be arrayed against me, should hold for me the
contempt of a clean woman for a man she deemed a traitor.

"Look you, Mistress Murray," I went on haughtily.  "The watch are now
searching for your father's emissary.  The garrison are to be turned
out.  Any moment Master Murray is like to receive a summons to go
before the governor.  He has overplayed his hand this time.  He----"

The door behind her opened again, and Murray himself came out.

"I thought I heard voices----  Ah, Master Juggins----"

"Ormerod," I interrupted suavely.

His eyebrows expressed polite astonishment.

"To be sure.  Forgive my stupidity.  It hath gone so far as that
already, hath it?"

"It hath gone so far as attempted assassination--for the second
time," I retorted.

"Assassination!  Tut, tut," he rebuked me.  "Master Ormerod, you use
strong language.  And who in this little town of ours would seek to
murder a gentleman new-landed like yourself?"

Ta-wan-ne-ars stepped to the front.

"Does Murray know this scalp?"

He permitted an end of the lock of Bolling's hair to show through his
clinched fingers.

Marjory shrank back in terror.  Murray's face became convulsed with
passion.

"'Sdeath!" he swore.  "If Bolling is dead by this savage's hand I
shall know the wherefore of it!  What?  Do the Iroquois take scalps
within the city!"

Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed, and slowly opened his fist to reveal the
single lock of hair.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars only takes the scalps of honorable warriors," he said
in his smooth, low-pitched voice.  "But the Red Death escaped tonight
by the width of these hairs.  Does Murray think Ga-en-gwa-ra-go would
have been angry with Ta-wan-ne-ars if the tomahawk had struck true?"

Murray wiped beads of perspiration from his face.

"So 'twas Bolling!" he muttered.  "Curse the knave!  What hath he
done?"

"No more than attempted to murder me, sir--as I have attempted to
tell you," I answered ironically.

Marjory came forward, hands clasped in expostulation.

"It isn't so!  It can't be so!  Tell him he lies, sir!" she pleaded
with Murray.

He put her gently to one side.

"Peace, peace, my dear," he said.  "You do not understand."

"But Bolling is the man you called 'Red Jack!'" she expostulated.
"You presented me to him.  You told him to be sure to remember my
face.  You jested about his hair and his evil looks."

"The man is likewise called 'The Red Death,' Mistress Murray," I said.

She turned to me, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, sir, pray you, do not bait me!" she cried.  "I would not believe
you before, but that is the man's hair, beyond a doubt."

"And what if it is?" said Murray kindly, drawing her to him with one
arm.  "Is that any reason why you should express shame?"

"But he was one of your people, sir.  You told me----"

"Tut, tut, my dear Marjory.  You are new to this New World of ours.
The frontier is not like Scotland.  We must work with what tools we
find.  I say it to my sorrow"--and he said it furthermore without
even the twitch of an eyelid--"I am compelled occasionally to consort
with men I might prefer to do without."

He gave his attention once more to me.

"In a word, Master Ormerod, what hath happened that you approach me
in so hostile a spirit?"

"In a word, Master Murray," I replied, "your man Bolling, or 'The Red
Death,' as he seems to be known in these parts, tried to kill me with
knife and hatchet this evening."

"I am constrained to believe you," he said with an appearance of much
sorrow, "but I can not hold myself responsible, sir."

"It may be that the governor will not be so indulgent," I commented
sarcastically.

Murray drew himself erect.

"Sir," he replied, "as it happens, Bolling quarreled with me this
afternoon in the presence of half a dozen well-known citizens of the
town, and I dismissed him from my service."

"Pardon me," I said with a laugh, "if I express some----"

"Do you step within," he responded with celerity.  "I shall be glad
if you will satisfy yourself by questioning witnesses of the dispute.
Marjory, will you----"

"I will stay," she said positively.

He shrugged his shoulders and stood aside.  I motioned to Marjory,
and she reëntered first.  I walked next, and the Seneca followed me,
one hand resting on his knife-hilt.

Murray shut the door behind us, and I found myself in a large room,
sufficiently lighted by candles.  Five or six men, who had been
talking at a table, looked up with interest as we came in.  One of
them was de Veulle, and I felt rather than saw the massive frame of
Ta-wan-ne-ars gather itself together exactly as does the wildcat when
he sights his quarry.

The others I did not know.  Murray introduced them by names which
meant nothing to me, but later Ta-wan-ne-ars told me they were
respectable merchants identified with the faction in the province who
were hostile to Governor Burnet, and all were for the closest trade
relations with Canada.

These men greeted us civilly enough, and gave most of their attention
to Ta-wan-ne-ars.  De Veulle acknowledged the meeting by a smile that
was tinged with mockery.  Our clash came when Murray turned to me,
after recounting my errand, and said:

"Your companion is evidently a chief, Master Ormerod.  Will you
identify him?"

Before I could say anything Ta-wan-ne-ars responded for himself.

"I am Ta-wan-ne-ars, of the Clan of the Wolf, war-chief of the
Senecas, and nephew to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, the Guardian of the Western
Door of the Long House."

He spoke directly to de Veulle, and the Frenchman's eyes shifted from
his level glance.

"Must we have an Indian present?" he muttered.  "This is a white
man's affair."

"As it happens, this Indian saved my life from a white man's knife,"
I replied quickly.  "He is my brother.  I would rather have him here
than a woman-stealer."

But I had reckoned without Marjory.  She took the situation out of my
hands.

"Sir," she said, "you seem to delight in slandering gentlemen who are
not disloyal to their faiths.  I beseech you, have done.  'Tis a
sorry business, and gains naught for you.  Get forward with what
brought you here."

I marked the relief that shone in de Veulle's eyes.  I marked, too,
the penetrating glance which Ta-wan-ne-ars bent upon her face.  For
myself, although I felt sick at heart, I said nothing.  There was
nothing which I could say.

I turned to Murray again.

"This conversation must be painful to us," I said.  "Let us make an
end to it.  Bolling attacked me, as you know.  My friend and brother
here saved me and drove him away.  We have a lock of Bolling's hair
in proof of the attempt.

"The watch are now searching for Bolling.  The governor will shortly
be apprised.  'Tis in your interest to do what you can to clear
yourself of responsibility for so dastardly a crime."

One of the merchants at the table, a very decent-appearing man,
soberly dressed and with much good sense in his face, caught me up.

"'Tis not strange that you should have come to Master Murray after
such an attempt as you mention, sir," he began in conciliatory
fashion.  "But fortunately we were present this afternoon when Master
Murray dismissed the man from his employ, in consequence of evidence
of his dishonesty and misdealing during Master Murray's absence.
Bolling left in a great rage, vowing he would put Master Murray in
trouble."

"Aye," spoke up a second merchant, "and sure, the knave must have
attacked you hoping 'twould be brought against Master Murray."

"Not to speak of the fact he was in great need of funds, Master
Murray having refused to grant certain demands he made," suggested a
third.

I bowed.

"Gentlemen," I said, "I am satisfied--that Master Murray hath a stout
case.  There is no more need be said."

"Ah, but there is more to be said," flared Marjory.  "Think shame of
yourself, sir, to be forever believing against others motives which
you know yourself to be laden with.  You were once an honorable man.
Why do you not mend your ways and regain the self-respect of your
kind?"

"God send there be an honorable man to hand when your need comes,
mistress," I said.  "Good evening, gentlemen."

Murray escorted us to the door.

"I must congratulate you," he said in a low voice.  "Faith, you are
an enterprising young man.  You are doing famously in your new
surroundings."

"But I shall not suffer another such attempt as tonight's to pass
unanswered," I replied.

"Sure, sir," he said earnestly, "can you not bethink yourself of some
trouble in your past which might bring down these troubles upon you!"

I laughed despite myself.

"I can," I agreed.  "And so can you.  But I would risk denunciation
at an extremity, Murray.  Red Jack sought the protection of the
wilderness.  So might I."

"You are safe," he returned.  "Believe me or not.  'Tis true."

"You hear?" I said to Ta-wan-ne-ars beside us.

He smiled gravely.

"My brother is safe," he agreed, "for Ta-wan-ne-ars will watch."

"You are thrice fortunate," Murray congratulated me.  "You have won
the confidence of the noble red man."

Ta-wan-ne-ars looked squarely at him.

"He will win the confidence of the red man, Murray, because he speaks
straight.  But you speak with the tongue of an Englishman, and think
with the mind of a Frenchman."

Murray smiled.

"But always to my own interest, Ta-wan-ne-ars.  Well, good luck to
the two of you.  And do not permit the Keepers to take you alive."

His smile became a sardonic grin.

"The Keepers have their own way with prisoners, you know.  'Tis part
of their reward--or so the story goes."

I felt a shock of revulsion against the man.  And he was the father
of Marjory!

"You double-dyed scoundrel!" I ripped out at him.

"Have I touched your nerves?" he gibed.  "Zooks, how sad!  Well, I
have company.  I will bid you good evening."

The door shut behind his mocking grin, and we descended the stairs to
the street.  Ta-wan-ne-ars walked beside me without speaking until we
had left the tavern.

"I understand your thoughts, my brother," he said suddenly.  "We go
upon the same quest."

"Quest?" I repeated.  "What quest?"

"We each seek a soul which is lost, a sick soul."

I remembered his rage against de Veulle, and caught his meaning.

"Yes, that is true of you, Ta-wan-ne-ars.  But there is no soul which
I have the right to seek."

"Nevertheless, my brother would find the soul of the maiden and guard
it," he insisted.  "I have seen."

"But I may not help her," I objected.  "She will have none of me."

"O my brother," he answered, "once there was one of my people who
loved a maiden.  And this maiden's soul was taken away by illness and
went to dwell with Ata-ent-sic, the Goddess of Lost Souls, who rules
the Land of Lost Souls which is behind the Setting Sun.  The warrior
was bidden in a dream to seek the maiden's soul, and he journeyed for
three months to the Setting Sun, past the Abode of Evil, where dwells
Ha-ne-go-ate-geh, the Evil Spirit.

"And when he came to the Land of Souls he found his maiden's soul
dancing with the other lost souls in a bark cabin before Ata-ent-sic.
And Jous-ke-ha, the grandson of Ata-ent-sic, who was a very old man,
brought him a pumpkin which had been hollowed out, and told him to
place the maiden's soul within.  And he did so.  And he returned to
his people, and made a feast, and after the feast they raised up the
maiden's soul out of the pumpkin shell."

He stopped under a flickering lanthorn, which cast a feeble light
before the George.

"Surely, my brother, we shall not have to travel so dreadful a
journey to regain the souls which we seek!"

I saw the grave smile, with a hint of pleading, on his face; and I
reached out and caught his hand.

"Whatever be the end of my search, brother," I said, "I will go to
the setting sun, and beyond if need be, to aid you to find the soul
which you seek."

"The same words are in my heart, brother," he replied simply.




XII

INTO THE WILDERNESS

"Bolling hath disappeared," said Governor Burnet.  "You will not see
him again, save it be in the dining-room of Captain van Horne's house
where the governor worked pending the refurbishing of his official
residence within the walls of the Fort.

"I have given orders to all officers of troops and town officials
that he is to be detained if he ventures to appear," he continued;
"but the knave--or, I should say his master--is too wise.  By the
way, an express arrived from Fort Orange[1] last night and reported
having spoken Murray's party in the Tappan Zee.  He will be a good
three days ahead of you, 'twould seem."


[1] Albany.


"I am not sorry," I answered.  "Have you any further instructions for
me, sir?"

"Aye.  Are you ready to sail?"

"Corlaer just now told me all our gear was aboard the sloop.
Ta-wan-ne-ars is watching it."

The governor unfolded the map of the wilderness country which he had
exhibited to me during my first visit.

"Above everything else, I must know what is happening at Jagara," he
said.  "The Doom Trail may wait.  The news which Ta-wan-ne-ars
brought of the intent of the French to replace Joncaire's
trading-post with a stone fort is the most menacing tidings we have
had since the peace was signed.  It makes manifest what I have always
contended: that there can be no real peace whilst we and the French
sit cheek by jowl, each striving for more power than the other.

"Peace on paper there may be; but the French will be breaking it, as
they have done in the case of Joncaire's post and as they now plan to
do by building a fort upon English territory.  I must know what they
do there, Master Ormerod.  I must know beyond a doubt.  I can not
afford to accept merely the hearsay evidence of the Indians.  I must
have a man I can trust who will see for himself on the spot."

"Surely, Corlaer----"

The governor brushed away my suggestion.

"Corlaer can not speak French.  Moreover, if he could, his face is
known along the whole frontier.  He and Joncaire are old opponents.
No; if he ventured to the post without safe-conduct he would
disappear.  If he went with a safe-conduct he would see nothing.
'Tis you who must go.

"Masquerade as a Frenchman.  There are plenty of lads who go out
every year to Canada to have a try at the fur-trade.  You should be
able to pass for one of them.  At any rate 'tis worth the attempt."

"'Tis well worth trying," I agreed.  "Also, 'tis possible I may pick
up some news of the Trail from Joncaire."

"Possible," he assented; "but keep the Trail in the back of your
mind.  'Tis this fort which concerns me now.  For look you, Master
Ormerod, if I secure proof the French meditate in earnest so grave a
breach of the treaty 'twill strengthen by so much my case against
Murray.  Then might I dare indeed to stir the Iroquois to hostilities
against him, as Peter suggested."

"I will do what I may," I promised, rising.

"'Tis well.  And be not reluctant to accept advice from Corlaer and
the Indians.  They are schooled in the forest's craft.  Here, too, is
a letter to Master Livingston, the Mayor of Fort Orange, and Peter
Schuyler, a gentleman of that place who acts upon occasion as my
deputy in frontier affairs.  You may talk freely with them concerning
your mission.  Good-by, sir, and be vigilant."

He gave me a hearty clasp of the hand and bowed me out.

In the street Corlaer awaited me.

"Der tide is flooding," he said, and without another word set off at
a good round pace.

We came presently to a wharf at the foot of Deye Street, where lay
the sloop _Betsy_, her sails unstopped, land-lines slack.  She cast
off as we stepped aboard, and presently I was looking back over her
stern at the dwindling skyline of the quaint little city.  As I
looked I recognized the masts of the _New Venture_ amongst the
shipping in the East River anchorage, and a pang smote me with the
realization that she was my last tie with the England which would
have none of me and for which I hungered with the perverse appetite
of one who is denied his greatest wish.

The masts and their tracery of rigging soon merged in the blue of the
afternoon sky; the woods closed down around the scattered buildings
of the Out Ward; and we sailed a broad channel which ran between
lofty heights of land, reaching hundreds of feet above us like the
walls of some gigantic city of the future, fairer and more stupendous
than the mind of man had ever dreamed on.

All that afternoon we sailed with a quartering wind, but in the night
it shifted and we were compelled to anchor.  In the morning we
proceeded, but our progress was slow, and with darkness we must
anchor again.  So likewise on the next day a storm beat down upon us
from the hulking mountains which rimmed the wide expanse of the river
called by the old Dutch settlers the Tappan Zee; and with only a rag
of sail we sped for shelter under the lee of an island.

On the fourth day the river bore us through a country of low, rolling
hills and plains that lifted to mountainous heights in the distance.
There were farms by the water's edge, and sometimes the imposing
mansion of a patroon with its attendant groups of buildings occupied
by servants, slaves and tenants.  Several times we passed villages,
and occasionally a sloop similar to our own hailed us and exchanged
the latest news of the river.

On the fifth day toward sunset we sighted in the distance the
stockades of Fort Orange, which the English were beginning to call
Albany, nestling close to the river-bank under the shelter of a steep
hillock.  We made the tottery pier after darkness had fallen, and
hastened up into the town, delegating to the master of the sloop and
his boy the task of conveying our baggage to the tavern kept by
Humphrey Taylor.

Corlaer and I left Ta-wan-ne-ars at the tavern to receive the
baggage, whilst we called upon Mayor Livingston.  He was preparing
for his bed, but on my sending up word by the slave that I carried a
letter from the governor he tucked his shirt into his breeches and
came down to us.  From him we learned that Murray had spent but
twenty-four hours in the town and was gone two days since.

"Did he say where?" I inquired curiously.

Master Livingston chuckled.

"He caused to be circulated that he was going upon a round of his
'trading-stations' to correct some slackness which had developed
during his absence.  'Tis his usual excuse when he disappears."

"He was not alone?"

"No.  He was accompanied by a Frenchman and that scoundrel, Tom, as
well as by some misguided young female."

"She was his daughter," I said.

"So he said, I believe," agreed Master Livingston negligently.

"But I am sure she is," I insisted.  "There can be no doubt----"

"Then I am vastly sorry for her lot," he replied good-humoredly.

"Which way didt he go?" asked Corlaer.

"The usual way.  He followed the Iroquois Trail to the Mohawk, then
struck north.  We have followed him so far many times; but always
when our scouts have pressed the pursuit they have encountered
strange bands of warriors who have killed or captured them or driven
them away."

"Did you see aught of the Frenchman?" I struck in.

"Yes; he did me the honor of calling upon me, and said he was on a
mission from his King to report upon the conduct of the Government of
Canada, especially with a view to the maintenance of good relations
with our colonists."

"The hypocrite!" I interjected.

"He was smooth of tongue, I grant you," admitted Master Livingston.
"He had the grace to acquaint me he was taking advantage of Master
Murray's company to secure protection through the frontier."

"Didt Murray hafe many men?" put in Corlaer.

"Half a dozen whites of Bolling's kind, and as many nondescript
Indians who were painted like Mohicans."

"They wouldt be Cahnuagas," amended Corlaer.

"Yes," assented the Mayor; "but if you are to go to Jagara, as the
governor's letter advises me, you need not concern yourself with
Murray at this time.  What do you propose to do?"

"We have discussed the journey on the voyage up the river," I
replied; "and we are agreed 'tis best that we go first to the Seneca
country, where Ta-wan-ne-ars can pick up the latest news.  There we
can concert our plan in detail and decide how best I am to be able to
gain Joncaire's confidence."

"You are wise to be cautious," said Livingston.  "Joncaire is no easy
man to fool.  Believe me, sir, he is the ablest officer the French
have, and a bitter thorn in our side."

"_Ja!_" exclaimed Corlaer with unaccustomed vigor.

"Peter knows," laughed the Mayor.  "Eh, Peter?"

Corlaer's reply was indecently explicit in its description of
Joncaire.

"Peter once prepared a clever trap for Joncaire," continued Master
Livingston, seeing I did not understand my companion's rage.  "He was
to be captured whilst he feasted with some friends amongst the
Senecas.  But Joncaire got wind of it, and instead 'twas Peter who
escaped by a lucky slit in a bark-house wall."

Livingston would have persuaded us to stay the night at his house,
but we had told Ta-wan-ne-ars we would return to the tavern, so we
let him get to his bed and sought our own.

In the morning we visited Captain Schuyler, but he was absent, riding
some lands he held in the vicinity.  We spent the forenoon in
purchasing for me the regular trappings of the
frontiersman--moccasins of ankle height and leather leggings and
shirt, all Indian in manufacture.  The weapons Juggins had supplied
me were warmly praised by my comrades.

For the rest there were slim stores of salt, sugar, powder, flints
and ball to be packed upon our backs.  My garments of civilization I
made into a package which I consigned to the innkeeper's care.

Personally I did not care in that moment whether I ever donned them
again.  I liked my companions.  I liked the loose, yielding clothing
I had acquired.  I liked the feel of arms at my side and in my hands.
I liked the sun and wind in my hair, for I refused to wear the
fur-cap which the forest-runners affected and went like an Indian,
bare-headed.  I liked the close grip on the earth which the moccasins
gave my feet.

At noon we mustered at the tavern door, ready for our plunge into the
wilderness.  It meant little to Ta-wan-ne-ars and Corlaer.  For them
'twas an old story.  But to me it meant everything--how completely
everything I did not appreciate at that early day.

The Seneca inspected me with a grave smile as I appeared, fully
arrayed for the first time.

"My brother wears Mohawk moccasins," he said.  "We will find Seneca
moccasins for him when we reach my country."

"Do I appear as a warrior should?" I inquired anxiously.

"Even to the scalp-lock," he assured me, in reference to my long hair.

"Can you walk t'irty miles a day?" demanded Corlaer seriously.

"I have done so."

"You will do idt efery day now," he remarked grimly.

We took the road to Schenectady.  It was the last white man's road I
was to see, and I long remembered its broad surface and the sunlight
coming down between the trees on either hand and the farms with their
log houses and stockades.

But I knew I was on the frontier at last, for the stockades were
over-high for the mere herding of cattle and the house-walls were
loop-holed.  In several of the villages there were square, log-built
forts, two stories tall, with the top story projecting out beyond the
lower, so that the garrison could fire down along the line of the
walls.

'Twas sixteen miles to Schenectady, and night had fallen when we
hailed the gate for admission.  There was a parley between Corlaer
and the watch before we were admitted, but in the end the huge balks
of timber creaked open just wide enough for us to squeeze through.

"You are cautious, friend," I said to the gatekeeper as I set my
shoulder beside his and helped him shut the gate.

"And you are a stranger, my master," he retorted, "or you would never
think it strange for Schenectady folk to use caution."

"How is that?" I asked.

And he told me in few words and simply how Monsieur d'Erville had
surprized the town in his father's time and massacred the inhabitants.

"But now you have peace," I objected.

He looked at me suspiciously.

"Are you a friend of Andrew Murray?" he asked.

"Anything but that."

"Then talk not of peace, sir.  Peace here will last until the French
and their savages are ready to strike.  No longer.  It may be
tonight.  It may not be for twenty years--if we see to it that the
French do not thrive at our expense."

We were afoot again early the next morning.  Beyond Schenectady a few
farms rimmed the road, but presently we came to a clearing, and on
the west side a green barrier stretched across our way.  From end to
end of the clearing it reached, and as far on either hand as I could
see, a high, tangled, apparently impervious green wall of vegetation.
'Twas the outer rampart of the wilderness.

Some men were working in a field beside the road, and I saw that they
had their guns beside them.

"They are armed," I cried.

"So are you," replied Corlaer.

"But----"

"This is der frontier," he said.  "Eferybody is armed.  Eferybody is
on watch."

"Why?"

"Idt is der frontier."

I held my peace, until we reached the forest-wall.  Then curiosity
mastered me again.

"The road stops here," I said to Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "How shall we go on?"

He smiled.

"The road of the white man stops--yes," he answered.  "But the road
of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee begins."

"What is that?"

He made no answer, but kept on his way until we were under the bole
of the first of the forest trees.

"Does my brother Ormerod see anything now?" he asked.

I shook my head, puzzled.

"My brother has much to learn of the forest and its ways," he
commented.

He put his hand on my arm and led me around the trunk, Corlaer
following with a broad grin on his face.

There at my feet was a deep, narrow slot in the earth, a groove some
eighteen inches wide and perhaps twelve inches deep, that disappeared
into the gloom which reigned under the interlacing boughs overhead.
There was shrubbery and underbrush on every side, but none grew in or
on the edge of the slot.  It did not go straight, but crookedly like
a snake, curving and twisting as it chanced to meet a mossy boulder
or a tree too big to be readily felled or uprooted.  As I stooped
over it I saw that its bottom and steeply sloping sides were
hard-packed, beaten down by continual pressure, the relentless
pressure of countless human feet for generations and centuries.

"My brother is standing upon the Wa-a-gwen-ne-yuh, the Great Trail of
my people."  said Ta-wan-ne-ars proudly.  "It is the highway of the
People of the Long House.  Day after day we shall follow it, along
the valley of the Mohawks, into the land of the Oneidas and
Tuscaroras, on into the valley where the Onondagas keep alight the
sacred Council Fire which was kindled by Da-ga-no-weda and
Ha-yo-wont-ha, the Founders of the League, and on, still on, my white
brother, past the country of the Cayugas to the villages of my own
people whom you call the Senecas, and at the last to the Thunder
Waters of Jagara, where Joncaire works to conquer the domain of the
Long House for the French King."

"But over this same trail, Ta-wan-ne-ars, the warriors of the Long
House shall burst upon the French to frustrate that plan!" I
exclaimed.

"Aye, so it shall be," he replied.

Corlaer sighed and resettled his pack on his shoulders.

"We hafe much distance to go today," he said.

Ta-wan-ne-ars instantly led the way into the groove of the trail, and
as if instinctively swung into an easy loping trot.  I followed him
and the Dutchman brought up the rear.

It was cool under the trees, for the sun seldom penetrated the
foliage, dense already although it was only the fag-end of Spring.
And it was very silent--terribly, oppressively silent.  The crack of
a stick underfoot was like a musket-shot.  The padding of our feet on
the resilient leaf-mold was like the low rolling of muffled drums.
The timorous twittering of birds seemed to set the echoes flying.

Yet I was amazed when Ta-wan-ne-ars halted abruptly in mid-afternoon,
and inclined his ear toward the trail behind us.

"What is it?" I asked, and so completely had the spirit of the forest
taken possession of me that I whispered the words.

"Something is following us," he answered.

Corlaer put his ear to the bottom of the trail, and a curious
expression crossed his face.

"_Ja,_" was all he said.




XIII

THE TRAILERS

"Shall we return and face them?" I asked eagerly.

Ta-wan-ne-ars permitted himself a smile of friendly sarcasm.

"If we can hear them, surely they can hear us," he said.  "No, we
will keep on.  There is a place farther along the trail from which we
can look back upon them.  Come, Ormerod, you and I will run ahead.
Peter will follow us."

"But why does he not come with us!" I objected.  "If there is
danger----"

"If there is danger we will all front it together," interrupted
Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "Peter is to walk behind us so that the trailers may
not detect our haste."

"_Ja,_" assented Peter.

Ta-wan-ne-ars shifted his musket to his shoulders, and broke into a
long, loping stride.  I followed him.

Half a mile up the trail we came to a clearing where some storm of
bygone years had battered down a belt of sturdy timber.  We ran for
another half-mile beyond this before Ta-wan-ne-ars slowed his pace
and commenced to study the leaf barriers that walled the slot of the
trail.  Presently he stopped.

"Walk in my tracks, brother," he said.  "And be certain that you do
not bruise a twig."

With the utmost caution he parted the screen of underbrush on our
right hand, and revealed a tunnel through the greenery into which he
led the way, hesitating at each step until he had gently thrust aside
the intervening foliage.  Once in the tunnel, however, his care was
abandoned, and he ran quickly to the trunk of a huge pine which
soared upward like a monumental column, high above the surrounding
trees.  He leaned his musket against the pitchy bole.

"The symbol of the Long House," he said tapping the swelling girth of
it.  "Strength and symmetry and grandeur.  We will climb, brother."

He swung himself up into the branches, which formed a perfect ladder,
firm under foot, behind the screen of the pine-needles.  When the
other tree-tops were beneath us, he straddled a bough and cleared a
loop-hole from which we might look out over the forest we had
traversed.

"How did you know this tree was here?" I questioned curiously.

"Upon occasion enemies penetrate the Long House, so we must be able
to see who follow us."

"Do you know that those who follow us are enemies?"

He shook his head.

"If they were friends 'twas strange they did not try to overtake us,
brother.  My people like company when they travel."

He said no more, but fixed his eyes on the forest below.  It swept
away in billows of green that rolled in gigantic combers across ridge
and hillock and tossed plumes of spray aloft whenever a breeze
rustled the tree-tops.  There was an effect of continuity, of
boundless size such as the ocean gives.  From my lofty perch I could
survey the four quarters of the horizon, and in every direction the
forest stretched to the sky-line.  The Great Trail of the Iroquois
was hidden from sight.  The one gap in the vista of emerald and jade
was the narrow slash of the clearing we had recently crossed.

I saw that Ta-wan-ne-ars had concentrated his attention upon this
spot, where the exit of the trail was indicated by a ragged fringe of
undergrowth.  We looked for so long, without anything happening, that
my eyeballs ached.  But at last there was a movement like the
miniature upheaval which is caused by an ant in breaking ground.
Boughs quivered, and a figure appeared in the open.  'Twas Corlaer.
He glanced around him and strode on.  In a moment he had passed the
clearing and disappeared in the forest.

Ta-wan-ne-ars hitched forward and peered through the loop-hole with
tense muscles.  And again there was a wait which seemed endless.  My
eyelids blinked from the strain of watching.

The desolation and loneliness of the wilderness were so complete that
it seemed inconceivable another human being could be within view.
And whilst this thought occupied my mind a dark figure crawled on
hands and knees from the mouth of the trail.

The newcomer feared a trap.  His ear sought the ground.  His eye
studied the sky above him.  He looked in every direction.  But his
instincts were baffled.  He stole forward across the clearing with
musket poised.  At that distance all we could see of his costume was
the clump of feathers that bristled from his scalp-lock.

He followed Peter into the trail on our side of the clearing, and
there was a second and briefer pause.  Then as silently as ghosts a
string of figures flitted into the clearing.  There were six of them,
each with musket in the hollow of his arm, each with bristling
feather headdress.  They walked one behind the other, with a peculiar
effect, even at that distance, of stealth and watchfulness.

Ta-wan-ne-ars emitted a guttural grunt, quite unlike his usual rather
musical utterances.

"Cahnuagas!" he exclaimed, and spat.

"What?" I answered.

"Down!" he rasped.  "Down!  The time is scant!"

All the way during our descent he was muttering to himself in his own
tongue, and a black scowl covered his face.  At the foot of the pine
he snatched up his musket without a word, and turned into the green
tunnel that debouched upon the screen of the trail.

As we stepped into the worn slot Peter came into view.

"Well!" he said phlegmatically.

"Cahnuagas," answered Ta-wan-ne-ars.

The Seneca's face became convulsed with fury.

"Cahnuaga dogs!  They dare to invade territory of the Long House!"

"We can cross der Mohawk to der south branch of der trail," proposed
Corlaer.  "They wouldt not dare to follow us there."

"No," snarled Ta-wan-ne-ars; "we shall not step aside for them.  We
will attend to them ourselves."

"Hafe you a plan?" inquired the Dutchman amicably.

He never lost his temper when other people did.

"Yes," said the Seneca briefly.  "And now we will go along as if we
did not know they were near us."

"Are they not likely to attack?" I interposed.

"No, they will not attack unless they have to for we are still near
the Mohawk Castle, although 'tis upon the opposite bank of the river.
They will leave us alone until night."

"But why can not we attack them!"

A look of ferocity which was almost demoniac changed his usually
pleasant features into an awful mask.

"In an ambuscade one might escape.  No, my brother Ormerod, we will
wait until they attack us.  Then----"

He paused significantly.

"Not one of the Keepers shall return to tell Murray how his brothers
died."

We took up the march.  'Twas already mid-afternoon, and shortly the
dimness of twilight descended upon the trail, as the level rays of
the setting sun were turned aside by the interlacing masses of
vegetation.

Once, I remember, we passed along the edge of a swampy tract, and I
saw for the first time that industrious animal, the beaver, whose
pelt was the principal stake for which France and England contended
in the great game upon the issue of which depended the future of a
continent.  They had erected a dam across one end of a stream to make
a pond, and their engineers were busily at work floating trees into
place to reënforce a weak point in the structure.  Other trees a few
feet from the trail were gnawed in preparation for felling.

"How is it they are able to exist here so close to the white man's
country?" I called to Ta-wan-ne-ars.

He flung a haughty look cross his shoulder.  Since we had identified
the Cahnuagas a startling change had transformed him.  The veneer of
deferential courtesy which ordinarily he wore was cracked.  He was
all Indian.  More than that, he was contemptuous of what was not
Indian.  Aye, of whatever was not Iroquois like himself, of the bone
and sinew of the League.

"This is not the white man's country," he answered.  "You are within
the portals of the Long House."

"But the beaver's skin is no less valuable to the Indian than to the
white man," I persisted.

"Yes," he agreed, "yet the Indian does not slay game only for gain.
If it were not for the dam those beavers built the Great Trail we
walk upon would be overflowed.  So long ago in the time of my
forefathers that tradition can not fix the date the forefathers of
those beavers built that dam, and when the Founders drove the trail
they decreed that the beavers should be safe forever--that the trail
might be safe."

Twilight faded into dusk and still we kept on.  Ta-wan-ne-ars had
eyes like a cat's, and I, too, accustomed myself to perception of
hanging branches and the unexpected turns and twists in the groove of
the path.  The stars were out in the sky overhead when we stepped
from the shelter of the forest into a rocky dell divided by a tiny
brook.

"We will camp here," said Ta-wan-ne-ars.

He rested his musket on a boulder and began to collect firewood.

"Why a fire?" I asked.

"The trailers must not think we suspect them," he replied curtly.
"If we lit no fire they would know for certain that we were
suspicious."

I helped him, whilst Corlaer crouched by the opening of the trail on
watch.  We soon had a respectable pile of wood, but before kindling
it the Seneca bade us strip off our leathern shirts and stuffed them
with underbrush into a semblance of human shapes.  A third figure to
represent himself he contrived out of the packs and several branches.

The three dummies were then disposed to the satisfaction of
Ta-wan-ne-ars and, striking flint and steel to some rotten wood, a
bright blaze sent the shadows chasing each other around the confines
of the glade.

"Peter," he said, "you had best take post by that boulder on the
other side of the fire, Ormerod and Ta-wan-ne-ars will lie together
upon this side."

"You need not think it necessary to keep me by your side," I said
indignantly.  "'Tis not the first time I shall have heard musketry."

A gleam of humorous intelligence chased the gloomy ferocity from the
Seneca's face.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars does not doubt the valor of his brother," he said,
"but Ormerod has never fought with Cahnuagas.  They are dogs, but
they are skilled in forest war."

He did not give me a chance to answer, but putting his fingers to his
lips to enjoin silence sank down behind a boulder next to the one by
which I stood.  Corlaer had been swallowed by the dancing shadows
beyond the fire.

I dropped beside Ta-wan-ne-ars, and like him dusted fresh powder into
the pan of my musket, drew tomahawk and knife from their sheaths and
laid them on the ground within reach.

How long we waited I can not say, but the suspense which had racked
me in the swaying branches of the pine that afternoon was nothing
compared to the agony of the hours that followed.  For it must have
been at least two hours after we had taken cover that Ta-wan-ne-ars
touched my arm, and the light from the glowing bed of coals revealed
a feathered head crouching forward where the trail entered the glade.

It hovered around the edge of the firelight like a monstrous
reptilian fiend, body bent nearly double, a glint of steel showing
whenever the hands moved.  Presently he withdrew into the trail, and
it seemed that two more hours dragged by on leaden feet, although it
was probably less than half that time.

The fire was lower, but Ta-wan-ne-ars did not need to warn me when
the Keepers reappeared.  It was as if a mist of evil preceded them.
My senses were alert, and I saw the first feathered head emerge from
the trail and each one of the six who followed their leader.  I
counted every step of their approach until the yellow paint which
streaked the ribs of the one nearest to me glimmered in the light of
the embers.

"_Hah-yah-yah-eeee-eee-ee-e!_"

Ta-wan-ne-ars sounded the war-whoop as he fired, and instinctively I
aimed my piece at those ocher-tinted ribs and pressed the trigger.
The report of my musket carried on the echoes which had been roused
by the Seneca's.  Corlaer's discharged as I bounded to my feet.

The Cahnuagas yelled in surprize; three of them were thrashing out
their lives on the rocks.  But the four survivors did not hesitate.
The French called them "Praying Indians," and perhaps they did pray
occasionally for Black Robe, to placate him sufficiently in order
that they might practise their own horrid rites in secret.  They
fought now like the devils they really were.

One of them was on me immediately, bounding over the boulders with
screeches that split the night.  His knife and hatchet cut circles
around my head--then chopped at my bowels.  His activity was
extraordinary, and he fought better than I, for he knew his weapons
and they were strange to me.

It was the realization of this which saved me.  Fending awkwardly
with knife or hatchet against a foe whose handling of them was the
result of lifelong training, I was at a disadvantage.  I could not
hope to beat him by his own methods.

So I changed the tomahawk to my left hand, and grasped the knife by
the hilt as if it were a sword, thrusting with it point first instead
of slashing as the Indian did.  And now my skill at fence was in my
favor.

The Cahnuaga's knife was no longer than mine.  We were on equal
terms--or rather the advantage inclined toward me.  Bewilderment
showed in the Indian's face.  He did not understand this fighting
with passes and parries and swift, stabbing assaults.  I touched him
in the thigh, and he struck at my knife-arm with his hatchet; but my
tomahawk was ready to meet him.

He side-stepped to attack me from a new quarter, but I pivoted on my
heel as I had often done in the _salle des armes_, and he retreated,
circling warily in search of an opportunity to return to the style of
fighting he preferred.  My chance came the next time he charged me,
goaded into desperation by these strange tactics.  I aimed a smashing
blow at his head with the tomahawk, and, as he lifted his own hatchet
to guard, I thrust for his belly, parried his knife and ripped him
open.

His death-yell was in my ears as I leaped over his body and looked to
see how my comrades were doing.  Ta-wan-ne-ars had just knifed his
man and was running to the help of Peter, who had two assailants on
his hands.  As Ta-wan-ne-ars came up, the Dutchman closed with one,
dashed the defending weapons aside and grasped the struggling savage
in his powerful arms.  The last Cahnuaga turned to flee, but
Ta-wan-ne-ars did not even attempt to pursue him.  Without any
appearance of haste the Seneca balanced his tomahawk, drew back his
arm and hurled it after the fugitive.  The keen blade crushed the
man's skull before he had passed from the circle of firelight, and
Ta-wan-ne-ars sauntered across and scalped him.

"That time Ta-wan-ne-ars did not miss, brother," he observed to me as
I watched with fascinated horror the bloody neatness with which he
dispatched his task.

"But why do you scalp your enemies, Ta-wan-ne-ars?" I answered.
"Surely----"

"I am an Indian, not a white man."

"Yet you----"

"I have forgotten what the missionaries taught me," he replied
impatiently.  "All except what I think may be useful to my people."

Peter brought up his captive and tossed the man down in front of us.

"Oof, that was a goodt fight!" he commented placidly.

"Why a prisoner, Peter!" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"We will ask him of der Doom Trail," returned Corlaer.

He jerked the man to his feet.

"Where is der Doom Trail?" he demanded.

The Cahnuaga, badly shaken though he was, drew himself erect and
folded his arms across his painted chest.

"The Rat can go to the torture-stake and not answer that question,
Corlaer," he said quite simply.

"We will take you to the nearest village and let you make good your
boast," threatened Ta-wan-ne-ars.

The Cahnuaga smiled.

"If I told you, none the less should I suffer at the stake," he said,
"for the Ga-go-Sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta[1] knows all.  Do your worst,
Chief of the Long House."


[1] Mistress of the False Faces.


A tinge of mockery colored his voice.

"Be sure that whatever you do you can not equal the ingenuity of the
Ga-go-sa.  Yes, I think you will come to know more about them some
day, Iroquois.  I seem to see pictures in the firelight of a stake,
and a building with a tower and a bell that rings, and many of the
Ga-go-sa dance around you, and your pain is very great.  Aye, you are
shrieking like a woman; you----"

He sprang, not at the Seneca but at me.  His hands were around my
throat before I could move.  His eyes blazed into mine.  His teeth
gnashed at my face.  A gout of blood, thick and warm, deluged me.
The next thing I remembered was seeing Ta-wan-ne-ars bending over me.

"My brother is whole?" he asked anxiously.

The ferocity was gone from his face, and his fingers prodded me
tenderly in search of hurts.

"Yes," I said, sitting up and rubbing a very sore throat, "except
that I shall not be able to swallow for a time."

"You were choked, brother."

"And the Cahnuaga?"

"That dog is dead.  Do you sleep now, for the dawn grows near and we
must be upon our way."




XIV

ALONG THE GREAT TRAIL

I stirred to wakefulness when the first pink light of morning was in
the eastern skies.  A pungent whiff of wood-smoke filled my nostrils,
and I turned over to watch Corlaer frying bacon and maize cakes--only
to lose my appetite at the spectacle of Ta-wan-ne-ars stretching
scalps on little hoops of withes to dry by the fire.

He went about it in a very business-like way, yet he indulged in an
amiable grin over my look of interested aversion.

"What does my brother find that is so horrible in a scalp?" he
inquired, extending a particularly gory one for my inspection.  "'Tis
no more than the crown of a man's head--and that man an enemy."

"I like not the idea of mutilating a body," I retorted.  "If you have
slain a man, 'tis sufficient.  Why, you might as well cut off his arm
or his head!"

He considered my point while he made another hoop and adjusted a
scalp to it.

"Yes," he agreed; "that is what the English do, I am told."

"What?" I protested indignantly.  "'Tis absurd!"

"To be sure, Ta-wan-ne-ars knows no more than what the missionaries
and his other white friends have told him," he answered.  "But they
say that when a man in England is condemned to die, if he is an enemy
of the King, his head is chopped off and put on a high place, and
sometimes his arms and his legs are hacked off, too, and shown
elsewhere."

For an instant I was nonplussed.

"That may be so," I said finally, "but in battle we do not cut off
the heads or limbs of our foes."

"It is not your custom to do so," rejoined the Seneca equably.  "It
is the custom of my people to scalp their foes.  Then when a warrior
returns to his village and recounts his exploits nobody can deny his
proof."

I was at a loss to reply, and Corlaer averted further argument by
announcing that the bacon and maize were cooked.  But I was somewhat
amused to notice that Ta-wan-ne-ars was careful to wash his hands
before eating.  So much, at least, the missionaries had dented the
armor of his innate barbarism.

"And what of these?" I asked, pointing to the distorted bodies of
Murray's emissaries, as we adjusted our packs for the day's march.

Corlaer raised his cupped hand to his ear.

"Do you hear?" he said.

I followed his example, and through the clashing of the branches
overhead there sounded a prolonged, exultant howling.

"Der wolfs," he explained.

There was no disputing his stolid acceptance of the situation, and I
fell into my place between the Dutchman and Ta-wan-ne-ars.  In five
minutes the forest had closed around us.  The glade of last night's
adventure was shut off as completely as if it existed in another
world.  There remained no more than the bare groove of the trail and
the encompassing walls of underbrush and overhead the roof of
tree-boughs.  But at intervals a faint echo of yelps and snarls was
borne to our ears by the forest breeze.

That afternoon we forded the Mohawk to the southern side some
distance above Ga-ne-ga-ha-ga,[1] the Upper Mohawk Castle.  And now
for the first time we began to meet other travelers.  Several Mohawk
families shifting their abodes on account of poor crop conditions in
their old villages; a party of Oneidas of the Turtle Clan journeying
on a visit of condolence to the Mohawk Turtles, one of whose
_roy-an-ehs_ had just died; a band of Mohawk hunters returning from
the Spring hunt.  By these latter Ta-wan-ne-ars sent word to
So-a-wa-ah, the senior _roy-an-eh_ of the Mohawk Wolf Clan, charged
with the warding of the Eastern Door, of our encounter with the
Cahnuagas and its result.


[1] Near Danube, N.Y.


We continued up the valley of the Mohawk all of that day and the
next.  As we advanced westward the country became less settled.  Game
was more plentiful.  Once a deer trotted into the trail and stared at
us before plunging on its way.  The second day, as we made camp and I
set out to gather firewood, a pile of sticks which I approached moved
with a dry, whirring rattle, and a mottled flat head rose menacingly
from restless coils.

"Be careful, brother," shouted Ta-wan-ne-ars.

I jumped back in bewilderment.

"What is it?" I gasped.

"Death," he said grimly.  "'Tis the Snake Which Rattles, and its bite
is fatal.  Yet it is an honorable foe, for it always gives warning
before it strikes.  So let us permit it to depart in peace."

The evening of the third day we camped in the Oneida country at the
base of a hill, which the trail encircles and which for that reason
was called Nun-da-da-sis.[2]  Here we had a stroke of what turned out
afterward to be rare good luck.  Whilst we were making camp a group
of five canoes of the birch-bark which is used by other nations than
the Iroquois[3] approached from up-stream, and their occupants camped
beside us.


[2] "Around the Hill;" present site of Utica, N.Y.

[3] There were very few birches in Iroquois territory.  They employed
instead red elm and hickory bark, which were much heavier.


These Indians were Messesagues, whose country lay between the two
great inland seas, the Erie and Huron Lakes.  They were on their way
to Fort Orange or Albany to trade their Winter catch of furs, which
lay baled in the canoes.  Ta-wan-ne-ars, as Warden of the Western
Door, had held intercourse with these people before and understood
their language.

They told him that they had had trouble with the Sieur de Tonty,
commander of the French trading-post of Le De Troit,[4] which had
been established in their country; and that in consequence de Tonty
had been obliged to flee and they had decided to shift their trade to
the English.[5] Ta-wan-ne-ars encouraged them in this design and
described to them the high quality and quantity of the goods they
might expect to get in exchange for their furs at Albany.


[4] Detroit, Mich.

[5] De Tonty was obliged to abandon his post temporarily about this
time.


On the fourth day the trail abandoned the head-waters of the Mohawk,
fast shallowing in depth, and headed westward across the mile-wide
divide of land which separates the waters flowing into the Mohawk and
Hudson's River from those flowing into Lake Ontario and the St.
Lawrence River of Canada.  This passage or carrying-place between the
waters was called Da-ya-hoo-wa-quat,[6] and we met several parties of
Indians carrying their canoes and packs from one stream to the other.


[6] "Place for Carrying Boats;" present site of Rome, N.Y.


I had my first view of the long houses of the Iroquois at the Oneida
Castle, Ga-no-a-lo-hale,[7] which was situated on the Oneida Lake.
They were impressive buildings, sixty, eighty, one hundred and
sometimes one hundred and twenty feet in length and from twelve to
fifteen or twenty feet wide.  We went as a matter of course to the
lodgings of the Oneida Wolves; of whom Ta-wan-ne-ars, according to
the Iroquois code, was a blood-brother; and they placed at our
disposition a guest-chamber, the first next to the entrance of the
Ga-no-sote,[8] together with all the firewood and food which we
required and an aged squaw to cook and wait upon us.


[7] "A head on a pole."

[8] Bark house.


Our chamber was perhaps twelve or fourteen feet in length and twelve
feet across.  On each side there was a shelf or bunk of bark placed
on wooden sticks, raised about two feet from the beaten-clay floor
and covered with skins, more or less infested with vermin.[9]  Above
these bunks again were other shelves for holding clothing, weapons or
provisions.  The passageway between the bunks was the common entry to
the house.


[9] I am obliged to confess I had lice throughout my stay amongst the
Indians.  'Twas impossible to be clean.--H.O.


In the middle was a fire-hole where our squaw cooked.  In the
remainder of the length of the house there was a fire for every four
families, and when all were cooking at once--as was frequently the
case--the smoke that escaped through the vents in the roof was
negligible.

On the other hand, the houses were stanchly constructed and
weather-proof, and they demonstrated strikingly the clannishness and
community spirit which were the outstanding characteristics of the
Iroquois.  They thought, not as families or individuals, as most
savage or barbarous people do, but as a people, as a clan, a tribe or
a confederacy.

In this, as Ta-wan-ne-ars remarked in our many talks on this and
kindred subjects, lay the secret of their political and military
success.  It enabled them to concentrate, when they wished, an
overwhelming force against any other tribes, and a force which could
be directed in the joint interests of the League.  Only the French or
English could withstand them, and their aid must tip the balance in
favor of the white nation whose cause they espoused.

From the Oneida Castle the Great Trail bore westward past
De-o-sa-da-ya-ah,[10] which lay on the boundaries of the Onondagas,
whose beautiful valley, with its mirror lake, was the fairest country
I have ever seen unless it be the matchless home of the Senecas.  The
trail led us through the three villages of the tribe, which were
scattered along the banks of the Onondaga River northward of the lake.


[10] Deep Spring.


At Ka-na-ta-go-wa burned the sacred Council-Fire of the Long House
which their traditions claimed had been lighted by the godlike
Founders of the League, the two _roy-an-ehs_, Da-ga-no-weda and
Ha-yo-wont-ha, whose places in the Ho-yar-na-go-war[11] have never
been filled because the Great Spirit can not create again men worthy
to hold their titles.


[11] Literally, Counselors of the People--the ruling body of the
League.


Ordinarily, Ta-wan-ne-ars would have halted on his way to pay due
reverence to the shrine and to To-do-da-ho, the senior of all the
fifty _roy-an-ehs_ of the League, whose wisdom and prestige are
inherited from the first of the name, him who made practical by his
deeds the conceptions of the Founders.  But we were in haste;
Ta-wan-ne-ars was anxious that no news of our journey should escape;
and he pressed on, sending word by a brother Wolf to To-do-da-ho of
the circumstances which governed his action.

It was a rich country which we traversed, a country fit to be the
home of a race of warriors.  The forest always was king, but the
ingenuity of the inhabitants forced it back whenever they had need.

In clearings by the streams were vast gardens of corn, pumpkins,
melons, squashes and beans.  In open spaces were luxuriant orchards
of fruit-trees.  The people we met, in the villages where we
sometimes slept and ate or along the shaded slot of the trail, were
pleasant and courteous.  They eyed me curiously, but there was never
any unseemly disregard of manners.  Even the children were polite and
hospitable.

"_Qua,_" would be our greeting.  "You have traveled far, brother of
the Wolf Clan, you and your white friends.  Sit by our fire and
partake of our food and tobacco, and perhaps when you are rested you
will tell us what you have seen on your way."

"What do you think of my people, Ormerod?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars one
day as we sat on a hillside above the north end of the Cayuga Lake
and looked down on the village of Ga-ya-ga-an-ha.[12]


[12] Near present site of Auburn, N.Y.


"I think they are a people of warriors and what we call nobles," I
answered.

"That means gentlemen," he said.

"Yes, if you choose," I agreed.

"But they take scalps and have vermin in their clothes," he suggested.

"And they are kind to the stranger and fearless and generous," I
returned.

Corlaer, who usually said nothing, took his pipe from his mouth and
blinked at me.

"_Ja,_" he said.  "Andt there is der same kind of fermin in Fort
Orange or New York."

We slept that night in the Cayuga village, and in the morning forded
the foot of the lake and pursued the trail westward again until it
emerged upon the north bank of the Seneca River, which we followed to
the village of Ga-nun-da-gwa[13] on the lake of that name.


[13] Site of Canandaigua, N.Y.


"Now we are in the country of the Senecas, brother," said
Ta-wan-ne-ars, when we started the next morning.  "You have seen the
homes of all the other tribes, save only the Tuscaroras, who live to
the south of the Oneidas; but none of them is so fair as the valley
of Gen-nis-he-yo,[14] where my brethren dwell."


[14] Literally, "The Beautiful Valley."


And I endorsed his words without reserve on the evening of our tenth
day on the Great Trail, when we stood on the brink of the sweetest
vale in all the world--aye, more beautiful even than the sacred
valley of Onondaga--and looked across the tree-tops at the river that
wound along its center like a looping flood of silver, with the
myriad colors of the sunset tinting the hills beyond and a soft wind
wafting upward to our level the odors of the woodlands and orchards.

From a little village that was huddled on the near bank of the river
Ta-wan-ne-ars sent off that night a messenger to carry on word of our
coming.  So two days later, when we had passed the Gen-nis-he-yo and
the belt of forest beyond to the Senecas' chief town,
De-o-nun-da-ga-a, it was to find ourselves expected guests.  Warriors
and hunters, women and children, along the trail, hailed
Ta-wan-ne-ars and his friends; and at the gates of the palisade which
fortified the village--for it was the principal stronghold of the
Western Door--stood Do-ne-ho-ga-weh himself, the Guardian of the
Door, with his _roy-an-ehs_ and _ha-seh-no-wa-weh_[15] or chiefs,
around him.


[15] Literally, "An Elevated Name."  The office of chief was elective
and in no sense hereditary or noble as was that of _roy-an-eh_, which
has been misnamed sachem.


He was a splendid-looking old man, tall as Ta-wan-ne-ars, his massive
shoulders unbent by age, his naked chest, with the vivid device of
the wolf's head, rounded like a barrel; his pendant scalp-lock shot
with gray.  He and those with him were in gala dress, and the sun
sparkled on elaborate beadwork and silver and gold ornaments and
inlay of weapons.

He took one step forward as we halted, and his right arm went up in
the graceful Iroquois salute.

"_Qua_, Ta-wan-ne-ars!" his voice boomed out.  "You are welcome home,
O my nephew.  I can see that you have been brave against our enemies,
for you carry a string of scalps at your belt.  I can see that you
have been honored, for Corlaer walks with you.  I can see that you
have been fortunate, for a strange white man walks beside you who has
friendship in his face.

"Enter, O my nephew, with your white friends.  The Council-House is
made ready for them, and you will dwell with them a while until their
feet have become accustomed to the new paths and their eyes see
straight the unfamiliar things about them.  We are eager to hear of
your experiences and the deeds you have done.  Enter!"

He turned on his heel and walked before us, and those who had
accompanied him fell into single file behind us.  So we paraded
through the village--or rather I should say town, for it contained
many thousand people--until we reached a house in the center where
burned the tribal Council-Fire and where ambassadors and
distinguished guests were lodged.

This house was oblong, almost square.  The _roy-an-ehs_, chiefs and
elders filed into it at our heels and arranged themselves around the
fire in the center.  Then squaws fetched in clay dishes of meats and
vegetables of several kinds, as well as fruit, which they set down at
intervals around the circle, and at a signal from Do-ne-ho-ga-weh
everybody began to eat, each one dipping his fingers into whichever
dish was nearest or most to his liking, but all governed by the
utmost deference toward the wishes of their neighbors.

At the conclusion of the meal Do-ne-ho-ga-weh lighted a ceremonial
pipe, carved of soapstone, with a long wooden mouthpiece decorated
with beads and small, bright-colored feathers.  He blew one puff
toward the ground, one puff toward the sky and one toward each of the
four quarters.  Then he passed it to Ta-wan-ne-ars on his right hand,
and Ta-wan-ne-ars gravely puffed it for a moment, and handed it to
me.  I did likewise, and gave it to Corlaer, who handed it on to the
next man, and so it went the rounds of the fire.

There was a moment's silence, and then Ta-wan-ne-ars began the
account of his travels, speaking slowly and without oratorical
effect.  Afterward he told me what he and the others had said.  He
made no references to our mission, but he described his journey to
New York, his interview with Ga-en-gwa-ra-go--this impressed his
audience mightily, and they applauded by a succession of gutteral
grunts--his meeting with me; the arrival of Murray and de Veulle and
its meaning; our journey homeward and the fight with the Cahnuagas.

"_Na-ho!_" he concluded.

Again there was a pause.  Then Do-ne-ho-ga-weh rose.

"We thank you, O my nephew," he said.  "You have indeed honored us
and yourself, and your white friends have shown themselves to be
brave men.  Now we will retire so that you may rest."

He walked out, and the others followed.

"What next?" I asked as Ta-wan-ne-ars filled his pipe.

The Seneca smiled.

"Soon we shall have a real talk," he said, and reached for a live
coal.

"A real talk?" I repeated.

"Do-ne-ho-ga-weh knows that we could not tell him all of our tale
when so many ears were listening.  He knows, too, that we are pressed
for time."

"_Ja,_" squeaked Corlaer, "der _roy-an-eh_ will come back."

An hour passed, and I began to doubt my friends' wisdom.  I was
sleepy and tired.  I had had overmuch of the coarse native-grown
tobacco.  But in the event I was rewarded, for a shadow darkened the
entrance and the Guardian of the Western Door stood before us.

He sat between Ta-wan-ne-ars and me, and crammed tobacco into his
pipe-bowl.

"You are not sleeping, O my nephew," he commented.

"We have that upon our minds which will not let us sleep," answered
Ta-wan-ne-ars.[16]


[16] This conversation was translated for me later by
Ta-wan-ne-ars.--H.O.


"Would it ease the weight on your minds to confide your troubles in
me?"

"That is my thought, O my uncle."

Do-ne-ho-ga-weh bowed gravely to all of us.

"My ears are open," he said.

There was a pause, and Ta-wan-ne-ars put down his pipe upon the floor.

"As you know, O my uncle," he began, "I went with Corlaer to
Ga-en-gwa-ra-go to tell him of Joncaire's plans to build a stone fort
at Jagara.  On the same day came this white warrior, Ormerod, whom I
call my brother, with word that Murray had defeated Ga-en-gwa-ra-go
before Go-weh-go-wa.  On the same day came the Frenchman de Veulle,
who once lived for a while amongst us.  Him you will remember."

The bronze mask of the _roy-an-eh's_ face was contorted for one brief
instant by a flare of passion.

"I remember him," he said simply.

"De Veulle comes from Onontio's King with a message for the Canadian
tribes, O my uncle.  He and Murray and Joncaire work together to
defeat our friend Ga-en-gwa-ra-go and drive the English from the
land.  Ga-en-gwa-ra-go has sent my brother Ormerod, who has lived
amongst the French and speaks their tongue, to spy out the ground at
Jagara.  I go with him.  After that, if we may, we shall seek the
Doom Trail and clean out the Cahnuaga dogs."

For five minutes Do-ne-ho-ga-weh smoked in silence.  Then he emptied
his pipe.

"I am glad that Ga-en-gwa-ra-go keeps his eyes open, O my nephew," he
said.  "But I can not understand why the English disagree amongst
themselves, so that one faction work for Onontio.  However, they are
white people, and I am a red man.  Perhaps that is the reason.  Do
you wish my counsel?"

Ta-wan-ne-ars inclined his head.

"The Messesagues you met on the Mohawk told you that de Tonty was in
trouble.  I do not think word of this can yet have reached Joncaire.
My advice is that you dress yourself as a Messesague warrior, O my
nephew, and that your white brother--whose name I can not coil my
tongue around--call himself by a French name.  Then the two of you
may go to Joncaire and say that you have just come from Le de Troit
and give him the news and he will make you welcome.  So you may spy
out his plans at Jagara."

"_Ja,_" assented Corlaer in English; "that is a goodt plan.  You
needt a goodt plan for a fox like Joncaire.  By ----, I hope you fool
him andt bring home his scalp."

"The news which Ga-en-gwa-ra-go asks for will be sufficient," replied
Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "O my uncle, we thank you.  Now we may sleep with
ease."

"That is well," said the _roy-an-eh_, rising.

He lifted his arm in salute.

"May Ha-wen-ne-yu, the Great Spirit, and the Ho-no-che-no-keh, his
Invisible Aids, have you in their keeping."




XV

JONCAIRE IS HOSPITABLE

It was a week before we left De-o-nun-da-ga-a, and although the delay
irked me it could not be avoided, for the prolonged absence of
Ta-wan-ne-ars from his post as Warden of the Western Door of the Long
House had permitted an accumulation of questions of political and
military importance which required his attention.  He spent the days
either in consultations with the _roy-an-ehs_ and chiefs and
delegations from neighboring tribes or in inspecting the marches.
Corlaer departed with a small band of braves upon a hunting-trip, but
I availed myself of the opportunity to gain an insight into the
workings of the remarkable military confederacy which held the
balance of power in America.

Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, as Guardian of the Western Door, was the political
custodian of the most important frontier of the League.  As such he
was supreme.

But Ta-wan-ne-ars with his assistant chief, So-no-so-wa,[1] of the
Turtle Clan, were the military captains of the Western Door.  They
were the only permanent war-chiefs in the confederacy, all others
being elected to temporary command in times of emergency.  They were
also assistants to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and attended him in this capacity
at meetings of the Ho-yar-na-go-war, the great council of the
_roy-an-ehs_.  Their duty was to keep in proper subjection the
numerous tributary nations, beyond the actual boundaries of the Long
House, and equally to safeguard the Western Door from attack by any
enemy.


[1] "Great Oyster Shell."  The names of the two permanent war-chiefs
were really titles of honor, and were hereditary in an indirect line
like the rank of _roy-an-eh_, the idea being to select the ablest man
of his generation in a particular family.


So-no-so-wa at the time of my visit was absent on a trip to the south
to chastise a band of Shawanese who had presumed to invade the
hunting-grounds of the League.  So jealous was the watch kept over
the supremacy of the Long House that the slightest aggression or
impertinence, even against a tributary nation, was punished at the
earliest opportunity.

One of Ta-wan-ne-ars' first acts was to organize a war-party to harry
the Miamis in retaliation for an attack upon a village of the
Andastes in the Susquehanna Valley who were subject to the
jurisdiction of the League.

"It was the intent of the Founders to prevent quarrels amongst the
five nations who formed the Ho-de-no-sau-nee," explained
Ta-wan-ne-ars as we sat in the Council-House after the departure of
an embassy from the Jego-sa-sa[2] or so-called Neuter Nation, who had
petitioned for relief from the military aid which had been demanded
of them for the expedition against the Miamis.  "Before we built the
Long House we fought constantly amongst ourselves.  Afterwards we
fought only against others, and because we were united we always won,
although sometimes our wars lasted for many years.


[2] Wildcats.


"And now that we are strong, and only the white man can venture to
oppose our war-parties, we fight for nothing more than the right to
impose peace upon others.  If a nation makes trouble for us too
frequently we subjugate it, as we did the Delawares.  If a nation is
troublesome upon occasion, like the Je-go-sa-sa, we make it a
tributary, and in return we protect it.  If a nation is in
difficulties, as were the Tuscaroras in the South, and they appeal to
us for aid, we give it.  We took the Tuscaroras into the League
because that was the best way we could protect them."

"Against whom?" I asked innocently.

"Against the white men," he answered.  "Aye, brother, down in the
Southern colonies the white men hunger for land just as they do here
in New York.  When an Indian tribe is weak, as were the Tuscaroras,
the white men drive it before them.  When a tribe is strong, like the
O-ya-da-ga-o-no[3] or ourselves, it can resist--for a time."


[3] Cherokees.


He fell silent and his eyes gazed moodily into the smoke of the
Council-Fire.

"Why do you say 'for a time'!" I asked.

"Because I mean it," he retorted fiercely.  "Think you Ta-wan-ne-ars
is ignorant because he is an Indian!  But I do my brother an
injustice there, for he does not look down upon the Indian as do so
many white men.

"No, Ormerod, I tell you it is so.  Today the Indian is still strong.
He has the protection of the forest.  The white man foolishly has
given him guns to fight with, and steel axes and knives.  But the
Indian grows weaker; the white man grows stronger.  In the end the
Indian must go."

"The People of the Long House?" I cried.  "'Tis impossible after the
friendship you have shown us."

He eyed me gloomily.

"Friendship counts at the moment; strength counts in the future," he
said.  "That is the white man's way.  Have I not lived amongst them?"

He leaned forward until his face was close to mine.

"When all else fails the white man will use fire-water, what you call
rum and the French call brandy.  The red man can not resist it--and
it ruins him.  He becomes a red animal."

"But----"

He would not let me speak.

"And your missionaries told me I must believe in their God!" he went
on scornfully.  "A God who permits white men to do things the God of
the Indians forbids! I said to them:

"'No.  I am an Indian.  A good Indian is better than a good white
man; he is a better Christian, as you call it.  And between bad
Indians and bad white men there is only a difference in kinds of
evil.'"

A warrior entered to report on a mission to a near-by village, and
our conversation lapsed.  I was to remember it many times in the
future and especially during the adventures which were immediately
before me.

The next day we started upon the march to Jagara.  We had not gone
very far on the morning of the second day of our journey when I began
to hear what sounded like a muffled roar, not thunder, but the
bellowings of some gigantic monster, whose breath could ruffle the
trees of the forest.  Ta-wan-ne-ars, who had regained his customary
good spirits with the prospect of danger and hardship, smiled at my
obvious bewilderment.

"'Tis the voice of the Great Falls, brother," he said.  "The Thunder
Waters."

"Does water make that noise?" I exclaimed.

"Nothing but water."

"'Tis impossible."

"So many have said; and, indeed, the missionaries told me 'twas one
of the greatest wonders of the world."

In the early afternoon a mist appeared, overhanging the treetops on
the horizon and shot with gorgeous rainbows.  The volume of noise
increased.  It was not deafening.  You could speak and converse with
ease as you approached it; but it dominated you, made you conscious
of a power beyond human effort to subdue.

Yet even so, when we stepped from the trees and the panorama of the
cataract lay spread before us, a vast, seething wall of water that
swirled and smoked and tossed and fumed in an endless fight for
freedom, I was amazed, staggered by the magnitude of the spectacle.
Here in the heart of the wilderness, far from civilization, the
effect of it was belittling, overwhelming.  That mighty flow of
water, so resistless, so inevitable in its progress, so unthinkably
gigantic, seemed almost as if it might sweep away the fabric of a
continent.

I stumbled behind Ta-wan-ne-ars into the trail of the portage which
led around the falls.  Canoes and goods were transported by this
route from the Cadarakui Lake to the Lake of the Eries whence poured
this endless stream; it was a main-traveled road between the French
posts in Canada and their outflung establishments in the farther
wilderness.

We followed it northeastward until twilight, the roar of the falls
gradually diminishing behind us, and came at length into an open
space upon the banks of the swift-running river which carried the
shattered waters into the Cadarakui Lake.  Close to the bank stood a
flagstaff, and from its summit floated the white ensign of France.

At the foot of the staff, as if resting secure under the folds of the
flag, rose the walls of a substantial log house.  Behind it were a
collection of smaller huts and lodges of bark.

A large, stout man, with very greasy, lanky black hair, hailed us
from the log house as we approached.

"_Hola!_" he shouted in French.  "Who comes so free from the westward
without canoe or fur-packs?"

"A poor, miserable rascal of a forest-runner," I called back gaily.

He discarded an Indian pipe he had been nursing in his hand, and came
across to me at a surprizingly rapid gait for one of his build.

"And who might this 'poor, miserable rascal of a forest-runner' be?"
he demanded.  "These are the King's grounds, and we must know who
comes and goes."

"_Mon Dieu!_" I appealed in mock consternation to the stars.  "But it
is a hard man to deal with!  Will you have an objection, _monsieur_,
to the name of Jean Courbevoir?"

"None in the world, Jean," he returned promptly, "if you have your
trading-permit with you.  But who is the good savage with you?"

Nobody had told me anything of a trading-permit, and I fought for
time.

"You call him good with justice, _monsieur_--  By the way, what is
your name?"

"They call me Joncaire," he said with a trace of grimness.

"Joncaire!  _Mort de ma vie!_"

And I appealed with all the precision my memory would permit to the
calendar of the saints.

"The very man I have been searching for!"

"What?  How is that?" he asked.

"Ah, but that is a tale!  I can not believe it now!  Am I in very
truth on French soil once more?"

"This is the Magazin Royal," he returned.  "As for French soil, _mon
brave_, I do not see how you could have been off it."

"Off it?" I repeated.

"Off it," he replied impatiently.  "Since his Most Catholic Majesty
hath a just claim to all lands in these parts--on this side of
Hudson's River, at any rate."

"To be sure, to be sure," I assented quickly.  "But, Monsieur de
Joncaire, you will be interested to know there is an accursed tribe
of savages who do not believe as you do."

"Is that so, Jean?  And who may they be?"

"The Messesagues."

His face lighted up.

"They are in de Tonty's country.  And how is the dear Alphonse?"

"Fleeing for his life, no less."

"Fleeing?  How is it he has not come here?"

"Those same accursed Messesagues, _monsieur_.  They rose up against
us, and Monsieur de Tonty must flee to the northward and make the
journey through the country of the Hurons."

"But you escaped?" he pressed.

"Verily, _monsieur_; and 'tis this good savage who walks beside me
who did it.  He has a kindness for me, and when we were out hunting
informed me of the rising against Monsieur de Tonty and escorted me
here."

A look of grave concern overspread Joncaire's face.

"Are you certain of this, Jean?"

"Beyond doubt, monsieur; for my friend, the Wolf here, smuggled a
message from me to Monsieur de Tonty, who bade me come at once to you
that you might hold up all west-bound canoes."

"Aye, Alphonse would have done so," approved Joncaire.  "Well, I
always told him he would have trouble with the Messesagues.  He was
too easy with them.  They are used to the heavy rule of the Iroquois,
and they misunderstand kindness.  _Ma foi_!  This is bad news you
bring, Jean.  Was there much loss in furs?"

"Sad!  'Tis very sad!" I said ambiguously.  "All gone!"

"And that reminds me," he went on, "you have not shown me your
trading-permit."

"Trading-permit, monsieur?" I said.  "Why--why--_monsieur_ forgets
that I am not a free-trader.  I was in Monsieur de Tonty's employ.  I
had no permit.  Nor, indeed, monsieur, have I any furs.  Therefore
what need would Jean Courbevoir have for a trading-permit?"

"Humph!" he growled.  "Have you been long in Canada, Jean!"

"But this year, monsieur."

"And you already speak the tongue of the savages!"

I nearly fell into this trap, but bethought myself of the danger in
time.

"Oh, no, _monsieur_; only a word here and there."

"But this savage of yours?"

"Oh, he is like a dog.  So faithful, so devoted!  And he learns
French readily, too."

"Humph!" growled Joncaire again.  "And where do you come from, Jean?"

Something in his speech warned me--the liquid slurr of the South.

"I, _monsieur_?" I replied innocently.  "Oh, I am of Picardy.  But
monsieur is of the South--no? of Provence?"

All the suspicion fled from Joncaire's face, and in its stead
blossomed a broad smile.

"_Peste!_" he ejaculated.  "'Tis a clever lad!  And how knew you
that, Jean?"

I was overjoyed--and in no need to simulate my sentiments.  This was
good fortune.

"Was I not camping beside the Regiment de Provence when we were on
the Italian frontier!  'Tis a pleasant way those lads have of
talking.  And such good companions with the bottle!"

"You know, Jean, you know!"

Joncaire was delighted with me.

"Ah, yes, _monsieur_," I asserted modestly.  "Ah, for some of that
warm Southern wine at this moment instead of the accursed rum.  Rum
is good only for savages."

"You say truth," applauded Joncaire.  "Come your ways within, Jean,
and you shall taste of the blood of La Belle France--although it be
not our Provence vintage.  By the way, do you know Provence?"

"I can not say so with honesty, monsieur," I fenced, "although I have
been in Arles."

"In Arles!"

He flung his arms around my neck.

"Jean, I love you, my lad!  I was born in St. Remi, which is but a
short distance out in the diocese.  Does that _sacré_ Henri Ponteuse
yet have the tavern at the corner of the Grande Place?"

I decided to take a long leap in the dark, and answered:

"But no, monsieur; he is dead these ten years.  'Tis his----"

I was about to say "son," but luckily Joncaire interrupted in time.

"'Twill be that fine lass, Rosette, his niece!" he exclaimed.  "Ah, I
knew it."

"And she has taken a husband," I encouraged him, now so far committed
that I might not draw back.

"Not young Voisin, the miller's son!"

"No, monsieur; a stranger from a far corner of the diocese.  One
Michel."

We were now in the entrance of the log house, and Joncaire opened
wide the door.

"Jean, you are a lad in a million!" he pronounced.  "You shall drink
deep.  I have some wine which Bigon the _intendant_ fetched out for a
few of us--you will understand you must say naught of it hereafter;
it never paid duty.  Aye, we shall make a fine night of it, and you
shall tell me of all that has passed in Arles these many years.

"_Mon Dieu_!  I could weep at the thought of the time I have spent in
this place of devils; and my children will never know the country
that their father came from!"

Ta-wan-ne-ars would have followed us indoors, but Joncaire turned and
pushed him down on the doorstep.

"Sit, sit," he said kindly in a tongue which Ta-wan-ne-ars afterward
told me was the Messesague dialect.  "You shall have your food here."

And to me--

"Our own Indians I will tolerate when I must, but I want no strange
savages stealing my stores."

"_Monsieur_ has a family here?" I asked as we took our seats at a
rough table in the front room.

"Here!  Never!  Although I have one son who will soon be able to
carry on his father's work."

"One son?  That is too bad.  Now in Picardy----"

"_Mort de ma vie_!  Would you talk to me of your Picards!  Young man,
each Autumn that I return to Montreal--and it has been many Autumns,
let me tell you--Madame de Joncaire has a new little one to introduce
to me."

His face softened.

"Bless me if I know how that old lady does it!" he sighed.  "We have
ten now--or maybe 'tis twelve.  But I am not sure.  I must count up
when I return this year."

He clapped his hands, and a soldier in the undress uniform of the
French marine troops, who formed the major part of the garrison of
Canada, entered.

"François," announced Joncaire, "this is Jean Courbevoir, who will be
my guest until he departs.  He has been in Arles, François.  Remember
that.  It should be a part of each young man's training to visit
Arles.

"What he orders you will render to him.  Now bring us the flagon of
wine which Monsieur Bigon sent out this Spring."

The soldier saluted me as if I were a marshal of France, and brought
in the flagon of the _intendant's_ wine with the exquisite reverence
which only a son of France could bestow upon the choicest product of
the soil of France.

"Pour it out, François," commanded Joncaire.

The soldier hesitated.

"And Monsieur de Lery?" he said.

"A thousand million curses!" exploded Joncaire.  "Am I to wait for
him?  Am I to sacrifice my choicest wine in his gullet!"

"Who is Monsieur de Lery?" I asked as François filled a thick mug
with the ruby juice.

"What?  You do not know him?  That is a good one, that!  I should
like to have had him hear you say it.  But do you mean you do not
know of him?"

"_Monsieur_ will remember I am of the wilderness," I protested.

"True, true.  And this pompous whipper-snapper who sets out to teach
Louis Thomas de Joncaire, Sieur de Chabert, his duty, after
thirty-five years on the frontier--pah!"

He drained his mug, and pushed it toward François for more.

"But you have not told me who he is, monsieur," I said.

"He is----"

"Monsieur de Lery enters," interposed François with a glance at the
doorway.




XVI

TRAPPED

A slender, wiry little man in a wig several sizes too big for him
strode into the room.  He had a thin face, near-sighted eyes and a
bulging forehead.  He favored me with a curious glance, nodded to
Joncaire and took a seat across the table from me.

My host made a wry smile and motioned to François to bring a third
mug.

"Hola, Monsieur de Lery," he said.  "This is a gallant young
forest-runner, one Jean Courbevoir, who has come to tell me that
charming idiot Alphonse de Tonty has been chased out of Le de Troit
by the Messesagues.  Jean, Monsieur de Lery is the King's engineer
officer in Canada."

"Another case of a log fortification, I suppose," remarked de Lery
sarcastically in a dry, crackling voice.

He paid no attention to the introduction to me.

"You gentlemen will never learn," he added.

"You must think we grow louis d'or instead of furs in Canada,"
growled Joncaire.  "Be sure, we of the wilderness posts are the most
anxious to have stone walls around us.  Well, what headway have you
made?"

"I have traced out the lines of the central mass," replied de Lery,
taking a gulp of the wine.  "Tomorrow I shall mark out a surrounding
work of four bastions to encompass it."

"And you insist it shall be at the confluence of the river and the
lake?"

"There can be no doubt 'tis the proper spot," declared de Lery
didactically, "both from the engineering and the strategical points
of view."

"But I am telling you--I, Louis Thomas de Joncaire, Sieur de Chabert,
who have been thirty-five years in this accursed country--that if you
do so you will have no sheltered anchorage for shipping.  Moreover,
you will sacrifice the buildings we have erected here."

De Lery pushed back his mug.

"All very well," he answered; "but your position here does not
command the lake.  If the English chose they could blockade you in
the river, and your anchorage would go for naught.  Furthermore,
there is great difficulty in navigating craft this far up the river
against a current of nearly three leagues an hour."

"Bah!" exclaimed Joncaire.  "You know everything."

"I am an engineer," returned de Lery pompously.  "You are a soldier.
I should not attempt to dictate to you."

Joncaire appealed to me.  He was on his third mug of wine, and the
mellow stuff had rekindled his odd friendship for me.

"Come, _mon Jean_," he cried, "what do you say to it!  You are a man
of experience.  You have been to Arles.  I think you implied that you
had seen service in the Army in France?"

"As a sergeant only, _monsieur_," I answered modestly.  "In the
Regiment de la Reine."

"A famous corps," he proclaimed.  "Your opinion has weight with me,
Jean.  You are a man of sense and judgment.  What is your opinion on
this subject we debate?"

"_Ma foi, monsieur,_" I said cautiously, "I am scarcely fitted to
discuss it with two gentlemen of your wisdom and experience.  I am
frank to say I do not understand the issue."

"De Lery, we will leave the matter to this youth's honest candor,"
suggested Joncaire.

"With your favor, _monsieur_, we will not," replied the engineer
decisively.

He rose from his seat.

"Speaking for myself, I have had sufficient wine, and I shall retire.
If the masons bring in the loads of stone we expect in the morning,
we shall be able to lay the first course by noon."

Joncaire twisted his face into a grimace as de Lery ascended a steep
flight of ladder-stairs to an upper story.

"What a man to live with!" he apostrophized.  "_Mon Dieu_, nobody
knows the agonies I suffer!  Me, I am a man of compassion, of
friendliness, of respect for another's opinion.  But that
man--_tonnerrr-rrr-rr-re de Dieu_!  For him there are no opinions but
his own."

"What is the difficulty, _monsieur_?" I inquired sympathetically.

"Why, at last I have persuaded this stupid, timorous government of
ours to build me a proper fort.  'Tis the only way we shall hold the
_sacré_ English in check.

"You have intelligence, Jean.  You know the country to the West.
'Tis manifest that with a fort here we can control in some measure
the intercourse betwixt the western tribes and the English.  Also, we
shall have a constant threat here to keep the Iroquois at peace."

"That is readily understood, monsieur."

"Of course.  Well, I worked up Vaudreuil to approve it, obtained the
grants from Paris, secured the necessary mechanics--and then they
sent this popinjay to supervise the work.  I had pitched on this site
here.  He would have none of it.  No, he must overturn all my plans
and put the new works several miles down the river where it runs into
the lake.

"And he will not listen to reason.  He is so conceited with himself
because he has been charged with all the works of fortification in
Canada."

"Are there others then, _monsieur_?" I asked casually, burying my
nose in the wine-mug.

"Aye, to be sure.  He is to build a wall around Montreal, and to
strengthen the _enceinte_ of Quebec."

"But we are at peace with these _sacré_ English," I objected.

Joncaire, now thoroughly convivial, winked at me over the rim of his
mug.

"For the present, yes.  But how long, Jean?  Ah, my lad, you are
young, and I can see you have the brains to carry you far.  Here in
Canada family counts for less than in Paris.  But after all you are
not of those who know the high politics of the day--not yet."

"I am a poor, ignorant youth whom _monsieur_ is pleased to honor," I
said humbly.

"And _monsieur_ is pleased to instruct you," he answered.  "Yes, we
can not go on as we have been, Jean.  Every year that passes the
English grow in strength, and we become weaker; I speak now in
matters of trade; for after all, lad, the country which obtains the
mastery in trade must be the military master of any contending
nation.  I may be only a simple soldier, but so much I have learned."

"Ah, but _monsieur_ is pleased to be down-hearted!" I cried.  "'Tis
plain we are stronger than the English.  Are not our posts stretched
thousands of miles beyond theirs?"

"Pouf!  What of that?  We are a colony of soldiers and traders, well
armed and disciplined.  They are an infinitely larger group of
colonies with only a few soldiers and traders, but many husbandmen.
Give them time, and they will obtain such a grip on the soil of the
wilderness that they can not be pried loose.  But if we use our
temporary advantage, and keep them from winning supremacy in the
trade with the savages, then, my Jean, we may force a war upon them
at an early day, and we shall win."

He sat back, and eyed me triumphantly.

"Surely we have that supremacy now!"

He winked at me again, and drew from a drawer in the table a heavy
book such as accounts are kept in.

"Jean," he said, "I am about to disclose to you a secret--which is
not a secret, because every trader who works for himself is
acquainted with it."

He flipped through the pages.

"Here is the account for this post for the year just ended.  We
handled a total of 204 'green' deerskins and 23 packets of various
kinds of furs.  On these we cleared a profit of 2,382 livres, 3 sols,
9 deniers,[1] which would not come anywhere near covering the
operating expenses of the post.  You will find the same story at
every post from here to the Mississippi."


[1] About $476.


"Why, _monsieur_?"

"These _sacré_ English!  First they turn the Iroquois against us--and
in that success, I am bound to say, they have been ably assisted by
ourselves;[2] then they build the post of Fort Oswego, at the foot of
the Onondaga's River on Irondequoit Bay;[3] then they send out a
swarm of young men to trap and shoot in the Indian country; then they
pass this accursed law that forbids us obtaining Indian goods from
the New York merchants!  _Peste_, what a people!  They have us in a
noose."


[2] Joncaire was one of the few Frenchmen who had the confidence of
the Iroquois.  He had been captured as a young man by the Senecas and
adopted into that tribe.

[3] Now Oswego, N.Y.


I shook my head dolefully.

"Ah, _monsieur_, you make me very sorrowful," I said.  "I came out to
Canada thinking to make my fortune, but if what you say be true, I am
more likely to be killed by the English."

"No, no, it's not so bad as that," he answered quickly.  "The
governor-general has waked up.  It seems that in France they are not
quite ready for another war, but we are charged to make preparations
as rapidly as possible.  There is an emissary coming soon from Paris,
who will have instructions for the frontier posts and the friendly
Indians.  It may be we can persuade the English to be stupid enough
to revoke this law of theirs.  In any case, my Jean, you will have
heard of the Doom Trail?"

I crossed myself devoutly.

"I have heard nothing good of it, _monsieur_," I said fearfully.

"Humph; I don't doubt it.  And mind you, Jean, for myself, I do not
like that kind of business.  But after all 'tis the trade over the
Doom Trail which keeps you and me in our jobs.  Without it--well,
this post would shut down.  And they do say at Quebec that if we can
start a revolution in England for this Pretender of theirs and war at
the same time, we shall be able to take the whole continent from
them."

"And who is this emissary you spoke of?" I asked, thinking to extract
more information from the bibulous Joncaire.

"Not of your----"

There was a commotion at the door.

"Bind the Indian," shouted a voice in French.  "Hah, I thought so!
We meet again, Ormerod!"

De Veulle stood on the threshold, his rifle leveled at my breast.

"Bring the Indian inside here," he called behind him.  "We'll have a
look at him in the light."

A group of Cahnuagas, frightfully painted, with their grotesque
bristling feather headdresses, hustled Ta-wan-ne-ars into the room.

But now Joncaire asserted himself.

"What do you mean by this, Monsieur de Veulle?" he demanded with a
cold displeasure which showed no signs of his recent indulgences.
"This man is a forest-runner, Jean Courbevoir, a messenger from de
Tonty.  The Indian is a Messesague--as you should see by his paint
and bead-work."

"Bah!" sneered de Veulle.  "They fooled you.  The Indian is
Ta-wan-ne-ars, of the Seneca Wolves, War Chief of the Iroquois.  The
white man is Harry Ormerod, an English spy and a deserter from the
Jacobites.  He was stationed in Paris for some years, and recently
was sent to New York.  Burnet, the Governor of New York, dispatched
him here to spy out what you were doing.  'Twas fortunate I had an
errand to Jagara, for he seems to have deluded you completely."

"That may be so," assented Joncaire; "but it happens that I command
here.  These men are my prisoners.  You will order your Indians from
the room.  François, get your musket and stand guard."

De Veulle drew a paper from a pocket inside his leather shirt and
presented it to Joncaire with irritating deliberation.

"Here," he said, "you will find my warrant from the King himself to
exercise what powers I deem necessary along the frontier.  Only the
governor-general may overrule me."

Joncaire studied the paper.

"That is so," he admitted.  "But I tell you this, de Veulle, you have
a bad record on the frontier for a trouble-maker.  But for you I
should have had the Senecas and Onondagas in our interest before
this.  I write to Quebec by the first post, demanding a check upon
your activities.  We have too much at stake to permit you to
jeopardize it."

"At De-o-nun-de-ga-a it is known that Ta-wan-ne-ars and his brother
Ormerod journeyed to Jagara," interposed the Seneca in his own
language.  "Does Joncaire think the Senecas will be quiet when one of
their chiefs is given up to the Keepers of the Doom Trail for
torment?"

"The Senecas will be told that you never reached Jagara," replied de
Veulle before Joncaire could speak.

"I will have nothing to do with it," declared the commandant of the
post.  "Spies they may be, and as such they may be imprisoned; but I
will have nothing to do with turning them over to the Keepers.  De
Veulle, this is on your own head."

"I am content," said de Veulle with a mocking smile.

Joncaire turned to me.

"Well, my Jean," he said soberly, "whatever your name may be, you
have gotten yourself into a nasty mess.  You will be lucky if you die
quickly.  This is what comes of trying to fool old Papa Joncaire."

"You will admit that I fooled you," I replied as lightly as I could.

"You did," he conceded, "and you are nearly the first."

"Will you do me a favor in memory of Arles--I have really visited
that renowned city--_monsieur_?"

"Gladly."

"Get word sometime to Peter Corlaer that I fooled you, and 'twas no
fault of mine I was taken."

He clapped me on the back.

"That's the spirit, _mon brave_!  I'll do it without fail.  And my
advice to you is to pick the first chance to die, no matter how it
may be.  These Keepers--_peste_!  They are a bad lot.  They are
artists in torment.  'Tis part of their religion, which I will say
they still practise, even though Père Hyacinthe were to excommunicate
me."

"Better not let the worthy priest hear you," admonished de Veulle
with his mocking smile.  "Have you finished your homily and last word
to the condemned?"

"I have finished my last word to you," snarled Joncaire.

"Perhaps, _monsieur_," I said, "you have never chanced to hear of a
certain duel with small-swords in the ----"

De Veulle struck me with all his strength across the mouth.

"Here," he called to the waiting Cahnuagas, "bind him--and make a
sure job of it.  Be not careful of his comfort."

Joncaire looked him up and down with indescribable contempt.

"There is a bad air in here, Monsieur Englishman," he said.  "Even
the company of that ass de Lery is preferable to this miserable
person.  I bid you adieu."

But as he was about to climb the stairs de Lery had ascended, de
Veulle called him back.

"One moment!  Speaking officially, Monsieur de Joncaire, I desire you
to send out belts to all friendly tribes, summoning them to a
council-fire which will be held here by the King's command in August."

Joncaire bowed.

"It shall be done," he said.

"Now then"--de Veulle addressed me--"we will consider your case.  Are
the bonds sufficiently tight?"

I had been bound with strips of rawhide which cut into every muscle.
The question was superfluous.

"Pick them up," he said to the Cahnuagas.  "We will get back to the
canoes."

One of the Keepers objected, seeming to suggest that they rest the
night at least; but de Veulle silenced him with a frown.

"We start at once," he said.  "There will be time to rest after we
are out in the lake."

Ta-wan-ne-ars and I were slung like sacks of grain each upon the
shoulders of a pair of warriors and so carried past several
phlegmatically interested French soldiers to the bank of the river.
Here we were laid carefully in the bottoms of separate canoes, which
were shoved out into the swirling current and borne swiftly
down-stream into the spreading waters of the Cadarakui Lake.

Despite the tightness of my bonds and the numbness they induced, I
fell asleep, rocked by the easy motion of the canoe as it was driven
along by the powerful arms of the Cahnuagas, who crouched in line,
one behind the other, their paddles dipping in and out of the water
like tireless machines.




XVII

LA VIERGE DU BOIS

A dash of water awakened me.  One of the Cahnuagas was leaning down,
his hideous face close to mine, his fingers wrestling with the knots
in the rawhide bonds.

"You can not lie idle, my distinguished guest," called de Veulle from
his place at the stern.  "You must keep us dry."

As the rawhide strips were unwound I was able to sit up and look over
the frail bark side.  We were out of sight of land, and a moderate
breeze was raising a slight swell, the crest of which occasionally
broke over our bow.  In the other canoe Ta-wan-ne-ars already was at
work with a bark scoop.

The Cahnuagas were uneasy, and at times they muttered amongst
themselves; but de Veulle kept them at the paddles, working in relays
of four.  It said much for his hold on the Indians that he was able
to persuade them to navigate the treacherous waters of the open lake,
a feat the savages will never attempt except under compulsion.

All of that day we were isolated on the restless surface of the huge
inland sea.  Just before dusk of the second day we sighted a rocky
coast, and sheered away from it.  Two nights later we passed a group
of lights to the north, and the Cahnuagas murmured "Cadaraqui."
Indeed, 'twas the French fort of that name, the key to the westerly
defenses of Canada and the St. Lawrence outlet from the lake.[1]  On
the sixth day we passed out of the lake into the narrow channel of
the great river, and landed in the evening at a palisaded post on the
southern bank.


[1] Later Fort Frontenac.


So far I had been treated fairly well.  My captors had shared with me
their meager fare of parched corn and jerked meat; and if I had been
compelled to bale out the canoe incessantly, it was equally true that
they had labored at the paddles night and day.  It was also true that
de Veulle had made me the constant subject of his gibes and kicks and
had encouraged the Cahnuagas--and God knows they required no
encouragement--to maul me at pleasure.  Yet the frailty of the canoe
had forbidden indulgence in as much roughness as they desired.

But now everything was changed.  My legs were left unbound, but with
uncanny skill the savages lashed back my arms until well-nigh every
bit of circulation was stopped in them and each movement I was forced
to make became an act of torture.  The one recompense for my
sufferings was that for the first time since our capture I had the
company of Ta-wan-ne-ars, and I was able to profit by his stoical
demeanor in resisting the impulse to vent my anger against de Veulle.

"Say nothing, brother," he counseled me when I panted my hate, "for
every word you say will afford him satisfaction."

"I wish I had staved in the canoe in the middle of the lake," I
exclaimed bitterly.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars, too, thought of that," he admitted.  "Yet must we
have died with our tormenters, and perhaps if we wait we may escape
and live to slay them at less cost to ourselves."

"It is not likely," I answered, for my spirits were very low.  "What
is this place?  Where are we?"

Ta-wan-ne-ars looked around the landscape, rapidly dimming in the
twilight.  We had been left in custody of the Indians on the
river-bank whilst de Veulle conversed with three white men who had
emerged from the palisades as we scrambled ashore.

"This place Ta-wan-ne-ars does not know," he replied.  "Yet it is on
the river St. Lawrence, for there is no other stream of this size.  I
think, brother, that de Veulle is taking us to La Vierge du Bois."

"It matters little where he takes us," I returned ill-naturedly.
"Our end is like to be the same in any case."

"At the least," said Ta-wan-ne-ars with a smile, "we shall have
solved the riddle of the Doom Trail."

"And what will that avail us?" I countered.  "Joncaire told me all I
sought to know of Jagara--but he told it to a dead man."

"Not yet dead, brother," Ta-wan-ne-ars corrected me gently.  "We have
still a long way to go--and we have our search."

"Which is like to lead us into the hands of ----," I said rudely.

But de Veulle and the three strange Frenchmen walked up at that
moment, and Ta-wan-ne-ars was spared the necessity of an answer.

"'Tis well," de Veulle was saying.  "We will rest the night, then.
I'll lodge my prisoners in the stockade."

"And there is naught else!" asked one of the others.

"The letter to Père Hyacinthe--don't forget that."

Whereat they all four laughed with a kind of sinister mystery and
cast glances of amusement at us.

"I would I might see the Moon Feast," said another.

"Some day, if you are accepted amongst the Ga-go-sra, you may,"
returned de Veulle.  "Be ready with the letter, I beg you.  I must
start early with the daylight if I am to be in time for the feast."

The Cahnuagas drove us from the bank with kicks and blows of their
paddle-blades, and the white men followed leisurely, laughing now and
then as we dodged some particularly vicious attack upon our heads and
faces.  As it was, when we were flung into a bare log-walled room
within the palisade we were covered with bruises.  'Twas the real
beginning of our torment.

In the morning our arms were untied and we were given a mess of
half-cooked Indian meal.  Then the rawhides were rebound, and we set
forth upon a trail that led from the river southeastward into the
forest.  A Cahnuaga walked behind each of us, tomahawk in hand.  De
Veulle himself brought up the rear, his musket always ready.

I prefer not to think of that day.  The heat of early Summer was in
the air, and although it was cooler in the forest than in the open, a
host of insects attacked us; and with our hands bound, we could not
fight them off.  Ta-wan-ne-ars had the thick hide of his race, and
they bothered him less than they did me; but we were both in agony by
the time we made camp and the smoke-smudge kindled by our guards in
self-protection gave us temporary relief.

The next day was much the same.  If we hesitated in our pace or
staggered, the savage nearest to us used the flat of his tomahawk or
his musket-butt.  Ta-wan-ne-ars walked before me in the column, and
the sight of his indifference, his disdainful air toward all the
slights put upon him, maintained my courage when otherwise it must
have yielded.

On the third day, shortly after noon, I was astonished to hear
faintly, but very distinctly, a bell ringing in the forest.  And I
remembered the words of the Cahnuaga who had been last of his
brethren to die in that fight in the glade on the Great Trail--

"A building with a tower and a bell that rings."

"La Vierge du Bois welcomes you," hailed de Veulle from behind us.
"The bell rings you in.  Ah, there will be bright eyes and flushed
cheeks at sight of you!"

He laughed in a pleasant, melodious way.

"White cheeks to flush for you, Ormerod, and red cheeks to grow
duskier for our friend the chief here!  What a fluttering of hearts
there will be!"

Could I have wrenched my hands free I would have snatched a tomahawk
from the Cahnuaga before me.  But I did what Ta-wan-ne-ars did--held
my head straight and walked as if I had not heard.  Something told me
the Seneca suffered as much as I.

We did not hear the bell again; but in mid-afternoon the forest ended
upon the banks of a little river, and in the distance a wooden tower
showed through the trees.  As we drew nearer other buildings
appeared, arranged in irregular fashion about a clearing.  One of
pretentious size stood by itself inside a palisade.

Cahnuagas, including women and children, swarmed along the trail with
guttural cries.  A big, red-headed man stepped from a building which
was evidently a storehouse.  'Twas Bolling, and with a yell of
delight he snatched a block of wood from the ground and hurled it at
my head.

"Curse me, 'tis the renegade and his red shadow!" he shouted.  "We
are in great luck!  Do but wait until Tom knows you are here, my
friend.  The stake awaits you!"

He walked beside us, rubbing his hands together in high glee, and
discoursing with seemingly expert knowledge on the precise character
of the various kinds of torment we should undergo.  From time to time
he would break off to call upon the Cahnuagas for confirmation or new
ideas, and they never failed to support him.  Once in a while he
kicked us or beat us with the nearest stick he could reach.

His attentions drew a considerable crowd; and so when we entered the
single rude street of the settlement 'twas to find the whole
population awaiting us.  The gate in the stockade around the big
house was open, and with a thrill I realized that a swirl of color
there meant Marjory.  Murray's stately figure I identified at a
distance.

I think she did not know me at first.  There was no reason why she
should.  My leather garments were rent and torn, my hair was tangled
and matted with briers and thorns from the underbrush, my face was
scratched and bleeding.  I was thin and gaunt, and I might not walk
upright, although I tried, for the rawhide thongs bowed my shoulders.

But Murray knew me instantly, and a flare of exultation lighted his
face.  Behind him, too, stood the animal-shape of Tom, long arms
almost trailing on the ground; and the negro's yellow eyes seemed to
expand with tigerish satisfaction.

De Veulle halted us directly in front of the gate.

"An old acquaintance has consented to visit us," he said.

And with a shock of grief I saw comprehension dawn in Marjory's face.
But she did not flush crimson, as de Veulle had prophesied.  She
blenched white.  I knew by that she had been long enough at La Vierge
du Bois to appreciate the temper of its inhabitants.

"I seem to recollect the tall Indian beside our friend, likewise,"
observed Murray.

"'Tis his companion of the interview at Cawston's in New York,"
rejoined de Veulle.  "What, Mistress Marjory, you have not forgotten
the rash youth who was always threatening or badgering us?"

Her lips moved mechanically, but 'twas a minute before she could
force her voice to obey.

"I remember," she said.

Murray took snuff precisely and addressed himself to me.

"Master Juggins, Master Juggins--oh, I beg your pardon!  I keep
confusing your names.  Master Ormerod, then--did I not warn you to
leave the Doom Trail alone?"

I laughed.

"I have not been near the Doom Trail," I answered.

"No," answered de Veulle.  "I found him cozening that old fool
Joncaire at Jagara."

"So!"

Murray pursed his lips.

"'Tis a serious offense."

"For which, it seems, Joncaire is not to be permitted to take
revenge," I added.

"You are a dangerous youth, Master Ormerod," admonished Murray
gravely.  "You had opportunity to win free of your past misdemeanors,
you will allow, yet you would hear none of my advice.  No, you must
mix in affairs which did not concern you.  And as I warned you, it
hath been to your sore prejudice.  Much as I----"

Marjory flung out her arms in a gesture of appeal.

"Why do you talk so much, sir?" she cried.  "What have you in mind?
This man is an Englishman!  Is he to be given up to the savages?"

Murray surveyed her gravely.

"Tut, tut, my dear!  Is this the way to conduct in public?  'Given up
to the savages,' forsooth!  The young man is a traitor, a
renegade--and a sorry fool into the bargain.  He is in an
uncomfortable situation, thanks to his own mistakes and heedlessness.
He hath meddled in matters beyond his comprehension or ability.  We
must reckon up the harm he hath done, and assess his punishment in
proportion."

"Just what do you mean by that, sir?" she demanded coldly.

He brushed a speck of snuff from his sleeve.

"Frankly, my dear lass, I can not tell you as yet."

"I think you mock me," she asserted.  "And I tell you, sir, I will be
party to no such crime against humanity.  You talk of traitors.  I am
wondering if there is more than one meaning to the word."

She turned with a flutter of garments and sped into the house.  De
Veulle eyed Murray rather quizzically, but the arch-conspirator gave
no evidence of uneasiness.

"You shall tell me about it," he said, as if nothing had happened.
"Meantime I suppose they may be lodged with the Keepers."

"Yes," agreed de Veulle; "but I desire to give some particular
instructions for their entertainment."

"Do so; do so, by all means," answered Murray equably.  "But wait;
here comes Père Hyacinthe."

The Indians surrounding us huddled back, cringing against the
stockade, their eyes glued upon a tall, thin figure in a threadbare
black cassock of the Jesuit order.  He walked with a peculiar halting
gait.  His face was emaciated, the akin stretched taut over prominent
bones.  His eyes blazed out of twin caverns.

Parts of his ears were gone, and as he drew nearer I saw that his
face was criss-crossed by innumerable tiny scars.  When he raised his
hand in blessing the Indians I realized that two fingers were
missing, and those which were left were twisted and gnarled as by
fire.

"Whom have we here?" he called in a loud, harsh voice.

"Two prisoners, reverend sir," replied Murray.  "English spies caught
at Jagara by the vigilance of Monsieur de Veulle."

"Are they heretics?" demanded the priest.

"I fear I have never conversed with Master Ormerod concerning his
religious beliefs," said Murray whimsically.  "I should add, by the
way, father, that the young man is the spy of whom I told you, who
crossed upon our ship with us."

The priest peered closely at me.

"Well, sir," he asked brusquely, "are you a son of the true faith?"

"Not the one you refer to, sir," I said.

"And this savage here?"

"He believes, quite devoutly, I should say, in the gods of his race."

The Jesuit locked and unlocked his fingers nervously.

"I fear, _monsieur_, that you will suffer torment at the hands of my
poor children here," he said.  "Will you not repent before it is too
late?"

"But will you stand by and see your children torture an Englishman in
time of peace?" I asked.

His eyes fairly sparked from the shelter of their cavernous retreats.

"Peace?" he rasped.  "There is no peace--there can be no
peace--between England, the harlot nation, and holy France.  France
follows her destiny, and her destiny is to rule America on behalf of
the Church."

"Yet peace there is," I insisted.

"I refuse to admit it.  We know no peace here.  We are at war,
endless war, physically, spiritually, mentally, with England.  If you
come amongst us, you do so at your bodily peril.  But"--and the
challenge left his voice and was replaced by a note of pleading, soft
and compelling--"it may be, _monsieur_, that in your bodily peril you
have achieved the salvation of your soul.  Repent, I urge you, and
though your body perish your soul shall live."

Murray and de Veulle stirred restlessly during this harangue, but the
savages were so silent you could hear the birds in the trees.  I was
interested in this man, in his fanatic sincerity, his queer
conception of life.

"But if I repented, as you say," I suggested, "would not you save my
body?"

His eyes burned with contempt.

"Would you drive a bargain with God?" he cried.  "For shame!  Some
may tolerate that, but I never will!  What matters your miserable
body!  It has transgressed the rights of France.  Let it die!  But
your soul is immortal; save that, I conjure you!"

"Aye; but do you think it Christian to permit a fellow-man, whether
he be of your faith or not, to be tortured by savages?"

The contempt died in his eyes, and was replaced by a dreamy ecstasy.

"Death?  What is death?" he replied.  "And what matters the manner of
death?  Look at me, _monsieur_."

He fixed my gaze on each of his infirmities.

"I am but the wreck of a man.  These poor, ignorant children of the
wilderness have worked their will with me, and because it was best
for me God permitted it.  Torture never hurt any man.  It is
excellent for the spirit.  It will benefit you.  If you must die----"

His voice trailed into nothingness.

De Veulle interposed.

"Reverend father," he said, "I have a letter for you from Jacques
Fourier.  The rivermen would like you to give them a mass Sunday.
'Tis a long----"

"Give me the letter," he cried eagerly.  "Ah, that is good reading!
Sometimes I despair for my sons--aye, more than for the miserable
children of the wilderness.  But now I know that a seed grows in the
hearts of some that I have doubted.  I shall go gladly."

He turned to depart, retraced his steps and fixed me with his gaze
that seemed almost to scorch the skin.

"Remember what I have said, _monsieur_.  Repent, and in the joy which
will come to your soul you will rejoice in your agony.  You will
triumph in it.  Your heart will be uplifted by it.  Do I not know!  I
have suffered myself, a whole day at the stake once, and again for
half a day."

De Veulle winked at Murray as the priest limped away.

"I must send Jacques a barrel of brandy for this," he remarked; "but
our Cahnuagas would be in the sulks if they could not celebrate the
Moon Feast, and they stand in such fear of the worthy Hyacinthe that
they would never risk his wrath."

"The Moon Feast!" exclaimed Murray.  "True, I had forgotten.  Well,
'twill be an excellent introduction to the customs of the savages for
our friend the intruder."

"'Twill make a great impression upon him," laughed de Veulle.  "In
fact, upon both of them.  I have a surprize for our Iroquois captive
as well.  The Mistress of the False Faces awaits them."

"Then haste the dancing.  Will you dine with us?"

De Veulle hesitated, looked longingly toward the end of the clearing
and more longingly toward the house within the stockade which housed
Marjory.

"Aye," he said at last.

He murmured some orders to our guards, kicked me out of his path and
sauntered through the gateway beside Murray.




XVIII

THE MISTRESS OF THE FALSE FACES

With Bolling in active supervision and Tom hanging greedily on the
flanks of the crowd, we were hustled through the clearing, past the
chapel and an intervening belt of woodland, into a second and much
larger open space, crammed with bark lodges and huts.

"A big village," I gasped to Ta-wan-ne-ars as I dodged a blow at my
head.

"'Tis the haunt of the Keepers," he replied.  "See, there are
Adirondacks and Shawendadies, as well as Cahnuagas.  And those yonder
are Hurons from north of the Lakes."

Bolling slashed him across the face with a strip of raw-hide.

"Keep your breath for the torture-stake, you Iroquois cur!"

Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed at him.

"Red Jack can only fight with a whip," he said.  "But when
Ta-wan-ne-ars holds a tomahawk he runs."

Bolling struck at him again, but the restless horde of our tormenters
pried the ruffian away as some new group pushed to the front to have
a look at the prisoners and deal a blow or two.  The throng became so
dense that individual castigation was impossible, and we were tossed
along like chips in a whirlpool.

In the end we were hurled, head over heels, into a natural
amphitheater on the far side of the village, where a background of
dark pines walled in a wide surface of hard-beaten, grassless ground.
Two stakes stood ready, side by side, in the center, and our captors
tore off our tattered clothes and lashed us to these with whoops of
joy.

So we stood, naked and bound, ankle, knee, thigh, chest and armpit,
whilst the sun, setting behind the village, flooded the inferno with
mellow light and an army of fiends, men, women and children, pranced
around us.  For myself, I was dazed and fearful, but Ta-wan-ne-ars
again showed me the better road.

"The Keepers scream like women," he shouted, in order to make himself
heard.  "Have you never taken captives before?"

They shrieked a medley of abuse at him, but once more he compelled
their attention by force of will.

"Are you afraid to let Ta-wan-ne-ars and his brother run the
gantlet?" he demanded.

A squat Cahnuaga chief grinned and shook his head.

"We do not want you to tire yourself," he answered.  "You would not
be able to last so long under torture."

"You are afraid of us," jeered Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "You know that if we
were free we could escape from your whole tribe.  You are women.  We
scorn you.  Do you know what has become of the seven warriors Murray
sent to pursue us on the Great Trail?"

Silence prevailed.

"Yes, there were seven of them," gibed Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "And there
were three of us.  And where are they?  I will tell you, Cahnuaga
dogs, Adirondack dogs, Shawendadie dogs, Huron dogs.  Crawl closer on
your bellies while I tell you.

"Their scalps hang in the lodge of Ta-wan-ne-ars--seven scalps of the
Keepers who could not fight against real men.  The scalps of seven
who called themselves warriors and who were so rash that they tried
to fight three."

A howl of anger answered him.

"Begin the torment," yelled Bolling.

Tom drew a wicked knife and ran toward us, his yellow eyes aflame.
But the squat Cahnuaga chief pushed him back.

"They are to be held for the Moon Feast," he proclaimed.  "See, the
Mistress comes.  Stand back, brothers."

The sound of a monotonous wailing filled the air, joining itself with
the evening breeze that sighed in the branches of the pines behind
us.  The crowd of savages drew away from us in sudden awe.

"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," they muttered to each other.

"What do they say!" I asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.

His eyes did not leave a long dark building on the edge of the
amphitheater.

"The Mistress of the False Faces is coming," he replied curtly.

"And who is she?"

"The priestess of their devilish brotherhood."

Out from the long bark building wound a curious serpentine procession
of men in fantastic head-masks, who danced along with a halting step.
As they danced they sang in the weird monotone we had first heard.
And behind them all walked slowly one without a mask, a young girl of
upright, supple figure, her long black hair cascading about her bare
shoulders.  Her arms were folded across her breast.  She wore only
the short ga-ka-ah, or kilt, with moccasins on her feet.

The breath whistled in Ta-wan-ne-ars' nostrils as his chest heaved
against its bonds, and I turned my head in amazement.  The expression
on his face was compounded of such demoniac ferocity as I had seen
there once before--that, and incredulous affection.

"What is it?" I cried.

He did not heed me.  He did not even hear me.  His whole being was
focussed upon the girl whose ruddy bronze skin gleamed through the
masses of her hair, whose shapely limbs ignored the beat of the music
which governed the motions of her attendants.

The procession threaded its way at leisurely pace through the throngs
of Indians, the girl walking as unconcernedly as if she were alone,
her head held high, her eyes staring unseeingly before her.

"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," murmured the savages, bowing low.

The False Faces drew clear of the crowd, and danced solemnly around
us.  They paid us no attention, but when they had strung a complete
circle around the stakes they faced inward and stopped, each one
where he stood.  For the first time the priestess, or Mistress as
they called her, showed appreciation of her surroundings.  She walked
into the ring of masks and took up her position in front of us and
between our stakes.  She had not looked at us.

"Bow down, O my people," she chanted in a soft voice that was
hauntingly sweet.  "The False Faces are come amongst you, for it is
again the period of our rule, and I, their Mistress, am to give you
the word.

"Behold, the old moon is dying, and a new moon will be born again to
us.  The Powers of Evil, the Powers of Good and the Powers of Life
are come together for the creation.

"Thrice fortunate are you that you recognize the rule of
So-a-ka-ga-gwa,[1] for it brings you well-being, now and hereafter in
the Land of Souls.  Moreover, it brings you captives, and your feast
will be graced by their sufferings."


[1] The Moon--"the Light of the Night."


She turned to face us, arms flung wide in a graceful gesture.  I
thought that Ta-wan-ne-ars would burst the thongs that bound him.
His powerful chest expanded until they stretched.

"Ga-ha-no!" he sobbed.

She faltered, and her hands locked together involuntarily between her
breasts.  A light of apprehension dawned in her eyes, and for a
moment I thought there was a trace of something more.

"Ga-ha-no!" pleaded Ta-wan-ne-ars.

But she regained the mastery of herself, and a mocking smile was his
answer.

"They are no ordinary captives who will consecrate our feast," she
continued her recitative.

"For one is a chief of the Iroquois and a warrior whose valor will
resist the torment with pride.  And the other is a white chief whose
tender flesh will yield great delight and whose screams will give
pleasure in our ears.

"Great is the triumph of the French chief de Veulle, who is himself
of our order.  Great is the triumph of the brave Keepers who aided
him.  Great will be the future triumphs which So-a-ka-ga-gwa will
give us in return for these sacrifices.

"O my people, this is the Night of Preparation.  When
An-da-ka-ga-gwa,[2] the husband of So-a-ka-ga-gwa, retires to rest to
mourn his dead wife and make ready for the new one he will take
tomorrow, you must retire to your lodges, and put out your fires, and
let down your hair.


[2] The Sun--"the Light of the Day."


"For in the night the spirits of Ha-nis-ka-o-no-geh[3] will come to
hold communion with their servants, the False Faces, and they will be
hungry for your souls.


[3] Hell--"the Dwelling-Place of Evil."


"And this is my warning to you, O my people.  Heed the warning of the
Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta.

"And on the next night we will celebrate the Moon Feast, and I will
dance for you the Moon Dance, and you shall dance the Torture Dance.
And we will tear the hearts out of our enemies' breasts and grow
strong from their sufferings."

She tossed her arms above her head, and the ring of False Faces burst
into their high-pitched, nasal chant, and resumed the hesitant
dancing step, their horrible masks wobbling from side to side, their
painted bodies, naked save for the breech-clout, posturing in rhythm.

Their Mistress summoned the squat Cahnuaga chief, who seemed to be
especially charged with our safe-keeping.

"You will unbind the captives from the stakes and place them in the
Council-House," she said coldly.  "If they are left out in the night,
my brothers and sisters, the aids of Ha-ne-go-ate-geh will devour
them.  Feed them well, so that they will be strong to resist their
torment, and tie them securely, and place a guard of crafty warriors
over them.  If they escape, you shall be the sacrifice at the Moon
Feast."

The chief groveled before her.

"The commands of the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta shall be obeyed," he
promised.  "And I pray you will hold off the Spirits of Evil tonight,
for sometimes they have been overbold and have snatched our people
from their lodges."

"You are safe this time if you heed my words," she answered, "for you
have secured a sacrifice which will be very pleasing to
So-a-ka-ga-gwa and her friends."[4]


[4] For this and other conversations I am indebted to Ta-wan-ne-ars,
who translated them for me afterward.--H.O.


Then she came up quite close to us.  She looked at me with frank
curiosity, and particularly at my hair, which was brown.  But most of
her attention was bestowed upon Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"So you remember me?" she said in a hard voice and speaking in the
Seneca dialect.

"I remember you, Ga-ha-no," he answered.  "But I see you do not
remember me."

"Oh, well enough," she returned.  "But I am no longer an ordinary
woman.  I am the Mistress of the False Faces----"

"And of a French snake," he added bitterly.

Her eyes flashed.

"I am not a squaw, which is what I should have been had you and my
stupid father had your way with me!"

Ta-wan-ne-ars shook his head sadly.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars has only one regret that he is to die," he said.
"That is because he can not live to find your lost soul and return it
to you."

"My lost soul?" she repeated.

"Yes."

She laughed harshly.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars is a child," she said.  "His heart is turned to water.
He talks of things which are not.  My soul is here."  She tapped her
left breast.

"It does not matter, however, for the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta does
not need a soul as other mortals do."

She turned on her heel abruptly, and followed the priests into the
long bark house from which they had emerged.

The great mob of Indians melted away as soon as she left us.  They
all but fled in order to reach their lodges before sundown, and so
hurried were our guards that in removing us from the stakes to the
Council-House in the center of the village they forbore to beat or
maltreat us.

In the Council-House they supplied us with a liberal meal of meat and
vegetables.  Then our bonds were replaced and we were covered with
robes, whilst our guards cowered close to the fire in abject fear.
They started at the slightest movement.  Had we been able to stir
hand or foot I think we might have won our freedom.  But they had
used care in binding us, and we lay inert as corpses.

"What do they fear?" I whispered to Ta-wan-ne-ars at length, desirous
of hearing a friendly voice.

He roused himself from the gloom which enwrapped him.

"I do not know exactly, brother," he said.  "These Cahnuagas are
renegades from the Great League.  This demon faith of theirs, with
its False Faces and their Mistress, is a corruption of some of our
ancient beliefs."

"But the Moon Feast they talk about," I persisted.  "What is that?"

"It is some invention of their own," he replied.  "Perhaps Murray or
de Veulle helped them with it.  My people know nothing of such
things."

Through the bark walls of the house came the weird, minor melody
which had attended the appearance of the Mistress of the False Faces,
mingled with shrieks, groans, screams and yells.  Our guards huddled
closer together.  They abandoned their weapons and covered their
heads with blankets.  A drum throbbed near by, and at intervals
sounded the wailing chant of the masked priests and the thudding of
dancing feet.

Once a woman's voice soared, shrill and sweet, above the bedlam of
noises, and Ta-wan-ne-ars' face was contorted as if rats were gnawing
at his vitals.

"Your grief is very great, brother," I said.

"It is," he answered.

"Be at ease," I begged him, "for sure 'tis no fault of yours."

"Of that Ta-wan-ne-ars can not be sure," he replied somberly.

He struggled into a sitting position, resting his back against one of
the supports of the roof.

"Cahnuaga dogs," he said--and his voice was not the voice of a
captive, but of a chief--"what is it that you fear?"

The squat chief allowed his nose to protrude from the blanket which
completely covered him.

"The False Faces dance with the Evil Ones in preparation for the
birth of So-a-ka-ga-gwa," he mumbled.  "They are hungry for human
meat."

"Who told you that this was so?"

"The False Faces."

"But how do you know that it is not a lie?"

The chief shook his head vigorously.

"Even the white chief Murray stays within doors when the False Faces
dance," he said.

"And the other white dog--de Veulle?"

"He is one of them.  He was raised up by the Old Mistress when he
lived amongst us before.  It was he discovered the New Mistress."

Ta-wan-ne-ars sank down upon his back again.

"You fear shadows," he said contemptuously.

But the Cahnuagas were too demoralized to resent his taunts.  The
uproar outside increased in violence.  Women's voices, some in
dreadful protestation, some in eager ecstasy, joined in it.  It was
near, then at a distance, then returning.  And occasionally that one
shrill, sweet voice quelled the saturnalia and was lifted on a note
of pagan exultation--only to be drowned in the thrumming of the drums.

Our fire dwindled and was rekindled.  The night crept on toward the
dawn.  The monotony of the noises, the endless repetition, deadened
the senses, and we slept.  When I awakened, 'twas to see the daylight
trickling through the smoke-hole in the roof.  Ta-wan-ne-ars still
slept beside me, the lines of his anguish hewn deep in his face.  Our
guards lay under their blankets, snoring lustily.  The fire was dead.
My bones and muscles ached from their confinement.

I regarded myself, naked, bruised, scarred, sprawled in this den of
savages.  A few months ago I had thought myself at the low ebb of my
fortunes.  The dungeons of the Tower and the headsman had awaited me.
Now I faced death by torment in such horrid rites as my imagination
could not depict.  I had fled to the New World to improve my lot--and
the improvement was like to consist of an early exit to another world
which optimists proclaimed a better one.

Somewhere in the sunshine a bird began to sing, and my captors yawned
and sat up.  The squat chief, his fears of the night gone, kicked
Ta-wan-ne-ars awake.

"This is the day of the Moon Feast," he said.  "You will soon clamor
to die."




XIX

THE MOON FEAST

We were kicked and harried through the village to the Dancing-Place;
but a messenger stayed us at the last minute, and our guards flogged
us back into the Council-House.  We were fed perfunctorily and given
water to drink, then left to our own devices whilst the guards played
a gambling game with peach-stones.  So the morning dragged by until
the sun was beginning to decline toward the west and a second
messenger disturbed the wrangling players.

We were yanked to our feet and pushed outside.  Thousands of Indians
lined the narrow, dirty streets between the bark houses and lodges.
They greeted us with a silence so intent that it was as arresting as
a shout.  Not a finger was laid upon us, not a voice was raised.  Yet
the fierce anticipation which gleamed in every face was more
threatening than definite gestures.

The guards hustled us along; and as we passed, the hordes of savages
closed in behind us and flowed in a mighty, barbaric stream at our
heels.  Ahead of us opened the flat expanse of the Dancing-Place,
with the two lonely stakes, flanked by piles of freshly gathered
firewood, standing like portents of evil against the dark-green
background of the pines which walled the rear of the amphitheater.

Ta-wan-ne-ars looked eagerly in every direction, but she whom he
sought was not present nor were there visible any of her carrion crew
of priests.  Only the sinister faces of the negro, Tom, and Bolling,
with his tangle of red hair, stirred recollections in that alien,
hostile mass.  They, too, were under the spell of the gathering, a
spell which seemed to have for its object the compression of the
combined malevolence of the ferocious throng.

Our guards bound us to the stakes as they had the day before, and
Ta-wan-ne-ars, with a significant glance at me, rallied them with the
searching wit of his race.

"The Cahnuaga dogs are not used to taking captives," he commented.
"They do not know what to do unless their white masters tell them.
They are women.  They should be tilling the field.  They do not know
how to torment real warriors."

When they were passing the thongs under his arm-pits, the Seneca bent
forward and fastened his teeth in the forearm of an incautious guard.
The blood spurted and the man yelped with pain.  Ta-wan-ne-ars
laughed.

"Unarmed and bound, yet I can hurt you," he cried.  "Truly, you are
women.  The warriors of the Great League scorn you."

Strangely enough, they made no retaliation upon him; but, having
securely fastened us to the stakes, withdrew and stood somewhat apart
from the encompassing crowds.

The silence continued for more than an hour, when a lane was opened
opposite to us and Murray and de Veulle sauntered forward.

"I trust you have fared well, Master Juggins--I beg pardon, Master
Ormerod?" remarked Murray urbanely.  "No discomforts?  Enough to eat
and sufficient attention?"

I profited by Ta-wan-ne-ars' example, and thrust for the one weak
spot in the man's armor of egotism.

"You do proclaim yourself for what you are," I answered him steadily.
"Sure, no man of breeding would descend to the depths you reach.  I
do assure you, fellow, if you ever return to civilization and attempt
to mix with the gently bred, your plow-boy origin will out."

His face was suffused to a purple hue.

"'Sdeath!" he rasped.  "Sir, know you not I am of the Murrays of
Cobbielaw?  I quarter my arms with the Keiths!  I have a right to
carry the Bleeding Heart on my shield!  I----"

"No, no," I interrupted.  "'Tis easy for you to claim here in the
wilderness, but the humblest cadet of the house of Douglas would
disprove you.  'Tis the bleeding hearts of your enemies you bear.
You tear them out like the savages and devour them to make medicine.
You are a foul, cowardly half-breed, more red than white."

"I have the blood of kings in my veins!" he shouted in the words he
had used on board ship.

I laughed in his face, and Ta-wan-ne-ars joined in.  Murray stormed
in vain.  I heaped ridicule upon his claims until cynical amusement
appeared in de Veulle's eyes, for the man's conceit was fantastic.

"My mother was a Horne of ----" he asserted finally.

"I dislike to speak ill of any woman," I cut him off; "and certes I
could weep for the grief of her who conceived you, whatever she was.
But I make no doubt she was some Huron squaw."

His face went dead white.

"I was pleaded with overlong to spare you," he said in accents so
cold that the words fell like icicles breaking from the rocks.  "I am
glad I resisted."

"You were never tempted to yield," I assured him.

"I shall give orders now that your torments be the most ingenious our
savages can devise," he returned.

"I doubt it not," I said.

"You will die in much agony," he continued placidly.  "Nobody will
ever know of your taunts.  And I"--his vanity flared up again--"I
shall die a marquis and a duke."

"And a convicted criminal," I added.

He murmured something to de Veulle and walked away, the savages
moving from his path as if he were death in person, for indeed they
feared him, more even than they feared Black Robe and their own
accursed priests.  He was the master of all.

"So you are to be chief torturer, _monsieur le chevalier_?" I
remarked to de Veulle.

"Even so," he agreed.

"There could not be a fitter," I said sympathetically.

"I thank you for your appreciation," he replied.

"Yes," I reflected aloud, "unless it be at small-swords or in fair
fight with any weapon, you should make a fair executioner.  'Twas an
excellent butcher was spoiled in the modeling of you."

But de Veulle refused to be annoyed.

"Keep up your spirits by all means," he said--and in sober truth, I
talked as much for that as to plague my enemies.  "You will need them
anon.  I have instructed the savages to give you the long torment.
You will be still alive this time tomorrow.  Think of it!  Your
Iroquois friend knows what that means--an eyeless, bloody wreck of a
man, begging to be slain!  Ah, well, you would blunder in my way."

"I thought it was Murray's way," I answered.

"'Tis all one.  And after all, as you must know, Murray is no more
than a pawn in our plans."

"He would enjoy hearing you say so."

"He never will--and you will not be able to tell him when next you
see, or rather, hear him."

He beckoned to the Cahnuaga chief.

"Let loose your people," he ordered, and stepped back.

The Cahnuaga put his hand to his mouth, and the high-pitched, soaring
notes of the war-whoop resounded through the air.  And as if one
directing center animated them all the thousands of savages closed in
on us, yelling and shrieking, weapons menacing, feet pounding the
measures of some clumsy dance.

They swirled round and round us, those who could get nearest dashing
up to the stakes to mock at us or threaten us with words and weapons.
Nobody touched us, but the strain of constantly expecting physical
assault was nerve-racking.  Ta-wan-ne-ars smiled serenely at them
all, and when he could make himself heard, returned their threats.

This continued for a long time.  Twilight was at hand before they
dropped back, and a select band of young warriors began to exhibit
their skill with bow and arrow, knife and tomahawk.  Arrows were shot
between our arms and bodies; tomahawks hurtled into the posts beside
our ears; knives were hurled from the far side of the open space, so
closely aimed that their points shaved our naked ribs.  Once in a
while we were scratched; the handle of a tomahawk, poorly thrown,
raised a bump on my forehead.  And de Veulle, squatting on the ground
with a knot of chiefs, applauded the show.

It went on and on.  New forms of mental torture were constantly
devised.  Darkness closed down, and the fires beside the stakes were
lighted.  I was in a daze.  I had ceased to feel fear or misgiving.
I was conscious only of a great weariness and thirst.  The clamor
that dinned in my ears, the weapons that jarred the post at
intervals, the wild figures that leaped in the firelight--all
combined in a weird blur that gradually became a coherent picture as
my mind recalled for the second time the dying words of the Cahnuaga
in the glade by the Great Trail.

"'Be sure that whatever you do you cannot equal the ingenuity of the
Ga-go-sa.'"

Hark!  What was that eery sound that stole through the shadows, a
sliding, minor chant that wailed and died away?

But the picture went on shaping itself in my mind.

"'I seem to see pictures in the firelight of a stake, and a building
with a tower and a bell that rings, and many of the Ga-go-sa dance
around you, and your pain is very great.'"

Yes, there was the picture: our stakes, side by side, two instead of
one; the fires that roared and flamed, the figures that danced and
yelled; and beyond, across the village, the tower with the "bell that
rings," looming above the trees.  And as I looked, the sickle moon,
silvery-bright and sharp as a sword, protruded its upper horn over
the wooden tower.

Of a sudden I realized that the shouting had died down.  The prancing
figures were at rest.  But into the circle of firelight swayed the
hideous column of False Faces, their masks of monstrous birds and
beasts and reptiles seeming alive with horrid purpose in the shifting
gloom, their feet moving harmoniously in the hesitant step of the
dance, their voices united in the monotonous music of their chant.

They strung a circle, as they had done the day before, and halted,
heads wabbling this way and that.  There was a brief pause, and I
noticed de Veulle, risen to his feet and staring intently behind me,
where the wall of pines made a perfect background for the spectacle.
A sigh burst from the half-seen throngs of savages.

"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta!"

I craned my neck, and as well as the thongs permitted me peered
around the stake to which I was lashed.  A white figure flitted from
the protection of the trees and glided toward us.  The False Faces
started a queer, rhythmic air, accompanied by gently throbbing drums.
The figure commenced to dance, arms wide, hair floating free.
Besides me Ta-wan-ne-ars choked back a groan of hate and love and
fought fruitlessly against the rawhide thongs.

'Twas Ga-ha-no.  She danced forward, passing between our stakes and
into the open arena which was delimited by the vague, crouching forms
of the False Faces.  She wore again her ceremonial uniform, the kilt
and moccasins; but this time they were white, fashioned of skins
taken from the bellies of young does.  Her limbs and body, too, were
coated with some white substance that made her gleam like a delicate
marble statue when she postured in the flickering radiance of the
fires.  Her hair floated about her like a black mist, first
concealing, then revealing, the perfect, swelling lines of her figure.

She tossed up her arms in a curving gesture toward the moon, riding
low above the treetops.  The music of the attendant priests swung
into a faster measure, the pulsing of the drums became subtly
disturbing, commanding.

"O So-a-ka-ga-gwa," she cried, "I, your servant, the Mistress of the
False Faces, begin now the Moon Feast we make in your honor!"

She resumed her dance, but 'twas very different from the graceful,
pleasing steps she had first used.  I know not how to describe it,
save perhaps that 'twas like the music, provocative, appealing to the
basest instincts in man, indecent with a peculiarly attractive
indecency.  It was, I think, the dance of creation, of the impulse of
life, one of the oldest and in its perverted way one of the truest
dances which man ever devised.  It could only be danced by a savage
people, primitive and unashamed.

You could feel its influence upon the bystanders, the thousands who
stood or crouched or sat around the curve of the amphitheater beyond
the lines of False Faces.  You could feel their rising emotion; the
instincts, normally half-tamed, that awakened in them; the cravings
that slowly began to dominate them.  You could hear the catching
breaths, the yelps of satisfaction, the growing spirit of license, of
utter savagery.

Faster went the measure of the dance.  Faster whirled the glistening
white figure.  Her hair streamed behind her; her moccasins barely
touched the ground; her body was contorted with supple precision.

Now she danced before us, her eyes burning with mockery--I know not
what--of Ta-wan-ne-ars.  Now she spun around the open space in a
series of intricate steps and posturings.

The music worked up to a crescendo, the drums thudding with furious
speed.  Ga-ha-no leaped high in air and raised her arms toward the
moon, whose sickle shape was no whiter or fairer than she.

The chant stopped in the middle of a mote, and as her feet touched
the ground again she ran lightly across the amphitheater and threw
herself into de Veulle's arms.  He tossed her upon his shoulder.

"The Moon Feast is open, O my people," she called back as he
disappeared with her into the shadows.

All those thousands of people went mad.  The Dancing-Place became a
wild tumult of naked savages, men and women, leaping in groups and
couples to the renewed music of the False Faces.  Decency and
restraint were cast aside.

Tom and Bolling rolled in barrels of rum, which were opened and
consumed as rapidly as the heads were knocked off; and the raw
spirits combined with the hellish chant and the suggestive throbbing
of the drums to stimulate afresh the passions which Ga-ha-no's
dancing had aroused.[1]


[1] Decency forbids a detailed description of these horrible
rites.--H.O.


At first they paid no attention to us.  They were preoccupied with
the extraordinary hysteria which had gripped them.  They
apostrophized the moon.  The women flung themselves upon the False
Faces, for it was deemed an honor to receive the attentions of these
priests of evil.  The men worked themselves into an excess of
debauchery.  Groups formed and dissolved with amazing rapidity.
Individuals, wearying of each other, ran hither and thither, seeking
partners who were more pleasing or attractive to them.

But at last a portion of the drunken mob turned upon us.  An old
woman with wispy gray hair and shrunken breasts beat Ta-wan-ne-ars on
the flank with a smoldering brand.  Bolling, whatever of man there
was in him smothered under the brutishness the rum had excited,
carefully inserted a pine-splinter in the quick of my fingernail.  I
gritted my teeth to force back the scream of agony, and managed to
laugh--how, I do not know--when he set it alight.

"The brother of Ta-wan-ne-ars is a great warrior," proclaimed my
comrade, swift to come to my help.  "Red Jack and his friends can not
hurt Ormerod.  We laugh at you."

Bolling ripped out his knife and staggered toward the Seneca's stake.

"I'll make you laugh," he spat wickedly.  "I'll carve your mouth
wider so you can laugh plenty when we begin on you in earnest.  Think
this has been anything?  We----"

A yell of mingled fear and laughter interrupted him.  False Faces and
warriors, women as well as men, were pointing toward the background
of the pines.

"Ne-e-ar-go-ye, the Bear, is come to play with us," they cried.

And others prostrated themselves and called--

"_Qua_, Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta!"

For the second time that night I twisted my neck to peer behind my
stake, and sure the sight which met my eyes was weirder even than the
white figure of the Moon Maiden.  There within the circle of the
firelight stood Ga-ha-no again.  But 'twas a vastly different
Ga-ha-no.  On her head she wore a bear's mask, with the fur of the
neck and shoulders falling around her body to the _ga-ka-ah_ which
draped her loins.  In each hand she gripped a knife, and her white
limbs staggered under her in pretense of the unsteady gait of a bear
walking erect.

The False Faces began their chant, the drums rumbled crazily, and she
wavered forward, arms flopping like paws, head poised absurdly upon
one side.  She pranced around the circle once, to the immense delight
of the Indians, who hailed her with drunken laughter.  Then she
advanced upon us in the midst of a tense silence.

The fantastic figure followed an uncertain path, exactly as would a
bear who was mistrustful of what he saw.  The savages, keen to
appreciate what they knew, applauded uproariously such faithfulness
to nature.

They were equally enthusiastic when she advanced her muzzle
suspiciously and smelled of my face.  But they could not hear the
familiar voice which whispered in my ear--

"Mr. Ormerod, when I have cut your bonds be ready to leap after me as
soon as the Iroquois is free."

I started so that my surprize must have been apparent had it not been
for the restraining rawhide thongs.

"What?" I gasped.  "You!"

"Say nothing.  Time is short.  And I will----"

She danced, with her ridiculous gait, over to Ta-wan-ne-ars, and I
watched curiously his look of affection and detestation change to one
of quickly suppressed amazement.  With his ready wit he shook his
head at her and tried to bite one of the furry ears of her mask.

She backed away from us slowly, and her head balanced from side to
side in contemplation.  Then she charged upon me, knives flashing
before my eyes.  She slashed at me here and there, and each time she
slashed she severed a thong.  I pretended abject fear, and the
befuddled savages shouted with glee.

She pranced to Ta-wan-ne-ars and performed the same operation upon
him.  He, too, gave evidence of fear.  He cowered against the stake
and lowered his head.  But when she advanced her mask and nuzzled his
shoulder, I saw his powerful muscles knotting themselves in
preparation for the dash for freedom.

"Now!" I heard her say very low.

Ta-wan-ne-ars seemed to rise into the air, thongs flying behind him.
I tugged and jumped and my own lashings parted--and I found myself
running somewhat stiffly beside the Iroquois.

A second figure drew up to my side, and I felt a knife-hilt pushed
into my hand.

"In case," said the familiar voice.  "And here is one for the
Iroquois, too."

I stared down in bewilderment at the bear-mask.  'Twas so unexpected,
yet so obviously what I might have known she would do if the
opportunity arose.  That clean scorn, that brave honesty of purpose,
I had marked in her, were earnest of her determination to dare all
for what she believed to be right.

A chorus of yelps like a wolf-pack in full cry split the night behind
us.  One of the False Faces sprang into our path, and Ta-wan-ne-ars
closed with him.  The Seneca's knife plunged into his throat, and he
collapsed with a strangled scream.

As the pine-trees shrouded us I looked back over my shoulder.  The
Dancing-Place was covered with a mob of running figures who fell over
each other in their drunken frenzy.




XX

THE ARGOSY OF FURS

"To the left," sobbed the voice from the bear's mask.

We turned between the trunks of the pines, the mat of fallen needles
springy underfoot.  Behind us the fires of the Dancing-Place were a
faint radiance in the dusk.  Branches crashed; bodies hurtled against
each other; a bedlam of shrieks resounded to the skies.

"Let me help you," I panted to our rescuer.

"There will be no need," she answered, running stride for stride
beside us.

"At the least, slip off your mask," urged Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"I shall be wanting it presently," she returned.  "Do not be
concerned for me.  Many a mile I have run with the gillies over the
Highland hills."

She stumbled as she spoke, and I set my hand under her elbow.
Ta-wan-ne-ars did the same on the other side, and so we ran for a
space, three and three, our bruised and rusty joints gradually
limbering with the effort.

Presently we came to an opening amongst the pines, with a huge, flat
rock in the center and before the rock the ashes of a fire.  My foot
struck something round, and a human skull, blackened and charred,
bounded ahead of us.  I felt a shudder pass through the slender
figure in the mask.

"'Tis the altar of the False Faces," she murmured.  "If Père
Hyacinthe only knew!"

"What dreadful----" I started to say.

"No, no," she said.  "Do not be asking me.  I can not think of it
without pain.  But there is this to be thankful for: none but the
Ga-go-sa will dare to follow us through the wood."

"Was that your thought?" I questioned.

"No.  I was helpless.  'Twas the Mistress--she bade me call her
Ga-ha-no--thought of everything."

Ta-wan-ne-ars stopped in his stride.

"What of Ga-ha-no?" he demanded sternly.

She glanced fearfully backward along the way we had come.

"We may not stay," she answered rapidly.  "I will talk as we run.
Oh, haste, haste, or all will be lost!"

The Seneca resumed his steady gait, but the moonlight filtering
through the branches revealed the agony in his face, an agony which
the ordeal at the stake had not been able to produce.

"Ga-ha-no thought of all," gasped our companion, her voice strangely
muffled by the mask.  "She came to me this morning--whilst I was
pleading with them--told me how it might be done--fetched me
here--procured me the mask and costume--taught me the dance.  'Twas
she secured the delay--in your torture--made them send you
food--bolstered your strength."

"Where is she now?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars hardly.

She looked sidewise at him--I think in pity.

"With the Chevalier de Veulle," she said reluctantly.

Then with quick earnestness:

"'Twas part of her plan.  It might not--otherwise be done."

He was silent, and we ran on for as much as a quarter-hour, coming
then to the bank of a small stream, where a trail marked a ford.

"Under those bushes," she said, pointing, "you will find your clothes
and weapons.  We hid them this evening."

I scurried into the undergrowth and started to don the tattered
leather garments which were fastened in a bundle to the barrel of my
musket--the musket that Juggins had given to me, years and years ago,
it seemed, in London, and which I had expected never to see again.
But she halted me.

"No, no, Mr. Ormerod!" she exclaimed.  "There is not time.  You must
go on alone, the two of you.  They will expect you to strike into the
Doom Trail.  'Tis the quickest way to the settlements.  Ga-ha-no bade
me tell you to go west instead, making for Oswego at the mouth of the
Onondagas River.  So you may shake off the pursuit of the Keepers."

"But you?" I cried, standing up, bundle and musket in hand.

"'Tis my part to lead them into the Doom Trail."

Ta-wan-ne-ars joined with me in a violent protest.  But she waved us
aside.

"There is no other way."

"We can fight them off," I asserted.

"But I do not wish to leave," she said.

"What?  You would stay here in this place of evil, knowing what goes
on!"

"There is no other way," she repeated.  "I will have learned much
since my coming here, Master Ormerod, and amongst other things, to
think the less harshly of you."

"For that I am thankful," I replied, "but sure, you must let us take
you back to Fort Orange.  Governor Burnet will care for you."

"It can not be," she insisted.  "My place is here.  Wicked as they
be, these men here--and he who is called my father is not the
cleanest of them--they work in a good cause.  'Tis for me to stay by
and see they do what is expected of them for it."

"We will force you to come with us," I declared hotly.

She shook her cumbrous mask.

"You would not do so.  Now be off, sir.  The False Faces will be on
us any moment--and I am not wishing to be caught by them, even though
they would not venture to do me harm."

A burst of ferocious yelling came from the heart of the pine wood.

"They have seen traces of us in the open space by the altar,"
interpreted Ta-wan-ne-ars.

He swung musket and bundle to his shoulder, and faced the bear-mask,
a splendid figure in bronze.

"Sister Ne-e-ar-go-ye," he said gravely, "did Ga-ha-no give you any
message for Ta-wan-ne-ars?"

She hesitated.

"She said that if you asked for her I was to tell you to forget
Ga-ha-no, that she was unworthy of your memory.  But you were to
believe that what she did for you tonight was in reparation for her
first great wrong."

He bowed his head.

"And oh, Ta-wan-ne-ars," she went on impulsively, "she pays a bitter
price.  Forgive her."

Ta-wan-ne-ars looked up.

"Say this to Ga-ha-no," he answered.  "Say Ta-wan-ne-ars thinks of
her as a Lost Soul, tarrying for a while with Ata-ent-sic, and in the
end he will come for her and bring her home again to his lodge.  Say
that Ta-wan-ne-ars never forgets."

He raised his right arm in the gesture of farewell, and stepped into
the current of the stream.

"We part once more, Marjory," I said, offering my hand.

She took it.

"For certain words I have spoken to you, I am sorry," she said.  "I
know more now.  You may be my enemy, but I believe you not to be a
traitor."

"Thank you.  And is that all you have to say to me?"

"That is all," she replied softly, withdrawing her hand.

"Do you take this knife, then," I said, sparring for time against my
judgment and all expediency.

She refused it.

"If I am caught they will not harm me."

I shivered at thought of the hands of the brutal priests of
So-a-ka-ga-gwa on her unsullied body.

"I will not leave you," I cried, and made to walk with her along the
trail.

But she pushed me back.

"You will not be helping me by so acting," she insisted in her quaint
Gaelic speech which had won me when I first heard it.  "And--and some
day I may need your help more than I do tonight."

"Will you call upon me then?"

"Yes."

The yelling of the False Faces burst forth much nearer in the wood.

"Please go, Master Ormerod," she begged.  "If I am not overtaken,
this mask will protect me as far as the chapel, where my own clothes
are awaiting me.  They dare not enter there."

I captured her hand again and carried it to my lips.

"My name is Harry," I answered.  "And I have never forgotten the song
in the cabin of the New Venture."

"Thank you, Harry," she returned with a trill of elfin laughter.
"And I do assure you I know other songs."

With that she was gone.  Yet I had a feeling I had never known before
that she was still with me, and I stepped into the water with joy in
my heart.

A score of paces down the bank I found Ta-wan-ne-ars, and we crouched
under the pendant branches of a willow to see what would happen,
muskets primed and ready.

The yelling in the wood increased in volume as the False Faces
followed the course we had taken by broken branches and footprints in
the pinemold.  A misshapen figure with the head of some fabled beast
squattered into the trail and galloped around, nose to ground like a
hound seeking a lost scent.  In a moment the ugly head was lifted,
and a howl of satisfaction greeted the other monstrous shapes which
joined it.  The whole pack gave tongue and vanished up the trail
after Marjory.

Ta-wan-ne-ars waited to give the stragglers time to appear, then rose
and led the way along the bed of the stream westward.

"Can you pick your path at night?" I inquired anxiously.

He pointed upward to a group of four stars that sparkled in the
velvet blue of the Summer sky.

"So long as Gwe-o-ga-ah[1] shines Ta-wan-ne-ars can not be lost," he
answered.


[1] The Loon.


We walked in the water for more than a mile, when the stream turned
to the north and we stepped out upon a rock and dressed.  Afterward
we caught the overhanging bough of a tree and swung ourselves on to
dry ground above the bank, never leaving a trace of our course up to
that time.  From this point we traveled on through the forest,
pursuing no settled path, but holding to the westward in the
direction of Oswego on the shore of the Cadarakui Lake.

We did not stop until after midday.  Ta-wan-ne-ars knocked over a
wild turkey with his tomahawk, kindled a fire of dry sticks and
broiled the juicy bird before the coals.  He insisted that I should
sleep first, promising to arouse me at the end of two hours--he
reckoned time, I should explain, by the declension of the sun.  But
when he finally did arouse me the sun was close to setting, and I saw
by the sunken look of his eyes that he had not slept during his watch.

"Why did you not wake me?" I asked angrily.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars had no wish for sleep," he returned.

"Nonsense," I retorted.  "You can not go indefinitely without rest."

"I had my thoughts for company," he said simply.  "They are not happy
thoughts, brother.  They would not let me sleep."

I was shaken by a profound revulsion of feeling.  It came over me
that I had never fully appreciated the extreme degree of the mental
suffering to which he had been exposed.

"Your sorrow is great," I acknowledged, "but sure you know that she
for whom you mourn----"

"She is a sick soul," he said.  "She has offended the Great Spirit,
and he has permitted Ha-ne-go-ate-geh to cast his shadow over her.
But some day she will have performed the penance Ha-wen-ne-yu asks of
her, and in that day he will permit Ta-wan-ne-ars to reclaim her."

"I hope so," I replied, stunned by the amazing confidence in eternal
justice, the Christian charity, of this man who was, properly
speaking, a lettered savage.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars knows it," he asserted confidently.  "But I can not
help thinking of the wickedness of my enemy."

His hand flew to his knife-hilt.

"I am confident of what will come, but I sorrow over what has been
and is."

"I wish I had not spared him when his life was in my hand," I cried.

"My brother did not know," answered Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "And already then
the harm was done, the evil was sowed, the soul was corrupted."

He smiled gravely.

"Your search is ended, brother," he added.

"What do you mean?"

"The soul you sought has been found.  It is no longer sick."

"Mayhap," I agreed, "but none the less 'tis out of reach and in great
danger."

"We shall save it," he encouraged me.  "Ta-wan-ne-ars knows.  We must
wait.  The time will come."

He refused again to sleep, and we ate the remainder of the
turkey--our hunger was prodigious--and pushed on, traveling most of
the night.  Not once did we see a trace of the Keepers, and when we
halted Ta-wan-ne-ars said that we were on the marches of the
hunting-grounds of the Mohawks.  We slept together the remainder of
that night, without a fire and on the top of a steep rock which was
set with boulders which the foot of any climber must set in motion.

In the late morning we killed a rabbit, broiled and ate it and
tramped the virgin forest until long past sunset.  That day we
ventured to discharge our firearms, and to my vast pride I killed a
small deer.  The following afternoon we caught our first view of the
inland sea from a height of land, and the next morning we sighted the
stockade of Oswego, the fort which Governor Burnet had established on
the shores of the lake in his effort to divert the far-western
fur-trade from the French posts.

The gate was closed, but as we approached it opened, and an enormous,
pot-bellied figure in buckskin and fur cap sauntered out to meet us.

"Ja, idt is you," Corlaer hailed us.  "I knew that Joncaire was oop
to another of his tricks."

"What do you mean?" I asked as he turned to walk back beside us, his
fat face as solemn as ever.

"I hafe hadt a scare," he said.  "I came back to De-o-nun-da-ga-a
from a hundting-party to find a Tahsagrondie messenger from Joncaire
who says he is to tell me you fooled der Gofernor of Jagara, but now
you are caught andt hafe gone to La Vierge du Bois.  Andt der
Tahsagrondie says Joncaire is sorry.  Ha, ha!  I thought it was a
funny message."

"Funny mayhap," I replied feelingly.  "But 'twas amazingly true."

Ta-wan-ne-ars nodded confirmation, and for an instant I thought
Corlaer was going to betray surprize.  But he shut his gaping mouth
with resolution.

"What has happened?" he demanded.  "I hafe come here to scout der
Doom Trail andt learn how you diedt--andt you are alife."

So we told him, whilst the lieutenant in command of the post and his
garrison of twenty lusty frontiersmen gathered in a knot to listen
over each other's shoulders.

"Budt--budt," expostulated Peter, "you hafe been in La Vierge du
Bois!"

"True."

"Budt nobody has efer been in La Vierge du Bois----"

"And come out alive," I amended.  "I fear many poor souls have been
sacrificed by those fiendish priests."

"Andt you fooled Joncaire!" repeated Peter admiringly.

'Twas that indeed which pleased him most.  He insisted upon our
repeating the tale with all details, and I believe he would have
required a third account had it not been for the interruption which
came during the afternoon.

We were sitting in the commandant's quarters on the upper floor of
the block-house when the sentries on the stockade announced a large
fleet of canoes approaching from the west.  The lieutenant promptly
issued orders to get out the trade-goods, and prepared for an
impressive reception of the savages, deeming them emissaries of some
tribe come to exchange their fur-catch of the Winter.

But the leading canoes held on past the fort, and none of those which
followed gave indication of intent to steer inshore.

"Hafe you a canoe?" asked Corlaer of the bewildered lieutenant.
"_Ja_?  Well, my friendts andt I will go andt ask what this means."

We launched the canoe from the water-gate, and with Peter and
Ta-wan-ne-ars at the paddles, sped out into the lake.  Some distance
from shore we overhauled the rear squadron of the fleet, every canoe
loaded deep with packages of furs.

"Ho, brothers," called Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "Who are you?"

The nearest canoe hove to.

"We are Necariagues," answered a paddler.  "In front of us are
Ottawas and Missisakies."

"The Chief of the English fort, who commands here in the name of
Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, invites you to come ashore and trade with him."

Up stood a large, stout man with lanky black hair, dressed in the
uniform of the French marine troops, who had been ensconced behind a
bale of furs.

"Ha, 'tis my friend from Arles," he shouted, "and his companion, the
noble warchief!  So the Keepers did not keep you?"

"No, Monsieur de Joncaire," I replied.  "We are still alive to plague
you."

"_Venire St. Remi_, 'tis not sorry I am!  Try it again, my lad.  Only
try it again!"

"And what are you doing with these people?"

He roared with laughter.

"No more than shepherding them past the temptations of this English."

Ta-wan-ne-ars called again to the Indians in the canoes.

"Come ashore, brothers.  We have rich goods to trade with you."

"We do not need to trade with the English," replied the Necariague
who had spoken before.  "We are glad we can trade with our fathers,
the French.  They have plenty of goods to offer us.  Onontio has sent
word he will pay better than the English now."

"Ha, ha, ha," exploded Joncaire.  "Ho, ho, ho!  _Mort de ma vie_!
_Tonerr-rr-re de Dieu_!  'Tis an odd world!  The boot is on the other
leg, Monsieur l'Arlesien!

"Present my compliments to Monsieur Burnet, Peter Corlaer.  You may
tell him I am not so discouraged as I once was.  No, no, many things
have happened.

"_Au revoir_--and avoid the Keepers.  Avoid the keepers by all means.
I am told they keep a strict watch upon the Doom Trail these days."

His paddlers dipped their blades, and his bellows of laughter were
wafted back to us as his canoe followed the fur argosy down the lake
toward the French posts on the St. Lawrence--posts whose magazines
were already beginning to swell with the life-blood of English trade
which was pouring over the Doom Trail.




XXI

A SCOUT OF THREE

"We must scout the Doom Trail," I said as we carried the canoe
through the water-gate and deposited it within the stockade.  "I will
write the governor at once of affairs at Jagara and La Vierge du
Bois.  But this last business makes it necessary he should have sure
intelligence of what passes to Canada."

"_Ja_," agreed Corlaer slowly.  "Budt I hafe another scheme we might
try first--tonight."

"What?"

He surveyed the scores of dwindling canoes, their silvery birchen
sides agleam in the sunlight, their dripping paddle-blades shining as
the paddlers drove them along.

"They will make camp by sunset at der point of der three rocks.  Am I
right, Ta-wan-ne-ars?"

The Seneca assented.

"That is eight--ten--miles from here.  _Ja_, we can make it."

"Make what?" I asked impatiently.

"Der distance.  Andt my plan."

"What plan, man?"

"To put der grin on der other side of Joncaire's face, by ----!  Now
you listen."

And he outlined an undertaking which seemed absurdly simple until I
chanced to look up and see that fleet of canoes clouding the eastern
horizon of the lake.

"They are too many for us," I objected.

"_Ja_, if they know we come," he admitted.  "Budt they do not.  Andt
I hafe seen brandy-kegs in among der furs."

"It is well worth trying," said Ta-wan-ne-ars deliberately.  "If it
succeeds it will set back the plans of Onontio and Murray."

"Andt if it does not, then you tell der Gofernor Peter Corlaer tried
once too often to get der joke back on Joncaire."

With which sage comment, Peter took himself off to arrange with the
post commandant for drawing certain supplies we should require for
this new expedition.

Two hours later an express left Oswego with dispatches for Governor
Burnet, describing the situation at Jagara and our experiences at La
Vierge du Bois, as well as the passage of Joncaire's argosy of furs,
the greatest haul which had so far been made by either country that
year on the frontier.  Before the gate was slammed shut again we
three slipped out and waved good-by to the garrison on the walls.

We traveled parallel with the shore of the lake and made no effort to
set a fast pace.  Ta-wan-ne-ars and I were still tired from our
exertions in escaping the hellish abode of the False Faces.  We were
glad to halt when we glimpsed the glow of fires on the beach ahead of
us.

From this point our advance was more cautious, and we parted company
with Corlaer in some bushes, whence we could distinguish figures
dancing around the flames and hear the distant yells of the guests of
Joncaire as they caroused on his thoughtful provision of brandy.  The
Dutchman stripped to his belt.  Ta-wan-ne-ars relieved him of his
musket, powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and I shouldered his clothes
and pack.

"By der blasted pine--a goodt mile beyondt der other side," whispered
Peter as he waded into the water.

"You are sure you can stay afloat so long!" I asked with some
misgiving.

"_Ja_," he said scornfully.  "When you hear a noise like a fish
rising three times, that is Peter."

He settled knife and tomahawk against either thigh, slung a spare
flask of powder beside them, sank forward to his chin and began to
cleave the water with powerful, overhand strokes.

"A merry evening to you," I called gently.

A grunt was my answer.

"We must hurry, brother," admonished Ta-wan-ne-ars.

He started off at right angles with the path we had been following,
and we fetched a circle around the group of fires, coming ultimately
to a high point above the shore half a mile beyond them.  Here we
rested, both because our weariness was very great and because we
desired to witness Peter's exploit, and, if need be, be prepared to
aid him.

It was past midnight, and the fires had burned low and the
brandy-drinkers soaked themselves stupid.  Not a sound came to us,
except for the calling of a wolf from the heavy timber inshore and
the croaking of water-birds.

'Twas Ta-wan-ne-ars' eagle vision which saw the danger-signal.  He
gripped my arm.

"Look, brother," he hissed.

I looked, and a flame spurted upward between the fires and the water.
There was a sharp explosion.  A long minute elapsed, and then a
chorus of excited yells rose, dropped and was sustained.

The flame mounted higher, and we could see figures running this way
and that in confusion.  A musket barked.  Others echoed it.

"They saw him in the water," remarked Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"Do you think he escaped?" I asked.

"We should hear the scalp-yell if he was taken or killed.  Hark!
They still babble like animals."

We listened for ten minutes, and whilst the yelling continued, with
intermittent shooting, there was nothing to indicate triumph or
satisfaction.  In the meantime the flames which Peter had kindled,
after flourishing grandly, gradually died out as the awakened savages
removed those canoes which had not caught fire and threw water on
such as were only smoldering.

We waited another five minutes to make sure the search did not trend
in our direction, but the bewildered tools of Joncaire were convinced
the attack had come from Oswego and the shouting and firing shifted
away from us toward the fort.  So we picked up our burdens and
descended between boulders and stunted trees to a little bay which
was marked by the shattered stump of a pine.

Half an hour passed uneventfully.  Then the steady lapping of the
water against the beach was disturbed by the splash a fish makes in
rising.  It was repeated twice.  Ta-wan-ne-ars leaned over and
splashed the water thrice with his hand.  A grunt boomed out of the
darkness.  Ripples spread in a widening circle, and a huge form
stepped noiselessly ashore, ignoring our helping hands.

"Oof, that was a goodt joke on Joncaire," muttered Peter.  "Some
canoes I smash with der ax andt some I blow up with der powder andt
more are burnedt.  Where are my clothes?  I am soaked like der
muskrat.  _Ja_, when we get to der woods I findt me a bear and gife
myself a rub with grease.  I hafe bubbles under my skin."

"You were long in coming," said Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "My brother is not
hurt?"

"_Nein, nein_.  Those drunken swine couldt not hit me.  I swam far
oudt andt at der first up der lake to fool them.  Then I turned andt
swam back under der water.  Ooof, what a swim!  I tell you I hafe
bubbles under my skin!  _Ja_!"

"Did you damage them much?" I asked eagerly.

Peter suspended the operation of struggling into his shirt and
chuckled shrilly.

"I wouldt gife much to see der face of that Joncaire when he counts
his canoes andt der fur-packs he has left.  Twice now we get der joke
on him."

Wet as he was, with the water dripping from his lank hair, he
insisted upon quitting that dangerous locality at once.  We tramped
across country until the sun was high, and we stumbled upon an
isolated family of Onondagas, who made us free of their _ga-no-sote_.
They relieved Peter's principal want by furnishing him bear's grease,
with which he anointed himself vigorously before sleeping.

We spent two days with these people, recuperating in preparation for
the stern task ahead of us.  After parting with them we continued in
leisurely fashion eastward, keeping well to the north of the Great
Trail of the Long House and avoiding as much as possible contact with
the Onondagas, Oneidas and Mohawks whose countries we traversed.
Some ten days after leaving Oswego we found ourselves on the verge of
that untracked domain which was roamed by the Keepers of the Doom
Trail.

Here we paused to take counsel with one another.

"Somewhere this side of the Mohawk the Trail begins," said
Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "Shall we follow the river and scout for signs there?"

"'Tis there the Keepers must be most vigilant," I suggested.

"_Ja_," spoke up Peter, "andt if we do not come to harm, yet Murray
will know we watch."

"What then?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"Let us scout der country well back from der river.  You know aboudt
where lies La Vierge du Bois.  It shouldt not be difficult to strike
der line of der Trail."

This plan we agreed upon, and, so that we might not be constrained to
use our muskets in the forbidden territory, we obtained from a Mohawk
village a quantity of jerked meat and parched corn mixed with maple
sugar ample to sustain us for a week or more.  And in order to assure
that our departure would be free from the observation of spies we
left our last camp after dark and in two parties, Ta-wan-ne-ars and
myself going in one direction and Peter in another.

Our meeting-place was a grove on the bank of a creek, one of the
tributaries of the Mohawk.  We reached it without observation, and
lay in concealment most of the day, starting again in the late
afternoon and moving warily through the forest, following no
particular course, but addressing ourselves rather to the effacement
of all evidence of our passage.

We discovered nothing, and the next day and many others went by with
no better luck.  Sometimes we encountered the slots of deer or bear,
and the woodcraft of my comrades would be baffled temporarily until
they had proved beyond doubt that the trace was not used by human
feet.  Once we came upon signs of old encampments, and diligently
scouted the vicinity, only to be convinced they were the relics of
some casual hunting-party.

Our provisions were exhausted, and we were compelled to live from
hand to mouth upon such game as Ta-wan-ne-ars could snare or kill
with his tomahawk--and certes he was wondrous proficient in both
arts.  But we kept on, bearing always eastward and quartering the
country in every direction.  Game there was in plenty, sure testimony
that man seldom came here; dense underbrush linked the towering
trunks; there was not so much as a footprint in hundreds of square
miles to reveal human occupancy.

Yet in the very midst of this deserted wilderness we came upon what
we sought.  We had abandoned the headwaters of the Mohawk and were
following one of its middle branches, a shallow stream with pebbly,
shelving banks, wading close inshore so as not to disturb the
close-growing shrubbery.  We all saw it simultaneously--a tattered,
weather-stained fragment of canvas, caught on a snag in the current.
I fished it out with my musket-barrel.

"A pack-cofer," declared Peter immediately.

"And safely identified," I added, putting my finger on an
unmistakable thistle in green paint with three-quarters of a letter
"M" above it.

A mile farther on Ta-wan-ne-ars exclaimed and pointed upward to the
trunk of a tall elm.  Partly shaded by the foliage of the lower
boughs a deep blaze was revealed in the bark.

We waded ashore and investigated.  The underbrush was as thick as
elsewhere, but presently Peter gave a heave with his bull-like
shoulders and a whole section of growths, which had been laced
together with vines on a backing of boughs, lifted gate-fashion.
Beyond stretched a narrow alley, whose carpet of grass showed it to
be seldom traveled.

"If this be not the Doom Trail 'tis worth a look none the less," I
whispered.

Peter nodded, and slipped through the opening.  I followed him, and
Ta-wan-ne-ars brought up the rear.

Here in this hidden path the forest noises became remote.  Even the
birds ceased to twitter overhead, and the slightest stirring of the
treetops made us drop to earth in expectancy of attack.  Yet when the
attack came we were taken completely by surprize.

We had progressed some five miles from the beginning of the trail,
and had reached a point where it forked--or perhaps I should say was
joined by a second trail.  At any rate the united trails continued
into a beaver swamp, where they disappeared.  We scouted the swamp,
but could see no signs of a path across it; and Peter led the way to
the right, intending to encircle it.

The beavers had thinned the timber hereabout and cut down most of the
brushwood, so that we walked at ease between wide-spaced trunks.  We
were all of us alert, but the first warning that we were under
observation was a green-feathered arrow which sang between Peter and
me and buried its head in the ground.

"Don'dt fire, whatefer you do," muttered Peter as he threw himself
behind the nearest trunk.

Ta-wan-ne-ars and I copied his example.  I found myself on the right
of the three.  The others had selected standing trunks.  I had
chosen, perforce, a fallen giant which some forest wind had
overthrown.  I crawled along the trunk into the tangle of roots, and
from there gained a clump of bushes growing about the hole from which
it had been torn.  I could see Ta-wan-ne-ars crouched behind his
trunk, with his musket beside him and his tomahawk in his hand.
Peter was concealed from view.

The green-feathered arrow had ceased quivering and I idly followed
the angle of its inclination.  My eyes traveled forward--and focused
upon a hideous painted face which peered from a screen of sumac.

The watcher motioned behind him, and a second painted visage glided
to his side.  Ta-wan-ne-ars, seeking to draw their fire, thrust out
the end of his scalp-lock, and the first watcher instantly drew bow
and sent an arrow that grazed the trunk.

Nothing happened for a while.  The Keepers waited, and Ta-wan-ne-ars
and Peter remained under cover.  I surveyed the situation.  From the
hole in which I lay a depression of the ground ran eastward past the
lair of the Cahnuagas in the sumac clump.  I started to crawl up it,
dragging my musket after me, but before I had gone a dozen feet I was
obliged to abandon the gun in order to insure that my progress should
be silent.

Ta-wan-ne-ars, aware that I was up to something, called to Peter, and
the two of them executed a series of feints which kept the Keepers
occupied.  When I was parallel with the sumac clump I sought shelter
under a patch of wild blackberry-bushes.  Cautiously parting my
screen--which was exceedingly thorny and painful--I was able to view
the Keepers from the rear.  They were ensconced in what was evidently
a permanent sentry-post.  Beyond the sumacs was a low bark hut masked
with boughs.  At their feet were muskets.  The bows they held were
employed for the purpose of adding mystery to their attack.

So accustomed were the Keepers to the overpowering spell of the Doom
Trail, which weakened the nerves of all trespassers, that they were
wholly confident of the success of their tactics in first frightening
us and afterward running us down at pleasure.  They stood behind the
sumac screen, their bushy feather head-dresses close together, grins
of anticipation cracking the paint on their evil faces.

I worked myself a little more in rear of their position, then rose
quietly and drew knife and tomahawk.  I was an amateur at casting the
ax, but this was no time for hesitation.  I flung it with all my
might, and yelled the nearest approach I could compass to the
war-whoop.

The tomahawk struck one of the Keepers with the flat of its blade,
felling him.  The other savage turned quickly and loosed his arrow at
me, aiming wide in his confusion.  He stooped for his musket, but I
was on him with my knife and he was forced to leap back and meet me
on even terms.  Ta-wan-ne-ars and Peter came running between the
trees, whooping encouragement.

They arrived in the nick of time, for the Cahnuaga I had tried to
tomahawk was on his feet, ready to shoot me as I dodged the
knife-blade of his mate.  The Seneca brained this man with the butt
of his gun, and Peter methodically tripped my adversary and helped me
pinion him.

Ta-wan-ne-ars paused long enough to remove what was left of the scalp
of his victim, then crossed to us and set his bloody knife to the
throat of the survivor.

"Is it to be torture or a quick death, Cahnuaga dog!" he demanded.

The red eyes of the Keeper glared at him.  "Death," the man spat, and
strove to gnaw at the hands which held him.

"Then speak truly.  Who travels Doom Trail today?"

"Nobody.  We watch always."

Ta-wan-ne-ars pricked him slightly.

"You watch always," assented the Seneca.  "Yes.  And who comes?"

A shout echoed through the forest aisles.  The red eyes of the
Cahnuaga flared exultantly.  His mouth opened.

"Yaaa-aaaa-aaa-ah--"

Ta-wan-ne-ars drove his point home, and the scream ended in an awful
bubbling gasp.

The shout was repeated.




XXII

WE MEET RED DEATH AND BLACK DEATH

The crashing of branches sounded as some heavy body ran along the
Doom Trail.

"Did ye hear that screech?" shouted a rough voice.

"Yaas, Red, me hear him.  He bery much like feller feel something he
not like."

Peter nudged me, and Ta-wan-ne-ars seized the bow and quiver of one
of the dead Keepers.  We crouched beside the bodies behind the sumac
screen.  My gun was still where I had left it in the gully by which I
had approached the lair of the watchers.  In its stead I selected the
musket of the man the Seneca had just knifed.

"Funny they don't answer us--'nless that was an answer we heard,"
continued the rough voice.  "Give 'em another hail in their own
lingo."

A third voice was raised--in the Cahnuaga dialect, which was a
corruption of the Iroquois speech and perfectly understandable to my
comrades.

"_Qua_, O Keepers who watch," shouted the third speaker.  "We
acquaint you that we approach.  We have with us the Red One and the
Black One."

We remained quiet, but Peter possessed himself of the gun of the
second Cahnuaga and placed it where he could reach it as soon as his
own piece was discharged.

"That's ---- funny, Tom," called the first speaker, who was plainly
Bolling.

"Yaas, him ---- ---- funny," answered the negro.

They were approaching over the trail which forked into the one we had
followed from the stream with the pebbly banks.  And at this point
apparently they came to the junction of the two branches.

"Hullo," commented Bolling's great voice--he spoke habitually in a
roar.  "Somebody come by this way."

"Mebbe them Keepers go look for us the other way," suggested Tom.

"Mought be so, but I ain't figgerin' on takin' no chances with them
green arrows.  French put the Injuns up to dippin' the points in
rattlesnake p'ison, and I seed them try it on a poor devil of a
Mohican they gathered in.  I ain't hankerin' to die in no
snake-snarl."

The Indian who had shouted before repeated his hail.

"Them Keepers done gone away, Red," declared Tom.  "Mebbe some
Maquas[1] come dis way.  The Keepers chase 'em out o' hyuh."


[1] Hostile term for Mohawks.


"----!  I'm agoin' to find out," returned Bolling.

He trotted out of the mouth of the trail into the open space on the
brink of the muskrat swamp.

"Nobody here," he called back after a casual look around.  "Guess you
was right, Tom.  The Keepers got after somebody--or else the lazy
dogs have turned in for a sleep.  I'll find out later for sure.  Now
you rustle them packs up, and I'll get the dugout ready."

He dragged a canoe hollowed from a tree-trunk from its hiding-place
in a bed of reeds, and produced two paddles from the prostrate trunk
of a hollow tree.  But we paid scant attention to him.  Our eyes were
fastened upon the odd procession which emerged from the trail in
obedience to his summons.

First walked the negro Tom, a huge pack bowing his enormous
shoulders.  After the negro, in single file, came eight Cahnuagas,
each with a large pack braced on a _ga-ne-ko-na-ah_, or burden frame.
They carried their muskets in their hands.

"We've got to hurry if we're goin' to get everything ferried over the
swamp tonight," grumbled Bolling.  "Waall, what's bitin' you?"

This question was addressed to a Cahnuaga who, in unslinging his
burden-frame, had chanced to see the arrow in the ground which the
Keepers had shot in their first attempt to bait us.

The Cahnuaga pointed silently to the green-feathered shaft.

"By ----!" swore Bolling with a start.  "D'ye see that, Tom?"

The negro dropped his pack and shook some fresh priming into the pan
of his musket.

"Nobody nebber done come here befo'," he said dubiously.  "Howcome
dat arrow dere, Red?"

"---- it, how the ---- do I know?  I want to tell you this ain't no
joke.  Something's happened here."

Bolling glanced about him uneasily.

"The Keepers have gone, that's sure," he announced.  "What most
likely happened was some party broke in here, and the Keepers chased
'em."

He chuckled wickedly.

"Ain't no blood nor nothin' around, so it 'pears likely the Keepers
got the jump on 'em."

Ta-wan-ne-ars, who had been occupied in extracting arrows from a
quiver and setting them in a row before him with points lightly
thrust into the ground, now notched a shaft.

"Shall we begin, brothers?" he whispered.  "Hold your fire until I
run out of arrows."

"Ja," agreed Peter.  "Budt do not shoot Red Jack or der nigger.  We
will safe them if we can."

"You can take on the negro," I spoke up.  "Leave Bolling to me."

Peter looked doubtful.

"He is a goodt knife-fighter," he commenced to argue; but
Ta-wan-ne-ars chose that moment to open his bombardment, and the
Dutchman's remonstrance went for naught.

A green arrow streaked across the grove and buried its barbed bone
head in the chest of one of the Cahnuagas.  The man shrieked and tore
at the shaft with his hands.  His companions scattered right and
left.  But Ta-wan-ne-ars gave them no respite.  His shafts filled the
air.  The green arrows drove into the packs, quivered in tree-trunks,
pierced another unfortunate.

"Are ye crazy?" shouted Bolling at the strangely hostile sumac clump.
"Don't ye see----"

"It's dem ---- False Faces," cried Tom, dancing with rage.  "Dey got
some hocus-pocus up.  Fire at 'em."

Thus adjured, the Cahnuagas let off a ragged volley which whistled
over our heads.  Ta-wan-ne-ars discharged the last of his arrows and
reached for his musket.  At the same moment Peter fired, and I tailed
him.  We saw two of the Indians collapse.  Peter caught up his second
musket and he and Ta-wan-ne-ars shot again.  'Twas impossible to
miss.  Besides Bolling and Tom, only two of the enemy were left.

"Knife and hatchet for the rest," said Ta-wan-ne-ars grimly.  "Are my
brothers ready?"

Peter answered him with the Iroquois war-whoop, and we sprang from
the sumac clump, dodging right and left through the tree-trunks.

"Here they come," yelled Bolling in warning.

He fired his musket, and I felt the wind of its bullet on my cheek.
Tom shot with no better results.  The two surviving Cahnuagas threw
away their guns and fled.

"I will take care of them, brothers," shouted Ta-wan-ne-ars, casting
aside his own musket.  "One Seneca against two Cahnuagas--that should
be fair odds."

He put on speed as he spoke, waved his hand and was gone, running
like a greyhound after the two frightened savages, who were scurrying
around the swamp.

The field was left to Peter and me and the two ruffians whom the
frontier called Red Death and Black Death.  They seemed nothing loath
to meet us.

"Ho, ho, ho," roared Bolling.  "D'ye see who it is, Tom?"

The negro's apelike face was distorted by a grin which showed his
yellow tusks.  His wicked little eyes gleamed ferociously.

"Massa Murray done goin' to gib us a heap o' presents fo' this," he
answered.  "Ah reckon mebbe we get all der rum we wants to drink."

"Waall, I will," chuckled Bolling, "but you won't."

Tom slobbered like an animal regretting its inability to eat
sufficiently.

"Ah'm aimin' to try," he said.

"There ain't enough," returned Bolling.  "Waall, young feller"--this
to me--"was you intendin' to amuse me some!"

"I'm intending to let a little clean air into your dirty skin," I
answered.

He threw back his head as if much amused.

"Ho, ho, ho!  Now ain't you got the smart way o' puttin' things!
Young feller, I'll tell yer what: you're too good for the frontier.
You----"

As quick as lightning, and without an indication in advance to warn
me, he flung his tomahawk at my head.  I saw it coming, and
instinctively did the only thing possible to save myself--raised my
own ax to guard.  Bolling's hatchet struck mine and knocked it from
my hand, leaving my arm sore and tingling.

"You wasn't expectin' that, was you?" he gibed.  "Waall, young
feller, there's a heap o' other things you ain't expectin', but
they're a-goin' to happen.  Yes, right now.  You watch."

He poised himself on the balls of his feet, and pranced around me,
his big, double-edged scalping-knife held ready in his right hand.

"I'm aimin' to carve you, my lad," he warned me.  "You ain't got the
chance a squirrel has ag'in an eagle.  There ain't a knife-fighter in
these parts can stand up to me.  D'ye know what they call me?"

"The Red Death," I said.  "And I am going to redden more than your
hair."

"Ho, ho, ho!  The cockerel can crow!  Boy, I'm 'most ready to be
sorry for ye.  I feel that bloody-minded I ain't got no mercy left at
all.

"It ain't just that I'm a-goin' to kill ye, ye understand.  That
wouldn't be so bad.  But no, I'm goin' to take my time about it and
carve ye up first--bit by bit.  I'll take a little off en your arm
first.  Like that!"

He made a sudden leap, but I had been watching his eye, as the
fencing-masters taught us to watch an opponent with the
small-swords--and knife-fighting is much like sword-play in this
respect--and I was prepared for him.  I jumped backward, and his
knife-point jabbed the sod underfoot.  He was on his feet again in a
second.

"Thought ye was smart, eh?" he snarled, his ugly face a blaze of
ferocity.  "Waall, for that, I'll torment ye the longer.  Take this
now!"

He attacked me with a peculiar sweeping blow that was aimed at my
shoulder, but fell at the level of the waist.  Had it passed my
guard, 'twould have disemboweled me.  I parried his blade with mine,
and struck back for the first time with such venom that he leaped
away in alarm.

The suspension in his attack gave me opportunity to glance over my
shoulder toward the edge of the swamp, where Peter and the negro were
circling each other warily, tomahawks poised for throwing.

The sight put an idea in my mind.  I remembered my duel with the
Cahnuaga in the glade by the Great Trail and the discovery that he
was at a disadvantage when I used the knife as I had learned to use
the sword.  I promptly shifted my grip on the knife-hilt and held it
straight before me as if it were a rapier.  At the same time I
inclined my other arm behind me to balance it.  Bolling viewed this
manoeuvre with derision.

"Ye pore babby," he sneered.  "Think ye can meet a knife-fighter like
me with one arm?  Or fight me off with the point?  I'll show ye."

He charged upon me like a battering-ram, his knife a whirling point
of steel, its broad blade slashing in both directions.  I retired
slowly, anxious to increase his self-confidence.

"Stand up to me!" he yelled finally.  "Be ye feared?"

I laughed at this, and it made him furious.  He stamped around me,
slashing and stabbing, and it was several minutes before he
discovered that however viciously he struck I was always able to
parry him with an economy of effort.  I kept my point in the
restricted circle which the experts of fence decree to be the most
potent guard.

Breathing heavily, he retreated several paces and stood, glaring at
me, his knife upraised.

"You don't understand, Bolling, do you?" I mocked him.

"Understand what, ye ---- swine?" he ripped.

"Fighting the way gentlemen fight."

"Ye call that a gentleman's way!" he laughed harshly.  "I call it a
coward's way!  Why don't ye take the edge?"

"I will if you'll take the point," I retorted.

"Come on," he proffered, and he crept forward like a huge cat, feet
spread wide, shoulders crouched, knife a menacing flame.

Somewhat to his surprize I did not give ground to him this time, but
met him squarely as he advanced.  My arm was extended, full-length,
tipped with a good ten inches of steel.  He struck, and I parried his
blow.  He slashed, and I put it aside.  He struck again, and I almost
succeeded in twisting his blade from his hand by an old trick of the
_salle des armes_.  But my knife was not long enough to get the
necessary purchase with it.

"Why don't ye fight fair?" he growled, wringing his arm.

"Why don't you?" I returned.

He charged with wonderful celerity, dropped to his knee and slashed
upward so effectively that his point cut the skirt of my leather
shirt.

"I'll get ye yet," he howled with glee.

But I refuse to be intimidated.  Indeed, I was no longer doubtful of
the issue.  I knew that I could outfight him or any fighter of his
caliber by my adaptation of sword-play to knife-fighting.

I leaped upon him by way of answer, and pressed the fighting.  He
yielded ground to me, seeking to retreat into the woods by the trail;
but I rounded him up and herded him steadily toward the edge of the
swamp.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peter fling his tomahawk at Tom and
Tom hurl his knife in reply.  Then my opponent shifted ground once
more, and I was occupied in driving him back in the direction I meant
him to go.  We hovered nearer and nearer to the swamp edge, and
Bolling's breath began to come in labored gasps.

I shortened our fighting-range, and gave him the point, drawing blood
occasionally.  He kept his head down, and parried desperately, trying
to escape to one side, but I was on him so swiftly that he was afraid
of a blow from the rear, and must needs stand to defend himself.  At
last he stood on the very brink of the morass, with no avenue of
escape open.

I paused a moment.

"How will you die, my friend?" I asked.  "You can smother to death if
you prefer it."

His answer was a bellow of insensate rage and his knife, thrown
point-first at my chest.  By sheer luck I caught its point on my
hilt, turned it aside and met his rush.  He wrapped his arms around
me, intent on carrying me with him into the ooze and slime.  But I
stabbed him to the heart before his bear's hug was completed, and he
fell away from me, arms spread wide, and lay in a noisome heap by the
tussocks of marsh grass.

I stood over him, panting from my exertions, when a shout from
Ta-wan-ne-ars attracted my attention.  The Seneca was returning from
his pursuit of the two Cahnuagas.  He shouted again, and pointed
behind me.  I turned to see Peter and the negro locked in each
other's arms, and as I looked, Tom heaved Peter into the air and
sought to throw him.  But Peter locked his legs around the negro's
waist, and they rolled over and over across the ground.

I reached them just as they struggled to their feet, grips unrelaxed.
Peter warned me off.

"Standt clear," he croaked.  "I finish this myself."

Certes, nobody but Peter could have finished it.  The negro's
strength was colossal.  His arms were half again as long as Peter's
and Peter was a big man.  The negro's shoulder and back muscles were
iron bands--we afterward estimated the pack he had been carrying at
three hundred weight and a half.  He fought like a wildcat, with
teeth and nails and legs.  But Peter met him phlegmatically, refusing
to be angered by the vilest attempt.

Once, whilst Ta-wan-ne-ars and I stood by, Peter tried to break his
back.  Any other man's back would have been broken.  A second time
Tom rolled the Dutchman on the ground and clawed at his eyes; but
Peter kept one arm across them and escaped with bleeding cheeks.
Again, Peter rose up to his full height and jolted the negro down
upon his head.  It seemed as if the fellow's neck must break if his
skull resisted the shock.  Yet he bounded to his feet unhurt, and
with a swift look around made a dash for liberty, which Ta-wan-ne-ars
and I headed off.

Then Peter closed with him.  They had torn the clothing from each
other's shoulders and flanks.  They dripped blood.  Their skins shone
with sweat.  Their chests heaved with the effort for breath.

Tom stooped and flung his arms around Peter's waist, driving his head
for the Dutchman's loins.  Peter retaliated by bringing up his knee
against the negro's chin.  Tom reeled back, and Peter swooped upon
him.  One arm hooked Tom's waist, the other caught him by the neck.

Dazed and with a mouthful of shattered teeth, Tom struggled feebly,
but without avail.  Peter twisted him, bore him to the ground,
shifted grip rapidly, drove his knee into the quivering belly and
throttled the life out of the black throat.

"So I make an endt of him," panted the Dutchman as he staggered to
his feet.

"Aye, we have made an end to Red Death and Black Death," I answered.

"And I slew the two who ran," added Ta-wan-ne-ars, touching two
scalps whose clustered feathers protruded from his belt.

"A clean sweep," I said.  "There will be none to carry the tale to La
Vierge du Bois."

"That is ever the criminal's belief," interrupted a voice in French.

We spun round in amazement to face a gaunt figure in the black habit
of the Jesuits.

"Black Robe!" exclaimed Peter.

Ta-wan-ne-ars glowered at the priest.

"What do you do here, Père Hyacinthe?" I asked in French.

"What is that to you?" he snapped.  "I go about my Father's business;
that is sufficient for the bloody-minded to know."

"If you will look at me closer, father, you will recognize my face,"
I answered.  "Surely one has the right of vengeance upon those who
would torture one."

He peered at me.

"You and the Indian were at La Vierge du Bois," he said.  "Yes, I
remember now.  Did the light shine in your eyes, my son?"

"Not the light you mean, but I saw much evil which went on there
behind your back."

"What?" he demanded.

I told him of the Moon Feast and the False Face rites and started to
reveal the duplicity of de Veulle.

"Tell me no more," he interrupted with a sigh.  "'Tis already hard to
bear these burdens my unworthy shoulders carry.  I cry out now and
again, 'How long, O Lord, how long?'  But what bloody business have
you done here?  Are your skirts clear that you should assail the poor
savages, who still relapse to superstition!"

"You say nothing of the Chevalier de Veulle," I commented.

"The man is your enemy," he returned shrewdly.  "I do not think your
judgment is unbiased."

Ta-wan-ne-ars raised his tomahawk, implacable hatred in his face.

"This man is leagued with the priests of evil," he said.  "He is at
one with Murray.  Let us made an end of him."

Peter, methodically retrieving his clothing and equipment, grunted
assent.

"No, no," I intervened.  "'Tis not fair to judge him by his
associates.  Let him go."

"He will only carry word of what has passed to Murray," objected
Ta-wan-ne-ars.

I touched my forehead.

"He hath gone through the torture twice," I said.  "I think the Great
Spirit has set his seal upon him."

Ta-wan-ne-ars sheathed his ax.  Peter, saturated as he was with
Indian lore, nodded his head.

"Let him go," said the Dutchman curtly.  "It don't matter if Murray
knows we hafe found der trail.  Sooner or later he hears of this
killing anyhow."

I turned to the priest.

"You are free to go, father," I said.

He laughed mockingly.

"Yes, free, but I do not need your word for it.  I go when the Word
calls me, and I come when It calls me--and none stays me."

He raised a crucifix on high as he spoke.  His eye chanced to fall
upon the bodies scattered on the verge of the swamp.

"Do these poor souls require Christian burial!" he asked.

"They were devil-worshipers, father," I said.

He hesitated, then muttered several prayers in Latin and made the
sign of the cross in the air.  Without another word he turned on his
heel and disappeared into the woods, following the route around the
swamp which Ta-wan-ne-ars had taken.




XXIII

GOVERNOR BURNET IS DEFIED

'Twas early Autumn when we returned to Albany.  The leaves were
coloring, and there was a nip of frost in the air.  The flag over the
battlements of Fort Orange stood out straight from its staff.  The
citizens who thronged the street leading up to the fort gate must
needs hold on to their hat-brims.

"Are the streets usually so crowded?" I asked Peter.

He shook his head, and I accosted a tavernkeeper who stood in his
doorway, regarding the passers-by with anticipation of the harvest he
would reap later.

"'Tis his Excellency the governor," he explained.  "Master Burnet is
come up-river from New York town this morning."

"What is toward?"

"I know not, my master.  The governor and Master Colden of his
Council have summoned certain gentry and merchants and the officers
of the troops to meet them in the Great Hall of the fort this
afternoon."

I thanked him, and passed on.

"Here is great luck for us!" I exclaimed to Corlaer and
Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "We are saved the trip down-river."

"_Ja_," grunted Peter.

Ta-wan-ne-ars smiled.

"Does my brother already surrender to the spell of the wilderness?"
he inquired.

I started, for indeed the Seneca's uncanny inward vision had
perceived the question I was then debating in my own mind.

"How knew you that?" I demanded as we shouldered our way through
Dutch farmers and burghers, English settlers of the newly opened
districts, slaves, patentees, patroons, Indians from the Lower Castle
of the Mohawks, frontiersmen and soldiers.

His smile broadened.

"My brother was pleased to think that he need not go down-river."

"'Tis true," I affirmed.  "I have no wish to leave the forest.  I
find even this village overcrowded to suit me."

Whilst I pondered this we came to the fort gate and gave our names to
the sentry who stopped all save the few the governor had summoned to
attend upon him.  A messenger he dispatched brought back word that we
were to enter, and we were escorted across the parade and into the
quarters of the commandant adjoining the Great Hall.

Master Colden met us in the doorway.

"Zooks, but I am right glad to see you," he cried.  "And his
Excellency is overjoyed.  But I will leave it to him to express his
satisfaction."

He opened an inner door and ushered us into the presence of the
governor.  Master Burnet rose from the chair in which he was sitting
by a flat-topped table which served him for desk, and came forward
with hand outstretched.

"Master Ormerod, this could not have been better!  I wished above all
things for speech with you.  Corlaer, I am deeply in your debt.
Ta-wan-ne-ars, you have again incurred the gratitude of the province.
I shall not forget that you have imperiled your life in our cause."

"Did you receive my report from Oswego, sir?" I asked.

"Certes, 'twas that--and this"--he tapped a document which lay before
him on the table--"which brought me here."

He proffered it.  'Twas a report from a secret agent at Montreal,
quoting the decision of the French fur-dealers, acting in conjunction
with their Government, to raise the price of beaver from two livres,
or one shilling six pence in English currency, the pound, to the
level of four livres, or three shillings, the established price then
prevailing at the English trading-posts.

"That, mind you," continued the governor as I returned the paper to
him, "was the first reaction in Canada to the tidings that Murray had
succeeded in legitimatizing his trade over the Doom Trail."

"We have found the Doom Trail, your Excellency," I said.

"You have done well," he applauded.  "Aye, better than I expected of
you in so short a time."

"We also slew----"

"I beg your Excellency's indulgence," interrupted Master Colden, "but
the gentlemen you bade to meet you are now assembled in the Great
Hall.  Can not Master Ormerod's report await the conclusion of your
interview with them!"

"That would be best," agreed the governor, "But I wish Master Ormerod
and his companions to come with me.  It may be I shall appeal to them
for first-hand testimony."

We deposited our muskets in a corner of the room, and then filed
behind Master Burnet and the surveyor-general into the larger chamber
adjoining, where some thirty men awaited him.  Several were gentry
who were members of his Council.  Three were officers in command of
the frontier garrisons.  The remainder were merchants, dealing to
greater or lesser extent in the fur-trade, the great export staple of
the province.

They rose when the governor entered and remained standing until he
was seated.  Master Colden found seats for Ta-wan-ne-ars, Peter and
me to one side of the room, and we watched with interest the battle
which began almost with his Excellency's first word.

He wasted no time in preliminaries or generalities.  He deposited
several papers on the table in front of him, and addressed himself to
his task.

"Gentlemen," he began, "I have summoned you to meet me here because a
situation has arisen which is of the utmost gravity to the welfare of
the province and the larger interests of his Majesty's realm.
Recently I have been in receipt of a communication in the form of a
petition signed by many of the chief merchants of the province,
beseeching me to abandon my opposition to the retention of the free
trade with Canada which is now temporarily secured to them by the
action of the Lords of Trade in suspending decision upon the law
prohibiting the trade in Indian goods which I secured to be passed
last year."

"That petition represented the sober thought of a majority of the
merchants and traders, your Excellency," spoke up a
prosperous-looking man in the front row facing Master Burnet.

"It may be so," replied the governor.  "But I would suggest to you,
my friends, that certain knowledge hath come to me which compels me
to wonder whether you would persist in this attitude were you
acquainted with it.  Briefly, I have lately obtained definite
information that the French are beginning the erection of a stone
fort at Jagara."

"There are many such reports in circulation," said another merchant,
a hard-featured man with graying hair.  "It seems to many of us, sir,
that the fault is as much upon our side as upon that of the French.
Why must we assail them if they seek to protect their interests?"

"I agree with the principle of what you say, sir," answered the
governor patiently.  "But in this case, permit me to point out that
the territory this side of the Falls of Jagara is secured to us by
the Peace of Utrecht.  'Tis not only that the French have no right to
construct a fort there.  They have no right to maintain a
trading-post there.

"Yet my agent talked with the officers in charge, Monsieur de
Joncaire and Monsieur de Lery, and they boasted of their intent to
erect such a fort as would be a curb on our Indian allies, the
Iroquois, and divert to their posts farther up the Cadarakui Lake the
fur trade which now comes to us at Irondequoit and Oswego,
Schenectady and Albany."

"Your Excellency is needlessly worried concerning the fur-trade,"
asserted the hard-featured merchant.  "What matters it to us the way
in which the furs come!  They will go ultimately to the people paying
the best prices for them, and those people are ourselves."

"I thank you for putting me in the way of bringing forward a most
important point," returned the governor suavely.  "At the time I
received word of the building of the fort at Jagara, I received also
this report from an agent in Montreal----"

"Why must we have spies?" interrupted a third merchant.

"To protect our just interests, sir," said the governor, and for the
first time a hint of sternness rang in his voice.  "This report
announces the doubling of the price paid for beaver at tie French
posts, so that now they are on a par with us."

"We can afford to pay more than we do.  London will still take it
from us at a profit," rejoined the merchant who had first spoken.

"Aye, sirs," urged the governor; "but do you not see that presently,
if things go on as they do, the French may increase their price again
slowly, a few sous at a time, until they are frankly overbidding you?"

"We will chance that," spoke up several men.

"Trade is trade," cried another.  "It goes where the money is."

"Aye, we have no fear," clamored others.

"And let us suppose," resumed the governor, "that the French permit
you to draw supplies of furs through them.  I can conceive they might
do so if it netted them the prices they desire.  Does that mean that
you will always be safe in expecting to have your wants so filled!"

"To be sure," answered three or four men at once.

"I differ with you," replied Master Burnet.  "The fur-trade is not
only a means to earn profits.  'Tis a most important stake in
securing military success.  The nation which controls the fur-trade,
my masters, will have the interest of the larger numbers of savages.
The nation which owns the support of the most Indian tribes will be
the nation superior in extending its territories in time of peace and
superior in battle in time of war."

"It ill becomes a plain merchant to take issue with your Excellency,"
remarked the hard-featured merchant.  "And 'tis like to go against me
if I do----"

"Speak with entire freedom, sir," interrupted Master Burnet.

"Then I must say, your Excellency, that it seems to me you attach
overmuch importance to savage tribes and war.  There is enough land
in North America for French and English and Indians, too.  But if you
go around looking for attack, why, 'tis likely you will bring such a
catastrophe upon yourself."

"Hear, hear," cried the bulk of the merchants and traders.

"You mistake me," answered the governor.  "I aim to serve your own
interests as well as those of his Majesty's other subjects which
transcend even yours."

"Trade is everything," snapped the hard-featured merchant.

"So long as 'tis rightly conducted," amended Master Burnet.  "Bear in
mind, my masters, that the whole history of our possessions on this
continent disproves the statement just made that there is land enough
for ourselves and the French.  The French are the first to dispute
this view.

"They plan openly to drive us into the sea.  The New France they see
in the future will embrace all the settlements of the Atlantic coast
together with the inland wilderness."

"If you bait them sufficiently, doubtless they will seek to fight
us," asserted a merchant.

"But they know not the English breed if they think to do so," cried a
neighbor.

"Or the Dutchman either," said a third.

"Good!  That is the spirit I want to arouse," acknowledged the
governor, quick to seize what he thought an advantage.  "Gentlemen,
you have heard some of my evidence.  Additional, if you wish it, can
be laid before you.

"What I desire from you especially today is your support in a plan I
have been considering for moderating the exit of goods to Canada.
The volume reached in recent weeks passes all reason.  If permitted
to continue 'twill exhaust our supplies.  It plays directly into the
hands of----"

But he was not suffered to continue.

"Free trading!" shouted a group.

"Stick by the law, governor!" warned one.

"The law is the law!" cried a third.

The prosperous-looking merchant in the front row stood up and made
himself heard by pounding his stick on the floor.

"Do I understand your Excellency to mean that you would alter the
instructions received from the Lords of Trade?" he asked.

"My plan is rather to amend the carrying out of the law by certain
restrictions until I can forward representations on the situation to
their lordships," replied Master Burnet steadily.

"But as one of my brethren has just remarked, the law is the law.

"The trouble here, sirs, is that there is no law," declared the
governor.  "We have the suspension of the law, and in the interim
there is no provision for a substitute statute."

"Tush, we want no such law," proclaimed the hard-featured merchant.
"Let us not quibble.  His Excellency might as well know the truth.
Since Master Murray won his case we have been able to sell and buy as
we chose.  And our coffers have swollen thereby.

"The law was an ill-judged law.  It restricted trade, reduced
profits.  Let the French secure furs if they wish.  They may do the
dirty work.  We will sit back and reap the profits."

"Gentlemen, you still avoid my point," insisted the governor.  "The
profits you have made recently are unnatural profits, and were you in
your right minds you would be the first to appreciate that they can
not continue.  I should be content to leave your education to the
normal processes of time, but for the fact that the French are
turning your assistance to account, and we are like to pay heavily to
them for it in the long run."

"How?" inquired a skeptical voice.

"By permitting the French to confirm their prestige with the savages,
by undermining the confidence in us of those Indian allies we have
won hitherto.  Your lot will be improved only so long as it pleases
the French.  If matters continue as they are, the French will force a
war at the moment they deem most promising, and likely enough conquer
us by reason of the very profits which you say have swollen your
coffers."

"Better so, mayhap," shouted the hard-featured merchant.  "Better
have free trade under France than limited trade under England or any
other country."

"You talk treason, sir," said the governor coldly.  "Moreover, you
talk foolishly.  There is no freedom of trade in Canada----"

"Well, we have it here; and by ----, we'll keep it as long as we
can," replied the merchant.

"That is not like to be very long, my masters," announced a new voice.

All eyes were turned to the door.  There stood Andrew Murray, a
fashionably cut blue plush coat draping his fine shoulders,
half-revealing the canary-yellow vest beneath; a beautiful periwig
framing his handsome, masterful face; a laced and cocked hat tucked
under his arm.

He bowed low to the governor.

"I must beseech your Excellency's pardon for my unheralded entrance,"
he said.  "I am but just arrived in town, and I hastened here to
present my case to you."

He swept his eyes over the room as he spoke and fastened them upon my
face.

"You are welcome, Master Murray," returned the governor.  "Had I
known where to reach you I should have invited your attendance."

"I am honored, sir."

Murray bowed again.  His eyes passed from me to Peter's stolid
features and the calm, impassive face of Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"I venture to intrude upon you," he continued, "because of
information I possess which I am sure will be of interest to you and
all others who have the prosperity of the province at heart."

"I am interested," said the governor impartially.  "Pray state your
case, Master Murray."

"I shall do so all the more readily, your Excellency, because I am
persuaded you can have no knowledge of the crimes recently committed
by persons who represent themselves to be your agents."

"So?" observed the governor.

"Yes, sir," Murray went on.  "I see in this room three men whom I
charge with the wanton destruction of a large quantity of furs and
the murder of two of my servants and a number of friendly Indians."

And that there might be no mistaking the objects of his accusation
Murray pointed his forefinger at my comrades and me.  A rustle of
interest agitated the audience.  Murmurs arose and hostile glances
were bent upon us.

"Be explicit, if you please," said the governor.

"I will, sir," replied Murray boldly.  "The young man known as Harry
Ormerod, with Peter Corlaer and a Seneca chief called Ta-wan-ne-ars,
raided a fleet of canoes on the shore of the Cadarakui Lake near
Oswego and burned hundreds of packs of valuable furs which the
far-western savages were bringing in for trade."

"I have heard something of this matter," admitted Master Burnet.
"But I understood the savages were in charge of Monsieur de Joncaire,
the French commandant at Jagara, and bound for Montreal."

"Monsieur de Joncaire was accompanying them, 'tis true," admitted
Murray.  "But the savages were bound for my own trading-stations.
The loss, which will run into thousands of pounds, will fall upon our
New York merchants."

The murmurs grew into an outburst of indignation which the governor
quelled with difficulty.  But before he could speak Murray continued
his attack.

"Nor is that all, your Excellency.  These same three men afterwards
attacked from ambush and murdered two of my servants, a man named
Bolling and a negro."

"It sticks in my mind that both have been charged with murders of
their own in the past," the governor broke in drily.

"They were never convicted of such a crime," returned Murray.

"Bolling was wanted for an attempt upon Master Ormerod's life in New
York town," interjected Colden.

"I am not responsible for that," observed Murray.  "It shows at best
that there was enmity betwixt the two.  But surely, my masters,
enmity does not call for cold-blooded murder."

There was no misinterpreting the unanimity of the endorsement which
his words received.  Governor Burnet held up his hand for silence.

"I shall look into Master Murray's charges," he said.  "So much, at
least, he is entitled to.  But first I wish to acquaint him with what
I have laid before this gathering, all the more so because he is more
vitally interested perhaps than any other.

"Master Murray, I am concerned over the extent to which the fur-trade
is passing into French hands, and I am bound to say my information
indicates that the French have your assistance in the matter.  The
quantities of trade-goods going up-river have enormously increased
this Summer.  They are hundreds of tons in excess of what formerly
passed through Albany."

"Doubtless our trading-posts have profited thereby," suggested Murray
blandly.

"On the contrary," returned Master Burnet with decision.  "Our
trading-posts have fared worse, if anything.  Aside from the
Iroquois, the savages are patronizing more and more the French
traders.  And as I have told these gentlemen here, the French have
increased their trading-stocks already to such an extent that they
have been able to establish parity with our prices."

"Yet the volume of furs coming through Albany has increased and not
diminished," said Murray.

"What has that to do with the situation I have outlined?" demanded
the governor with his first show of impatience.

"Everything, sir."

"I think not.  Briefly, Master Murray, I am canvassing the sentiment
of our merchants on the advisability of suspending for the time
being, to some degree at any rate, the proclamation I issued in
response to the action of the Lords of Trade in withholding the
assent of his Majesty's government to our law prohibiting the trade
in Indian goods with Canada."

Murray took snuff deliberately, and I, who had passed considerable
time in his company, did not miss the gleam of frank hostility which
showed in his eye.

"I am not surprized," he commented.  "I am free to say, your
Excellency, that I have noted hitherto a laxness on the part of the
provincial authorities in administering the free-trade requirements
of their lordships."

"You charge that?" inquired the governor coldly.

"I do, sir.  And I give fair warning that, with a view to the best
interests of the province and in response to the wishes of the
majority of the merchants, I purpose to carry my complaint before the
Privy Council at the earliest opportunity."

Governor Burnet rose from his chair.  The cordiality was gone from
his manner.

"This meeting is dissolved," he pronounced.  "No, not a word,
gentlemen"--this as several undertook to object--"I still hold his
Majesty's commission as governor, and I purpose to secure assent to
my authority by one means or another.

"I have striven to reason with you.  I shall now proceed as seems
best to me.  Master Murray, file your charges in writing and be
prepared to bear testimony in their defense.  You may go."




XXIV

AN APPEAL TO THE LONG HOUSE

The door of the Great Hall closed on the last of the turbulent group.

"But, your Excellency," I protested, "why do you permit Murray to
make such charges without bringing up against him the information we
gathered at La Vierge du Bois?  Sure, 'tis some measure of offense to
apply torture to a fellow-countryman; and for the rest, there is the
testimony of Ta-wan-ne-ars to corroborate me."

Governor Burnet shook his head sadly.

"Naught would have pleased that clever rascal more than to have me
confront him with you, Master Ormerod.  You forget that unfortunately
your own past is somewhat clouded in the eyes of the law.  Did I
charge him with anything on your evidence, he would assail you for a
known Jacobite and outlaw, and whatever counter-charges we might make
he would dismiss as mere efforts to offset your guilt."

"But----"

"No, sir, it may not be.  Do you not agree with me, Colden?"

"I fear you are right, sir," replied the surveyor-general.  "Murray
hath worked up an intrigue which can not lightly be exposed.  He hath
set the entire province awry."

"'Tis that very state which concerns me most!" exclaimed the
governor.  "In my own Council I can not feel sure of a vote of
approval upon any measure which would go contrary to the fancied
interests of these mad merchants.  So rabid have they grown that I
dared bring with me from New York only Master Surveyor-General, here.
And of those from this neighborhood I might rely upon none others
than Master Livingston and Captain Schuyler.  The officers of the
troops would obey my commands, and in all probability endorse my
policy; but frankly I dare not force the issue."

"Why, 'tis incredible, your Excellency," I cried with heat.  "Here we
have, beside myself, Peter Corlaer, who is surely known for
trustworthy, if I am not.  And Ta-wan-ne-ars is a chief as well as a
man of education, even according to white men's standards.  Must we
suffer this self-confessed traitor to escape scot-free?"

The governor abandoned his chair and paced the length of the hall,
his hands clasped behind him.  Five times he traversed it from the
rough fireplace to the double doors hewn out of shaggy oak-slabs.
Then he shook his head again.

"I dare not, Master Ormerod.  Unfortunately, as I have said, and
through no fault of your own, you are discredited in advance as a
witness.  Peter is known for a sturdy hater of the French and devoted
to me and to those who think as I do, notably your friend Master
Juggins in London.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars is an Indian.  He will acquit me of intent to offend
if I say openly that my enemies will refuse to accept his word
against that of a great merchant like Murray."

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go is the friend of Ta-wan-ne-ars," said the Seneca.
"He speaks with a straight tongue.  It is better to hear what is
unpleasant than to listen to smooth speeches which deceive."

The governor turned swiftly upon him.

"I thank you, chief," he answered.  "You make it plain to me that I
can speak to you without concealment."

"That is true," said Ta-wan-ne-ars gravely.

Governor Burnet hesitated a moment, deep in thought.

"There is no other way," he decided suddenly.  "Draw up your chairs.
I have much to ask of you, and 'tis no more than fair that I should
present for you all the facts in the case.

"As I conceive the situation, the fate of this province and its
neighbor colonies, as well as the sovereignty and prosperity of Great
Britain, are at stake.  And the future of the People of the Long
House is intimately bound up with that of our people, as I think
Ta-wan-ne-ars will concede."

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go speaks always with a straight tongue," replied the
Seneca sententiously.

"Advices from Paris," continued the governor, "state that the
Pretender has been called to the Louvre on two occasions for secret
conferences.  The Duke of Berwick is gone to Spain--'tis reported to
arrange for contingents of troops.  Master Ormerod will understand
the seriousness of such news.

"I need not acquaint you with the preparations the French are making
upon this continent, but it may interest you to know that the Duke of
Newcastle has been pleased to write me, remonstrating over my
inability to get along better with the prominent men of the province.
This I deem most significant, for it is no more than the voice of
Murray speaking through the medium of his Grace's pen.

"'Tis for this reason as much as any other that I do not care to lock
horns with Murray.  To do so might very well secure my own recall,
and that would leave the way open for Murray to prosecute his designs
without any check whatsoever.

"I am in an impasse, gentlemen.  In London a corrupt ministry is more
interested in the spoils of office than in intelligent rule.  In New
York a powerful coterie of merchants, who have discovered a way by
which, they are persuaded, they can all grow rich in a few years,
have permitted themselves to become the active tools of an ingenious
mind which would purchase the return of the Stuarts at the price of
handing over to French rule the British domain in North America.

"My sole reliance today is upon a few personal friends like
yourselves--and the political keenness and military energy of the
Iroquois."

Master Burnet bent his gaze upon Ta-wan-ne-ars, sitting erect in a
plain wooden chair, the natural dignity of the Seneca offsetting the
incongruity of his half-naked figure, the wolf's-head of his clan
sprawled across his chest, with the civilized furnishings of the
Great Hall.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars is listening," said the Indian.

"That is well," answered the governor.  "For what I am about to say
is of the utmost importance to Ta-wan-ne-ars and his race.  You have
heard me admit my impotence.  You know that the rule of the English
is in danger.  Will you go with my ambassadors, Master Ormerod and
Peter Corlaer, to the Ho-yar-na-go-war, the Council of the
_roy-an-ehs_, and support them in asking for the intervention of the
Long House to smash the Doom Trail and Murray's conspiracy to win
control of the fur-trade from our hands?"

Ta-wan-ne-ars rose and his right arm went up in the Iroquois salute.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars will do as Ga-en-gwa-ra-go asks," his deep voice
boomed.

Governor Burnet drew a deep breath of relief.

"I thank you, my brother," he said.  "You have relieved the load of
sorrows I have carried.  I ask you this, you understand, not alone as
a favor, an act of friendship, but because, as I think, your people
will come to believe when they consider it that the success of
Murray's plot will mean the crushing of the Long House by the French."

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go need not argue with Ta-wan-ne-ars," the Seneca
responded.  "Ta-wan-ne-ars believes as he does.  Moreover, Murray and
his friends are not the friends of the Long House, and we have old
scores to wipe out in their blood.  If my brothers, Ormerod and
Corlaer, are ready, we will leave at once."

Colden, who had been looking out of the window upon the fort parade,
came quickly across the room.

"It will be best to await darkness," he advised.  "The town is full
of people, and amongst them may be some of Murray's desperadoes.  His
tools were not exhausted with the deaths of Tom and Bolling."

"That is so," approved the governor.  "And it serves to remind me
that you have further details of your adventures to acquaint me with.
Do you stay and dine with me, and whilst we eat we may discuss
affairs and take account of how to combat our enemies.  By the way,
Colden, where is the Belt of the Covenant Chain?"

The surveyor-general drew from a traveling-trunk in a corner a band
of wampum about three feet long and eight inches wide.  Crudely woven
into it in different colored beads were the figures of an Indian and
a white man with hands joined.  The governor examined it curiously.

"This belt was given to me by To-do-da-ho," he said, turning to me.
"He bade me, at any time I required speech with him or desired his
friendship and assistance, to send it to him as a reminder of his
pledge of alliance.  I entrust it in your hands, Master Ormerod."

Several hours later, when the lights of Albany were gleaming through
the night, the governor said good-by to us at a sally-port.  He
offered no parting advice, indulged in no rounded homilies.  That was
not his way.  He had laid all his cards before us on the table; he
had taken us completely into his confidence; he had told us how much
depended upon our effort.  He was content with that.

"A safe journey," he called cheerily, "and whatever William Burnet
may do for you, doubt not he will attempt."

That was all.

We set our feet to the Great Trail and made camp toward morning in
the woods beyond Schenectady, deeming it best not to show ourselves
in the settlements.

Our journey was uneventful.  We rapidly traversed the Mohawk and
Oneida countries, and came presently to Ka-na-ta-go-wa, the seat of
the Council-Fire of the Great League, where To-do-da-ho dwelt.
Ta-wan-ne-ars' brothers of the Wolf Clan made us welcome and sent a
messenger to the venerable _roy-an-eh_, announcing the arrival of a
party of ambassadors from Ga-en-gwa-ra-go.  The following morning we
were invited to the Council-House.

In the oblong, high-roofed bark building, with the undying fire
burning in its center, To-do-da-ho sat amongst his brother
_roy-an-ehs_, the chiefs and Keepers of the Faith.  Ta-wan-ne-ars
pointed them out to me: To-nes-sa-ah of the Beaver Clan;
Da-at-ga-dose and Sa-da-kwa-ha of the Bear; Ga-nea-da-je-wake of the
Snipe; and so on.  To-do-ha-ho himself was a wrinkled wisp of a man
who would have seemed a corpse as he crouched down, burdened with
heavy robes, but for the warm brightness of his eyes that glowed from
under beetling brows.

He made me welcome in a speech of high-sounding phrases, which
Ta-wan-ne-ars translated; and I replied as best I could through the
same medium, confining my remarks to expressions of the honor I felt
in being so received and the affection in which the _roy-an-eh_ and
his people were held by the governor.  We smoked the ceremonial pipe
as usual, and the council broke up.

The real business was transacted the next day when we three had
speech privately with To-do-da-ho, and I gave him the Belt of the
Covenant Chain and the message of the governor.  He heard me out in
silence, and sat for a while smoking, his eyes fixed on vacancy.
This was his answer:

"I have heard your words, O white man whose name I can not say.
Ta-wan-ne-ars, whom I have known since he was a boy, says that you
speak with a straight tongue, but I did not need his endorsement of
you.  I am a very old man, and the one thing I have learned in life
has been to tell true talk from false.  I hope that you will soon
given an Indian name, so that we can speak to you more politely.

"Moreover, I know, too, that Ga-en-gwa-ra-go would not have sent to
me a messenger with a belt who could not be trusted.  Therefore I
answer you with a straight tongue.

"What Ga-en-gwa-ra-go says by your mouth is so.  I have watched with
uneasiness the efforts of the French to control the fur-trade.  So
have many of our wise men, but most of our people are busy with their
hunting and other affairs and they do not consider such matters.  In
this they are much like the white people.

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go says that it is to the interest of the People of the
Long House to break down the Doom Trail.  I agree with him.  But
Ga-en-gwa-ra-go is a ruler of men, and he knows it is always
difficult to induce a people to take a difficult course of action
unless the suggestion comes from their midst.  My counsel to you is
that you continue on along the Great Trail to the country of the
Senecas, and give the message of Ga-en-gwa-ra-go to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh,
the Guardian of the Western Door.

"The Frenchman de Veulle has taken away the daughter of
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, and you tell me that he has used her to set up a
foul religion amongst the renegade Keepers of the Doom Trail.  Murray
is equally guilty with de Veulle in this matter.  Do-ne-ho-ga-weh has
a just cause for vengeance against them.

"Let him, as Guardian of the Western Door, send out belts for a
meeting of the Ho-yar-na-go-war, giving warning that the French are
building a fort at Jagara to be a menace against us and that they are
encouraging Murray in his disregard of the rights of the Long House.
So he will arouse the resentment of our people much better than could
be done if I acted solely on the suggestion of Ga-en-gwa-ra-go."

"Will you support Do-ne-ho-ga-weh in a demand for an expedition
against the Doom Trail?" I asked.

"I will," he replied.

There was no more to be said, and we resumed our journey that day.
Peter and Ta-wan-ne-ars both approved of To-do-da-ho's suggestion.
And indeed, as I thought it over, its sagacity became more and more
apparent.  'Tis the instinct of any people to be suspicious of
requests for assistance from outside their own ranks.

We sent messengers on ahead of us, and traveled leisurely, arriving
at De-o-nun-da-ga-a on the sixth day after starting from
Ka-na-ta-go-wa.  Outside the village we encountered a party of young
warriors of the Wolf Clan, who strung the scalps of Bolling, Tom and
their Cahnuagas on a lance and marched before us in a kind of
triumphal procession.

The splendid old Guardian of the Western Door, attended by his
counselors and retainers, met us at the village limits and escorted
us to the Council-House, where there was high feasting and a
rendition of the Trotting Dance which is used to open councils or
welcome ambassadors.

"_Ya-ha-we-ya-ha!_" chanted the leader.

"_Ha-ha!_" replied the dancers.

"_Ga-no-ok-he-yo!_" yelled the leader.

"_Wa-ha-ah-he-yo!_" howled the dancers.

"_Ya-wa-na-he-yo!_" sang the leader.

"_Wo-ha-ah-ha!_" came the rumbling response.

As on our former visit 'twas late at night when Do-ne-ho-ga-weh
slipped back to our quarters, and we were able to talk freely of our
mission.  First, however, Ta-wan-ne-ars must recount our adventures
at La Vierge du Bois and the scouting of the Doom Trail.

The _roy-an-eh's_ face became convulsed with passion as Ta-wan-ne-ars
described, in words I did not need to understand, the part which
Ga-ha-no played in the evil life of the Keepers of the Trail.  His
hand played with the hilt of his scalping-knife as Ta-wan-ne-ars
narrated how Peter and I had slain Red Death and Black Death.

Then Ta-wan-ne-ars translated my message from the governor and the
advice of To-do-da-ho.  I stressed the fort at Jagara, repeating
excerpts of the conversation of Joncaire and de Lery.  I told him of
the increase in the price of furs at Montreal, and vast quantities of
trade-goods which were passing over the Doom Trail and the
unwillingness of the New York merchants to understand the political
aspects of the French policy in permitting them to reap such golden
profits.  I emphasized the attitude toward the People of Long House
which the French would take once they fastened their grip on the
fur-trade and were safely entrenched at Jagara.

"Two things may be done, O _roy-an-eh_," I concluded.
"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go might take up the hatchet against the French on
behalf of Go-weh-go-wa and destroy the new fort at Jagara, or the
People of the Long House might descend upon the Keepers of the Trail
and destroy La Vierge du Bois and its wickedness.  For
Ga-en-gwa-ra-go to take up the hatchet would mean a long war, with
much bloodshed, even if his people would obey him.  For the People of
the Long House to smash the Doom Trail would mean the use of one
large war-party and at most a few weeks on the war-path.  If the Doom
Trail is smashed you need not worry over the fort at Jagara, for with
Murray gone Ga-en-gwa-ra-go can soon control his own people, and we
will dispose of Joncaire in due time.  'Tis for you to choose."

"_Yo-hay!_"[1] answered Do-ne-ho-ga-weh.  "Your words have entered my
ears, friend of my nephew.  They are pleasant to me.  I like to hear
them.  They arouse thoughts of the pain I wish to visit upon my
enemies.


[1] "I have heard--I have understood."


"I am much pleased that To-do-da-ho suggested you should come to me.
It is true, as he says, that the People of the Long House will be
more eager to fight if the appeal is made to them by one of their own
leaders.  I will make such an appeal.

"We will summon a council of the Senecas to meet tomorrow.  I will
present what you have told me to them.  We will send out belts to the
Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Oneidas, the Tuscaroras, the Mohawks.
You shall come with me to the Ho-yar-na-go-war and hear me make good
my promises.

"_Na-ho!_"

He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and rose to go; but in the
doorway he tarried strangely.

"Has Do-ne-ho-ga-weh more to say to me?" I asked him through
Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"Have you a father, white man?" he answered.

"My father is dead."

"My son is dead also.  He died many years ago.  I have a nephew--" a
stern smile lighted his austere face--"but I would not have him
otherwise.

"White man, your enemy is my enemy.  You are a brave warrior.  You
are the friend of Ta-wan-ne-ars.  Will you become my son?"

"_Ja, ja_," muttered Peter in my ear as Ta-wan-ne-ars translated with
impartial accuracy.  "Idt is a greadt honor."

"If Do-ne-ho-ga-weh thinks that I am worthy to be his son I shall
accept his offer with pride," I replied.

"Good," he said phlegmatically, and his arm lifted in the gesture of
salutation.  "Tomorrow the Keepers of the Faith shall raise you up
and find you a vacant name on the roll of the Wolf Clan."




XXV

THE COUNCIL OF THE _ROY-AN-EHS_

The statesmen and warriors of the Senecas had come by hundreds to
attend the tribal council at De-o-nun-da-ga-a.  They squatted in
serried ranks around the open place in the middle of the village
where stood the ga-on-dote, or war-post, where public assemblies were
held, where war-parties gathered when setting off upon expeditions,
where prisoners were tortured and victories were celebrated.

They had come from near and far, from Nun-da-wa-o, the ancient
village at the head of the Canandaigua Lake, which was the cradle of
the tribe, and from the most remote ga-na-sote and the farthest
frontiers of the immense domain which was ruled by the Keepers of the
Western Door.

In front sat the eight _roy-an-ehs_ and the two hereditary
war-chiefs, the Wardens of the Door, the elective chiefs who had
displayed merit in battle or negotiation, the Keepers of the
Faith--and one white man, who was yet a Seneca, myself.  Behind
stretched row on row of warriors and huntsmen, and back of them the
women and children.

The ceremonies were brief and were divided into two sessions upon
different days.  The first session was occupied mainly by the speech
of Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, explaining why he had summoned the council and
pleading for authorization of the sending of belts to the other
nations of the League so that the Ho-yar-na-go-war might be convened.
He spoke at length in the midst of a silence so intense that the
rustling of robes could be heard.

"You have heard my cause, O my people," he framed his peroration.
"You know that the French have ravished one of the fairest daughters
of the tribe.  You know that I have been deeply wronged.  You know
that at Jagara, on land which is our land as much as that on which
you now sit, the French are building a fort, and that they boast it
will be a chain by which they will bind us in the future.

"You know that they scheme to gather into their own hands the
fur-trade with the western tribes, so that we may no longer exact
tribute of those who would pass through our territories to trade with
the English.  You know that ever since Onontio came to Quebec the
French have been our enemies, and the English have been our friends.
You know that these men, Murray and de Veulle, who have stolen my
daughter, who have debased our ancient religion, who have deluded so
many of the white men, who have built the foul nest of fiends who
guard the Doom Trail, are the servants of the French.

"I ask you for vengeance.  I ask you for the right to go before the
Ho-yar-na-go-war.  I speak with a straight tongue.  I have witnesses
by me.  One is my nephew.  Ta-wan-ne-ars.  You know him.  The other
is O-te-ti-an-i,[1] my white son, who is a brother of the Wolf Clan.


[1] "Always Ready."


"They are Senecas.  They have been to Jagara, and talked with the
Frenchmen there.  They were carried captives to La Vierge du Bois,
and escaped.  They have seen the evil which is at work.  They have
found the secret of the Doom Trail, and they will lead our warriors
to it.

"If you will follow them, O my people, you will gain rich spoils and
take many scalps.  The cries of your captives will delight your ears.
Your families will be proud of you.

"_Na-ho!_"

The council broke up into separate councils of the five clans of the
tribe, the Bear, Wolf, Turtle, Snipe and Hawk.  After the clan
councils had come to agreement, the _roy-an-ehs_ of the several
clans, as spokesmen, met and reached a joint agreement.  Their
response was made at the second session of the tribal council on the
following day by Ga-ne-o-di-yo of the Turtle Clan, the senior
_roy-an-eh_ of the tribe.

"We have heard the pleas of the Guardian of the Western Door," he
said.  "We have discussed the stories told by Ta-wan-ne-ars and
O-te-ti-an-i.  We believe that all three have spoken with straight
tongues.  We believe that the Frenchman de Veulle has put a slight
upon us, as well as upon Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"We believe that Murray means harm to us.  We believe that the trade
over the Doom Trail is as dangerous to us as to the English.  We
believe that the French are our enemies.

"It is the judgment of the council that belts be sent to the brother
nations for the meeting of the Ho-yar-na-go-war.  Let the Counselors
of the People decide what course is best.

"_Na-ho!_"

"_Yo-hay!_" echoed the audience.

That night the messengers were dispatched.  They traveled night and
day, with only the barest necessary intervals for food and sleep, and
as they passed from nation to nation, the People of the Long House
stirred with expectancy.

The Supreme Council of the League was summoned.  Great events were
under way.  And on the heels of the messengers flowed a steadily
swelling stream of men, women and children, for every family that had
completed the harvest and Fall hunting was determined to be present
upon so momentous an occasion.

The delegates of the Senecas found the Great Trail already choked
with humanity when they set out from Nun-da-wa-o a week behind the
messengers.  It was like some highway of civilized life, with the
difference that the current ran in but one direction.  The faces of
all were turned eastward toward the Onondaga Lake.

But when we reached the outskirts of Ka-na-ta-go-wa we encountered a
second stream flowing westward.  Senecas and Cayugas met and mingled
with Oneidas, Tuscaroras and Mohawks, and Onondagas viewed the
extraordinary confluence of people with grave interest.

The shores of the Onondaga Lake and the valley of the Onondaga River
were outlined by the myriad camp-fires which marked the temporary
habitations of this migratory swarm.  The principal personages, of
course, were entertained by their clan brethren in the Onondaga
villages.  But for the rank and file 'twas an occasion calling for
the Indian's instinctive ability to make much out of nothing.  Lodges
of sticks and bark and skins, with fires in the door-ways, sufficed
for hundreds of families, and whole villages sprang up in a day, each
grouped about some strong or well-known personality, a favorite
orator or successful war-chief, whose name was appropriated for the
site.

Dancing and games, trials of skill with weapons, singing and feasting
and story-telling occupied the time of the multitudes to whom the
Ho-yar-na-go-war was an opportunity for escaping the monotony of
forest life.  They left to their leaders the serious business of
government.

The _roy-an-ehs_ of the different tribes visited one another;
consultations were held; and Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, Ta-wan-ne-ars, Peter
and myself were called upon again and again to repeat our arguments
and offer the evidence we had gathered.  In this way the _roy-an-ehs_
familiarized themselves with the subject in advance of its formal
presentation.  'Twas their habitual method whenever possible, I was
told.

It must have been a week after our arrival that Ta-wan-ne-ars entered
the Council-House of the Onondaga Wolves and announced the belated
arrival of the Tuscarora delegation.

"It ill becomes the youngest nation of the League to come last,"
remarked Do-ne-ho-ga-weh.

"Aye, and all the more so when they are allowed to appear only by
courtesy," rejoined Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"How is that?" I asked, full of curiosity to familiarize myself with
the novel customs of my adopted people.

"The founders of the Long House created the fixed number of
_roy-an-ehs_ and divided them amongst the five original nations,"
explained Ta-wan-ne-ars whilst Do-ne-ho-ga-weh resumed his
interrupted conversation with several Oneida Wolves.  "When the
Tuscaroras and other nations applied for the protection of the League
it was given with the understanding that they could not disrupt our
ancient organization.  In the case of the Tuscaroras, however,
because they had been a great nation, we gave them the privilege of
being represented at the Ho-yar-na-go-war, although their
representatives may not take part in the deliberations."

"How many of the _roy-an-ehs_ will attend?"

"All of the forty-eight are here."

"Is that the total?"

"No, brother.  The Founders created fifty places, but when they
themselves died it was determined that no other men should ever hold
their names.  So, as the Founders were both Mohawks, that tribe today
has but seven, instead of the nine, _roy-an-ehs_ apportioned to it,
and when the Keeper of the Wampum calls the roll of the _roy-an-ehs_
tomorrow there will be no answer to two of the names--unless it be
that Da-ga-na-we-da and Ha-yo-wont-ha make answer from their lodges
in the Halls of the Ho-no-che-no-keh."

That afternoon To-do-da-ho proclaimed the meeting of the
Ho-yar-na-go-war for the next day, and my friends busied themselves
in oiling their skins, painting their clan emblems and donning their
choicest garments.  In the morning the delegations of the six nations
left their headquarters, and marched with slow dignity to the
Council-Ground, a broad meadow on the edge of the forest above the
river valley.

In the center of the meadow a fire had been kindled from brands of
the sacred, undying Council-Fire which burned in the Council-House
and had burned in one spot or another of the Onondaga Valley ever
since that dim day, far, far back in the remote past of history, when
the Long House was built.

Around the fire the _roy-an-ehs_ ranged themselves, each with his
assistant behind him.  Of them all only Do-ne-ho-ga-weh was allowed
two supporters, and I had been permitted to take the place of one of
these--that of So-no-so-wa, the junior hereditary war-chief, who had
been left at De-o-nun-da-ga-a to maintain the guard on the
all-important Western Door.  With Ta-wan-ne-ars beside me to give
necessary instructions, I stood at Do-ne-ho-ga-weh's back and watched
the imposing ceremonies.

My task was to hold the skin robe of the _roy-an-eh_ upon which he
sat during the deliberations.  Ta-wan-ne-ars carried a bundle of
red-cedar fagots, denoting that the Council was held to decide a
question of war.  Had its object been peaceful the fagots would have
been of white cedar.

In the center of the circle, on the eastern side, stood the Keeper of
the Wampum, Ho-yo-we-na-to, an Onondaga Wolf and seventh of the
_roy-an-ehs_ of his nation.

"Are you all here, _roy-an-ehs_ of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee?" he called.

"We are all here," replied the _roy-an-ehs_.

"Now, then," he continued, "behold, I call the roll of you, you who
were the Great Ones, you who were the Shining Ones, you who were
joined with the Pounders.  And first I call the roll of the peoples.
Are you here, O Da-go-e-o-ga, the Shield People?"

"We are here, O Keeper," replied Da-ga-e-o-ga, senior _roy-an-eh_ of
the Mohawks.

"Are you here, O Ho-de-san-no-ge-ta, the Name-Bearers?"

"We are here," replied To-do-da-ho for the Onondagas.

"Are you here, O Ho-nan-ne-ho-ont, the Keepers of the Door?"

"We are here," replied Ga-ne-o-di-yo for the Senecas.

"Are you here, O Ne-ar-de-on-dar-go-war, the Great Tree People?"

"We are here," replied Ho-das-ha-teh, senior _roy-an-eh_ of the
Oneidas.

"Are you here, O So-nus-ho-gwa-to-war, Great Pipe People?"

"We are here," replied Da-ga-a-yo of the Cayuga Deers.

"Are you here, O Dus-ga-o-weh-o-no, Shirt-Wearing People?"

"We are here," echoed a Tuscarora chief from the position of his
people just outside the charmed circle of the _roy-an-ehs_.

Ho-yo-we-na-to raised his arms in a gesture of invocation.

"The peoples are here, O Founders who sit aloft with Ha-wen-ne-yu.
Heed ye now, O peoples.  I begin the Roll of the Great Ones."

And his resonant voice sounded like trumpet-blasts blown for a
victory as he intoned the names of the _roy-an-ehs_, beginning with
Da-ga-e-o-ga of the Mohawk Turtles and ending with Do-ne-ho-ga-weh of
the Seneca Wolves.  When, immediately after the name of Da-ga-e-o-ga,
he called the names of the Founders, Ha-yo-wont-ha and
Da-ga-no-we-da, he paused, and the immense concourse of Indians who
stood and sat around the fringes of the meadow all turned their eyes
skyward, as if expecting some demonstration from the Shining Ones.

Again the Keeper of the Wampum raised his arms in invocation.  Then
he took from the ground at his feet belt after belt of wampum, and
from the designs woven into them recited, clearly and rapidly, the
principal events in the recorded history of the League and the rules
prescribed for the conduct of the Ho-yar-na-go-war.  At the end of
his recitative, which was crudely rhythmical, he addressed himself
once more to the assemblage.

Under his direction the skin robes of the _roy-an-ehs_ were deposited
on the ground with the fagots in front of them.  The Mohawks,
Onondagas and Senecas, the senior nations, who were brothers to each
other, were ranged on the eastern half of the circle, with the rising
sun at their backs.  The Cayugas and Oneidas, who were sons to the
three senior nations, with the Tuscaroras sitting behind them, were
on the western side.

The Keeper of the Wampum next set fire to his own fagot by friction,
and then passed around the circle, setting each fagot alight, so that
a circle of little fires blazed up around the sacred Council-Fire.
When all the fires were going he returned to his place and led the
_roy-an-ehs_ in a stately procession three times around the circle,
each turning from time to time as he walked, so as to expose both
sides of his person to the heat in typification of the warming
influence of their mutual affections.

With the completion of the third round the fagots had been burned to
cinders; the _roy-an-ehs_ were all seated; and the deliberations of
the Council were begun, the direction of affairs passing
simultaneously from the hands of the Keeper of the Wampum to
To-do-da-ho.

"We are met, O my brethren," began the venerable Onondaga, "to decide
whether or no we shall lift the hatchet.  Do-ne-ho-ga-weh speaks for
the Keepers of the Door who ask for war."

There would be no point in repeating Do-ne-ho-ga-weh's oration.  It
was masterly, superior even to the address by which he carried his
own people with him.  The intervening days had given him time for
thought and his statements were the more convincing, his figures more
polished, his arguments more closely reasoned.

He arraigned the whole history of the intercourse of the French with
the League.  He described how de Veulle had lured away Ga-ha-no as a
young maid.  He expanded the designs of Murray and his French allies.
He touched glowingly upon the friendship of the English.  He pointed
out how the fortunes of the two peoples had become intertwined.

The _roy-an-ehs_ and the attendant throngs sat phlegmatically through
it all.  An audience of white men must have applauded or derided so
positive a speaker, and I expressed my fears to Ta-wan-ne-ars.  He
smiled.

"It is the custom of my people," he whispered.  "Wait, brother, until
the speeches in answer come."

At last Do-ne-ho-ga-weh sat down.  An interval of some minutes
elapsed.  Then a _roy-an-eh_ of the Mohawks arose.

"My people have been much concerned over the power which Murray has
acquired," he said.  "But it has seemed to us that it was more
dangerous to Ga-en-gwa-ra-go than to us.  Why do not the English
scotch this snake in their midst?"

Do-ne-ho-ga-weh explained succinctly the situation which existed in
New York.  A Cayuga responded, expressing amazement that the English,
who were usually so sensible, should act in such a childish manner.
He concluded by asking if the League might expect the help of the
English in an attack upon the Doom Trail.

This was the most difficult point we had to overcome, and
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh replied with circumspection.

"It is true, as my brother has said," he answered, "that we might
expect the English to move with us in this matter.  But my friends
among the English send me word that their people are blinded for the
moment by the falsities of Murray and the French.  Their counsels are
divided.

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go would welcome our action, and would support it and
protect us from the vengeance of France.  But he would find it
difficult to act himself."

"If Ga-en-gwa-ra-go will not act, why should the League act?"
demanded the Cayuga.

"Because it is to the interest of our people to act even more than it
is to the interest of the English," retorted Do-ne-ho-ga-weh with
impassioned energy.  "Already the English are more numerous than we
are.  They have strong forts.  We have only the forest.  They have
brothers across the Great Water who will aid them.  We have only the
uncertain aid of our allies and subject tribes.

"Some day the French will try to drive the English from the land, but
before they can do that they must destroy our League.  It is we who
will feel the first blow, and Murray's trade over the Doom Trail and
his bands of Keepers of the Trail are in preparation for the
destruction of the Long House.  If you wait, O my people, you will
perish.  If you strike now you will live and the League will continue.

"The decision is in your hands.  If you fight for the English you
will survive and grow stronger.  If you fight for the French or if
you do not fight for the English, you will slowly be crippled and in
a little time you will be no more feared than the Mohicans or the
Eries.

"_Na-ho!_"

That was the last speech of the day, and the Council adjourned, only,
as in the case of the Senecas' tribal council, to dissolve into minor
councils of the _roy-an-ehs_ of the different clan groups in each
tribe.  These continued throughout the following day, and as the
_roy-an-ehs_ of one clan agreed they consulted amongst themselves
with the _roy-an-ehs_ of another clan group, and so gradually the
representatives of an entire tribe came to an accord.

When the representatives of each tribe had reached the unanimity
which was required by the laws of the League, they discussed the
situation informally with the _roy-an-ehs_ of the other tribes; and
on the fifth day To-do-da-ho summoned the final and decisive session
of the Ho-yar-na-go-war.

The preliminary ceremonies were brief.  After an invocation to the
Great Spirit by the Keeper of the Wampum, To-do-da-ho delivered the
common judgment of the _roy-an-ehs_.

"Murray and the Keepers of the Doom Trail are the enemies of the Long
House.  We must break them now before they grow too powerful.
Therefore we have decided to take up the hatchet against them.  But
we shall send word to Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, appealing to him, by virtue of
the covenant chain between us, to support us against the vengeance of
the French.  This is the decision of the Ho-yar-na-go-war, O my
people."

"_Yo-hay!_" answered the _roy-an-ehs_.

And the thousands of people in the meadow echoed the shout.

Do-ne-ho-ga-weh stood up.

"I have a favor to ask of the Council, O my brothers," he said.
"Will you relieve me of my duties as Guardian of the Western Door so
that I may raise the warriors who will go against the Doom Trail?"

"The request of Do-ne-ho-ga-weh is granted," replied To-do-da-ho
after a short consultation with the _roy-an-ehs_.  "Let him set up
the war-post and strike it with his hatchet.  Many brave warriors
will be glad to follow so famous a chief.  So-no-so-wa, who now holds
the Door, shall continue his watch until Do-ne-ho-ga-weh returns to
tell of the many scalps he took."

The bystanders responded with the war-whoop; but my attention was
diverted by a young Onondaga who attempted to explain something to me
in his dialect.  Seeing I could not understand, Ta-wan-ne-ars
approached and listened to him, a look of astonishment creasing his
usually impassive face.

"The Onondaga says that a Frenchman has come to the village who
claims to have a message for you," translated the Seneca.

"For me?  Who can it be from?"

But even as I asked, a sense of foreboding gripped me.

"I do not know, brother.  Let us hasten and find out."

We pushed our way through the masses of warriors already beginning
the war-dance, and ran between the vegetable gardens toward
Ka-na-ta-go-wa, the roofs of whose long houses showed above the
tree-tops of the lower ground.




XXVI

THE EVIL WOOD

We found the messenger squatting placidly by the Council-House under
the guard of several Onondagas, who obviously did not relish the
sight of a Frenchman in their midst during the sitting of the
Ho-yar-na-go-war.  He put aside his pipe as we approached and stood
up.  But for his white skin, which was rather dingy under a coating
of tan and dirt, 'twould have been difficult to distinguish him from
the savages.  He was of the usual type of _courrier du bois_, but
with an unusually repellant countenance.

"You have a message for me?" I said.

"Are you Monsieur Ormerod?" he replied in his peasant's patois.

"I am."

He examined me with a sidewise squint out of his shifty eyes, and
fished with one hand in the bosom of his filthy leather shirt.

"You will pay for the service?" he inquired warily.

"Anything in reason," I answered impatiently.

"She said you would pay what I asked," he temporized.

"She!  Who?"

My worst fears were confirmed.  I took one step forward and grasped
the ruffian by the arm.

"Who?" I repeated.  "Tell me, if you value your life!  And give me
the message."

"No offense, no offense, _monsieur_" he growled, pulling away from
me.  "Mademoiselle Murray----"

"Give it to me," I insisted.  "We will talk of pay afterward."

He reluctantly withdrew his hand from his shirt, and offered me a
folded square of heavy paper, stained with sweat.  I opened it
carefully, lest it tear, and saw these lines of fine, angular writing
staring me in the face:


"La Vierge du Bois, ye 21st Sptr., 1725.

You said You wld. come if I calld for You.  I Begge you now, in ye
Name of All you Holde Deer, help Mee.  I am to be Forcd to wed ye
Chev. de Veulle.  'Tis ye Price he has Fixd for his Services to Mr.
Murray.  They have Procurd a Dispensation from ye Bishoppe of Quebec.
They will Marrie me whenne Père Hyancinthe is returnd from a Visitt
to ye Dionondadies by ye Huronne Lake.  So much grace I have obtaned
from them.  Help Mee.  MARJORY.

Do notte Trust ye messenjer who Carries this, but plese Pay him What
he asks.  Come by ye waye you Lefte through ye Woodde of ye Fake
Faces.


Stunned, I read it a second time, then handed it to Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"What is your name!" I asked the messenger whilst Ta-wan-ne-ars
scanned the paper.

"Baptiste Meurier," he said sullenly.

"How long since is it that you started from La Vierge du Bois!"

"Five weeks more or less.  _Monsieur_ has been difficult to find."

"More," I decided, remembering the date on the letter.  "Do you know
what the message said?"

"How should I, _monsieur_?" he objected quickly.  "Me, I do not read."

"Was there no other word?"

"Mais, non."

"Who gave you the paper?"

"Who but the _mademoiselle_ herself?"

"How did she happen to choose you?"

He protruded his chest.

"Who better could she select than Baptiste Meurier?" he replied.
"North of the Lakes every one knows Baptiste Meurier--and I am not
unknown to the Iroquois."

"But how did the _mademoiselle_ hear of you, Baptiste?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Who can say?  A beautiful young person says she has a mission of
much importance and profit to be performed.  I reply I will go
anywhere for a price.  I am told I have only to name it.  And so I am
here, _monsieur_."

"And what is your price?" I inquired, amused despite myself by the
cool insolence of the scoundrel.

"Two hundred livres," he said instantly.

"Very well.  It shall be paid.  You will be detained here for a time,
and I will purchase for you a sufficient number of beaver-pelts to
defray that sum.  Is that satisfactory?"

"Why should I have to wait?" he parried.  "_Peste_, Winter draws on
fast, and I----"

"You will wait," I cut him off.  "And you will be paid."

And, turning to Ta-wan-ne-ars, I asked him to give the necessary
instructions to the Onondagas.  The messenger, a look of sour
satisfaction on his cunning face, was marched off to undergo the
restraint of an unwelcome visitor.

"Well?" I said to Ta-wan-ne-ars.

The Seneca returned me the letter.

"See," he said, pointing to the wild geese flying in pairs to the
south, "the cold weather is coming.  For the last week the northern
sky has been hard and clear.  There has been snow beyond the Lakes."

"What does that mean!" I demanded.

"That Black Robe will be delayed in returning from his visit to the
Dionondadies.  And that is a very good thing for us, brother.  But
for that I think we would be too late."

"But we shall have fighting," I exclaimed.  "The Keepers will soon
discover us, and no matter how numerous we may be they will fight
desperately.  They may carry her away to Canada before we reach La
Vierge du Bois."

"That is true," he admitted.  "And the thought Ta-wan-ne-ars had,
brother, was that we might leave to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and Corlaer the
breaking of the Doom Trail whilst you and I with a handful of
warriors marched around by the way we escaped, as the white maiden
advises in her letter.  That way is not guarded, for none has known
it, and perhaps we may hide in the Wood of the False Faces and bear
off the maiden in the confusion of a surprize attack."

"It sounds reasonable," I said doubtfully.  "'Tis preferable to
trusting to the main attack."

"There is no other plan," he rejoined with energy.  "Moreover, as my
brother knows, Ta-wan-ne-ars seeks to save Ga-ha-no, too."

The hint of pain in his voice, which was never absent when he spoke
of his lost love, shamed me for the instinctive selfishness which had
made me concerned only with my own troubles.

"We will not save one without the other," I cried.  "No,
Ta-wan-ne-ars, do we not owe our lives as much to her as to Marjory?"

"What you say is true," he replied.  "But let us not talk of what we
will do until the time comes.  I hope that the Great Spirit will be
lenient with my Lost Soul, yet it may be her time has not come.  If
it has come we shall save her.  If it has not Ta-wan-ne-ars will try
again."

"And so will I."

"My brother is generous, as always," he said simply.  "Now we must
tell what we have learned to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, and arrange our plans
with him."

The Guardian of the Western Door was the center of an immense mob of
warriors who danced around the war-post which had been planted in the
Council-Place.  Man after man, chanting the deeds he had performed or
those he pledged himself to in the future, rushed up and struck the
post with his hatchet in token of his intent to participate in the
expedition.

The grim face of Do-ne-ho-ga-weh was alight with the joy of battle.

"Behold, O my son," he called to me, "the warriors of the Eight Clans
are with us.  Our brothers of the Turtle, Beaver, Bear and Wolf, and
our younger brothers of the Snipe, Heron, Deer and Hawk, all hunger
for the scalps of the Keepers of the Trail.

"A thousand braves will follow us on the war-path.  We will give the
French a lesson.  They shall see the might of the Long House."

But the light faded from his features as Ta-wan-ne-ars told him of
the message from Marjory.  A look of cold hatred accentuated the
grimness of the hooked nose and high cheekbones.

"The French dog de Veulle is wearied of Ga-ha-no," he rasped.  "He
has had enough of the red maiden.  Now he craves the white.  Yes, it
is well that my red nephew and my white son should go against this
man who knows no laws to curb his lust.

"He may think that I am only an Indian, but my fathers have been
_roy-an-ehs_ and chiefs for more moons than I could count in the
whole of a moon.  They sat beside the Founders.  They took in
marriage and they gave in marriage.  It is time that this insult to
their memory was wiped out.  Let it be wiped out in a river of blood.
Then, O my nephew and my son, draw; his scalp across his trail so
that no man can tell he ever passed.  I charge you, do not spare him."

"We will not spare him, O _ha-nih_,[1]" I promised.


[1] Father.


"Good!  It shall be as you ask.  Corlaer shall guide me to the Doom
Trail.  How many warriors are to go with you?"

We debated this point together, and decided that for purposes of
swift movement and secrecy we had best restrict our escort to twenty
men.  Do-ne-ho-ga-weh approved this number.

"Do nothing, if you can help it, until we have begun our attack," he
said.  "If you must move without us, rely upon flight, for you can
not hope to succeed by fighting."

The remainder of that day was devoted to the organization of our
party and the instruction of Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and his lieutenants in
the geography of the Doom Trail and the bearing of La Vierge du Bois,
which, it must be remembered, no hostile tongue had been able to
describe until Ta-wan-ne-ars and I had escaped from the clutches of
the False Faces.

Our party mustered at dawn the next morning.  It consisted of twenty
stalwart young Seneca Wolves, each man selected by Ta-wan-ne-ars for
strength and wind.  Despite the chill of advancing Winter in the air,
they were stripped to the waist, their leather shirts rolled in
packages which were slung from their shoulders.  In addition to their
clothing and weapons each man also carried two lengthy contrivances
of wood, with hide strips laced across them.

"What are they for?" I asked as Ta-wan-ne-ars presented me with a
pair and showed me how to fasten them on my back so that the narrower
ends stuck up over my head.

"_Ga-weh-ga_--snow-shoes," he replied.  "In the wilderness, brother,
the snow lies deep, and we should sink down at every step once the
ground was covered after the first storm.  You must learn how to use
the ga-weh-ga, for otherwise you would be helpless."

Few Indians in the long chain of encampments in the Onondaga Valley
saw us march forth, and those who did thought we were only an advance
scout, for we kept our purpose a strict secret, even from the
warriors of our escort.  They were told no more than that they were
given an opportunity to go upon a hazardous venture which should
yield them fame and a proportionate toll of scalps.

That was all they wanted to know.  Ta-wan-ne-ars was a leader they
had fought under before.  I was assigned a wholly undeserved measure
of fame because of my recent adventures in his company.

We marched rapidly, taking advantage of the withering of the foliage
to abandon the Great Trail and cut across country through the forest,
which stood untouched outside the infrequent clearings of the
Iroquois.  For three days we averaged thirty miles a day, and each
day, when, we camped, I practised with the snow-shoes on some level
bit of ground, learning how to walk without catching the points and
tripping myself.

We had not gone very far on the fourth day when O-da-wa-an-do, the
Otter, a warrior who had attached himself to me, pointed through the
leafless trees toward a grayish-white bank which was rolling down
upon us from the north.

"O-ge-on-de-o," he said.  "It snows."

The word was passed along the line, and Ta-wan-ne-ars ordered the
warriors to don their shirts.  Fifteen minutes later the snow began
to fall.  Driven by a piercing wind, it descended like a vast,
enveloping blanket, coldly damp, strangling the breath, blinding the
eyes, numbing the muscles.

We struggled along against it until we came to a hillside scattered
with large boulders.  Here we halted and built shelters for ourselves
by roofing the boulders with pine saplings we hacked down with our
tomahawks.  Under these, with fires roaring at our feet, we made
shift to resist the cold.

The snow fell for the better part of two days, so thickly as to
preclude traveling, and during that time we dared not stir from
shelter, except to collect firewood.  In the evening of the second
day the storm passed, and the stars shone out in a sky that was a
hard, metallic blue.

"We have lost much time, brothers," said Ta-wan-ne-ars, "and we have
had a long rest.  Let us push on tonight."

After the fashion of the Iroquois he always gave his commands in the
form of advice; but no warrior ever thought of disputing him.

"I no longer see the Loon above us," I remarked to him as I put on my
snow-shoes.  "How shall you find your way?"

"The Great Spirit has taken care of that," he answered, and he raised
his arm toward the sparkling group of the Pleiades.  "There are the
Got-gwen-dar, the Seven Dancers.  They shine for us in the Winter,
and we shall guide our steps by them."

Our progress that night and for several days afterward was slowed
considerably by my clumsiness on snow-shoes.  But The Otter and other
warriors went to considerable pains to help me, picking out the
easiest courses to follow, quick with hint or advice to remedy my
ignorance.  I became proficient enough to travel at the tail of the
column, although my companions could never march as rapidly as they
would have done without me.

After starting we met only one party of Oneida hunters, who had not
heard of the decision of the Ho-yar-na-go-war to take the war-path
against Murray.  The Mohawks had all retired to their villages for
the Winter, and the wilderness which was traversed by the Doom Trail
was deserted because of the universal Indian fear of the False Faces.
Ta-wan-ne-ars and I discussed this point as we neared the forbidden
country, and I suggested that he tell his followers our destination.

He waited until we were a long day's march from and well to the
northwest of the goal.  Then he gathered the warriors about him as
they mustered for the trail.

"Soon, O my brothers," he said in the musical, cadenced Seneca
dialect which I was beginning to take pleasure in understanding, "we
shall strike our enemies.  It is a desperate enterprise you go upon.
No war-party ever set out to risk such heavy odds.  No warriors of
the Long House were ever called upon to practise such caution, to
reveal such courage.

"O my brothers, we are going into the Wood of Evil, the haunt of the
False Faces which is the breeding-place of all the wickedness that
brands the Keepers of the Doom Trail.  You will face much that is
horrible.  You will be threatened with spells and witchcraft.  But I
ask you to remember that my brother O-te-ti-an-i and I passed through
all such perils without harm.  Keep your hearts strong."

"_Yo-hay_," muttered the warriors in gutteral assent.  "We will keep
our hearts strong, O Ta-wan-ne-ars."

Their faces were more serious than before, but they exhibited no
signs of fear.  Several asked questions as to the False Faces and
their rites, and we explained to them the false atmosphere of horror
which had been spread designedly to protect the traffic of the Doom
Trail.

We moved much more cautiously now that we were near our journey's
end, with three scouts always in front, one on either flank of the
path we trod.  But we saw no signs of other men, although many times
we came upon bear-tracks.  Toward evening we struck the waters of the
tumbling little river through which Ta-wan-ne-ars and I had waded
that night after Marjory had released us.

Here we rested whilst scouts went ahead as far as the edge of the
Evil Wood.  They returned to report not a footprint in the snow.  We
ate a little parched corn mixed with maple-sugar and some jerked meat
we carried in our haversacks.

About midnight we all moved forward, Ta-wan-ne-ars leading the line.
The oaks and elms, maples and willows, which had composed the
elements of the forest, now gave place to tall, funereal firs, whose
massive jade-green foliage remained untouched by the icy breath of
Winter.

It seemed as if we had entered a different world when they closed
around us.  The stars had twinkled through the bare branches of the
other trees.  Here were utter darkness and a far-away, mournful music
of wind rustlings and clashing boughs.  Grotesque shadows darted
vaguely over the white ground as the trees swayed and groaned.  In
the distance an owl hooted solemnly.  The Otter touched my shoulder.

"Did you hear the owl?" he murmured.

"Yes," I whispered back.

"It is cold for an owl to leave his tree-hole."

He threw back his head, and I started at the fidelity of the
repetition.

"_Too-whoo-oo!  Too-hoo!_"

We listened, but there was no answer.  Instead, after a brief
interval, the howl of a wolf resounded.

A few yards farther on the owl hooted again.  The line halted, and
the warrior in front of him whispered that Ta-wan-ne-ars wished to
speak with me.  I passed by him and several others and came to where
the chief stood, peering, or trying the peer, into the night.

"There was something strange about the owl, brother," he said.  "The
warriors told me that the Otter answered it, yet it did not reply.
And then the wolf----"

A yell as of fiends from hell shattered the mantle of silence.
Flames spurted through the firs, and in the gleam of the discharges
and of torches thrown into our midst I had a fleeting glimpse of
hideous masked figures bounding between the tree-trunks.

"Keep your hearts strong, brothers of the Long House," shouted
Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "They are only Cahnuaga dogs.  Stand to it."

He fired as he spoke.  I imitated him.  Our men shot off a scattering
volley.  Then the False Faces were amongst us, coming from all sides,
springing out of the ground, dropping from the very branches overhead
and wielding their _ga-je-was_, or war-clubs, with dreadful effect.




XXVII

GA-HA-NO'S SACRIFICE

There was no time to reload.  We fought with ax and knife as best we
could.  Ta-wan-ne-ars and I, with half a dozen of our warriors,
crowded back to back.  The rest of our party were cut off in twos and
threes.

Resistance was hopeless.  The swarms of False Faces seemed to care
nothing for death if only they could bring down an Iroquois.  They
eschewed steel altogether, and battered down opposition with their
knotted war-clubs, which shattered arms and shoulder-blades, but
seldom killed.

I was knocked senseless by a blow which I partially warded with my
tomahawk.  When I came to I was lying in the snow in front of a huge
fire.  My arms were bound and my head ached so violently that I felt
sick.

"Is my brother in pain?" asked the voice of Ta-wan-ne-ars.

I rolled over to find him lying beside me, the blood from three or
four trivial cuts freezing on his head and shoulders.

"Yes," I groaned, "but 'tis naught."

"There was treachery," he said.  "They knew we were coming, and they
lost many men so that they might take us alive."

"All our warriors----" I faltered.

He turned his head to the left; and, following his gaze, I saw that I
was on the right of a line of recumbent figures, which my dizziness
would not permit me to count.

"No, not all, I think," Ta-wan-ne-ars answered after a moment.  "Five
are slain and fourteen others lie here.  But I do not see the Otter."

He addressed the warrior next to him, but none of our
fellow-prisoners could account for the Otter.

"The Otter suspected something wrong," I said.  "'Twas he who
answered the owl's call."

"It may be he escaped," replied Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "I must warn our
brothers to say naught of him.  If the keepers do not suspect, they
may believe they have all of us safe in their net."

He whispered his warning to the man beside him, and it was passed
down the line.

"Your head is much swollen, brother," he said, rolling over again so
as to face me.  "Let Ta-wan-ne-ars make shift to bathe it with snow."

A shadow fell athwart us as we lay and a mocking voice replied for me:

"By all means, most excellent Iroquois.  I trust you will nurse our
valuable captive back to full strength and health."

I struggled to a sitting position, for I liked not to lie at de
Veulle's feet, however much I might be at his mercy.

"So you walked into the spider's web," he continued, standing betwixt
me and the firelight which ruddied his sinful face.  "A woman's
plea--and you threw caution to the winds!  You fool!  I used to value
you as an enemy, but 'tis tame work fighting against a man who thinks
I keep so easy a watch as to permit our beautiful friend to come and
go as she lists."

"The letter was a bait?" I exclaimed incredulously.

"For you--yes.  I say again--you fool!  Baptiste took the letter to
Murray, and Murray read it to me.  It could not have been contrived
more skilfully to suit our plans."

'Twas ridiculous, no doubt, but I was easier in my heart for
assurance that Marjory had not known her appeal was used as a lure.
It enabled me to maintain a stoicism of demeanor I did not feel.

"Well, 'twas kind of you to make such haste," he went on, sneering
down at me.  "You will be in time for the wedding after all.  Oh,
never fear; you shall be permitted to live that long.  We have plenty
of meat in this bag to supply diversion for our savages in the
meantime.

"You, my friend, and the noble Iroquois here"--he kicked
Ta-wan-ne-ars viciously--"shall be kept for the last.  Who knows!  We
may have a new Mistress of the False Faces then.  We are not pleased
with the present one.  There was something uncommonly odd about the
circumstances of your escape--although 'tis true I had the little
wildcat in my arms at the time--and it would add to the aroma of the
mystery to have a white Mistress for a change.  Aye, that is an idea
worth considering."

He switched suddenly into the Seneca vernacular.

"Are you all here, Iroquois dogs?" he demanded curtly.  "The scouts
reported twenty warriors."

"All are here, French mongrel," returned Ta-wan-ne-ars pleasantly.

De Veulle kicked him.

"Keep that for the torture-stake," he advised.  "We have five corpses
and fourteen warriors and yourself.  That is all?"

"All," reiterated Ta-wan-ne-ars.

De Veulle passed along the line, cross-questioning each prisoner to
an accompaniment of kicks and threats.  All told the same story.
Next to success in battle nothing pleased an Iroquois more than the
opportunity to exhibit indifference to torture.  De Veulle seemed
satisfied.  The mistake he made was in failing to understand that the
scouts had not counted Ta-wan-ne-ars, a chief, as a warrior.  He
returned to my side, and summoned a host of masked figures from the
surrounding shadows.  They jerked us to our feet, stamped out the
fire and escorted us over the trampled, bloody snow where we had
fought, through the gloomy aisles of the Evil Wood and into the
irregular streets of La Vierge du Bois.

The dawn was a mere hint of pink in the eastern sky, but the
Cahnuagas and their allied broods of renegades were all awake to
greet us, and our guards forced a passage through the mass with
difficulty.  To our surprize, we were carried by the oblong hulk of
the Council-House, and traversed the Indian village without stopping.
Ahead of us loomed the tower of the chapel and the house where Murray
dwelt, encircled by its stockade.

Two men stood by the gate of the stockade to greet us.  One was
Murray, debonair as ever in a frieze greatcoat, with a showing of
lace at the collar, and a cocked hat.  The other was Baptiste Meurier.

The unsavory face of the _courrier de bois_ grinned appreciation of
my astonishment.

"_Peste, monsieur_!" he exclaimed.  "It seems you are a slow
traveler.  I feared I might be behind you, but I arrived twenty-four
hours in advance.  I have to thank you for the beaver-pelts.  They
were a sufficient bribe for my immediate release."

"That will do, Baptiste," interjected Murray.

And to me:

"One might think the animal deserved credit for a plan in which he
was the humble instrument of superior intellects--which, I am bound
to say, displayed their superiority mainly by seizing upon the
opening presented to them by fortune.  No, no; even had the good
Baptiste been delayed we should have been ready for you.  Heard you
ever, Ta-wan-ne-ars, of scouts who wore bears' pads for moccasins?"

For the first and only time during our acquaintance Ta-wan-ne-ars was
surprized into a look of chagrin.

"We thought it was late for bears to be out," he admitted.

Murray chuckled with amusement.

"Quite so, quite so!  And so you visit us once more, Master Ormerod.
I confess 'tis an unexpected pleasure which we shall strive to make
the most of."

"Sir," I said earnestly, "it makes little difference to me what is my
fate, but I conjure you by whatever pretensions to gentility you
possess to give over your plan of selling your daughter."

He took snuff with his odd deliberation, and his face became as
impassive as an Indian's.

"The words you choose for your appeal do not commend it to me," he
returned.  "Nor do I perceive what business of yours it may be to
question my daughter's marriage."

Now, what put it in my head I know not, unless it was the fact that
in her letter to me Marjory had spoken of him as "Mr. Murray"; but I
leaped to the instant conclusion that she was not his daughter.
Sure, no man could have disposed of his own daughter so
cold-bloodedly!

"She is not your daughter in the first place," I retorted boldly.
"And in the second place, she has expressed to me her abhorrence of
the marriage, as you know."

His face revealed no expression but for a faint tremor of the eyelids.

"Zooks," he remarked mildly after an interval of silence, "'tis
strong language that you use.  You are a headstrong young man, Master
Ormerod.  Can it be that you have some personal interest in the
matter?"

Again some instinct prompted me.

"I have," I asserted.  "Your daughter prefers me to the man you would
force upon her."

"Really," he replied, "you possess vast self-assurance.  You are my
deadly enemy, you have sought by every means to ruin me, you were
caught in an attempt to depredate my home--yet you would pose as a
suitor for my daughter's hand."

"She is not your daughter," I repeated.  "And as a suitor, according
to your estimates of the world's opinion, I am far more eligible than
this Frenchman."

"You are scarcely wise to say so to his face, and I beg leave to
differ with you.  I find the Chevalier de Veulle a very eligible
young man, of rank in the world, of achievement, of distinct promise
for the future."

"If you can call a man eligible who was not even eligible for
continued residence at the most profligate court in Europe, I agree
with you."

"Tut, tut," remonstrated Murray.  "Your words are not those of a
gentleman, sir.  We will abandon the subject.  Where do you propose
to incarcerate the prisoners, _chevalier_?"

"I would not risk them a second time in the keeping of the savages,"
said de Veulle.  "Let us try your strong-room.  There you and I can
have an eye to their security."

"That is well conceived.  Is there any news of Père Hyacinthe!"

"I have stationed a man at the river-crossing to bring word the
instant he arrives."

"I applaud your thoughtfulness.  This continued delay in the ceremony
is annoying.  Master Ormerod, your sufferings are upon your own head."

I looked eagerly for Marjory's face as we were marched across the
yard inside the stockade and through the heavy timber doors of the
house.  But she was not visible.  The house was sturdily built,
evidently with an eye to defensibility, and the cellar beneath it, to
which we were conducted, was floored with clay and walled with
immense wooden slabs.  Our guards examined our bonds carefully,
fastened our legs and then left us, three of them sitting just
outside the door at the foot of the stairs which ran down from the
kitchen above.

We remained there three days, without intercourse with any one except
our Indian jailers, who brought us messes of food twice daily.  In
that time the bump on my head was reduced and Ta-wan-ne-ars' cuts
began to heal.

On the third day several Cahnuaga chiefs visited us and removed one
of our Senecas with an assurance that he was destined for the
torture-stake.  The man laughed at their threats, and called back to
his brothers that he would set them a good example.  I do not doubt
that he did.

On the fourth day we were eating our meager fare of boiled corn when
the door was flung open violently and the gaunt figure of Black Robe
entered unannounced.  Behind him, obviously unwillingly, walked
Murray.

"Which is the Englishman Ormerod?" demanded the priest in French.

"Here I am, father," I answered, standing up as well as I could.

"Mistress Murray tells me that you have won her affections?" he asked
coldly.

My heart leaped with sudden joy.

"That is true, father," I said.

"And you love her!"

"As much as a man may, father."

He turned upon Murray with a gesture of decision.

"There!" he exclaimed.  "You have it in the face.  What do you expect
of me?  Would you have me violate God's sacrament by wedding a maid
against her affections?  Some priests might do so, but I will never!
Marriage without affection is adultery."

Murray's discomfiture was comical.  I was quick to seize the
opportunity presented to me.

"He knows how we stand, father," I declared.  "He himself asked me
concerning it when I was brought here."

Père Hyacinthe bent upon Murray a glance of deep disdain.

"This is not well, _monsieur_," he said.  "You have told me an
untruth."

"You leap to conclusions, my good sir," returned Murray, who had now
regained his poise.  "The maid does not know her own mind.  She is a
conquest for the Church, and her alliance with the Chevalier de
Veulle cements the great work we are undertaking together."

"I will have naught to do with it," responded the priest with
decision.  "Not even to admit her into the Church would I tolerate
the fastening upon herself, her husband and myself of a mortal sin.
As for the Chevalier de Veulle, I will say nothing at present.  But I
am not satisfied with everything here at La Vierge du Bois.  I shall
have more to say on that score later."

He went out and up the stairs, and Murray, after a moment's
hesitation, followed him.

But our reprieve was brief.  The next morning an augmented force of
jailers appeared.  The thongs on our arms were tightened; our legs
were unlashed; and we were marched up into the wintry sunshine again,
our eyes blinking at the unwonted light.

The village was deserted, and we perceived the reason when we reached
the Council-Place and saw the long row of stakes which stretched
before the background of the green firs of the Evil Wood.  Jeers and
cries of derision greeted us.

The False Faces strung their ill-omened circle around us, and the
feather-tufted Keepers and their women and children pressed close to
view the gruesome spectacle.  We were bound to the stakes,
Ta-wan-ne-ars and I in the middle of the line; and almost at once the
torturing began upon the unfortunates at the two extremities.  Their
songs and shouts of defiance soon gave way to a sinister silence, as
they fought with all their will-power to curb the agony which bade
them cry for mercy.

The horror of it first sickened me, then flogged me into a red-hot
tempest of anger.  And in the midst of the orgy of bestiality Murray
and de Veulle penetrated the circle of False Faces, with Marjory,
white-faced, tight-lipped, between them.  They walked up to the stake
to which I was bound.

"I deeply regret, my dear," said Murray in a voice which was
conscientiously paternal, "that you must be exposed to this
spectacle----"

"'Tis no more distressing than the knowledge of your wickedness," she
flashed.  "You have overset my belief in a cause I had thought holy."

"Well, we will not talk politics, if you please," he replied.  "I
want you to realize now beyond question the fate which awaits this
misguided young man upon whom you have been so ill-advised as to pin
your affections."

"Would you like to walk nearer the other stakes and study what has
been done to the Senecas upon whom the torture has been begun?"
suggested de Veulle suavely.

She eyed him with such scorn that even he felt it, for his face
hardened appreciably.

"No, sir," she answered; "I shall not be contributing to your
entertainment any more than I can help."

Murray addressed me.

"We are making a bargain with the lady, Master Ormerod.  She is to
renounce her objections to de Veulle, own herself mistaken in her
feeling of affection for you--and you are to be permitted to escape
when she has sealed her engagements."

"Do not think of it, Marjory," I called to her.  "I mind this not at
all.  And fear not.  Help will come to you."

A tinge of color showed in her cheeks, and she stepped to my side.

"I can not let you die, Harry," she said with a sob.  "Indeed I will
not be able to stand the thinking of it.  Better anything--better
marriage to this beast--than--than--that!"

"You are wrong," I urged her.  "You must not.  I should go mad if you
did.  I should hate myself!  I----"

I twisted my head toward Ta-wan-ne-ars beside me.

"Bid her not, brother," I appealed to him.  "Tell her I do not fear
to pay the price!  And why should I escape if you----"

His granite features softened as his eyes met hers.  But before he
could speak the scene shifted with startling rapidity.  There was a
bulge in the ring of False Faces, and Ga-ha-no burst into the group.

Dressed in her uniform as Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta, the kilt and
moccasins, she fronted de Veulle with eyes blazing, breast heaving.

"Do you seek now to buy the white maiden with this man's life?" she
stormed.

"You have no place here," he replied in the Cahnuaga dialect.  "Go
away.  You will make----"

"You shall not!" she defied him.  "You have had your pleasure with
me.  Now you would like to have a woman of your own color.  You shall
not!  I have been bad.  I have forgotten the ways of my fathers.  I
have betrayed a good man."

She threw a glance at Ta-wan-ne-ars, straining at his bonds.

"For that I am sorry, but it is too late!" she exclaimed.  "White
maiden," she cried to Marjory, "do not listen to this man.  He is
more wicked than I--and I am now a creature of Ha-ne-go-ate-geh!"

De Veulle waved his arm toward the attentive circle of False Faces.

"Remove the Mistress," he ordered.  "She is hindering the torture."

The False Faces moved forward reluctantly, but Ga-ha-no acted without
hesitation.  A knife leaped from a fold of her kilt, and she sprang
upon de Veulle like the wildcat to which he had likened her.  He
retreated, and ripped out his own knife.

"Seize her, Murray," he panted in French.  "She is insane."

But she closed with him, and the two knives sank home at the same
instant.  Hers pierced de Veulle to the heart.  His drove to the hilt
into her right breast, and she staggered back, coughing blood,
against the rigid form of Ta-wan-ne-ars, bound fast to the stake.

"Ga-ha-no--was not--worthy of--Ta-wan-ne-ars," she gasped as her head
slipped down his chest.  "It--is--better--so."

No torture could have distorted his face into the image of frenzied
despair which it displayed as he strove uselessly to bend down to her.

"My Lost Soul!" he muttered.  "Oh, Ha-wen-ne-yu, my Lost Soul!  Oh,
Great Spirit, my Lost Soul!"

Marjory crept nearer to me, the horror in her face turning to pity,
the tears streaming from her eyes.

"The poor lass!" she cried softly.  "The poor, brave lass!"




XXVIII

THE MIGHT AT THE LONG HOUSE

The silence of consternation gripped the hordes of the Keepers of the
Trail.  The sea of painted, scowling faces exhibited one frozen
expression of awe at the suddenness of the tragedy.  Only Murray gave
no indication of feeling as he knelt by de Veulle's side.

"Where is Black Robe?" I whispered to Marjory, shivering on my
shoulder.

"He went away last night.  There was a call from Ga-o-no-geh, a
village down the Trail.  I think he was tricked."

"Would he----"

Murray stood up, wiping a spot of blood off one of his hands with a
laced handkerchief.

"He is gone," he remarked impartially.  "'Twas no more than to be
expected.  A man can not mix politics with women--especially
uncivilized women."

"Give a look to the Indian girl," I urged.

He shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was not worth while; but
Marjory stooped over Ga-ha-no, composed the disordered black tresses
and closed the wildly staring eyes.

"'Tis useless, Harry," she said.  "She is dead."

"Ga-ha-no--is--dead!" repeated Ta-wan-ne-ars blankly.

His heaving muscles relaxed, and he hung limp in his bonds against
the stake.

"At the least, the woman gave you an avenue of escape from an
intricate problem," commented Murray.  "You do not seem glad, my
dear."

"I am not glad," retorted Marjory scornfully.  "And I am right
content that you should be unable to understand why I will be
mourning for her."

"Ah, well, we have never understood each other, have we?" rejoined
Murray, taking snuff absent-mindedly.  "Come, we will give orders for
the removal of the unfortunate pair, and----"

The horror dawned once more in Marjory's face.

"And what!" she gasped.

"You forget, Marjory, that my savage henchmen have work to do," he
answered nonchalantly.  "I take it for granted that you do not wish
to remain and view their labors?"

"You--you would----"

Emotion shocked her; but she fought for her self-control.

"You would leave these--these men--Master Ormerod--to--to----"

"And why not!" he replied.  "They are enemies.  As I have had
occasion to tell him ere this, Master Ormerod has sought to contrive
my ruin.  Why should I spare him?"

"You know not the meaning of humanity, then!" she cried, anger
striving with terror for control of her voice.

"'Tis a word which has divers meanings," he said.  "But I am a
reasonable man.  I am always willing to discuss terms."

"And what might you mean by terms?" I demanded, taking a hand in the
conversation.

He deliberated as unconcernedly as if we sat on opposite sides of a
table in London, entirely ignoring the huddled corpses at his feet,
the line of bodies stiffening in the bitter cold against the stakes
and the attendant cordon of Indians whose faces studied his as their
fingers itched to resume the torture.

"An undertaking to abandon this wholly barren persecution of my
enterprises," he decided.  "I should require the signature of
Governor Burnet to the document."

"And my companions here?" I asked curiously.

"You forget that even my powers are necessarily limited," he said.
"I could not possibly snatch from my people's vengeance Iroquois
warriors taken red-handed in an attempt to massacre them."

I laughed.

"You do not yet know me, Murray."

"Possibly you are subject to education," he retorted, buttoning up
his greatcoat.  "Come, Marjory."

She drew away from him.

"I choose to remain," she said coldly.

"I choose that you shall not."

He waved his hand in unmistakable signal of release to the watchful
False Faces and their followers.  A yell of satisfaction swelled from
their hungry throats, and they dashed forward.  Indeed, so violent
was their reaction from the restraint just imposed upon them that in
the first mad rush a number of the younger men were carried beyond
control of the evil priests and commenced to butcher the Senecas
outright with knife and tomahawk.

Marjory shrank back and covered her eyes with her hands as a
feather-tufted warrior ran up to Ta-wan-ne-ars and dangled a freshly
severed scalp in his face.

"'Twill be difficult for me to control them at all in a few moments,"
observed Murray.

"Oh, you vile coward!" exclaimed Marjory, her own courage now
regained.  "I am steeped in shame whenever I remember that I have in
my veins blood that is akin to yours."

"You are unreasonable, my mistress," he remonstrated.  "I am giving
the young man a chance for his life."

He addressed me directly.

"You will bear me out, Master Ormerod, that I warned you life on the
frontier was not pretty.  We who deal with savages must employ
measures designed to strike their imaginations.  We can not be
overdainty.  We----"

He looked up in amazement, as a mantle of silence enveloped the
Council-Place for the second time.

"O my people," boomed a harsh voice in the Cahnuaga dialect, "verily
Ha-ne-go-ate-geh has claimed you!  You are mad!  You toy with your
enemies here when the warriors of the Long House are as thick along
the Doom Trail as the falling leaves of Autumn.  The Keepers who were
on watch are dead or in flight.  At any minute the Iroquois will be
here.  They have burned Ga-o-no-geh.  The snow of the Trail is
trampled flat by their multitudes.  Aye, the Doom Trail is bringing
doom upon its Keepers."

The tall, severe figure of Black Robe pushed through the surrounding
masses of renegades until he had reached Marjory's side.

"What have they done to you, my daughter?" he asked kindly, his tone
changing as if by magic.  "I was led away by a false story."

She pointed down at the corpses of Ga-ha-no and de Veulle.  Père
Hyacinthe made the sign of the cross and muttered a brief prayer.

"Providence works mysteriously," he sighed.  "Once I trusted this
man--" and he swung around with stern hostility upon Murray--"and
this one here.  Now I think I know them for what they were, servants
of evil who employed the force of God's holy Word in the furtherance
of their own wicked plans.

"France is great, my daughter.  France has a destiny before her.  But
her greatness and her destiny may not be reached through by-paths of
sin and evil-doing."

He would have said more, but Murray intervened.

"I will answer your personal comments at a future time, sir," he
said; "but do I understand you to say that the Doom Trail has been
penetrated by the Iroquois?"

"They are almost at your door," replied Black Robe sternly.

"'Sdeath!" swore Murray.  "This is too much!"

He raised his voice in a shout.

"To your arms, O Keepers of the Trail!  The Iroquois are upon us!"

But his words were drowned in a racket of firing from the heart of
the Evil Wood.  A number of the False Faces emerged from the shelter
of the firs, their awful masks wabbling unsteadily.

"The People of the Long House!" they wailed.  "The People of the Long
House are come!"

"We are attacked back and front," snarled Murray.  "Well, Master
Ormerod, you and your friend the chief are excellent hostages."

He bellowed a series of commands which brought some degree of order
out of the confusion, and dispatched one party of Keepers into the
Wood to resist the attack from that quarter.  Another body he sent
through the village to hold the approaches of the Doom Trail.  Under
his directions the remainder of the warriors unbound the surviving
prisoners from the stakes and escorted us to the stockaded house in
which he dwelt.

As we passed the chapel we saw Black Robe standing in the doorway.
His eyes were fixed upon the heavens.

"You were a chosen people!" he cried.  "You were the few selected
from the many!  The Word of God was brought to you, and you saw the
light--or said you did.  Your feet were set upon the narrow way.  A
great work was given you to do.

"But you wandered far afield, back into unexplored realms of the
ancient wickedness of your race.  You became devil-worshipers in
secret; aye, eaters of human flesh.  You lived a life of deceit.  You
became tools of Ha-ne-go-ate-geh.

"Great was your fall, and great will be your punishment therefor.
You will be torn up, root and branch.  You will be banished from your
villages and exiled to a strange country.  Your warriors will die
under the tomahawk, your children will be reared by your enemies.
You will perish, O Keepers of the Trail!  Your end is----"

Cowering under the whip-lashes of his words, the Keepers hurried by
the chapel, and ran us inside the stockade.  In the doorway they
paused to await the coming of Murray.  He arrived presently, with
Marjory hanging unwillingly on his arm.

"The prisoners?" he rasped in answer to the question of our guards.
"Take them to the cellar.  Look to their security if you value your
lives."

An echo of distant shouts reached our ears as we stood there, and
across the posts of the stockade we saw the Keepers streaming from
the Evil Wood and at their heels certain darting, quick-moving
figures that we knew must be the warriors of the Eight Clans.

"It is time to bring our women and children inside the stockade,"
proposed one of the Cahnuagas.

Murray shook his head.

"We have not room nor food to spare," he refused with iron
determination.

Discontent showed in the faces of the Keepers, for even these fiends
knew the instinct of domestic affection; but Murray cut off attempts
at protestation.

"See," he said, as the sound of firing came from the southward, "we
are surrounded.  We are ignorant of the strength of the Iroquois.  It
may be all we can do to defend ourselves.  Women and children would
be so many inconveniences to us."

And whilst a squad of savages conducted us to our prison the rest
manned the firing-platforms around the stockade and prepared to cover
the retreat of the Keepers, who were falling back rapidly before the
hard-driving attacks of the Iroquois.

I sought for a word with Marjory as we entered the door, but Murray
deliberately strode between us.  All I gained was a glance from her
eyes that bade me be strong and confident.  And I needed all the
strength and confidence I could obtain during that dreadful afternoon
and night in the cellar, with the shouts of the opposing sides and
the discharges of their muskets the sole tidings to reach us of what
went on above.

Ta-wan-ne-ars sat with his back to a wall, his eyes fixed on vacancy,
his lips murmuring at intervals Ga-ha-no's name.  I tried to interest
him in what went on without success.  He looked at me, and turned his
eyes away.

In desperation I struggled with two of our eight surviving comrades
to untie our bonds, and after hours of trial we succeeded and
released the others.  This permitted me to pay attention to those who
had been injured.  One had a broken shoulder, the result of a blow
from a war-club the night we were captured.  One had been partially
scalped at the stake, and three had been hacked and cut in the
preliminary stages of torture.

We slept little that night, for we were very cold and we had no food.
But in the morning the Keepers thrust a pan of corn-mush within the
door and we ate it to the last kernel.  I forced a portion upon
Ta-wan-ne-ars, feeding him with a stick we found on the floor.

After that we slept for several hours, and then a lanthorn gleamed on
the stairs and Murray stepped into our midst, an immaculate periwig
on his head, his linen spotless, his brown cloth suit as fresh as if
direct from the tailor's hands.

He set the lanthorn on the dirt floor and stood beside it.

"A good morrow to you, Master Ormerod," he began.  "I have come to
hold counsel with you."

"'Tis more than kind," I observed sarcastically.

"Nay, 'tis no more than a proposition of business," he returned
coolly.  "Look you, my friend, we each of us have that which the
other wants.  In such a case sensible men come to terms."

"If I remember rightly you were speaking of terms only yesterday," I
said dryly.

"True, and naturally I was not then disposed to yield you much."

"I would not trust you now on any terms," I said flatly.

"Tut, tut, sir.  Is that language for one gentleman to employ to
another?"

"You are not a gentleman, sir; you are----"

He glowered.

"Have a care, sir," he warned.

"You are a scoundrel," I finished.

He made a gesture of magnificent disdain.

"Let it pass, let it pass.  Your opinion, Master Ormerod, is of
little moment to me.  What I seek is an accommodation of our mutual
desires."

"As how?"

He pursed his lips.

"Look you, Master Ormerod," he replied, "I have you fast here.  I
have also the chief, your friend.  I have in addition one you love."

"Before you proceed further," I interrupted, "I wish you to answer me
one question: Whose child is she!"

He hesitated, and regarded me sidewise.

"Oh, well," he said after a moment, "it might as well out now as
later.  She'd tell you herself, I suppose.  The maid is the child of
my sister."

"And her name!"

"She is a Kerr of Fernieside," he answered pompously.  "I should add,
sir, that I have been at particular pains with the girl, having an
especial affection for her."

"Oh," I murmured politely.  "An especial affection!"

"Even so."

He bowed elegantly.

"I have treated her as my own daughter.  Her father was lost in the
'15, and since then, seeing that her mother was dead, I have made her
my charge.  She hath been well educated in a dame's school in
Edinburgh."

"Well, of that we will say no more," I said.  "I find it unpleasant
to hear you talk of her."

He frowned, but made no reply.

"You consider us as hostages, then?" I continued.

"Yes.  I might as well admit to you that I am surrounded here.  The
Iroquois have sent out the largest war-party ever I saw."

"You are helpless, but you attempt to impose terms," I said.

"Pardon me, sir; I am not helpless," he objected.  "If the worst
comes to the worst I shall give intelligence to my opponents of my
intent to blow up my house and my hostages and undertake to fight a
way through the Iroquois.  Better a death in such fashion than
captivity and disgrace, let alone the torture-stake."

I considered this, and gauged him as capable of doing all that he
said.

"Yes," I assented finally; "being what you are, you have advantages
on your side.  What are your terms?"

"A safe-conduct for me and my people to Canada."

"So that you may restore your trade again?"

A look of sorrow fitted over his face.

"I can not restore it, Master Ormerod.  That fact is indisputable.
My one hold upon public opinion was my success and the power it gave
me.  Let me fail and lose my power, and my influence is dead."

"Yes," I agreed; "that is true."

"Moreover," he went on, "my savages are killed or scattered.  My
organization is gone.  My most valuable servants are slain."

"And Mistress Marjory?"

He regarded me oddly.

"Do you care to sue for her hand?" he parried.

"I shall wed her, if she pleases," I responded; "but I do assure you,
sir, I have no intent to approach you in the matter."

"You make a grave mistake then.  I should like to settle upon her a
jointure proportionate to her birth and heritage."

My first sensation of amusement was turned to ridicule.

"Murray," I said, "you seem not to understand that honest men and
women want nothing of your bloody, ill-gotten money.  I know that
Mistress Marjory will uphold me in this.  All we ask of you is that
you should disappear, erase yourself."

He flushed, but had himself in hand immediately.

"You have insulted me more than enough, sir," he said with dignity.
"Let us end this interview.  Are you prepared to go outside the
stockade and secure consent to the terms we have discussed, giving
your word of honor to return here afterwards?"

I bowed.

"I will do so, but first permit me to acquaint my companions."

And as rapidly as I could I informed the Senecas of the upshot of our
talk.  All heard it with relief, save Ta-wan-ne-ars.  His sombre eyes
looked through and beyond me.

"My Lost Soul!" was his response.  "I must seek my Lost Soul,
brother!"

"In time," I assured him gently.  "Do you bide here and await me, and
presently you shall go hence and seek her if you wish."




XXIX

THE BARRING OF THE DOOM TRAIL

"Qua, O-te-ti-an-i!"

Do-ne-ho-ga-weh's right arm was lifted in the salute.  The little
group of Indians standing at his side on the fringe of the woods
overlooking the smoking ruins of La Vierge du Bois repeated the
greeting.  Corlaer, his broad face with its insignificant, haphazard
features shining with emotion, grasped my hand and wrung it heartily.

"You hafe der lifes of a cat, my friendt!" he exclaimed.  "We hafe
foundt der torture stakes with der bodies of some of your party
andt----"

He paused and glanced at Do-ne-ho-ga-weh.  The Guardian of the
Western Door drew himself up proudly.

"Ga-ha-no did wrong," he said, "but she died as became the daughter
of a _roy-an-eh_ of the Long House."

"She died like a warrior," I replied.

"O-te-ti-an-i makes the heart of Do-ne-ho-ga-weh very glad,"
acknowledged the _roy-an-eh_.  "Can he still my fears for my nephew?"

"Ta-wan-ne-ars fought like a chief," I answered.  "But his heart was
made very sad by the death of Ga-ha-no and his mind has wandered from
him for a space."

"It will return," affirmed Do-ne-ho-ga-weh.  "Now tell us, O my white
son, do you come hither as a captive or a conqueror?"

"I come to offer the terms of Murray; but first tell me how
successful you have been, so that I may know whether I should advise
acceptance of what he offers."

Do-ne-ho-ga-weh swept his arm around the horizon.

"Everywhere you see ashes and destruction," he replied.  "The Keepers
of the Trail are dead or imprisoned in Murray's stockade.  Their
women and children are our prisoners.  Our belts can scarcely support
the loads of scalps we have taken.  We have swept the Doom Trail."

A new figure stepped forward--modestly, as became a young warrior in
the company of _roy-an-ehs_ and chiefs.  'Twas the Otter.  He too
saluted me.

"We thought that you escaped the ambush," I said.  "You did well.
Great will be the fame of the Otter."

He selected two from a bundle of scalps at his belt and held them
aloft.

"Two pursued the Otter when he ran from the Evil Wood," he boasted.
"But none returned to tell the way he took.  The Otter hastened day
and night, O my white brother, O-te-ti-an-i, hoping he might bring
warriors to rescue you from the Keepers."

"The Otter did well," I repeated.  "Had it not been for him, Murray
might have been able to flee to Canada.  As it is, the warriors of
the Long House have surrounded him.  He wishes only to save his life.
Harken to the terms he offers."

They listened without comment to Murray's proposition.

"But we have a hostage, also," objected Do-ne-ho-ga-weh when I had
finished.  "We have been holding him for the torture-stake.  Perhaps
Murray will be willing to accept less when he learns that we have
taken Black Robe."

"No, Black Robe means nothing to Murray," I said.

And I described the clash between the two rulers of La Vierge du Bois
over the wedding of Marjory.

"It does not matter," commented Do-ne-ho-ga-weh.  "Black Robe is our
enemy, and we will torture him to avenge our warriors who have
perished here at the stake."

"No, no," I objected.  "You must let him go.  The Great Spirit has
set his seal upon him.  Twice before this he has been tortured, yet
he still lives."

"The third time may be the last," insisted Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, and the
other chiefs murmured agreement with him.

"Will my father yield the life of Black Robe to me as a special
gift?" I tried again.  "He befriended the maiden I hope to marry.  I
should like to set him free."

They consulted together, and Corlaer urged my cause.  In the end
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh assented because, he said, I had brought good luck to
the Long House and this was the first favor I had requested.

"And now," he concluded, "take back this message to Murray, my white
son.  Tell him that he is to surrender his house as it stands, with
all it contains.  Tell him that he is to give up to us the maiden he
calls his daughter, whom you desire to wed.  Tell him that he is to
send forth the prisoners he has taken.  Tell him that he is to render
up all the arms he has in his possession.

"And then he and those of the Keepers of the Trail who are left to
him shall march out, and the People of the Long House will escort
them to Jaraga, where they shall be handed over to Joncaire to
dispose of as pleases Onontio and the French.

"_Na-ho!_"

I said good-bye to them, and tramped back across the clearing to the
stockade above which waved a white napkin fastened to a ramrod.
Murray awaited me just within the gate.  The Keepers, in their
fantastic feather headdresses, crouched on the firing-platform and
peered down at us fearfully.  Splotches of blood in the dirty snow
showed where several of them had been killed by the plunging fire of
the Iroquois from the trees which rimmed the clearing.

Murray heard my report in silence, and cast his eye over the
surrounding scene before replying.

"It shall be done," he said at last.  "Was ever a man so sorely tried
by fate?  Zooks! 'twill cost me a pretty penny and no slight effort
to recoup my fortunes."

I regarded him with amazement.

"Do you think to be tolerated hereabouts in the future?" I asked.

"Hereabouts!  It may be so; it may not be," he answered musingly.
"But my star is no ordinary star, Master Ormerod.  And despite my
demerits, which seem to have impressed you unduly, if you will allow
me to say so, I am not entirely without certain capacities which are
valuable in adversity."

"The devil looks out for his own!" I ejaculated rudely.

"Needs must, if the devil drives," he countered.  "Ah, well, we are
simply headed toward another fruitless bicker.  You are strangely
burdened by that animus which the clergy dub conscience.  Your
judgment is biased."

"Where you are concerned."

"I fear so," he deplored.  "Let us set a term to this debate.  Does
our treaty go into effect at once?"

"Yes."

"So be it.  I will give orders to have your friends conducted here."

The battered remnants of our war-party appeared with Ta-wan-ne-ars
walking in the lead, his face once more a study in impassive rigor.

"Murray says we are free, brother," he said, stepping to my side.

"It is true."

The sadness shone momentarily in his eyes.

"I have had a bad dream, brother," he went on.

"'Twas no dream," I cried.  "Do not doubt your sorrow, Ta-wan-ne-ars.
It was----"

"It was a dream," he answered steadily.  "My Lost Soul is redeemed by
Ha-wen-ne-yu and is gone on before me for a visit to Ata-ent-sic.
But in a little time, when I am rested, I shall go after her and
fetch her back to dwell happily with me in my lodge."

"But how can you, a mortal, journey into the hereafter?" I protested.

"Did I not tell you an old tale of my people of a warrior who
ventured to the Land of Lost Souls?  O my brother, the Great Spirit
is generous.  He recognizes courage and true love.  If I am daring of
everything, surely he will stand my aid and help me into
Ata-ent-sic's country."

"It can not be!"

"How shall we know it can not be until we have tried?  Ta-wan-ne-ars
will try."

I could say no more.  Such simple faith was unanswerable.  And I
watched him, quietly directing the piling of the weapons of the
Keepers and the unbarring of the gate in the stockade.  I wondered
how much of it was the unconscious working on a sensitive mind of the
very Christianity he had rejected.

Marjory's voice recalled me to the present.

"Master Murray tells me he hath surrendered," she said.

I turned eagerly to find her at my side.  My hands leaped out for
hers, and she yielded them without hesitation, her brave eyes beaming
love and comradeship unashamed.

"Yes, we are free, Marjory.  Will you come with me----"

She caught my meaning, and made to pull away from me.

"But we will have had no wooing," she exclaimed, half between
laughter and tears.  "Sure, sir, you will not be expecting a maid to
yield without suit?"

I would not let her go.

"Every minute that hath passed since I stepped into the main cabin of
the New Venture to see the face of the mysterious songbird hath been
a persistent suit," I declared.

"And you would really wed an unrelenting Jacobite?" she murmured.

"Whatever you are I love you, and as a reformed Jacobite I can see
reasons for forgiving your contumacy."

Her face grew serious.

"As I told you once before--" she shuddered with the memory of the
incident--"I have learned much since leaving Scotland.  I know that
you are no traitor and your beliefs are honorable and patriotic, and
that Country means more than King.  But, Harry, you will be
overlooking the narrowness of a poor maid brought up in a Scots
Jacobite household to consider the Stuart cause sacred--will you not?"

"So sweet a recantation!" sneered Murray at my elbow.  "He will never
be able resist you, my dear."

She withdrew so that I stood between her and her uncle.

"I have supported much from you, sir," she answered coldly; "in part
through mistaken loyalty to the object you said you served; in part
because, evil though you were, you were my flesh and blood.  But from
this day I disown you.  I will be having naught to do with you.  You
mean nothing to me.  You are a horrid specter I expel from my mind."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"'Tis a fitting reward for the loving care I gave you, Mistress
Marjory.  You are with me until my fortunes wane.  Well, I am
content.  Henceforth Andrew Murray plays his own hand alone.  Yet it
suits me, my children, to annoy you to the extent of assuring you my
blessing and good wishes.

"You are a fine, healthy maid, Marjory.  As for Master Ormerod, he
hath been a resourceful enemy, and as the first man to cry
'Checkmate!' against me I congratulate him."

Ta-wan-ne-ars tapped him on the shoulder and he swung around to meet
the frowning gaze of the Seneca.

"You are a prisoner, Murray.  Come with Ta-wan-ne-ars."

"'Sdeath, I was to have safe-conduct!"

"You are to go safely to Jagara--yes," I interposed; "but think not
we will trust you at liberty."

He took snuff and dusted his lapels carefully.

"Have your way, noble Iroquois," he sighed.  "A little while, and I
shall be quit of you."

The warriors of the Long House came pouring through the gates of the
stockade, and their war-whoops echoed over the forest as they
commenced the work of looting Murray's establishment and securing
their prisoners.  As Marjory and I passed out of that sinister
enclosure, which had seen so much of wickedness and human suffering,
we had our last joint glimpse of Andrew Murray.  The Otter was
lashing his arms at his back, and on his face was a look of whimsical
distaste.

"Farewell, my children," he called.  "Bear in mind 'twas Andrew
Murray brought you together.  So good cometh out of evil."

Marjory shrank closer against my side.

"Yes," she said; "take me away from here.  Let us go away, Harry--and
forget."

But 'twas Corlaer, and not I, who escorted my lady to Albany and the
tender care of Mistress Schuyler, into whose charge Governor Burnet
most kindly commended her.  For duty commanded me to discharge my
obligation of removing Murray and his Cahnuagas--not many survived
the castigation of the Iroquois--in safety to Jagara; and I must
accompany Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and Ta-wan-ne-ars and the warriors of the
Eight Clans in the triumphal procession which traversed the Long
House from the Upper Mohawk Castle to the shores of the Thunder
Waters as an illustration of the wrath of the Great League.

And I was not sorry that I did so, for it enabled me to sit beside
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and his brother chiefs in the half-finished stone
fort at Jagara and hear him lay down the law of the Long House to
Joncaire, as representative of the French.

"_Qua_, O Joncaire, mouthpiece of Onontio who rules at Quebec," he
said.  "We people of the Long House come to you in peace.  And we
give into your hands the white man Murray and those who are still
alive of the Keepers of the Doom Trail.  We promised that they should
come here, and we have fulfilled our promise.  But we have set a bar
across the Doom Trail, O mouthpiece of Onontio, and we desire you to
tell the French of that.

"If Onontio chooses, we will live in peace with him, and--" this was
a crafty use of an advantage I had forced upon him--"in earnest of
our friendship we have saved the life of the Frenchman called Black
Robe, although he has been no friend of our people.  But the Doom
Trail is closed to red men and white men alike.  We have obliterated
it.  We have set a bar across it.

"It is our wish that you should acquaint Onontio with our decision.
We ask him to assist us in wiping out this source of trouble between
us.

"_Na-ho!_"

"I have heard your message, O _roy-an-ehs_ and chiefs of the Long
House," replied Joncaire.  "I will repeat it to Onontio, but I do not
think it will be welcome in his ears.  As to the white man Murray,
why do you bring him to me?  He is English.  You should carry him to
the English at Albany."

"He asked to be brought to you," returned Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, and thus
spiked an adroit attempt to shift the implied responsibility for
Murray's enterprises in the past.

"Very well," said Joncaire.  "You may leave him here.  Do you enter
any charge against him?"

"We might enter many charges against him," answered Do-ne-ho-ga-weh
grimly.  "But we pledged our word to bring him here in safety--and we
have washed away the stains of his offenses in the blood of the
Keepers of the Trail."

"He shall tell his story to Onontio," replied Joncaire, politely
threatening.  "I am pleased with your assurances of peacefulness.  I
have no more to say."

But as the Iroquois were leaving he buttonholed me in the sallyport.

"I know you, my lad from Arles," he said jocosely.  "I knew you the
minute I laid my eyes on you.  You have played ducks and drakes with
high policies in your few months on the frontier.  I hope your people
appreciate you."

I laughed and returned his compliment.  He waxed serious.

"For myself I am not so sorry this has happened," he declared.  "I'll
fight the English any day--and beat them, too.  But I like not this
stealthy intriguing by crime, by perverting the poor savages, by
downright cruelty and superstition.  This fellow de Veulle, now----"

"He's dead," I interrupted.

"_Ma foi_, you seem to have made a clean sweep of it, Jean!  You are
a lad after my own heart.  De Veulle, he was a bad one.  He cast
discredit on France.  I am glad you disposed of him.  Let us fight
clean and win clean, I say.  Do you tell that to your governor."

"I will," I promised, laughing.

"You haven't a chance, you know," continued Joncaire gravely.  "Not a
chance."

"It seems to me you once told me at some length of the importance of
the fur-trade," I suggested.

"_Peste_!  Did I?  Well, it has its place, lad.  But if you have
rooted out that excrescence at La Vierge du Bois we have a tight
little fortalice here at Jagara.  'Twill serve, 'twill serve.  And
you English have no imagination.  Once in a while you get a good
man--Burnet for example.  But you do not trust him, and you
invariably have your Murrays who want another king than his Majesty
who sits in London and will pay any price we ask for promises of help
we never keep.

"Must you be going?  Adieu, then!  And do not be setting any of your
neat snares for me, Monsieur l'Arlesien."




XXX

FROM PEARL STREET TO HUDSON'S RIVER

The sun bathed the dust of Pearl Street wherever it could steal
between the layers of the thick-leafed boughs overhead.  I lounged on
the doorstep of our cozy, red-brick house by the corner of Garden
Street, and reread the letter from Master Juggins which the
supercargo of the Bristol packet had delivered a half-hour earlier.



    My Hart is reejoiced, deare Lad, at ye Ezcelant report of yon
    which is come From Governour Burnet.  Granny was so Plesed she
    sang untill ye Prentises sent word above-stares Beseching a
    Treate of ale which ye Swete Soul dispached at once.  I have This
    Day taken out ye Papers of partnership in Your name, and when
    this Reches you ye sign above ye Doore will run as Juggins &
    Ormerod.

    Murray's discomfitur hath had Exceding Advantageous efects in ye
    Citie and ye Marchaunts who Earley did Clamor for ye freedom of
    Trade with ye French are now Perceveinge how ye Planne of
    Governour Burnet did Sette to their Profit in ye Longe Runne.
    Use your Own Judgments, I praye you, in developping ye Provincial
    Trade and draw Upon mee at will for what Funds you Maye need.

    Grannie and I do send you our Love and Respect and She biddes me
    say she Considders 'Twas ye Actte of Godde I was sette Upon in ye
    Mincing Lane what time you Came to my Rescue.  We desire that you
    and Mistress Marjory may Deem ye house in Holbourne your home and
    'twould deelight our Eyes might we See you Here.  Butte of that
    you will bee ye Judges.  Ye New World is ye world for Youth, of
    that There can bee no Dispute.

    I do Enclose ye Miniature of your Mother which an Agente hath
    secured from ye Jew on ye Quai de l'Horloge in Paris as you Tolde
    mee and Agane do Salute you with Afectionate Regarde and asure
    you and your Wife all ye Love that Words may encompass.


I drew the miniature from my pocket and recalled the damp, wintry day
in Paris I had made up my mind to quit the Jacobite cause and try my
fortune at all risks in England; the pang with which I had abandoned
the last link remaining with my dead parents; the rough trip in the
smuggler's lugger; the wet landing at night on the dreary Channel
coast; the fruitless attempts to enlist the aid of former friends;
the hue and cry upstart cousins had raised; the flight to London;
the----

"Ha, there, Ormerod!"

I looked up to see the burly figure of Governor Burnet rounding the
corner.  He waved a handful of papers at me.

"The packet hath brought great news!" he cried.

"What is it, your Excellency?"

"The Lords of Trade have seen the light, ---- 'em!  After we had
overridden 'em and pounded sense into their thick heads with mallets,
by gad!  But they are coming around to our view, and for that a
humble provincial governor should be thankful, I daresay.  Do but
hark to this!"

And, standing with legs spread apart in the middle of the paved
sidewalk, he read:

"And seeing that the resentment of the Six Nations is so deeply
stirred by reason of the tabling of the law, we are resolved that the
provincial Government shall have authority to impose the duties upon
trade-goods for Canada as before.  And his Excellency the governor
shall be required to file a complete report of the situation with
such addenda, facts and statistics relative to amounts and totals of
trade and fluctuations therein in the recent past as may be helpful
to their lordships in reaching a final decision in this matter."

He shook the paper with a quaint mixture of derision and satisfaction.

"A final decision, forsooth!  The plain truth, Ormerod, is that the
protests of the French Court have aroused our merchants at home to a
realization of the dangers they ran, and now that Murray is defeated
and broken his friends and fellow-plotters have no reason for pushing
their intrigue.  'Tis a commentary, indeed, upon the brains we have
at Whitehall.  I say naught of the City men, who after all can not be
expected to be familiar with politics and the interplay of national
ambitions.

"There is more of the same tone as that I read, but I will not burden
you with it.  Do but wait until I write them, as I shall by the first
sailing, that the price of beaver is declined again at Montreal to
half our quotations at Albany.  Aye, and that we are sending into the
wilderness country this Summer twice the number of traders who went
out last year.

"But I am selfishly occupied with my own interests, Ormerod.  Here is
a matter which more nearly concerneth yourself."

He produced a large rolled sheet of parchment, imposingly enscrolled,
across the top of which ran the legend:


A FREE PARDON


"'Twas bound to come," he rambled on.  "Do you go within and show it
to Mistress Ormerod."

But Marjory had been listening at the window, and as I opened the
door she fell into my arms and clung there, sobbing for the relief
that came to both of us with the lifting of the menace which had
overhung my life so long.

"There, there," admonished the governor.  "Gadslife, what does the
girl weep for?"

"Be-be-because--I am--so--happy," answered Marjory,

"Heaven help us, should you weep for grief!" he exclaimed.  "And what
will you say when I tell you I am come likewise to summon your
husband to attend for the first time as a member of the Council!"

His rubicund face gleamed with pleasure at the joy he had inspired in
two hearts.

"Tut, tut, 'tis nothing," he pursued his discourse.  "I do but serve
myself.  I have been housecleaning this past Spring.  There were rats
in the Council who sought to trip me in the days you know of.  They
are gone.  Ormerod should have had a seat ere this but 'twas best to
await the pardon."

"I am so happy I know not what to do," protested Marjory, wiping her
eyes.  "But, oh, see who comes!"

We followed her pointing finger; and there, striding between the
ordered house-fronts of Pearl Street, exactly as I had seen him the
first time we met, came Ta-wan-ne-ars, the eagle's feather slanting
from his scalp-lock, the wolf's head of his clan insignia painted on
his naked chest.  His grave face was smiling.  His right arm was
raised in salute.

"_Qua_, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go!  _Qua_, friends!  Ta-wan-ne-ars greets you."

"You are just arrived?" I asked.

"This hour landed, brother, from the river-sloop."

"Have you any frontier news?" questioned the governor, alert as
always for tidings of his distant dominions.

"Only news of peace.  The frontier is quiet.  The Doom Trail is
closed.  Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and To-do-da-ho say to Ga-en-gwa-ra-go that
the French have forgotten the threats they made.  The Covenant Chain
was too strong for them, and so long as the English and the People of
the Long House keep their hands clasped the peace will endure."

"I told the French that the People of the Long House had the right to
destroy a force which assailed their interests," responded the
governor.  "And his Majesty my King sent word to the French King that
my words were straight."

"Ga-en-gwa-ra-go is a friend to the Great League," rejoined the
Seneca.  "His fame as a truth-teller and a covenant-keeper has gone
broadcast.  The far tribes are traveling to Albany to offer their
allegiance and friendship to him.  The fur-trade is once more under
control of the English and the Long House."

"We have waited long for you to visit us, brother," I said.  "Now
that you have come we shall make you stay many moons."

His smile became sad.

"It can not be.  Ta-wan-ne-ars comes to say good-bye."

"Good-bye?"

"Yes, brother.  Have you forgotten the search for my Lost Soul!"

"But she is dead!"

"She is with Ata-ent-sic."

"What is this that you speak of?" demanded the governor.

And we told him the story of Ga-ha-no, while the sunshine mottled the
dust of Pearl Street and the life of the little town droned sleepily
under the trees.

Master Burnet drew a deep breath when the tale was finished.

"You really believe you may find this Land of Lost Souls out
there"--he motioned over the scattered house-tops toward Hudson's
River--"beyond the setting sun?"

"The ancient tales of my people say that I may," replied
Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"And why not?" returned the governor.  "God alone--and I say it with
all fitting reverence--knows what lies beyond the wilderness country.

"Go, Ta-wan-ne-ars.  Seek your Lost Soul.  Even if you do not find
the shadow land of Ata-ent-sic, you may find wonders that your people
and mine have never dreamed of."

"Yes," said the Seneca.  "Ta-wan-ne-ars will go.  What is life but a
search?  Some men seek scalps.  Some men seek beaver-pelts.  Some men
seek honors as leaders and orators.  Some men seek truth.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars seeks his Lost Soul.  He has no fear.  He will go
through Da-ye-da-do-go-war, the Great Home of the Winds, where Ga-oh,
the Wind Spirit, dwells.  He will go through Ha-nis-ka-o-no-geh, the
Dwelling-Place of the Evil-Minded.  He will go to the world's end if
the Great Spirit will but guide his footsteps."

"Oh, I pray that you may find what you seek," cried Marjory, the
tears in her eyes again.  "But sure, you will stay with us a little
while?"

"I will go at once, Sister Ne-e-ar-go-ye"--he called her the Bear in
memory of her exploit in rescuing us from the False Faces--"now that
I have seen my white friends."

"Stay with us a while," she pleaded.

"You would not ask me if you knew how my heart hungered for her whom
I have lost," he answered.

"Then go," said Marjory quickly.  "And God bless you."

"_Hi-ne-a-weh_,[1] O, my sister.  It is time.  I have been delayed
overlong.  There were many things for Ta-wan-ne-ars to do before he
could go.  The affairs of the Long House required attention.  The
guard of the Western Door must be secured..  But from this day I
shall turn my face to the setting sun, and the hunger in my heart
will be satisfied--if the Great Spirit wills it, as I think He does."


[1] I thank you.


He would not step indoors for food, but insisted on walking back
toward the Broad-Way with Master Burnet and me.  At the Bowling Green
we encountered Peter Corlaer.  His huge belly waggled before him with
the energy of his pace, and he was quite out of breath.

"Ha, Peter," the governor hailed him.  "Well met, indeed.  What hath
earned us this honor?"

"I heardt Ta-wan-ne-ars was here," he panted.  "I followedt him down
rifer from Fort Orange."

"What does Corlaer wish?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.

The big Dutchman stammered and gurgled with embarrassment.

"I go with you," he gasped after much effort.

"But you know not whither I go," said Ta-wan-ne-ars.

"Wherefer you go.  Idt does not matter."

"I go to the Land of Lost Souls."

"_Ja_, that's all righdt," returned Corlaer.  "I go with you."

"Take him, Ta-wan-ne-ars," advised the governor.  "'Tis a friend you
may depend upon who will follow you a week's journey for the
privilege of securing your assent to the risking of his life in your
service."

The hard lines of the Seneca's stern face were softened by a rare
glow of feeling.

"Ta-wan-ne-ars never doubted Corlaer, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go," he answered,
squeezing Peter's hand in his.  "He would not ask any to go with him
because the peril is great.  But he will be glad to have Peter by his
side.  We will take the first boat which leaves."

"One is sailing from der Whale's Headt wharf," suggested Peter.

"Good.  Then we will say good-bye here."

"No, no, we will accompany you to the wharf," said the governor.
"Where are you from, Peter?"

"I was in der Shawnees' country when I heardt Ta-wan-ne-ars was going
upon a long journey alone.  So I go to De-o-nun-da-ga-a, andt from
there to Fort Orange andt here."

"Have you heard aught of Black Robe since the burning of La Vierge du
Bois?"

"He was in der country of der Miamis this Spring, they saidt."

"And Murray?"

"_Nein_, Murray is nefer spoken of.  Der French would hafe none of
him.  They saidt he sailed from Quebec for der Hafana."

"So are the mighty fallen," mused the governor as we strolled along.
"A few short months ago he was more powerful than I in the province.
Today he is nobody."

"Beg yer pardons, sirs," wheezed a voice behind us, "but the tapman
at the Whale's Head Tavern yonder said as how one o' ye was Master
Ormerod."

The speaker was a tarry, grizzled sailor-man, with three fingers
slashed off his left hand.  He touched his cap knowingly, and ranged
up beside us.

"I am Master Ormerod," I told him.

"Ah, yessir.  Thanky, sir."

He eyed me keenly.

"It's the face and the figger, right enough.  I'd ha' knowed you
anywheres."

"Where have I seen you before!" I inquired with surprize.

"Never laid eyes on me, you ain't, sir--nor me on you," he returned
promptly.

"What is it you want then?"

I reached into my pocket, thinking perhaps the man was a beggar.
'Twas my lucky day, I reflected, and 'twould be churlish to deny help
to one in want.

"I won't be refusin' o' a pan o' rum like," he responded with a grin.
"But my business was to give ye this."

And he produced from the inside of his jacket an oblong package
wrapped in canvas.

"Here y'are, sir."

He thrust it into my grasp, fisted the shilling I offered him and
made off at speed into a convenient alley.  I called after him, but
he only cast a look over his shoulder and took to his heels.

"Examine the package," said the governor.  "'Tis a queer gift a man
will not wait to see appraised."

Beneath the canvas was a wrapping of oiled silk, and within that one
of heavy linen.  As this fell away our eyes were blinded by a
dazzling heap of red and white stones linked with bars of gold.

"A necklace of rubies and diamonds," opined Master Burnet.  "Spoil of
the Indies."

A slip of paper fluttered to the ground.  I picked it up.  The
writing was in brown ink, faded by dampness, but fully legible--a
bold, flowing script.  It ran:



    From One who shal bee Namelesse, a Gentleman of goode Estate and
    Name, who is now Under a Cloude but will Yette recover fromme 'ye
    slings and Arrowes of Outrageous fortune.'  Take this so Mistress
    Ormerod maye not bee Portionlesse.  There is More where this came
    from.


"I'll wager there is," pronounced the governor.  "Master Murray hath
turned pirate.  I would I had that tarry breeks who scurried hence,
and we might screw some information from him.  But New York town is a
favorite haunt of his breed, and he will disappear without trouble."

"What shall I do with it?" I asked in bewilderment.

Ta-wan-ne-ars and Peter joined in the governor's hearty roar of
amusement.

"Why, even accept it," quoth Master Burnet.  "The villain has tricked
you so you can do naught else.  'Tis an extraordinary rogue."

So I pocketed the gems, and we walked out upon the wharf where the
sloop _River Queene_ lay with her moorings slack.

"Tumble aboard, my masters," shouted the captain.  "There's a fair
breeze and the tide is flowing."

"Good-bye," said Ta-wan-ne-ars.  "Ga-en-gwa-ra-go and O-te-ti-an-i
will be always in the thoughts of Ta-wan-ne-ars."

"Goodt-by," mumbled Corlaer.

"Good-bye for a while," retorted the governor.  "We shall be ready to
welcome you with rejoicing when you return with a brave tale to tell
us."

"Good-bye," I called, and my voice choked.

I raised my right arm in the Iroquois gesture of greeting and
farewell.  Ta-wan-ne-ars answered in kind, motionless as a bronze
statue against the dirty gray expanse of the sail.  The sloop dropped
her moorings and glided out into the current.

In ten minutes Peter's face was a broad white blotch at the foot of
the mast and Ta-wan-ne-ars was a darker blur beside him.  They sailed
on into the eye of the setting sun.

"'Tis the very spirit of this land, Ormerod," observed Master Burnet
as we watched.  "Having finished one adventure, they seek a fresh
trial of their resource and daring.  Ah, well, 'tis for you and me to
take their precept and strive to sharpen our wits upon some homely
adventures of our own.  All of us may not seek the Land of Lost
Souls, but each of us may find a worth-while task upon his doorstep."



EPILOGUE

Bow down your heads, O my Readers!  He-no, the Thunderer, and Ga-oh,
the Old Man of the Winds, are filling the air with confusion.  Our
Council-Fire is dying.  The smoke has drifted away.  Ha-wen-ne-yu has
shut his ears.  The doors to Yesterday are closing.

We will dance the O-ke-wa, the Dance for the Dead, for what was has
passed.  It is no more.  Only the memory of the wise and the brave
remains.  Not even the Falling Waters of Jagara can sweep away the
names of To-do-da-ho and the Shining Ones of the Great League.

They have been honored by Ha-wen-ne-yu.  They sit at his side in the
Halls of Ho-no-che-no-keh.  The Good Spirits laugh and chant their
praises as they show the scalps they have taken and recount the
tribes they conquered.  The De-o-ha-ko, the Three Sisters, our
Supporters, are their handmaidens.  They flourish in the Hereafter
like the Pine-Tree on earth.

Remember them, O my Readers!  Remember the Founders!  Remember the
Long House they built!  Remember the warriors of the Eight Clans!

For what you are you owe to them.

_Ha-ho!_



THE END









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