Beyond the Frontier. Randall Parrish

THE COURT MARTIAL

       CHAPTER XXIX

       CONDEMNED

       CHAPTER XXX

       I CHOOSE MY FUTURE

       CHAPTER XXXI

       WE REACH THE RIVER

       CHAPTER XXXII

       WE MEET SURPRISE

       CHAPTER XXXIII

       WARRIORS OF THE ILLINI

       CHAPTER XXXIV

       WE WAIT IN AMBUSH

       CHAPTER XXXV

       THE CHARGE OF THE ILLINI

       CHAPTER XXXVI

       THE CLEARING OF MYSTERY

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

AT THE HOME OF HUGO CHEVET

       Table of Contents

      It was early autumn, for the clusters of grapes above me were already purple, and the forest leaves were tinged with red. And yet the air was soft, and the golden bars of sun flickered down on the work in my lap through the laced branches of the trellis. The work was but a pretense, for I had fled the house to escape the voice of Monsieur Cassion who was still urging my uncle to accompany him on his journey into the wilderness. They sat in the great room before the fireplace, drinking, and I had heard enough already to tell me there was treachery on foot against the Sieur de la Salle. To be sure it was nothing to me, a girl knowing naught of such intrigue, yet I had not forgotten the day, three years before, when this La Salle, with others of his company, had halted 2 before the Ursuline convent, and the sisters bade them welcome for the night. ’Twas my part to help serve, and he had stroked my hair in tenderness. I had sung to them, and watched his face in the firelight as he listened. Never would I forget that face, nor believe evil of such a man. No! not from the lips of Cassion nor even from the governor, La Barre.

      I recalled it all now, as I sat there in the silence, pretending to work, how we watched them embark in their canoes and disappear, the Indian paddlers bending to their task, and Monsieur la Salle, standing, bareheaded as he waved farewell. Beyond him was the dark face of one they called De Tonty, and in the first boat a mere boy lifted his ragged hat. I know not why, but the memory of that lad was clearer than all those others, for he had met me in the hall and we had talked long in the great window ere the sister came, and took me away. So I remembered him, and his name, Rene de Artigny. And in all those years I heard no more. Into the black wilderness they swept and were lost to those of us at home in New France.

      No doubt there were those who knew––Frontenac, Bigot, those who ruled over us at Quebec––but ’twas not a matter supposed to interest a girl, and so no word came to me. Once I asked my Uncle Chevet, and he replied in anger with only a few sentences, bidding me hold my tongue; yet he said enough so 3 that I knew the Sieur de la Salle lived and had built a fort far away, and was buying furs of the Indians. It was this that brought jealousy, and hatred. Once Monsieur Cassion came and stopped with us, and, as I waited on him and Uncle Chevet, I caught words which told me that Frontenac was La Salle’s friend, and would listen to no charges brought against him. They talked of a new governor; yet I learned but little, for Cassion attempted to kiss me, and I would wait on him no more.

      Then Frontenac was recalled to France, and La Barre was governor. How pleased my Uncle Chevet was when the news came, and he rapped the table with his glass and exclaimed: “Ah! but now we will pluck out the claws of this Sieur de la Salle, and send him where he belongs.” But he would explain nothing, until a week later. Cassion came up the river in his canoe with Indian paddlers, and stopped to hold conference. The man treated me with much gallantry, so that I questioned him, and he seemed happy to answer that La Barre had already dispatched a party under Chevalier de Baugis, of the King’s Dragoons to take command of La Salle’s Fort St. Louis in the Illinois country. La Salle had returned, and was already at Quebec, but Cassion grinned as he boasted that the new governor would not even give him audience. Bah! I despised the man, yet I lingered 4 beside him, and thus learned that La Salle’s party consisted of but two voyageurs, and the young Sieur de Artigny. I was glad enough when he went away, though I gave him my hand to kiss, and waved to him bravely at the landing. And now he was back again, bearing a message from La Barre, and seeking volunteers for some western voyage of profit. ’Twas of no interest to me unless my uncle joined in the enterprise, yet I was kind enough, for he brought with him word of the governor’s ball at Quebec, and had won the pledge of Chevet to take me there with him. I could be gracious to him for that and it was on my gown I worked, as the two planned and talked in secret. What they did was nothing to me now––all my thought was on the ball. What would you? I was seventeen.

      The grape trellis ran down toward the river landing, and from where I sat in the cool shadow, I could see the broad water gleaming in the sun. Suddenly, as my eyes uplifted, the dark outline of a canoe swept into the vista, and the splashing paddles turned the prow inward toward our landing. I did not move, although I watched with interest, for it was not the time of year for Indian traders, and these were white men. I could see those at the paddles, voyageurs, with gay cloths about their heads; but the one in the stern wore a hat, the brim concealing his face, and a blue coat. I knew 5 not who it could be until the prow touched the bank, and he stepped ashore. Then I knew, and bent low over my sewing, as though I had seen nothing, although my heart beat fast. Through lowered lashes I saw him give brief order to the men, and then advance toward the house alone. Ah! but this was not the slender, laughing-eyed boy of three years before. The wilderness had made of him a man––a soldier. He paused an instant to gaze about, and held his hat in his hand, the sun touching his tanned cheeks, and flecking the long, light-colored hair. He looked strong and manly in his tightly buttoned jacket, a knife at his belt, a rifle grasped within one hand. There was a sternness to his face too, although it lit up in a smile, as the searching eyes caught glimpse of my white dress in the cool shade of the grape arbor. Hat still in hand he came toward me, but I only bent the lower, as though I knew nothing of his approach, and had no interest other than my work.

      “Mademoiselle,” he said gently, “pardon me, but is not this the home of Hugo Chevet, the fur trader?”

      I looked up into his face, and bowed, as he swept the earth with his hat, seeing at a glance that he had no remembrance of me.

      “Yes,” I answered. “If you seek him, rap on the door beyond.”

      “’Tis