CHAPTER XVIII
LAPLANTE AND I RENEW ACQUAINTANCE
The warriors had spoken truth to the Mandanes. Le Grand Diable was notin the Sioux lodges. I had been at the encampment for almost a week,daily expecting the warriors' return, before I could persuade the peopleto grant me the right of search through the wigwams. In the end, Isucceeded only through artifice. Indeed, I was becoming too proficientin craft for the maintenance of self-respect. A child--I explained tothe surly old men who barred my way--had been confused with the Siouxslaves. If it were among their lodges, I was willing to pay well for itsredemption. The old squaws, eying me distrustfully, averred I had cometo steal one of their naked brats, who swarmed on my tracks with astantalizing persistence as the vicious dogs. The jealous mothers wouldnot hear of my searching the tents. Then I was compelled to make friendswith the bevies of young squaws, who ogle newcomers to the Indian camps.Presently, I gained the run of all the lodges. Indeed, I needed not alittle diplomacy to keep from being adopted as son-in-law by onepertinacious old fellow--a kind of embarrassment not wholly confined totrappers in the wilds. But not a trace of Diable and his captives did Ifind.
I had hobbled my horses--a string of six--in a valley some distance fromthe camp and directly on the trail, where Little Fellow was awaiting me.Returning from a look at their condition one evening, I heard a band ofhunters had come from the Upper Missouri. I was sitting with a group ofmen squatted before my fatherly Indian's lodge, when somebody walked upbehind us and gave a long, low whistle.
"Mon Dieu! Mine frien', the enemy! Sacredie! 'Tis he! Thou cock-brainedidiot! Ho--ho! Alone among the Sioux!" came the astonished,half-breathless exclamation of Louis Laplante, mixing his English andFrench as he was wont, when off guard.
Need I say the voice brought me to my feet at one leap? Well Iremembered how I had left him lying with a snarl between his teeth inthe doorway of Fort Douglas! Now was his chance to score off thatgrudge! I should not have been surprised if he had paid me with a stabin the back.
"What for--come you--here?" he slowly demanded, facing me with arevengeful gleam in his eyes. His English was still mixed. There wasnone of the usual light and airy impudence of his manner.
"You know very well, Louis," I returned without quailing. "Who shouldknow better than you? For the sake of the old days, Louis, help to undothe wrong you allowed? Help me and before Heaven you shall command yourown price. Set her free! Afterwards torture me to the death and takeyour full pleasure!"
"I'll have it, anyway," retorted Louis with a hard, dry, mirthlesslaugh. "Know they--what for--you come?" He pointed to the Indians, whounderstood not a word of our talk; and we walked a pace off from thelodges.
"No! I'm not always a fool, Louis," said I, "though you cheated me inthe gorge!"
"See those stones?" There was a pile of rock on the edge of the ravine.
"I do. What of them?"
"All of your Indian--left after the dogs--it lie there!" His eyequestioned mine; but there was not a vestige of fear in me towards thatboaster. This, I set down not vauntingly, but fully realizing what I oweto Heaven.
"Poor fellow," said I. "That was cruel work."
"Your other man--he fool them----"
"All the better," I interrupted.
"They not be cheated once more again! No--no--mine frien'! To come here,alone! Ha--ha! Stupid Anglo-Saxon ox!"
"Don't waste your breath, Louis," I quietly remarked. "Your names haveno more terror for me now than at Laval! However big a knave you are,Louis, you're not a fool. Why don't you make something out of this? Ican reward you. Hold _me_, if you like! Scalp me and skin me and put meunder a stone-pile for revenge! Will it make your revenge any sweeterto torture a helpless, white woman?"
Louis winced. 'Twas the first sign of goodness I had seen in the knave,and I credited it wholly to his French ancestors.
"I never torture white woman," he vehemently declared, with a suddenflare-up of his proud temper. "The son of a seigneur----"
"The son of a seigneur," I broke in, "let an innocent woman go intocaptivity by lying to me!"
"Don't harp on that!" said Louis with a scornful laugh--a laugh that isever the refuge of the cornered liar. "You pay me back by stealingdespatches."
"Don't harp on that, Louis!" and I returned his insolence in fullmeasure. "I didn't steal your despatches, though I know the thief. Andyou paid me back by almost trapping me at Fort Douglas."
"But I didn't succeed," exclaimed Laplante. "Mon Dieu! If I had onlyknown you were a spy!"
"I wasn't. I came to see Hamilton."
"And you pay me back as if I had succeed," continued Louis, "by kickingme--me--the son of a seigneur--kicking me in the stomach like a pig,which is no fit treatment for a gentleman!"
"And you paid me back by sticking your knife in my boot----"
"And didn't succeed," broke in Louis regretfully.
At that, we both laughed in spite of ourselves, laughed as comrades.And the laugh brought back memories of old Laval days, when we used tothrash each other in the schoolyard, but always united in defensiveleague, when we were disciplined inside the class-room.
"See here, old crony," I cried, taking quick advantage of his suddensoftening and again playing suppliant to my adversary. "I own up! Youowe me two scores, one for the despatches I saw taken from you, one forknocking you down in Fort Douglas; for your knife broke and did not cutme a whit. Pay those scores with compound interest, if you like, the wayyou used to pummel me black and blue at Laval; but help me now as weused to help each other out of scrapes at school! Afterwards, do as youwish! I give you full leave. As the son of a seigneur, as a gentleman,Louis, help me to free the woman!"
"Pah!" cried Louis with mingled contempt and surrender. "I not punishyou here with two thousand against one! Louis Laplante is agentleman--even to his enemy!"
"Bravo, comrade!" I shouted out, full of gratitude, and I thrust forwardmy hand.
"No--no--thanks much," and Laplante drew himself up proudly, "not till Ipay you well, richly,--generous always to mine enemy!"
"Very good! Pay when and where you will."
"Pay how I like," snapped Louis.
With that strange contract, his embarrassment seemed to vanish and hisEnglish came back fluently.
"You'd better leave before the warriors return," he said. "They comehome to-morrow!"
"Is Diable among them?"
"No."
"Is Diable here?"
"No." His face clouded as I questioned.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No."
"Will he be back?"
"Dammie! How do I know? He will if he wants to! I don't tell tales on aman who saved my life."
His answer set me to wondering if Diable had seen me hold back thetrader's murderous hand, when Louis lay drunk, and if the Frenchman'sknowledge of that incident explained his strange generosity now.
"I'll stay here in spite of all the Sioux warriors on earth, till I findout about that knave of an Indian and his captives," I vowed.
Louis looked at me queerly and gave another whistle.
"You always were a pig-head," said he. "I can keep them from harmingyou; but remember, I pay you back in your own coin. And look out for thedaughter of L'Aigle, curse her! She is the only thing I ever fear! Keepyou in my tent! If Le Grand Diable see you----" and Louis touched hisknife-handle significantly.
"Then Diable _is_ here!"
"I not say so," but he flushed at the slip of his tongue and movedquickly towards what appeared to be his quarters.
"He is coming?" I questioned, suspicious of Louis' veracity.
"Dolt!" said Louis. "Why else do I hide you in my tent? But remember Ipay you back in your own coin afterwards! Ha! There they come!"
A shout of returning hunters arose from the ravine, at which Louisbounded for the tent on a run, dashing inside breathlessly, I followingclose behind.
"Stay you here, inside, mind! Mon Dieu! If you but show your face; 'tistwo white men under one st
one-pile! Louis Laplante is a fool--dammie--afool--to help you, his enemy, or any other man at his own risk."
With these enigmatical words, the Frenchman hurried out, fastening thetent flap after him and leaving me to reflect on the wild impulses ofhis wayward nature. Was his strange, unwilling generosity the result ofanimosity to the big squaw, who seemed to exercise some subtle andcommanding influence over him; or of gratitude to me? Was the nobleblood that coursed in his veins, directing him in spite of hisdegenerate tendencies; or had the man's heart been touched by the sightof a white woman's suffering? If his alarm at the sound of returninghunters had not been so palpably genuine--for he turned pale to thelips--I might have suspected treachery. But there was no mistaking themotive of fear that hurried him to the tent; and with Le Grand Diableamong the hunters, Louis might well fear to be seen in my company. Therewas a hubbub of trappers returning to the lodges. I heard horses turnedfree and tent-poles clattering to the ground; but Laplante did not comeback till it was late and the Indians had separated for the night.
"I can take you to her!" he whispered, his voice thrilling withsuppressed emotion. "Le Grand Diable and the squaw have gone to thevalley to set snares! And when I whistle, come out quickly! Mon Dieu! Ifyou're caught, both our scalps go! Dammie! Louis is a fool. I take youto her; but I pay you back all the same!"
"To whom?" The question throbbed with a rush to my lips.
"Stupid dolt!" snarled Louis. "Follow me! Keep your ears open for mywhistle--one--they return--two--come you out of the tent--three, we arecaught, save yourself!"
I followed the Frenchman in silence. It was a hazy summer night withjust enough light from the sickle moon for us to pick our way past thelodges to a large newly-erected wigwam with a small white tent behind.
"This way," whispered Louis, leading through the first to an openinghidden by a hanging robe. Raising the skin, he shoved me forward andhastened out to keep guard.
The figure of a woman with a child in her arms was silhouetted againstthe white tent wall. She was sitting on some robes, crooning in a lowvoice to the child, and was unaware of my presence.
"And was my little Eric at the hunt, and did he shoot an arrow all byhimself?" she asked, fondling the face that snuggled against hershoulder.
The boy gurgled back a low, happy laugh and lisped some childish reply,which only a mother could translate.
"And he will grow big, big and be a great warrior and fight--fight forhis poor mother," she whispered, lowering her voice and caressing thechild's curls.
The little fellow sat up of a sudden facing his mother and struck outsquarely with both fists, not uttering a word.
"My brave, brave little Eric! My only one, all that God has left to me!"she sobbed hiding her weeping face on the child's neck. "O my God, letme but keep my little one! Thou hast given him to me and I havetreasured him as a jewel from Thine own crown! O my God, let me but keepmy darling, keep him as Thy gift--and--and--O my God!--Thy--Thy--Thywill be done!"
The words broke in a moan and the child began to cry.
"Hush, dearie! The birds never cry, nor the beavers, nor the great, boldeagle! My own little warrior must never cry! All the birds and thebeasts and the warriors are asleep! What does Eric say before he goes tosleep?"
A pair of chubby arms were flung about her neck and passionate, childishkisses pressed her forehead and her cheeks and her lips. Then he slippedto his knees and put his face in her lap.
"God bless my papa--and keep my mamma--and make little Eric brave andgood--for Jesus' sake----" the child hesitated.
"Amen," prompted the gentle voice of the mother.
"And keep little Eric for my mamma so she won't cry," added the child,"for Jesus' sake--Amen," and he scrambled to his feet.
A low, piercing whistle cut the night air like the flight of anarrow-shaft. It was Louis Laplante's signal that Diable and the squawwere coming back. At the sound, mother and child started up in alarm.Then they saw me standing in the open way. A gasp of fright came fromthe white woman's lips. I could tell from her voice that she was alla-tremble, and the little one began to whimper in a smothered,suppressed way.
I whispered one word--"Miriam!"
With a faint cry of anguish, she leaped forward. "Is it you, Eric? OEric! is it you?" she asked.
"No--no, Miriam, not Eric, but Eric's friend, Rufus Gillespie."
She tottered as if I had struck her. I caught her in my arms and helpedher to the couch of robes.
Then I took up my station facing the tent entrance; for I realized thesignificance of Laplante's warning.
"We have hunted for more than a year for you," I whispered, bending overher, "but the Sioux murdered our messenger and the other you yourselflet out of the tent!"
"That--your messenger for me?" she asked in sheer amazement, provingwhat I had suspected, that she was kept in ignorance of our efforts.
"I have been here for a week, searching the lodges. My horses are in thevalley, and we must dare all in one attempt."
"I have given my word I will not try," she hastily interrupted,beginning to pluck at her red shawl in the frenzied way of deliriousfever patients. "If we are caught, they will torture us, torture thechild before my eyes. They treat him well now and leave me alone as longas I do not try to break away. What can you, one man, do against twothousand Sioux?" and she began to weep, choking back the anguished sobs,that shook her slender frame, and picking feverishly at the red shawlfringe.
To look at that agonized face would have been sacrilege, and in ahelpless, nonplussed way, I kept gazing at the painful workings of thethin, frail fingers. That plucking of the wasted, trembling hands hauntsme to this day; and never do I see the fingers of a nervous, sensitivewoman working in that delirious, aimless fashion but it sets mewondering to what painful treatment from a brutalized nature she hasbeen subjected, that her hands take on the tricks of one in the laststages of disease. It may be only the fancy of an old trader; but I dareavow, if any sympathetic observer takes note of this simple trick ofnervous fingers, it will raise the veil on more domestic tragedies andheart-burnings than any father-confessor hears in a year.
"Miriam," said I, in answer to her timid protest, "Eric has risked hislife seeking you. Won't you try all for Eric's sake? There'll be littlerisk! We'll wait for a dark, boisterous, stormy night, and you will rollout of your tent the way you thrust my Indian out. I'll have my horsesready. I'll creep up behind and whisper through the tent."
"Where _is_ Eric?" she asked, beginning to waver.
Two shrill, sharp whistles came from Louis Laplante, commanding me tocome out of the tent.
"That's my signal! I must go. Quick, Miriam, will you try?"
"I will do what you wish," she answered, so low, I had to kneel to catchthe words.
"A stormy night our signal, then," I cried.
Three, sharp, terrified whistles, signifying, "We are caught, saveyourself," came from Laplante, and I flung myself on the ground behindMiriam.
"Spread out your arms, Miriam! Quick!" I urged. "Talk to the boy, orwe're trapped."
With her shawl spread out full and her elbows sticking akimbo, shecaught the lad in her arms and began dandling him to right, and left,humming some nursery ditty. At the same moment there loomed in the tententrance the great, statuesque figure of the Sioux squaw, whom I hadseen in the gorge. I kicked my feet under the canvas wall, whileMiriam's swaying shawl completely concealed me from the Sioux woman andthus I crawled out backwards. Then I lay outside the tent and listened,listened with my hand on my pistol, for what might not that monster offury attempt with the tender, white woman?
"There were words in the tepee," declared the angry tones of the Indianwoman. "The pale face was talking! Where is the messenger from theMandanes?"
At that, the little child set up a bitter crying.
"Cry not, my little warrior! Hush, dearie! 'Twas only a hunterwhistling, or the night hawk, or the raccoon! Hush, little Eric!Warriors never cry! Hush! Hush! Or the great bear will laugh at you andtel
l his cubs he's found a coward!" crooned Miriam, making as though sheneither heard, nor saw the squaw; but Eric opened his mouth and roaredlustily. And the little lad unconsciously foiled the squaw; for shepresently took herself off, evidently thinking the voices had been thoseof mother and son.
I skirted cautiously around the rear of the lodges to avoid encounteringDiable, or his squaw. The form of a man hulked against me in the dark.'Twas Louis.
"Mon Dieu, Gillespie, I thought one scalp was gone," he gasped.
"What are you here for? You don't want to be seen with me," I protested,grateful and alarmed for his foolhardiness in coming to meet me.
"Sacredie! The dogs! They make pretty music at your shins without me,"and Louis struck boldly across the open for his tent. "Fool to stay solong!" he muttered. "I no more ever help you once again! Mon Dieu! No! Ino promise my scalp too! They found your horses in the valley! They--howyou say it?--think for some Mandane is here and fear. They rode backfast on your horses. 'Twas why I whistle for, twice so quick! They ridenorth in the morning. I go too, with the devil and his wife! I be goneto the devil this many a while! But I must go, or they suspect and knifeme. That vampire! Ha! she would drink my gore! I no more have nothing todo with you. Before morning, you must do your own do alone! Sacredie! Donot forget, I pay you back yet!"
So he rattled on, ever keeping between me and the lodges. By hisconfused words, I knew he was in great trepidation.
"Why, there are my horses!" I exclaimed, seeing all six standing beforeDiable's lodge.
"You do your do before morning! Take one of my saddles!" said Louis.
Sure enough, all my saddles were piled before the Iroquois' wigwam; andthere stood my enemy and the Sioux squaw, talking loudly, pointing tothe horses and gesticulating with violence.
"Mon Dieu! Prenez garde! Get you in!" muttered Louis. We were at histent door, and I was looking back at my horses. "If they see you, all islost," he warned.
And the warning came just in time. With that animal instinct ofnearness, which is neither sight, nor smell, my favorite broncho putforward his ears and whinnied sharply. Both Diable and the squaw notedthe act and turned; but Louis had knocked me forward face down into thetent.
With an oath, he threw himself on his couch. "Take my saddle," he said."I steal another. Do your do before morning. I no more have nothing todo with you, till I pay you back all the same!"
And he was presently fast asleep, or pretending to be.
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