IVON.
The Count and his two companions, as we have seen, bravely awaited the attack of the Indians; it was terrible. For an instant there was a horrible mêlée hand to hand; then the Indians fell back to draw breath, and begin again. Ten corpses lay at the feet of the three men, who were motionless and firm as a block of granite.
"By heavens!" the Count said, as he wiped away, with the back of his hand, the perspiration mingled with blood that stood in large beads on his forehead, "it is a glorious fight."
"Yes," Bright-eye replied, carelessly; "but it is mortal."
"What matter, if we die like men?"
"Hum! I am not of that opinion. As long as there is a chance, we must seize it."
"But none is left us!"
"Perhaps there is; but let me act."
"I ask no better. Still I confess to you that I find this fight glorious."
"It is really very agreeable; but it would be much more so, if we lived to recount it."
"On my word, that is true. I did not think of that."
"Yes, but I did."
The Canadian stooped down to Ivon, and whispered some words in his ear.
"Yes," the Breton replied, "provided I am not afraid."
"Bravo!" the hunter said, with a smile; "you will do what you can. That is agreed?"
"Agreed."
"Look out, comrades," the Count shouted; "here are the enemy!"
In truth, the Indians were ready to renew the attack. Natah Otann and White Buffalo were resolved on taking the Count alive, and without a wound; they had consequently given their warriors orders not to employ their firearms, content themselves with parrying the blows dealt them, but take him at every risk. During the few moments' respite which the Indians had allowed the white men, the other Indians had run up to take part in the fight; so that the hunters, surrounded on all sides, had to make head against at least forty Redskins. It would have been madness or blind temerity to attempt opposing such a mass of enemies; and yet the white men did not appear to dream of asking quarter. At the moment Natah Otann was going to give the signal for attack, White Buffalo, who had hitherto stood aloof, gloomy and thoughtful, interposed,—
"A moment!" he said.
"For what good?" the Chief remarked.
"Let me make the attempt. Perhaps they will recognize that a struggle is impossible, and consent to accept our propositions."
"I doubt it," Natah Otann muttered, shaking his head; "they appear very resolute."
"Let me try it. You know how necessary it is for the success of our plans that we should seize this man?"
"Unfortunately; if we do not take care, he will be killed."
"That is what I wish to avoid."
"Try it then; but I am convinced you will fail."
"Who knows? I can try, at any rate."
White Buffalo walked a few paces in advance, and was then about six yards from the Count.
"What do you want?" the young man said. "If I did not involuntarily know that you are a Frenchman, I should have long ago put a bullet into your chest."
"Fire!—what stops you?" the exile replied, in a sad voice. "Do you believe that I fear death?"
"Enough talking. Retire! or I will fire."
And he levelled his rifle at him.
"I wish to say one word to you."
"Speak quickly, and be off."
"I offer you and your comrades your lives, if you will surrender."
The Count burst into a laugh.
"Nonsense," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders; "do you take us for fools? We were the guests of your companions, and they have impudently violated the law of nations."
"That is your last word, then?"
"The last, by Jove! You must have lived a long time among the Indians to have forgotten that Frenchmen would sooner die than be cowards."
"Your blood be on your own heads, then."
"So be it, odious renegade, who fight with savages against your brothers."
This insult struck the old man to the heart; he bent a fearful glance on the young man, turned pale as death and withdrew, tottering like a drunkard, and muttering, in a low voice,—
"Oh, these nobles!"
"Well?" Natah Otann asked him.
"He refuses," he answered quickly.
"I was sure of it. Now it is our turn."
Raising to his lips his war whistle, he produced a shrill and lengthened sound, to which the Indians responded with a frightful yell, and rushed like a legion of demons on the three men, who received them without yielding an inch. The mêlée recommenced in all its fury; the three men clubbed their rifles, and dealt crushing blows around. Ivon performed prodigies of valour, rising and sinking his rifle with the regularity of a pendulum, smashing a man at every blow, and muttering,—
"Ouf, there's another: holy Virgin, I feel my terror coming upon me."
Still the circle drew closer round the three men; others took the places of the Indians who fell, and were in their turn pushed onward by those behind. The hunters were weary of striking. Their arms did not fall with the same vigour; their blows failed in regularity; the blood rose to their heads; their eyes were injected with blood, and they had a dizziness in their ears.
"We are lost!" the Count muttered.
"Courage!" Bright-eye yelled, as he smashed in the skull of an Indian.
"It is not courage that fails me, but strength," the young man answered, in a fainting voice.
"Forward, forward!" Natah Otann repeated, bounding like a demon round the three men.
"Now, Ivon, now!" Bright-eye cried out.
"Good bye," the Breton replied.
And turning his terrible weapon round his head, he rushed into the densest throng of the Indians.
"Follow me, Count," Bright-eye went on.
"Come on then," the latter shouted.
The two men executed on the opposite side the manoeuvre attempted by the Breton. Ivon, the coward you know, seemed to have at the moment entirely forgotten his fear of being speared; he appeared, like Briareus, to have a hundred arms to level the numerous assailants who incessantly rose before him, and cleft his way through the throng. Fortunately for the Breton, most of the Indians had rushed in pursuit of game more valuable to them, that is, the Count and the Canadian, who had redoubled their efforts, though already so prodigious.
While still fighting, Ivon had reached the skirt of the wood, about three or four yards from the spot where the horses were tied. This was probably what the Breton wished for. So soon as he found himself in a straight line with the horses, instead of pushing forward as he had hitherto done, he began to fall back step to step, so as to arrive close to them. Still, he always fought with that cold resolution which distinguishes the Bretons, and renders them such terrible foemen.
Suddenly, when he found himself near enough to the horses, Ivon gave a parting blow to the nearest Indian, sent him staggering backwards with a dashed-in skull, took a panther leap, and reached the Count's horse. In a second he had mounted, dug his spurs into the flanks of the noble animal, and galloped off, after knocking down two Indians who tried to stop him.
"Hurrah! saved! saved!" he shouted, in a voice of thunder, as he disappeared in the forest, where the Blackfeet did not dare to follow him.
The Redskins stood stupefied by such a prodigious flight. The cry uttered by Ivon was doubtlessly a signal agreed on between him and Bright-eye; for, so soon as he heard it, the hunter, by a hurried movement, seized the Count's arm as he was in the act of striking.
"What on earth are you about?" the latter said, turning to him angrily.
"I am saving you," the hunter replied, coolly; "throw down your weapon!—We surrender," he then exclaimed.
"You will explain your conduct, I presume?" the Count continued.
"Be of good cheer; you will approve it."
"Be it so."
And he threw the gun down. The Indians, whom the hunters' heroic defence kept at a distance, rushed upon them so soon as they saw they were disarmed, Natah Otann and White Buffalo hurried up; the two men already were thrown down on the sand, when the Chief interposed.
"Sir," he said, "you are my prisoner; and you too, Bright-eye."
The young man shrugged his shoulders with contempt.
"Reckon up what your victory has already cost you," the hunter replied, with a sardonic smile, and pointing to the numerous corpses that lay on the plain. Natah Otann, however, pretended not to hear this remark.
"If you will give me your word of honour not to escape, gentlemen," White Buffalo said, "you will be unloosed, and your weapons restored to you."
"Is this another trap you are laying for us?" the Count asked, haughtily.
"Bah!" Bright-eye said, with a significant glance at his comrade, "we will give our word for four-and-twenty hours; after that, we will see."
"You hear, gentlemen," the young man said; "this hunter and myself pledge our words for four-and-twenty hours. Does that suit you? Of course, at the end of that time, we are free to recall it."
"Or to pledge it again," the Canadian added, with a smile; "what do we risk by doing so?"
The two Chiefs exchanged a few whispered words.
"We accept," Natah Otann at length said.
At a sign from him, the prisoners' bonds were cut, and they rose.
"Hum!" Bright-eye said, stretching himself with delight, "it does one good to have the use of his limbs. Bah! I knew they would not kill me this time, either."
"Here are your horses and arms, gentlemen," the Chief said.
"Permit me," the Count remarked coolly, drawing his watch from his pocket, "it is now half-after seven; you have our parole till the same time tomorrow evening."
"Very good," White Buffalo said, with a bow.
"And now, where are you going to take us, if you please?" the hunter asked, with a crafty look.
"To the village!"
"Thank you."
The two men jumped into their saddles, and followed the Indians, who only waited for them to start. Ten minutes later, this place, on which so many events had occurred during the day, became again calm and silent.
We will leave the Count and the hunter returning to the village under good escort, to follow the track of Ivon.
After leaving the battlefield, the latter rode straight ahead, not caring to lose precious time in looking for a path; for the moment all were good, provided that they bore him from the enemies he had so providentially escaped. Still, after galloping for about an hour across the wood, reassured by the perfect silence that prevailed around him, he gradually checked his horse's speed. It was high time for this idea to occur to him, as the poor horse, so harshly treated, was beginning to break down. The Breton profited by this slight truce to reload his weapons.
"I am not brave," he said in a low voice, "but by Jove! as my poor master says, the first scamp that attempts to bar my way, I will blow out his brains, so surely as my name is Ivon."
And the worthy man would have done as he said, we feel assured. After advancing a few hundred yards, Ivon looked around, stopped his horse, and dismounted.
"What is the use of going any farther?" he said, resuming his soliloquy; "my horse wants rest, and I shall not be the worse for a halt. As well here as elsewhere."
On this, he took off his horse's saddle, carried his master's portmanteau to the foot of a tree, and began lighting a fire.
"How quickly night comes on in this confounded country," he muttered; "it is hardly eight o'clock, and it is as black as in an oven."
While discoursing thus all alone, he had collected a considerable quantity of dry wood; he returned to the spot he had selected for camping, piled up the wood, struck a light, knelt, and began blowing with all the strength of his lungs to make it catch. In a moment he raised his head to breathe; but uttered a yell of terror, and almost fell backwards. He had seen, about three paces from the fire, two persons silently watching him. The first moment of surprise past, the Breton bounded on his feet, and cocked his pistols.
"Confuse you," he shouted, "you gave me a pretty fright; but no matter, we will see."
"My brother may be at rest," a soft voice replied, in bad English, "we do not wish to do him any harm."
As a Breton, Ivon spoke nearly as good English as he did French. On hearing these words, he bent forward, and looked. "Oh!" he said, "the Indian girl."
"Yes, it is I," Prairie-Flower answered, as she stepped forward.
Her companion followed her, and Ivon recognized Red Wolf.
"You are welcome," he remarked, "to my poor encampment."
"Thanks," she answered.
"How is it that you are here?"
"And you?" she said, answering one question by another.
"Oh, I!" he said, shaking his head, "that is a sad story."
"What does my brother mean?" Red Wolf asked.
"Good, good," the Breton said, turning his head; "that is my business, and not yours. First, tell me what brings you to me, and I will then see if I may confide to you what has happened to my master and myself."
"My brother is prudent," Prairie-Flower answered, "he is right: prudence is good on the prairie."
"Hum! I wish my master had heard you make that remark, perhaps he would not be where he now is."
Prairie-Flower gave a start of terror.
"Wah! has any misfortune happened to him?" she said, in an agonized voice.
Ivon looked at her.
"You appear to take an interest in him?"
"He is brave," she exclaimed, passionately; "this morning he killed the cougars that threatened Prairie-Flower; she has a heart—she will remember."
"That is true; quite true, young lady," he said; "he saved your life. Tell me first, though, how it is we should have met in this forest."
"Listen, then, as you insist."
The Breton bowed. To all his other qualities Ivon added that of being as obstinate as an Andalusian mule. Once the worthy man had taken a theory into his head, nothing could turn him from it. We must grant, however, that he had at present excellent reason to distrust the Indians.
Prairie-Flower continued:—
"After Glass-eye had so bravely killed the cougars," she said, with considerable emotion, "the great Chief, Natah Otann, was angry with Prairie-Flower, and ordered her to return to the village with Red Wolf."
"I know all that," Ivon interrupted, "I was there; and that is why it seems to me so extraordinary to meet you here when you should have been on the road to the village."
The Indian girl gave one of those little pouts peculiar to her, and which rendered her so seductive.
"The pale man is as curious as an old squaw," she said, with an accent of ill-humour; "why does he wish to know Prairie-Flower's secret? She has in her heart a little bird which sings pleasant songs to her, and attracts her in the footsteps of the Paleface who saved her."
"Ah!" said the Breton, partly catching the girl's meaning; "that is different."
"Instead of returning to the village," Red Wolf interposed, "Prairie-Flower wished to return to the side of Glass-eye."
The Breton reflected for a long time; the two Indians watched him silently, patiently waiting till he thought proper to explain himself. Presently, he raised his head, and, fixing his cunning grey eye on the girl, he asked her distinctly,—
"You love him, then?"
"Yes," she answered, looking down on the ground.
"Very good. Now listen attentively to what I am about to tell you; it will interest you prodigiously, or I am greatly mistaken."
The two hearers bent down toward him, and listened attentively. Ivon then related most copiously his master's conversation with the two Chiefs; the dispute that arose between them; the combat that ensued from it, and the way in which he had escaped.
"If I did run away," he said, in conclusion, "heaven is my witness that it was not for the purpose of saving my life. Though I am a desperate coward, I would never hesitate to sacrifice my life for him; but Bright-eye advised me to act in this way, so that I may try and find assistance for them both."
"Good," the girl said, quickly; "the Paleface is brave. What does he intend to do?"
"I mean to save my master, by Jove!" the Breton said, resolutely. "The only thing is, that I do not know how to set about it."
"Prairie-Flower knows. She will help the Paleface."
"Is what you promise really true, young girl?"
The Indian maid smiled.
"The Paleface will follow Prairie-Flower and Red Wolf," she said; "they will lead him to a spot where he will find friends."
"Good; and when will you do it, my good girl?" he asked, his heart palpitating with joy.
"So soon as the Paleface is ready to start."
"At once, then, at once!" the Breton exclaimed, hurriedly rising, and hurrying to his horse.
Prairie-Flower and Red Wolf had concealed their steeds in the centre of a clump of trees. Ten minutes later, and Ivon and his guides quitted the clearing where they had met; it was about midnight when they started.
"My poor master!" the Breton muttered. "Shall I be permitted to save him?"