I SEND FOR DE TONTY
I discovered nothing but clothes at first––moccasins, and numerous undergarments––together with a uniform, evidently new, and quite gorgeous. The removal of these, however, revealed a pocket in the leather side, securely fastened, and on opening this with trembling fingers, a number of papers were disclosed.
Scarcely venturing to breathe, hardly knowing what I hoped to find, I drew these forth, and glanced hastily at them. Surely the man would bear nothing unimportant with him on such a journey; these must be papers of value, for I had noted with what care he had guarded the bag all the way. Yet at first I discovered nothing to reward my search––there was a package of letters, carefully bound with a strong cord, a commission from La Barre, creating Cassion a Major of Infantry, a number of receipts issued in Montreal, a list of goods purchased at St. Ignace, and a roster of men composing the expedition.
At last from one corner of the pocket, I drew forth a number of closely written pages, evidently the Governor’s 310 instruction. They were traced in so fine a hand that I was obliged to return beside the fire to decipher their contents. They were written in detail, largely concerned with matters of routine, especially referring to relations with the garrison of the fort, and Cassion’s authority over De Baugis, but the closing paragraph had evidently been added later, and had personal interest. It read: “Use your discretion as to De Artigny, but violence will hardly be safe; he is thought too well of by La Salle, and that fox may get Louis’ ear again. We had best be cautious. Chevet, however, has no friends, and, I am told, possesses a list of the La Chesnayne property, and other documents which had best be destroyed. Do not fail in this, nor fear results. We have gone too far to hesitate now.”
I took this page, and thrust it into my breast. It was not much, and yet it might prove the one needed link. I ran through the packet of letters, but they apparently had no bearing on the case. Several were from women; others from officers, mere gossipy epistles of camp and field. Only one was from La Barre, and that contained nothing of importance, except the writer urged Cassion to postpone marriage until his return from the West, adding, “there is no suspicion, and I can easily keep things quiet until then.”
Assured that I had overlooked nothing, I thrust the various articles back, restrapped the bag, and returned 311 to the outer room. As I paused before the fire, someone rapped at the door. I stood erect, my fingers gripping the pistol which I still retained. Again the raps sounded, clearly enough defined in the night, yet not violent, or threatening.
“Who is there?” I asked.
“Your husband, my dear––Francois Cassion.”
“But why do you come? It was the pledge of De Baugis that I was to be left here alone.”
“A fair pledge enough, although I was not consulted. From the look of your eyes little difference if I had been. You are as sweet in disposition as ever, my dear; yet never mind that––we’ll soon settle our case now, I warrant you. Meanwhile I am content to wait until my time comes. ’Tis not you I seek tonight, but my dressing case.”
“Your dressing case?”
“Ay, you know it well, a brown leather bag I bore with me during our journey.”
“And where is it, Monsieur?”
“Beneath the bunk in the sleeping room. Pass it out to me, and I will ask no more.”
“’Twill be safer if you keep your word,” I said quietly, “for I still carry Hugo Chevet’s pistol, and know how to use it. Draw away from the door, Monsieur, and I will thrust out the bag.”
I lowered the bar, opening the door barely wide 312 enough to permit the bag’s passage. The light from the fire gleamed on the barrel of the pistol held in my hand. It was the work of an instant, and I saw nothing of Cassion, but, as the door closed, he laughed scornfully.
“Tis your game tonight, Madame,” he said spitefully, “but tomorrow I play my hand. I thank you for the bag, as it contains my commission. By virtue of it I shall assume command of this Fort St. Louis, and I know how to deal with murderers. I congratulate you on your lover, Madame––good night.”
I dropped into the nearest seat, trembling in every limb. It was not personal fear, nor did I in my heart resent the insult of his last words. De Artigny was my lover, not in mere lip service, but in fact. I was not ashamed, but proud, to know this was true. The only thing of which I was ashamed was my relationship with Cassion; and my only thought now was how that relationship could be ended, and De Artigny’s life saved. The paper I had found was indeed of value, yet I realized it alone was not enough to offset the charges which Cassion would support by his own evidence and that of his men. This mere suggestion in La Barre’s handwriting meant nothing unless we could discover also in Cassion’s possession the documents taken from Chevet And these, beyond doubt, had been destroyed. Over and over again in my mind I 313 turned these thoughts, but only to grow more confused and uncertain. All the powers of hate were arrayed against us, and I felt helpless and alone.
I must have slept finally from sheer exhaustion, although I made no attempt to lie down. It was broad daylight, when I awoke, aroused by pounding on the door. To my inquiry a voice announced food, and I lowered the bar, permitting an orderly to enter bearing a tray, which he deposited on the table. Without speaking he turned to leave the room, but I suddenly felt courage to address him.
“You were not of our party,” I said gravely. “Are you a soldier of M. de Baugis?”
“No, Madame,” and he turned facing me, his countenance a pleasant one. “I am not a soldier at all, but I serve M. de Tonty.”
“Ah, I am glad of that. You will bear to your master a message?”
“Perhaps, Madame,” his tone somewhat doubtful. “You are the wife of Monsieur Cassion?”
“Do not hesitate because of that,” I hastened to say, believing I understood his meaning. “While it is true I am legally the wife of Francois Cassion, my sympathies now are altogether with the Sieur de Artigny. I would have you ask M. de Tonty to confer with me.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“You have served with De Artigny? You know him well?”
“Three years, Madame; twice he saved my life on the great river. M. de Tonty shall receive your message.”
I could not eat, although I made the endeavor, and finally crossed to the window, opened the heavy wooden shutters, and gazed without. What a marvelous scene that was! Never before had my eyes looked upon so fair a view, and I stood silent, and fascinated. My window opened to the westward, and I gazed down from the very edge of the vast rock into the wide valley. Great tree tops were below, and I had to lean far out to see the silvery waters lapping the base of the precipice, but, a little beyond, the full width of the noble stream became visible, decked with islands, and winding here and there between green-clad banks, until it disappeared in the far distance. The sun touched all with gold; the wide meadows opposite were vivid green, while many of the trees crowning the bluffs had already taken on rich autumnal coloring. Nor was there anywhere in all that broad expanse, sign of war or death. It was a scene of peace, so silent, so beautiful, that I could not conceive this as a land of savage cruelty. Far away, well beyond rifle shot, two loaded canoes appeared, skimming the surface of the river. Beyond these, where the meadows swept down to the 315 stream, I could perceive black heaps of ashes, and here and there spirals of smoke, the only visible symbols of destruction. A haze hid the distant hills, giving to them a purple tinge, like a frame encircling the picture. It was all so soft in coloring my mind could not grasp the fact that we were besieged by warriors of the Iroquois, and that this valley was even now being swept and harried by those wild raiders of the woods.
I had neglected to bar the door, and as I stood there gazing in breathless fascination, a sudden step on the floor caused me to turn in alarm. My eyes encountered those of De Tonty, who stood hat in hand.
“Tis a fair view, Madame,” he said politely. “In all my travels I have seen no nobler domain.”
“It hath a peaceful look,” I answered, still struggling with the memory. “Can it be true the savages hold the valley?”
“All too true––see, yonder, where the smoke still shows, dwelt the Kaskaskias. Not a lodge is left, and the bodies of their dead strew the ground. Along those meadows three weeks since there were the happy villages of twelve tribes of peaceful Indians; today those who yet live are fleeing for their lives.”
“And this fort, Monsieur?”
“Safe enough, I think, although no one of us can venture ten yards beyond the gate. The Rock protects us, Madame, yet we are greatly outnumbered, and 316 with no ammunition to waste. ’Twas the surprise of the raid which left us thus helpless. Could we have been given time to gather our friendly Indians together the story would be different.”
“They are not cowards then?”
“Not with proper leadership. We have seen them fight often since we invaded this land. ’Tis my thought many of them are hiding now beyond those hills, and may find some way to reach us. I suspected such an effort last night, when I sent out the rescue party which brought you in. Ah, that reminds me, Madame; you sent for me?”
“Yes, M. de Tonty. I can speak to you frankly? You are the friend of Sieur de Artigny?”
“Faith, I hope I am, Madame, but I know not what has got into the lad––he will tell me nothing.”
“I suspected as much, Monsieur. It was for that reason I have sent for you. He has not even told you the story of our journey?”
“Ay, as brief as a military report––not a fact I could not have guessed. There is a secret here, which I have not discovered. Why is M. Cassion so wild for the lad’s blood? and how came there to be trouble between Rene, and the fur trader? Bah! I know the lad is no murderer, but no one will tell me the facts.”
“Then I will, Monsieur,” I said gravely. “It was because of my belief that Sieur de Artigny would refuse 317 explanation that I sent for you. The truth need not be concealed; not from you, at least, the commander of Fort St. Louis––”
“Pardon, Madame, but I am not that. La Salle left me in command with less than a dozen men. De Baugis came later, under commission from La Barre, but he also had but a handful of followers. To save quarrel we agreed to divide authority, and so got along fairly well, until M. Cassion arrived with his party. Then the odds were altogether on the other side, and De Baugis assumed command by sheer force of rifles. ’Twas La Salle’s wish that no resistance be made, but, faith, with the Indians scattered, I had no power. This morning things have taken a new phase. An hour ago M. Cassion assumed command of the garrison by virtue of a commission he produced from the Governor La Barre, naming him major of infantry. This gives him rank above Captain de Baugis, and, besides, he bore also a letter authorizing him to take command of all French troops in this valley, if, in his judgment, circumstances rendered it necessary. No doubt he deemed this the proper occasion.”
“To assure the conviction, and death of De Artigny?” I asked, as he paused. “That is your meaning, Monsieur?”
“I cannot see it otherwise,” he answered slowly, “although I hesitate to make so grave a charge in 318 your presence, Madame. Our situation here is scarcely grave enough to warrant his action, for the fort is in no serious danger from the Iroquois. De Baugis, while no friend of mine, is still a fair minded man, and merciful. He cannot be made a tool for any purpose of revenge. This truth Major Cassion has doubtless learned, and hence assumes command himself to carry out his plans.”
I looked into the soldier’s dark, clear-cut face, feeling a confidence in him, which impelled me to hold out my hand.
“M. de Tonty,” I said, determined now to address him in all frankness. “It is true that I am legally the wife of this man of whom you speak, but this only enables me to know his motives better. This condemnation of Sieur de Artigny is not his plan alone; it was born in the brain of La Barre, and Cassion merely executes his orders. I have here the written instructions under which he operates.”
I held out to him the page from La Barre’s letter.