"You not know," he blurted out in a broken voice.
"Not know what?" I asked impatiently. "I tell you I forgive all and I had thought you might do as much——"
"Do as much!" he interrupted fiercely. "O mon Dieu!" he cried, with a sob that shook his frame. "Take me away! Take me away!" he begged the man on whose arm he was leaning; and with those enigmatical words he passed to the nearest boat.
While I was yet gazing in mute amazement after Louis Laplante, wondering whether his strange emotion were revenge, or remorse, the women and children marched forth with the men protecting each side. The empty threats of half-breeds to butcher every settler in Red River had evidently reached the ears of the women. Some trembled so they could scarcely walk and others stared at us with the reproach of murder in their eyes, gazing in horror at our guilty hands. At last I caught sight of Frances Sutherland. She was well to the rear of the sad procession, leaning on the arm of a tall, sturdy, erect man whom I recognized as her father. I would have forced my way to her side at once, but a swift glance forbade me. A gleam of love flashed to the gray eyes for an instant, then father and daughter had passed.
"Little did I think," the harsh, rasping voice of the father was saying, "that daughter of mine would give her heart to a murderer. Which of these cut-throats may I claim for a son?"
"Hush, father," she whispered. "Remember he warned us to the fort and took me to Pembina." She was as pale as death.
"Aye! Aye! We're under obligations to strange benefactors when times go awry!" he returned bitterly.
"O father! Don't! You'll think differently when you know——" but a hulking lout stumbled between us, and I missed the rest.
They were at the boats and an old Highlander was causing a blockade by his inability to lift a great bale into the barge.
"Let me give you a lift," said I, stepping forward and taking hold of the thing.