“Not so loud! By God! Hear the cockerel crow.” A hoarse laugh rumbled from the speaker’s lips. “You come in good time,” he cried. “Yes! In good time. I shall not have to ask annullment now.”
Jack did not answer. He was thinking what to do. He could not shoot the man down in cold blood! Besides, the noise of the shot would probably cost him his own life and would certainly bring his expedition to an untimely end. He had caught his enemy but he did not know what to do with him.
Brito laughed again. Clearly he understood the American’s dilemma. “You whelp!” he rasped. “Do you think that popgun will save you?” he sneered. “Or do you think Estelle will come back to help you. She’s the better man of the two. But she won’t come back. She didn’t even see you, much less recognize you. I don’t believe she knew that any one had come to her help. Probably she’s gone for her Indians. If she comes back with them—Well! my friend, it’ll be all up with you.” Brito was recovering his poise.
Jack did not answer. He knew that if the Indians came it would indeed be all up with him. Swiftly his eyes quested the rooms. At last they rested on a bell rope that hung from the wall.
Instantly he swung back on Brito. “Drop that sword,” he ordered.
Brito dropped it. He heard death in Jack’s tones.
“Turn your back! Quick!” Brito turned it. He was no coward, but Jack’s eyes brooked no denial. In them he read obedience or death.
As he turned Jack snatched at the bell cord that hung along the wall and tore it down. Somewhere in the house a furious jangling rose and slowly died away. As it died Jack looped the rope, coil after coil, about Britons body. “Silence! Or you die!” he growled, and the Englishman’s frantic but low-pitched curses died away. Swiftly he bound the man to a heavy chair and thrust a gag into his mouth. Then, throwing the long military cloak about his shoulders, and clapping the army cap upon his head, he turned without a word to the door.
His heart was heavy within him. He had set out to tell Alagwa of his new-born love and to bring her back with him. He had won his way to her side, had seen her face, had heard her voice—had heard her declare that she was proud of him, her husband. If he could have had a moment’s speech with her—a single moment’s speech—he could have told her—told her—But it was not to be. Hidden in the mazes of the Indian camp she was for the moment beyond his reach.
Besides, he must hurry to warn the American camp. His heart burned hot as he thought of the fatuous fool who slept far from his men, who scoffed at warnings, who neglected the commonest precautions for defense. Swift as prudence would allow he sped through the Indian camp to where Rogers and Cato waited, and together the three raced southward and westward, hoping against hope that they would yet be in time, hoping till the far-off rattle of rifles rose and fell and died away, till red flames crimsoned the sky, and the yells of exultant savages sounded across the snow and the ice. Then, hopeless, the three circled south and took the trail back to the Maumee, bearing to General Harrison the fateful news that General Winchester’s army was no more.