Utterly puzzled, Joutel rose from his bed and followed the man, studying him intently all the while. The man returned his gaze, then threw his arms about Joutel, embraced him, and spoke to him with French words. He was Ruter, one of La Salle’s sailors who had deserted him, two years before, for the woods and the wild life of the Indian camps. Another deserter, Grollet, had been afraid to come with him to the grass house where Joutel slept, for fear of La Salle.
For two years these white men had lived like the red men, they had married Indian women, and they had fought in the Indian wars. There was little now to distinguish Ruter from his dusky companions—except that long-buried yearning for his own people which made him come to Joutel and listen eagerly to his tale of adventures. The story of La Salle’s death seemed to affect him deeply, and for a long time in the passing night the two men talked beside the fire in the Indian lodge. Later, Grollet also came to see and talk to Joutel.
For several days Joutel stayed in the village. Then messengers came from the camp to say that the leaders had decided to return to the fort on the Bay of St. Louis and there build a ship and sail for the West Indies. With what provisions he had secured, Joutel went back to the camp of the murderers, where he and the Abbé took counsel together. It was intolerable to continue life in the same camp with those who had killed La Salle, and so they made up their minds to leave their murderous companions and go on with those who had not been in the plot, toward the Mississippi River. They told Duhaut they were too fatigued to make the trip back to the Gulf and would remain with the Cenis, to which Duhaut finally agreed.
Hiens and several others, who had been sent to the village for horses on which to carry supplies back to the fort, had not yet returned. While they were waiting, one of the French deserters, who knew of the true plans of the Abbé and Joutel, told them to Duhaut and added that he believed the Mississippi to be not far off to the northeast; whereupon Duhaut changed his plan and decided that he too would go to the Mississippi.
News of Duhaut’s decision soon reached Hiens at the Cenis village, and in a few days he came back to the camp, accompanied by Ruter and others. Hiens walked directly to Duhaut and declared that it was not safe to go to the Mississippi and on to the white settlements. As for himself, he would not go, and he demanded his share of the goods. When Duhaut refused, Hiens raised his gun and fired, saying, “You wretch! You murdered my master!” Duhaut fell dead. Almost at the same instant Ruter, the half-savage deserter, opened fire upon Liotot and mortally wounded him. Thus did the murderers of La Salle and Moranget come to their end.
Hiens was now in command of the party, which had decreased to eleven. The old buccaneer had promised the Cenis to go to their wars with them and, with Ruter and Grollet and three or four other Frenchmen, started out with the exultant Indian warriors, leaving the Abbé and his party in the village with the women and old men. Late in May the warriors returned, flushed with a great victory which the guns of the white allies had enabled them to win.
The Abbé and Joutel and their little group now asked leave to separate and try to make their way across to the Mississippi. Hiens gave his consent with much reluctance. As for himself he did not care to risk his life going back to civilized people; and the wild savage life in the Indian villages held him with a strong fascination. He divided supplies and merchandise with those who were leaving, gave them six horses to carry their goods, and with much advice set them on their way. Thus they took their departure—a band of seven—to make the last long march toward the settlements of white men. Hiens and L’Archevêque, Meusnier, and Pierre Talon cast in their lot with the Indians.
Innumerable were the adventures of the seven travelers. Town after town they passed, stopping often to smoke the pipe of peace, trade merchandise, and gather news of the way. One morning De Marie, while bathing in the river near an Indian village, was drowned before the Indians could rescue him. The six moved on, Indian guides leading them, until at last with a great feeling of joy they came to the establishment of Couture on the Arkansas.
Couture was the last man in America to whom they related the story of La Salle’s death. The Abbé decided to keep it a secret from both the Indians and from Tonty, and not even to tell it in Canada, but to take the news across the seas with them to the court of France. Dreading that young Barthelemy would disclose their secret, they left him with Couture. The young boy told many things to the men at the Arkansas post. And now Couture was pouring out the whole tale to the commander of Fort St. Louis on the Illinois.