But when I had told madame that Pelagie was safe in the house and the savages had fled and, except for a scratch on my forehead that scarce drew blood, no one was hurt (though at that very moment Black Hawk came creeping back out of the darkness hanging a dripping scalp to his belt, which when I perceived I was nigh sick unto death for a moment)—when I told her all this (and, fortunately, madame did not see Black Hawk's ugly trophy), she broke forth into a Te Deum and went happily up to the house, where Pelagie herself came running out to meet her, and they fell into each other's arms and, after the manner of women, wept long and loud for joy, though they had shed no tears when there might have been occasion for them.
CHAPTER XIII
"A PRETTY BOY!"
"And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain."
At the door of the house, Black Hawk and Yorke branched off to the servants' quarters, and I followed them to see what had become of Fatima, for I had left her standing beside the gallery when I ran back to meet the savage. I found her standing patiently by the stable door waiting to be let in, and she whinnied with delight as she heard my step. I called to Yorke to come and take care of her (for I was in haste to get back to the house), and at the sound of my voice Leon came rushing, in great bounds. Together we walked down to the well, that I might wash the blood from my face before presenting myself to the ladies. The well was in a low part of the grounds, some little distance from the house, and it was while I was vigorously splashing my hands and face that I heard a low growl from Leon. I looked up quickly and thought I caught the glimpse of a gun, and instinctively I sprang to one side, that if any one was aiming at me I might cheat him of his aim. At the same moment Leon sprang with a terrible roar straight at the spot where I had fancied I saw the metal shining and where now I was sure I heard the rustle of some one fleeing. I followed quickly after, for the thought of any human creature in the power of that great beast in rage was awful to me. Enemy or no, I would if possible save him from being torn to pieces by a furious dog.
As I ran, I called to him as I had heard his mistress call, and in French, lest he might not understand English:
"À bas, Leon! Tais-toi, mon ange!" But the words had no meaning for him in my gruff voice: it was the soft music of his mistress's tones he understood and obeyed. I heard another furious roar, a wild shriek as of a creature in mortal fear or pain, and then a shot. I was on the spot almost before the shot had ceased to ring in my ears. There lay Leon on the white snow, a dark mass writhing in what I feared was a death-struggle, and above him stood the chevalier, his smoking pistol in his hand. I knew as soon as I saw him in Indian costume that he was the savage who had been the foremost of his band, who had followed us so closely and had disappeared when I had gone to seek him. It was in the doctor's garden he had disappeared and lain in hiding to accomplish the capture or execute a revenge later.
My own pistol was in my hand, and I covered him with it. In that moment of rage when Leon, whom I had learned to love and who loved me,—Leon, her dog,—great, beautiful, tried and trusty companion and friend,—lay dying from a shot from that villain's hand: in that moment of rage I came near putting an end at once and forever to a life that I believed could never be anything but a curse to any mortal associated with it. But the words of Pelagie rang in my ears and stayed my hand: