“No, you’re not a dog,” cried Jasper fiercely; “you are worse—a cowardly murderer?”
“Stand back, Jasper,” said Mr Pemberton, laying his hand on the shoulder of the excited hunter, and thrusting him firmly away. “This is a serious charge. The Indian shall not be hastily condemned. He shall have fair play, and justice.”
“Good!” cried several of the Indians on hearing this. Meanwhile the principal chief of the tribe took up his stand close beside the prisoner.
“Darkeye,” said Mr Pemberton, while he looked steadfastly into the eyes of the Indian, who returned the look as steadily— “Darkeye, do you remember a conversation you had many weeks ago in the trading store at Jasper’s House?”
The countenance of the Indian was instantly troubled, and he said with some hesitation, “Darkeye has had many conversations in that store; is he a medicine-man (a conjurer) that he should know what you mean?”
“I will only put one other question,” said the fur-trader. “Do you know this bullet with the marks of teeth in it?”
Darkeye’s visage fell at once. He became deadly pale, and his limbs trembled. He was about to speak when the chief, who had hitherto stood in silence at his side, suddenly whirled his tomahawk in the air, and, bringing it down on the murderer’s skull, cleft him to the chin!
A fierce yell followed this act, and several scalping knives reached the dead man’s heart before his body fell to the ground. The scene that followed was terrible. The savages were roused to a state of frenzy, and for a moment the white men feared an attack, but the anger of the Indians was altogether directed against their dead comrade, who had been disliked by his people, while his poor victim Laroche had been a universal favourite. Seizing the body of Darkeye, they carried it down to the banks of the river, hooting and yelling as they went; hacked and cut it nearly to pieces, and then, kindling a large fire, they threw the mangled corpse into it, and burned it to ashes.
It was long before the shadow of this dark cloud passed away from Fort Erie; and it was longer still before poor Marie recovered her wonted cheerfulness. But the presence of Mr Wilson did much to comfort her. Gradually time softened the pang and healed the wound.
And now, little remains to be told. Winter passed away and spring came, and when the rivers and lakes were sufficiently free from ice, the brigade of boats left Fort Erie, laden with furs, for the sea-coast.