“Treason to France; the giving of false testimony against a King’s officer, and the concealing of official records.”
“Mon Dieu! was it the case of my father?”
“Yes; the truth has been made clear. There is, as I understand from what La Forest told me, not sufficient evidence against La Barre to convict, yet ’tis believed the case will cost him his office. But M. Cassion was his agent, and is guilty beyond a doubt.”
“But, Monsieur, who made the charges? Who brought the matter to the attention of Louis?”
“The Comte de Frontenac; he was your father’s friend, and won him restoration of his property. Not until La Forest met him in France was he aware of the wrong done Captain la Chesnayne. Later he had converse with La Salle, a Franciscan once stationed at Montreal, and two officers of the regiment Carignan-Salliers. Armed with information thus gained he made appeal to Louis. ’Tis told me the King was so angry he signed the order of arrest with his own hand, and handed it to La Forest to execute.”
“The Governor knows?”
“Not yet. La Forest felt it best to keep the secret, fearing he might be detained, or possibly ambushed on the way hither.”
I cannot describe my feelings––joy, sorrow, memory of the past, overwhelming me. My eyes were wet 385 with tears, and I could find no words. De Artigny seemed to understand, yet he made no effort to speak, merely holding me close with his strong arm. So in silence, our minds upon the past and the future, we followed the savages through the black night along the dim trail. For the time I forgot where I was, my weird, ghastly surroundings, the purpose of our stealthy advance, and remembered only my father, and the scenes of childhood. He must have comprehended, for he made no attempt to interrupt my reverie, and his silence drew me closer––the steady pressure of his arm brought me peace.
Suddenly before us loomed the shadow of the great rock, which rose a mighty barrier across the trail, its crest outlined against the sky. The Indians had halted here, and we pressed forward through them, until we came to where the chief and La Forest waited. There was a growing tinge of light in the eastern sky, enabling us to perceive each other’s faces. All was tense, expectant, the Indians scarcely venturing to breathe, the two white men conversing in whispers. Sequitah stood motionless as a statue, his lips tightly closed.
“Your scouts ventured no further?” questioned De Artigny.