His household consisted of his half-breed wife, and a protege—the latter a young brunette, as beautiful as the wild flowers that kissed the limpid waters of the Maumee, and as gentle as the tame fawn that ate from her delicate hands. He did not keep secret the fact that she was not his child; he told her that, one day, he had found her in the forest not far from a settler’s cabin, pillaged by the Indians. All this, old St. Pierre would say, happened in Kentucky. How often would Effie wander down to the river, and there, seated among the flowers, wonder whose child she was, and whether the story the old trader had uttered so often, was true. She was happy in the trading-post, for her adopted parents—notwithstanding the disreputable names they bore beyond the stockade—treated her with kindness, and she never wanted for male companionship, for the handsome red-coated officers of his Majesty, stationed in Fort Miami, often found their way to the Post, and lingered long in her presence. They brought her books, which proved as dear friends to the Angel of the Maumee, as their uniformed donors.
A great rivalry existed between the officers, and at length the field was left to one who was considered Effie’s choice from the many.
Major Rudolph Runnion was a handsome man, but strongly addicted to the twin vices that beset the soldier doing dull garrison duty—drinking and gambling. Educated at Oxford, when quite young, he possessed a fine education, purchased a commission in the English army, and soon found himself assigned to garrison duty in America. His talents and manners were his passport to the friendship of Effie St. Pierre, and if the girl exhibited partiality for either of her suitors it was for the British major. She was ignorant of his vices, and, whenever convenient, the old trader would speak to her in a tone that told her that he desired her, some day, to become the Briton’s bride.
While the falling twilight beheld the scene enacted in the first chapter, Effie St. Pierre encountered a young Ottawa Indian before the Post.
She recognized the red boy who had borne many messages from the British fort to her forest home.
“Ha! the Angel of the Maumee walks in the evening,” said the youthful Indian, pausing before the girl, and drawing a delicate billet doux from beneath his capote.
Effie St. Pierre glanced at the superscription, easily recognized as Major Runnion’s.
“What can be his wishes to-night, to-night?” she murmured, breaking the waxen seal; and a minute later, in the gloaming, she read:
“Effie—I am in trouble. Meet me ’neath the giant cottonwood opposite the cove. I await you there. For the love of Heaven, fail not to come.
Rudolph.”