A GHOSTLY VISION

T THE touch of the water brought renewed life to De Croix. This was shown by the brighter color stealing into his cheeks, as well as by the more careless tone that crept into his voice. The lake proved shallow for some considerable distance off shore, and I compelled the Frenchman to wade with me southward, and as far out as we dared venture, until we must have reached the extreme limit of the field of massacre. Indeed, I fully believed we had passed beyond the point where the attack had first burst upon Captain Wells's Miamis; for I could perceive no sign of any bodies lying opposite us against the white background of sand. As the night drew on, squads of savages wandered over the scene of slaughter, despoiling the stiffening corpses, and taking from the wagons whatever might suit their fancy. Yet we were now so far removed that we could distinguish little of their deeds, although the sound of their voices echoed plainly enough across the water to our ears.

As time passed, the numbness that had paralyzed my brain, either from the cruel blow that felled me or the terrible shock my nerves had experienced, gradually passed away, and our situation became more vivid to my mind. I thought again of all who had gone forth that morning filled with hope and life. I had, it is true, known none of them long, but there were many in that ill-fated company who had already grown dear to me, and one was among them who I now knew beyond all question was to remain in my heart forever.

I recalled the faces one by one, with some tender memory for each in turn. I thought of the brave Captain Wells, with his swarthy face, and Indian training, who had proved himself so truly my friend for my father's sake; of Captain Heald, the typical bluff soldier of the border, ready to sacrifice everything to what he deemed his duty; of Lieutenant Helm, grave of face and calm of speech, always so thoughtful of his sweet girl bride; and of young Ronan, loyal of heart and impetuous of deed, whose frank manliness had so drawn me to him. And now all these brave, true comrades were dead! Only five or six hours ago I had spoken with them, had ridden by their side; now they lay motionless yonder, stricken down by the basest treachery, their poor bodies hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition. I could scarcely realize the awful truth; it rested upon me like some horrible dream, from which I knew I must soon awaken.

But it was Mademoiselle,—Toinette, with the laughing eyes and roguish face, which yet could be so tender,—whose memory held me vibrating between constant dread and hope. Living or dead, I must know the truth concerning her, before I felt the slightest consideration for my own preservation. If I lived, it should be for her sake, not mine. Plan after plan came to me as I stood there, my face barely raised above the water level, praying for the westering sun to sink beneath the horizon. Yet all my plans were so vague, so visionary, so filled with difficulties and uncertainties, that at last I had nothing practical outlined beyond a firm determination in some way to reach the Indian camp and there learn what I could of its black secrets. I wondered whether this rash hare-brained Frenchman would aid or hinder such a purpose; and I glanced aside at him, curious to test the working of his mind in such a time of trial.

"Saint Guise!" he exclaimed, marking my look, but misinterpreting it; "the sun has gone down at last, and there seems a chill in the air where it strikes my wet skin. It is in my thought to wade ashore, Master Wayland, and seek food for our journey, as I can perceive no savages near at hand."

"It will be safer if we wait here another half-hour," I answered, almost inclined to smile at the queer figure he cut, with his long, wet hair hanging down his shoulders. Then I added, "What journey do you contemplate?"

He gazed at me, his face full of undisguised amazement.

"What journey? Why, Mon Dieu! to the eastward, of course! Surely you have no wish to linger in this pleasant spot?"

"And is that the way of a French soldier?" I asked, almost angrily. "I thought you made the journey westward, Monsieur, for the sake of one you professed greatly to admire; and now you confess yourself willing to leave her here to the mercy of these red wolves. Is this the way of it?"

I spoke the words coolly, and they cut him to the quick. His face flushed and his eyes flashed with anger; yet I faced him quietly, though I doubt not I should have felt his hand upon me had we been better circumstanced for struggle.

"How know you she lives?" he asked sullenly, eying the rifle I still held across my shoulder.

"I do not know, Monsieur, except that her body is not upon the field yonder; but I will know before I leave, or give my life in the search. And if you really loved her as you professed to do, you would dream of nothing less."

"Love her?" he echoed, his gaze upon the sand, now partially obscured in the descending twilight. "Sacre! I truly thought I did, for the girl certainly has beauty and wit, and wove a spell about me in Montreal. But she has become as a wild bird out here, and is a most perplexing vixen, laughing at my protestations, so that indeed I hardly know whether it would be worth the risk to stay."

Hateful and selfish as these words sounded, and much as I longed to strike the lips that uttered them so coolly, yet their utterance brought a comfort to my heart, and I stared at the fellow, biting my tongue to keep back the words of disgust I felt.

"So this is the measure of your French gallantry, Monsieur! I am sincerely glad my race holds a different conception of the term. Then you will leave me here?"

"Leave you? Sacre! how could I ever hope to find my way alone through the wilderness? 'Twould be impossible. Yet why should we stay here? What can you and I hope to accomplish in so mad a search amid all these savages? You speak harsh words,—words that under other conditions I should make you answer for with the sword; but what is the good of it all? You know I am no coward; I can fight if there be need; yet to my mind no help can reach Toinette through us, while to remain here longer is no less than suicide."

I saw he was in earnest, and I felt there was much truth in his words, however little they affected my own determination.

"As you please, Monsieur," I answered coldly, turning from him and slowly wading ashore. "With me 'tis not matter for argument. I seek Mademoiselle. You are at perfect liberty either to accompany me or to hunt for safety elsewhere, as you wish."

I never so much as glanced behind, as I went up the beach, now shrouded in the swift-descending night; but I was aware that he kept but a step behind me. Once I heard him swear; but there was no more speaking between us, until, in the darkness, I stumbled and partially fell over a dead body outstretched upon the sand.

"A Miami, judging from the fringe of his leggings," I said briefly, from my knees. "One of the advance guard, no doubt, brought down in flight. 'Tis good luck, though, De Croix, for the fellow has retained his rifle. Perchance if you be well armed also, it may yield you fresh courage."

"Parbleu! 'tis not courage I lack," he returned, with something of his old-time spirit, "but I hate greatly to yield up a chance for life on so mad an errand. More, Master Wayland, had this firearm been in my hands when you flouted me in the water yonder, your words should not have been so easily passed over."

The stars gave me a dim view of him, and there was a look in his face that caused me to feel it would be best to have our trouble settled fully, and without delay.

"Monsieur," I said sternly, laying my hand upon his shoulder, and compelling him to front me fairly, "I for one am going into danger where I shall require every resource in order to preserve my life and be of service to others. I have already told you that I care not whether you accompany me or no. But this I say: we part here, or else you journey with me willingly, and with no more veiled threats or side looks of treachery."

"I meant no harm."

"Then act the part of a man, Monsieur, and cease your grumbling. The very life of Mademoiselle may hang upon our venture; and if you ever interfere or obstruct my purpose, I will kill you as I would a dog. You understand that, Monsieur de Croix; now, will you go or stay?"

He looked about him into the lonely, desolate shadows, and I could see him shrug his shoulders.

"I go with you, of course. Sacre! but I have small choice in the matter; 'twould be certain death otherwise, for I know not east from west in this blind waste of sand."

I turned abruptly from him, and strode forward across the sand-ridge out into the short prairie-grass beyond, shaping my course westward by the stars. However revengeful the Frenchman might feel at my plain speaking, I felt no hesitancy in trusting him to follow, as his life depended upon my guidance through the wilderness.

My mind by this time was fairly settled upon our first movement. The only spot that gave promise of a safe survey of the Indian camp, where doubtless such prisoners as there were would be held, I felt sure would be found amid the shadows of the west bank of that southerly stream along which the lodges were set up. From that vantage point, if from any, I should be able to judge how best to proceed on the perilous mission of rescue.

While we were feeling our way forward through the darkness, a great burst of flame soared high into the northern sky, the red light radiating far abroad over the prairie, until even our creeping figures cast faint shadows on the level plain.

"Saint Guise! They have set fire to the Fort!" exclaimed De Croix, halting and gazing anxiously northward.

"Ay, either to that or to the agency building," I answered. "It was not there I expected to find the prisoners, but rather hidden among those black lodges yonder whence all the shouting comes. 'Tis torture, De Croix, which has so aroused those devils; and it will soon enough prove our turn to entertain them, if we linger long within this glare."

"You have a plan, then?"

"Only a partial one at present,—'tis to put the safeguard of the river between us and those yelling fiends. Beyond that it will all be the guidance of God."

The stream proved to be a narrow one, and the current was not swift. We crossed it easily enough, without wetting our stock of powder, and found the western bank somewhat darkened by the numerous groups of small stunted trees that lined it. I moved with extreme caution now, for each step brought us in closer proximity to those infuriated tribesmen who were holding mad carnival in the midst of their lodges. I felt sure that our pathway along the western shore was clear, for the most astute chief among them would hardly look for the approach of enemies from that quarter; but I was enough of a frontiersman not to neglect any ordinary precautions, and so we crept like snakes along at the water's edge, under the shadow of the bank, until much of the wild scene in the village opposite was revealed to our searching eyes.

It was a mad saturnalia, half light, half shadow, amid which the fierce figures of the painted warriors passed and repassed in drunken frenzy, making night hideous with savage clamor and frenzied gesticulations. I would have crept on farther, seeking a place for crossing unobserved, had not De Croix suddenly grasped me by the leg. As I turned, the play of the flames from across the water struck upon his white face, and I could read thereon a terror that held him motionless.

"For Christ's sake, let us go!" he urged, in an agonized whisper. "See what those demons are about to do! I fear not battle, Wayland, as you know; but the scene yonder unmans me."

It is hard for me to describe now what then I saw. The entire centre of the great encampment was brightly lit by a huge blazing fire, around which hundreds of Indians were gathered, leaping and shouting in their frenzy, while above the noise of their discordant voices we could distinguish the flat notes of the wooden drum, the dull pounding of which reminded me of the solemn tolling of a funeral bell. What atrocities had been going on, I know not; but as we gazed across at them in shuddering horror, forth from the entrance of a lodge a dozen painted warriors drove a white man, stripped to the waist, his hands bound behind him. As he stumbled forward, a bevy of squaws lashed him with corded whips. I caught one glimpse of his face in the light of the flames; it was that of a young soldier I recalled having seen the evening before within the Fort, playing a violin. He was a brave lad, and although his face was pale and drawn by suffering, he fronted the crazed mob that buffeted him with no sign of fear, his eyes roving about as if still seeking some possible avenue of escape. Once he sprang suddenly aside, tripping a giant brave who grasped him, and disappeared amid the lodges, only to be dragged forth a moment later and pushed forward, horribly beaten with clubs at every step.

On a sudden, that shrieking, undulating crowd fell away, and we could see the young man standing alone, bound to a stake, his body leaning forward as if held to its erect posture merely by the bonds. The limp drooping of his head made me think him already unconscious, possibly dead from some chance fatal blow; but as the flames burst out in a roar at his feet, and shot up, red and glaring, to his waist, he gave utterance to one terrible cry of agony, and it seemed to me I gazed fairly into his tortured eyes and could read their pitiful appeal. Twice I raised my rifle, the sight upon his heart,—but durst not fire. No consideration of my own peril held back the pressure of the trigger,—'twas the remembrance of Mademoiselle. It was beyond my strength of will to withstand such strain long.

"Come," I groaned to De Croix, my hands pressed tightly over my eyes to shut out the sight, "it will craze us both to stay here longer, nor dare we aid the poor fellow even by a shot."

He lay face downward on the soft mud of the bank, and I had to shake him before he so much as moved. We crept on together, until we came out through the thick bushes into the open prairie, and faced each other, our lips white and our bodies shaking with the horror of what we had just seen.

"Mon Dieu!" he faltered, "'twill forever haunt me."

"It has greatly undone me," I answered, striving to control my voice, for I felt the necessity of coolness if I hoped to command him; "but if we would save her from meeting a like fate, we must remain men."

"Then, for God's sake, find some spot where I may rest for an hour," he urged. "My brain seems reeling, and I fear it will give way if I remain in sight or sound of such horrors."

In spite of all I had seen, it was still my desire to creep in among the deserted lodges while darkness shrouded the outermost of them; but I felt that some safe hiding-place must first be found for my companion. To attempt to take him with me while in such a nervous state would be only to invite disaster.

"De Croix," I asked, "know you if the Indians have destroyed the house that stood by the fork of the north river, where the settler Ouilmette lived?"

"I marked it through Lieutenant Helm's field-glass yesterday. 'Tis partially burned, yet the walls still stand."

"Then 't will serve us most excellently to hide in, for there will be naught left within likely to attract marauders. Think you that you could find it through the night?"

He looked at me, and it was easy to see his nerves were on edge.

"Alone?" he gasped brokenly. "My God, no!"

There was seemingly no way out of it, for it would have been little short of murder to leave him alone on that black prairie, nor would harsh words have greatly mended matters. We were fully an hour at it, creeping cautiously along behind the scattered bushes until we passed the forks and swam the river's northerly branch. The action did him good, and greatly helped to steady my own nerves, as the uproar of the savages died steadily away behind us.

At last we came out upon a slight knoll, and found ourselves close beside the low charred walls of what remained of Ouilmette's log-cabin. 'Twas a most gloomy and desolate spot, but quiet enough, with never the rustle of a leaf to awake the night, or startle us.

"Have you got back your nerve, Monsieur?" I asked, as we paused before the dark outline, "or must I also help you to explore within?"

"'Tis not shadows that terrify me," he answered, no doubt thoroughly ashamed of his weakness, and eager to make amends; "nor is it likely that anything to affright me greatly is behind these walls."

I lay prone in the grass at the corner of the cabin, my eyes fixed upon the distant Indian village, where I could yet plainly distinguish numberless black figures dodging about between me and the flames; while further to the east, the greater blaze of the Fort buildings lighted up, in a wide arc, the deserted prairie. I gave little consideration to De Croix's exploit,—indeed, I had almost forgotten it, when suddenly the fellow sprang backward out of the open door, a cry of wild terror upon his lips, and his hands outstretched as if to ward off some unearthly vision.

"Mon Dieu!" he sobbed hoarsely, falling upon his knees. "'Twas the face of Marie!"