AN ANGEL IN THE WILDERNESS

H HE acted so like a crazed man, grovelling face downward in the grass, that I had to hold him, fearful lest his noise might attract attention from our enemies.

"Be quiet, De Croix!" I commanded sternly, my hand hard upon him, my eyes peering through the darkness to determine if possible the cause for his mysterious fright. "What is it that has so driven you out of your senses?"

He half rose, staring back at the black shadow of the dim doorway, his face white as chalk in the star-light and faint glare of the distant fires.

"'Twas the face of a dead woman," he gasped, pointing forward, "there, just within the door! I saw her buried three years ago, I swear; yet, God be merciful! she awaited me yonder in the gloom."

"Pish!" I exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted at his weakness, and rising to my feet. "Your nerves are unstrung by what we have been through, and you dream of the dead."

"It is not so!" he protested, his voice faltering pitifully; "I saw her, Monsieur,—nor was she once this day in my thought until that moment."

"Well, I shall soon know if there is a ghost within," I answered shortly, determined to make quick end of it. "Remain here, while I go into the house and see what I can find."

For a moment he clung to me like a frightened child; but I shook off his hands a bit roughly, and stepped boldly across the threshold. That was an age when faith in ghostly visitations yet lingered to harass the souls of men. I confess my heart beat more rapidly than usual, as I paused an instant to peer through the shadowy gloom within. It was a small, low room, with a litter of broken furniture strewing the earthen floor; but the log-walls were quite bare. The flicker of the still blazing Fort illuminated the interior sufficiently to enable me to make out these simple details, and to see that the place was without living occupant.

There was only one other apartment in the building, and I walked back until I came upon the door which separated the two, and flung it open. As I did so I thought I saw a shadow, the dim flitting of a woman's form between me and the farther wall; but as I sprang hastily forward, grasping after the spectral vision, I touched nothing save the rough logs. Twice I made the circuit of that restricted space, so confident was I of my own eye-witness; but I found nothing, and could only pause perplexed, staring about in wonder.

It occurred to me that my own overtaxed nerves were at fault, and that if I was to accomplish anything before daylight I must say nothing likely to alarm De Croix further.

"Come, Monsieur!" I said, as I came out and shook him into attention, "there is naught within more dangerous than shadows, or perchance a rat. Nor have I any time longer to dally over such boyishness. I had supposed you a soldier and a brave man, not a nerveless girl to be frightened in the dark. Come, there is ample hiding-space behind the walls, and I purpose leaving you here to regain some measure of your lost courage while I try a new venture of my own."

"Where go you?"

"To learn if I may gain entrance to the Indian camp unobserved. There can be no better time than while they are occupied yonder."

He looked uneasily about him into the dark corners, shuddering.

"I would rather go with you," he protested, weakly. "I have not the heart to remain here alone."

"Nevertheless, here you stay," I retorted shortly, thoroughly exasperated by his continued childishness; "you are in no spirit to meet the perils yonder. Conquer your foolishness, Monsieur, for I know well 'tis not part of your nature so to exhibit fear."

"'Tis naught alive that I so shrink from; never have I been affrighted of living man."

"True; nor have I ever found the dead able greatly to harm. But now I go forth to a plain duty, and you must wait me here."

I did not glance back at him, although I knew he had sunk dejected on a bench beside the door; but with careful look at the priming of my rifle, I stepped forth into the open, and started down the slight slope leading to the river. A fringe of low, straggling trees hid my movements from observation by possible watchers along the southern bank; nor could I perceive with any definiteness what was going on there. The fires had died down somewhat, and I thought the savage yelling and clamor were considerably lessened.

I confess I went forward hesitatingly, and was doubtful enough about the outcome; but I saw no other means by which I might hope to locate Mademoiselle definitely, and I valued my own life now only as it concerned hers. The selfish cowardice of De Croix if cowardice it truly was served merely to stir me to greater recklessness and daring, and I felt ready to venture all if I might thereby only pluck her from the grasp of those red fiends. As I crept through the fringe of bushes which lined the bank, my eyes were on the darkened upper extremity of the Indian camp, and all my thoughts were concentrated upon a plan of entrance to it. I may have been somewhat careless, for I had no conception of any serious peril until after I had crossed the stream, and it certainly startled me to hear a voice at my very elbow,—a strange voice, beautifully soft and low.

"You have the movement of an Indian; yet I think you are white. What seek you here?"

I turned quickly and faced the speaker, my rifle flung forward ready for action. The light was poor enough there amid the shadows, yet the single glimpse I had told me instantly I faced the mysterious woman of the Indian camp. For a moment I made no response, held speechless by surprise; and she questioned again, almost imperatively.

"I asked, why are you here?"

"I am one, by the grace of God, spared from the massacre," I answered blindly. "But you?—I saw you within the Indian camp only last night. Surely you are not a savage?"

"That I know not. I sometimes fear the savage is part of all our natures, and that I am far removed from the divine image of my Master. But I am not an Indian, if that is what you mean. If to be white is a grace in your sight, I am of that race, though there are times when I would have been prouder to wear the darker skin. The red men kill, but they do not lie, nor deceive women. I remember you now,—you were with the White Chief from Dearborn, and tried to approach me when Little Sauk interfered. Why did you do that?"

Her manner and words were puzzling, but I knew no better way than to answer frankly.

"I sought Elsa Matherson,—are you she?"

The girl—for she could certainly have been little more—started perceptibly at the name, and bent eagerly forward, peering with new interest into my face.

"Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, dwelling upon the words as though they awoke memories. "It is indeed long since I have heard the name. Where knew you her?"

"I have never known her; but her father was my father's friend, and I sought her because of that friendship."

"Here?"

"At Fort Dearborn, where she was left an orphan."

"How strange! how very strange indeed! 'Tis a small world. Elsa Matherson! and at Dearborn?"

Was it acting, for some purpose unknown to me,—or what might be the secret of these strange expressions?

"Then you are not the one I seek?"

She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light.

"I have not said who I may be," she answered evasively. "Whatever name I may once have borne was long ago forgotten, and to the simple children about me I am only Sister Celeste. 'Tis enough to live by in this wilderness, and the recording angel of God knows whether even that is worthy. But I have been waiting to learn why you are here, creeping through the bushes like a savage! Nor do I believe you to be altogether alone. Was there not one with you yonder at the house? Why did he cry out so loudly, and fall?"

"He imagined he saw a ghost within. He claimed to have recognized the face of a dead woman he once knew."

"A dead woman? What is the man's name? Who is he?"

"Captain de Croix, an officer of the French army."

She sighed quickly, as if relieved, one hand pressed against her forehead, and sat thinking.

"I know not the name, but it seems strange that the chance sight of my face should work such havoc with his nerves. Spoke he not even the name of the woman?"

"I think he cried some name as he fell, but I recall it not."

"And you? You are only seeking a way of escape from the savages?"

For a moment I hesitated; but surely, I thought, this strange young woman was of white blood, and seemingly an enthusiast in the religion I also professed, and I might safely trust her with my purpose.

"I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians."

"A maiden,—Elsa Matherson?"

"Nay, another; one I have learned to love so well that I now willingly risk even torture for her sake. You are a woman, and have a woman's heart; you exercise some strange power among these savages. I beg you to aid me."

She sat with clasped hands, her eyes lowered upon the grass.

"Whatsoever power I have comes from God," she said solemnly; "and there be times, such as now, when it seems as if He held me unworthy of His trust."

"But you will aid me in whatever way you can?"

"You are sure you love this maiden?"

"Would I be here, think you, otherwise?"

She did not answer immediately, but crept across the little space separating us until she could look more closely into my face, scanning it earnestly with her dark eyes.

"You have the appearance of a true man," she said finally. "Does the maid love you?"

"I know not," I stammered honestly, confused by so direct a question. "I fear not; yet I would save her even then."

I felt her hand touch mine as if in sudden sympathy.

"Monsieur," she spoke gravely, "love has never been kind to me, and I have learned to put small trust in the word as it finds easy utterance upon men's lips. A man swore once, even at the altar, that he loved me; and when he had won my heart he left me for another. If I believed you were such a man I would rather leave this girl to her fate among the savages yonder."

"I am not of that school," I protested earnestly. "I am of a race that love once and forever. But you, who are you? Why are you here in the midst of these savages? You bear a strange likeness to her I would save, but for the lighter shade of your hair."

She drew back slightly, removing her hand from mine, but with gentleness.

"It would do you little good to know my story," she said firmly. "I am no longer of the world, and my life is dedicated to a service you might deem sacrifice. Moreover, we waste time in such idle converse; and if it be my privilege to aid you at all, I must learn more, so as to plan safely."

"You have the freedom of the camp yonder?"

"I hardly know," she responded sadly. "God has placed in my poor hands, Monsieur, a portion of His work amid those benighted, sin-stained creatures there. Times come, as now, when the wild wolf breaks loose, and my life hardly is safe among them. I fled the camp to-night,—not from fear, Christ knows, but because I am a woman, and too weak physically to bear the sight of suffering that I am helpless to relieve. It is indeed Christ's mercy that so few of your company were spared to be thus tortured; but there was naught left for me but prayer."

She stooped forward, her hands pressed over her eyes as though she would shut out the horror.

"Yet know you who among the whites have thus far preserved their lives?" I urged, in an agony of suspense. "Were any of the women brought alive to the camp?"

"It was my fortune to see but one; nor was I permitted to approach her,—a sweet-faced girl, yet she could not be the one you seek, for she wore a wedding-ring. She was saved through the friendship of Black Partridge, and I heard that she is a daughter of the Silver-man."

"Ay! Mrs. Helm! Thank God! But was she the only one?"

"Truly, I know not; for I was forced away from sight of much that went on. Little Sauk has a white maiden hidden in his lodge, who was brought from the battle. I have not seen the girl, but know this through others who were angry at his good-fortune."

"Could we reach there, think you, unobserved?"

She rose, and gazed anxiously across the stream, her face showing clear and fair in the faint light of those distant fires, while I caught the glimmer of a pearl rosary about her white throat and marked a silver crucifix resting against her breast.

"It will be life itself you venture in such an attempt," she said softly, "even its loss through torture; yet 'tis a deed that might be done, for the Indians are fairly crazed with blood and liquor, and will pay small heed to aught save their heathen orgies."

"Then let us venture it."

She turned slightly and looked at me intently, her dark eyes filled with serious thought.

"Yes, we will go," she responded at last, slowly. "If through God's grace we may thus preserve a life, it will be well worthy the sacrifice, and must be His desire."

For another moment we waited there silently, standing side by side, gazing anxiously across the dark water, and listening intently to the varied discordant sounds borne to us on the night air. I know not what may have been in her thought; but upon my lips there was a silent prayer that we might be safely guided in our desperate mission. I wondered still who this strange young woman could be, so surrounded by mystery, a companion of savages, and still gentle and refined in word and manner. I dare not ask again, nor urge her confidence; for there was that of reserve about her which held me speechless. I glanced aside, marking again the clear pure contour of her face, and my look seemed instantly to arouse her from her reverie.

"I expect little trouble until we near the centre of the camp," she said, thoughtfully. "'Tis dark amid the northern lodges, and we shall meet with no warriors there unless they be so far gone in intoxication as to be no longer a source of danger. But come, friend, the longer we tarry the less bright grows the hope of success."

A slender bark canoe rested close beneath the bank, and she motioned me into it, grasping the paddle without a word, and sending the narrow craft with swift, silent strokes across the stream. The other shore was unprotected; so, hesitating only long enough to listen for a moment, much as some wild animal might, she crept forward cautiously into the black lodge-shadows, while I instantly followed, imitating as best I could her slightest movement. We met no obstacle to our advance,—not even the snarls and barkings of the innumerable curs, usually the sleepless guardians of such encampments of savages. I soon saw that as we crept around lodge after lodge in our progress, the light of the blazing fires in our front grew constantly brighter and the savage turbulence more pronounced.

At last the girl came to a sudden pause, peering cautiously forward from beneath the shadow of the lodge that hid us; and as I glanced over her shoulder, the wild scene was revealed in each detail of savagery.

"'Tis as far as you will dare venture," she whispered, her lips at my ear. "I know not the exact limit of our progress, but the lodge of Little Sauk lies beyond the fire, and I must make the rest of the distance alone."

"But dare you?" I questioned uneasily. "Will they permit even you to pass unharmed?"

She smiled almost sadly.

"I have many friends among them, blood-stained as they are, and little as I have accomplished for the salvation of their souls. I have been with them much, and my father long held their confidence ere he died. I have even been adopted into the tribe of the Pottawattomies. None are my enemies among that nation save the medicine-men, and they will scarce venture to molest me even in this hour of their power and crime. Too well they know me to be under protection of their chiefs; nor are they insensible to the sanctity of my faith. Ay, and even their superstition has proved my safeguard."

The expression of curiosity in my eyes appealed to her, and as if in answer she rested one hand upon her uncovered head, the hair of which shone like dull red gold in the firelight.

"You mean that?" I asked, dimly recalling something I had once heard.

She shook the heavy coiled mass loose from its bondage, until it rippled in gleaming waves of color over her shoulders, and smiled back at me, yet not without traces of deep sadness in her eyes.

"'Tis an Indian thought," she explained softly, "that such hair as mine is a special gift of the Great Spirit, and renders its wearer sacred. What was often spoken most lightly about in other days has in this dread wilderness proved my strongest defence. God uses strange means, Monsieur, to accomplish His purpose with the heathen."

She paused, listening intently to a sudden noise behind us.

"Creep in here, Monsieur," she whispered, quickly lifting an edge of the skin-covering of the lodge. "A party is returning from the Fort, perchance with more prisoners. Lie quiet there until I return; it will not be long."

I crawled through the slight opening into that black interior, turning to hold open the flap sufficiently to peer forth once more. I knew not where she vanished, as she faded away like a shadow; but I had hardly secured refuge, when a dozen painted warriors trooped by, shouting their fierce greeting. In the midst of them, half-stripped, and bleeding as if from freshly inflicted wounds, staggered a white man; and as the firelight fell full upon his haggard face, I recognized De Croix.