THE PLEDGE OF A WYANDOT

A SINGLE glance told me who our unwelcome visitor must be. That giant body, surmounted by the huge broad face, could belong to none other than the Wyandot, Sau-ga-nash,—him who had spoken for the warriors of his tribe before the torture-stake. He stood erect and rigid, his stern, questioning eyes upon us, his lips a thin line of repression. With a quick movement, I thrust the girl behind me, and faced him, motionless, but with every muscle strained for action. The Indian spoke slowly, and used perfect English.

"Ugh!" he said. "Who are you? A prisoner? Surely you cannot be that same Frenchman we helped entertain last night?"

"I am not the Frenchman," I answered deliberately, vainly hoping his watchful eyes might wander about the lodge long enough to yield me chance for a spring at his throat, "though I was one of his party. I only came here to bring comfort to this poor girl."

"No doubt she needs it," he replied drily, "and your way is surely a good one. Yet I doubt if Little Sauk would approve it, and as his friend, I must speak for him in the matter. Do you say you are also a prisoner? To what chief?"

"To none," I answered shortly, resolved now to venture all in a trial of strength. He read this decision in my eyes, and stepped back warily. At the same instant Toinette flung her arms restrainingly about my neck.

"Don't, John!" she urged, using my name thus for the first time; "the savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"

I saw the weapon as she spoke, and saw too the angry glint in the fellow's eye as he thrust the muzzle menacingly forward. As we stood thus, glaring at each other, a sudden remembrance made me pause. "Sau-ga-nash"?—surely it was neither more nor less than a Wyandot expression signifying "Englishman." That broad face was not wholly Indian; could this be the half-breed chief of whom I had so often heard? 'Twas worth the chance to learn.

"You are Sau-ga-nash?" I asked, slowly, Toinette still clinging to me, her face over her shoulder to front the silent savage. "A chief of the Wyandots?"

He moved his head slightly, with a mutter of acquiescence, his eyes expressing wonder at the question.

"The same whom the Americans name Billy Caldwell?"

"'Tis the word used by the whites."

I drew a quick breath of relief, which caused Mademoiselle to release her grasp a little, as her anxious eyes sought my face for explanation.

"Recall you a day twelve years ago on the River Raisin?" I asked clearly, feeling confident now that my words were no longer idle. "An Indian was captured in his canoe by a party of frontiersmen who were out to revenge a bloody raid along the valley of the Maumee. That Indian was a Wyandot and a chief. He was bound to a tree beside the river bank and condemned to torture; when the leader of the rangers, a man with a gray beard, stood before him rifle in hand, and swore to kill the first white man who put flint and steel to the wood. Recall you this, Sau-ga-nash?"

The stolid face of the listening savage changed, the expression of revengeful hostility merging into one of undisguised amazement.

"That which you picture has not left my memory," he answered gravely.

"Nor the pledge you gave to that white captain when he brought you safely to Detroit?" I queried, eagerly.

"Nor the pledge. But what has all this to do here?"

"Only, Sau-ga-nash, that I am Major David Wayland's son."

The Indian sprang forward, his eyes burning fiercely; and thinking his movement to be hostile, I thrust the girl aside that I might be free to repel his attack. But he did not touch me, merely peering eagerly into my face with a keen questioning look that read my every feature.

"You have the nose and forehead," he reflected aloud; "yes, and the eyes. Before the Great Spirit, I will redeem my pledge; a chief of the Wyandots cannot lie."

He paused, and I could mark the varied emotions that swayed him, so deeply was he moved by this strange discovery. Unconsciously my hand clasped Mademoiselle's, for now I felt that our fate hung on his decision.

"'Tis a hard task, Master Wayland," he admitted at length, almost wearily, "but for your father's sake it shall be done. I see only one way for it, and that by water. Know you anything about the management of boats?"

"Only as I have paddled upon the Maumee," I answered, doubtfully, "although I handled a small sail when a mere boy in the far East."

"'Twill suffice if the fair weather hold, as is likely at this season. At least it may be risked. The land trails are crowded by Indians from far-off tribes, hastening hither in hope of fight and spoils. More than a hundred came in to-day, painted for war, and angry because too late. You could not escape encountering such parties, were you to flee by trail eastward; nor would they show mercy to any white. The Silver-man has returned to his home north of the river; but 'tis all that we who are friendly to him can do to keep these warriors from attacking even there. 'Tis the Indians from far away that make the trouble; and these grow more numerous and powerful each day. We keep a guard at the house to save the Silver-man and his family; and were more whites to seek refuge there, we should lose all control. There is still safety at the mouth of the Saint Joseph River, and 'tis there you must go. The venture must be made to-night, and by water. Is it known to any Indian that you are alive and within this camp?"

"To none."

"That is well; we can work best alone. Now listen. At midnight, Master Wayland, a boat, pre pared for the trip, will await you, hidden under the ruins of the Agency building. The river flows under the flooring deep enough for the purpose, and I will place the boat there with my own hand. Beyond that, all must rest upon your own skill and good fortune. You will wait here," and he glanced about anxiously for some means of concealment, "lying behind those robes yonder, until the hour."

"Here?" I questioned, thinking instantly of my duty to De Croix. "But I would first have speech with the Frenchman. He is my friend, Sau-ga-nash. Besides, I have left my rifle in the council lodge."

The face of the savage darkened, and his eyes gleamed ominously as they roamed questioningly from my face to Toinette's.

"I said you were to stay hidden here," he answered shortly, his tone showing anger, and his hand pointing at the robes. "Many of the sleeping Pottawattomies are again astir without, and you could not hope to gain the council lodge undiscovered. What care I for this Frenchman, that I should risk my life to save him? I pledge myself only to Major Wayland's son; and even if I aid you, it is on condition that you go alone."

"Alone, say you?" and I rested my hand on Mademoiselle's shoulder. "I would die here, Sau-ga-nash, and by torture, before I would consent to go one step without this girl."

The half-breed scowled at me, drawing his robe about him in haughty indifference.

"Then be it so," he said mockingly. "'Tis your own choice. I have offered redemption of my pledge."

I started to utter some harsh words in answer; but before I could speak, Toinette pressed her soft palm upon my lips in protest.

"Refuse him not," she murmured hastily. "'Tis the only chance; for my sake, do not anger him."

What plan her quick wit may have engendered, I did not know; but I yielded to the entreaty in her pleading eyes, and sullenly muttered the first conscious lie of my life.

"I accept your terms, Sau-ga-nash, harsh as they are."

He looked from one to the other of us, his face dark with distrust and doubt.

"You are not mine to dispose of," he said sternly to the trembling girl, who visibly shrank from his approach, and clung once more to me. "You are prisoner to Little Sauk; nor will I release one thus held by the Pottawattomies. They and the Wyandots are brothers. But I trust you, and not the word of this white man. Pledge me not to go with him, and I will believe you."

She glanced first at me, then back into the swarthy, merciless face. Her cheeks were white and her lips trembled, yet her eyes remained clear and calm.

"I give you my word, Sau-ga-nash," she said quietly. "While I am held as prisoner by Little Sauk, I will not go away with John Wayland."

Little as I believed these words to be true at the time, the sound of them so dulled me with apprehension that I could only stare at her in speechless amazement. It seemed to me then as if the power of reason had deserted me, as if my brain had been so burdened as to refuse its office. I recall that Toinette almost compelled me to lie down against the farther side of the lodge, placing a pile of skins in front of me and assuming a position herself where she could occasion ally reach across the barrier and touch me with her soft hand. No doubt she realized the struggle in my mind, for she spoke little after the departure of the half-breed, as if anxious to permit me to figure out the future for myself. Little by little I faced it, and came to an irrevocable decision. It was to be Toinette or nothing. While it might be true that she was in no immediate danger, and possibly could be safely ransomed if I once escaped to civilization, yet the risk of such venture and delay was too great; nor would my love abide so vast a sacrifice on her part. I thought to say this to her; but there was a look of firm decision in her sweet face, as her dark eyes met mine, that somehow held me silent. I felt that in her own heart she must already know what action I would choose, and the final moment would prove sufficient test for her evident determination. Reassured here, my thoughts turned to De Croix; but that was useless. I could send no message to him; he was no longer in especial peril, and perhaps would not willingly desert his newly found wife even to escape the savages. Nay, it was to be Toinette and I, now and forever.

I do not clearly remember at this day what it was we spoke about in the brief whispering that passed between us while we waited there. Neither of us felt like voicing our real thoughts, and so we but dissembled, making commonplaces fill the gaps between our silences. The night found us undisturbed, and it shut down so darkly within the narrow confines of the lodge that I lost all trace of her presence, but for an occasional movement or the sound of her low voice. Without, the rapidly increasing noise indicated a return of many savages to the camp, until at last a fire was kindled in the open space, its red flame sending some slight illumination where we were, but not enough to reveal the interior of the lodge. An Indian brought the girl some food, entering and leaving without uttering a sound; and we two ate together, striving to speak lightly in order to make the coarse meal more palatable.

Suddenly I became aware of a faint scratching upon the skin of the lodge, at my back. At first I supposed it to be some wild animal, or possibly a stray dog; but the regularity of it showed a purpose of some kind. Could it be De Croix? Or was it the half-breed with some secret message he dared not deliver openly? I lifted the lodge covering slightly, and placed my lips to the aperture.

"Is some one there?" I whispered cautiously "Who is it?"

"I am Sister Celeste," came the immediate low reply. "Are you the white man I guided?"

"Ay," I answered, rejoicing at this rare good for tune, "and I beg you to listen to what I say. There will be a boat awaiting us beneath the old Agency building at midnight. You must be there with De Croix."

"De Croix?"

"Yes; I know not if that be his name to you, but I mean the Frenchman whose life you saved. Will you take him thither at midnight, together with the rifle I left in the council lodge?"

For a moment she did not answer. Doubtless it was a bitter struggle for her thus to agree even to meet the man again. At last she made reply, although I could plainly mark the faltering of her voice.

"The man of whom you speak shall be there," she said, "unless some accident make it impossible."

As I drew back my head, and sat upright, Mademoiselle spoke questioningly.

"With whom were you conversing just now, Monsieur?"

"The young woman of whom we have spoken so often," I answered thoughtlessly. "She has pledged herself to bring De Croix to the meeting-place."

"Indeed!" she exclaimed, with accent so peculiar I knew not how to interpret it. "It almost makes me desire to form one of your party."