A STUMBLE IN THE DARK

G GLOOMY as the hole was, there was no help for it. I could perceive nothing below, not even my hand when held within a foot of my eyes; nor had I the slightest previous knowledge of the place to guide me, even had not the fire ruins above effectually blocked every passage-way with fallen debris. Listening however intently, my ears could distinguish only the faint lapping of the river as it crept about the log piling on which the house had been built; but beyond this dim guidance, I had to feel my way forward with extended hands and groping feet. Swinging to my back the rifle that De Croix had brought, and casting an inquiring glance backward at the little group huddled upon the bank, almost invisible even at that short distance, I grasped the piling nearest me and slid down into the unknown darkness.

My feet found solid earth, although as I reached out toward the left my moccasin came in contact with water, which told me at once that only a narrow path divided the steep bank of the excavation from the encroaching river. The floor above was originally low, so that I could easily touch the heavy supporting beams; and I had felt my way scarcely a yard before coming in contact with a serious obstruction, where the weakened floor had sagged so as almost to close the narrow passage. This caused me to wade farther out into the water, testing each step carefully as I followed the sharp curving of the shore-line. I had no fear of meeting any living enemy within that silent cave, my sole doubt being as to whether the half-breed chief had fulfilled his promise and brought the boat, my gravest anxiety to discover it early and get my party safely away before the Indian encampment learned the truth.

I must have reached the apex of the little cove, moving so cautiously that not a ripple of the water revealed my progress, and feeling for each inch of way like a blind man along city streets, when my knee suddenly struck some obstacle, and seeking to learn what it might be, I muttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving as I touched the unmistakable sides of a boat. It was a lumping, awkward craft, rudely fashioned, yet of a seeming length of keel and breadth of beam that set my heart beating with new joy, as I wondered if it was not the same craft in which the Kinzie family put forth upon the lake the morning of the massacre. This seemed very likely, for there could hardly be two such boats at hand, where the Indian water-craft were slender, fragile canoes, poorly fitted for serious battle with lake waves. Doubtless this was the only vessel Sau-ga-nash could find suitable for the venture, or he would never have chosen it for the use of a single man, as it was of a size to require the services of several paddles. Yet the thought meant much; for this very lack of water-craft was likely to render pursuit by the baffled savages impossible, if only once we got fairly away from the shore.

With these reflections driving swiftly through my brain, I ran one hand hastily along the thwarts of the boat, seeking to discover if paddles had been provided, or even a sail of any kind. I touched a coil of rope, a rude oar-blade so broad as to seem unwieldy, a tightly rolled cloth,—and then my groping fingers rested on the oddest-feeling thing that ever a startled man touched in the dark. It was God's mercy I did not cry out from the sudden nervous fit that seized me. The thing I touched had a round, smooth, creepy feeling of flesh about it, so that I believed I fingered a corpse; until it began to turn slowly under my hand like a huge ball, the loose skin of it twitching yet revealing no human features to my touch. Saint Andrew! but it frightened me! I knew not what species of strange animal it might prove to be, nor whence its grip or sting might come. Yet the odd feeling of it was strangely fascinating,—I could not let it go; the damp flesh-like skin seemed to cling to my fingers in a horrible sort of magnetism that bound me prisoner, the cold perspiration of terror bursting from every pore, even as my other hand, trembling and unnerved, sought in my shirt for the knife of Little Sauk.

As I gripped the weapon, the thing began to straighten out, coming up in the quick odd jerks with which some snakes uncoil their joints after the torpidity of winter. My hand, finding naught to grasp, slipped from the smooth round ball, and as it fell touched what seemed an ear, and then a human nose.

"Merciful God! 'tis a man!" I gasped, in astonishment and yet relief, as I closed upon his throat, madly determined to shut off his wind before he could give alarm.

"Cuss the luck!" he gasped hoarsely, and I let go of him, scarcely able to ejaculate in my intense surprise at that familiar voice.

"Burns? For Heaven's sake, Burns! can this indeed be you?"

For an instant he did not speak, doubtless as greatly perplexed as I at the strange situation.

"If ye're Injun," he ventured at last gravely, "then I'm a bloody ghost; but if by any chance ye're the lad, Wayland, which yer voice sounds like, then it's Ol' Tom Burns as ye're a-maulin' 'round, which seems ter be yer specialty, a-jumpin' on unoffensive settlers in the dark, an' a-chokin' the life outer them."

The growling tone of his voice was growing querulous, and it was evident that his temper, never quite childlike, had not been greatly improved by his late experiences as an Indian captive.

"But Burns, old friend!" I persisted heartily, my courage returned once more, "it was surely enough to stir any man to violence to encounter such a thing in the dark! What in Heaven's name has happened to leave you with such a poll? What has become of your hair and beard? Is their loss a part of Indian torture?"

There was a low chuckle in the darkness, as if the old rascal were laughing to himself.

"Injun nuthin!" he returned with vehemence. "Thet's jist my way of sarcumventin' the bloody varmints. I shaved the hull blame thing soon as ever they let me loose, an' then played loony, till thar ain't no Injun 'long the shore as 'd tech me fer all the wampum in the Illini country. 'Tain't the fust time I saved my scalp by some sech dern trick. I tell ye, it's easy 'nough ter beat Injuns if ye only know how. By snakes! I'm sacred, I am,—specially teched by the Great Spirit. I tell ye, ter be real loony is dern nigh as good in an Injun camp as ter hev red hair like thet thar little Sister Celeste with the Pottawattomies. She knows her business, you bet; an' so does Ol' Burns know him!"

His mention of her name instantly recalled me to the little group waiting above us, and doubtless already worried at my prolonged absence.

"Burns," I interrupted, "this is no time for reminiscences. I am here seeking some means of escape out of this place of horror. What were you doing down here?"

"Sorter contemplatin' a sea v'yage," he said, dryly. "'Twas rec'mended by my doctor fer the growth o' my har. So, snoopin' 'round yere in the dark, an' not over fond o' Injun com'any, I found this yere boat. Jest got in ter see how 'twas fixed, when ye jumped down yonder. Reckon I'd kinder like ter wet 'er up an' see wot she's like."

"Good! so would I. This boat was placed here for that very purpose. Now listen. The young woman you just mentioned, that Indian missionary with the auburn hair, is above yonder, together with another young white girl rescued from the massacre, and the Frenchman, De Croix. We have come here, on pledge of a half-breed chief that this boat would be ready for our escape. And we have no time to waste, for we may be followed at any moment."

"They ain't seen ye stealin' outer the camp?"

"No, but in doing it I was compelled to kill Little Sauk, and the others may find his body at any time."

For a moment the sly old borderer made no response, and I knew he was quietly turning over the complicated situation in his own mind preparatory to intelligent action. I heard him step from the boat into the shallow water.

"All right, lad! I understand," he said heartily, his former indifference vanished. "Derned if I wouldn't jist as soon leave that Parley-Voo behind; but I'm with ye, an' I reckon Ol' Burns'll give them thar redskins another dern good jolt. Take hold here, boy, an' we'll run this yere man-o-war outside, where we kin ship the rest o' her crew."

The back-water rippling among the old piling was shallow, but the boat had little aboard and floated free, so that we worked it forward with little difficulty until we succeeded in rounding the slight promontory and held its bulging sides close against the mud wall. Leaving Burns to keep it in place, I crept silently up the bank.

"Come!" I whispered, making my way to the side of Mademoiselle more by instinct than sight. "The boat we sought is here and ready! I have even found a boatman to aid us, in the form of Ol' Burns, who, you remember, aided De Croix and me at the time of our famous race. Let us waste no more of the night here, but do the rest of your talking in greater safety on the water."

They came with me down to the edge of the stream without a word of protest. I had taken Mademoiselle in my arms and lifted her slight form into the boat, when she turned suddenly, as if by an unrestrainable impulse, and held out her hands toward the dim figure of the silent girl who yet remained motionless several feet away.

"Marie!" she said, anxiously, "it may be wrong of me to urge it, but I beg you to think again in this grave matter. Surely such horrible massacre as you have witnessed must absolve you from your vow, and yield you freedom to return eastward with those you love."

The other did not respond to this passionate appeal, but stood facing us silent as a statue.

"What mean you, Mademoiselle?" I asked. "Will not this Sister Celeste consent to leave the Indians?"

"Nay, she has made a sacred vow of religion which binds her to this sacrifice. I implore you, John Wayland, urge her to go with us! 'Tis but waste of her life here. She is an old schoolmate of mine, and 't will be hard to leave her alone in this wilderness. Captain de Croix, she was far from being a stranger to you in those other days at Montreal,—will you not add your entreaties to ours?"

I saw him step forward toward that quiet bowed figure, and she straightened perceptibly, even in the darkness, as he drew near. His words were in French, and spoken so low I missed their meaning; yet we all heard plainly her calm answer, while marking the faltering accents of her lips.

"Dear, dear friend!" and I felt her eyes, blinded by tears, were seeking out Mademoiselle through the gloom, "it breaks my heart to answer you nay in this hour of sore trial to us both. Yet my vow to God is more sacred than any earthly friendship; nor could peace ever again abide in my heart were I to break the vow so lightly. My duty is here, be it for life or death; and here I must abide until the Master sets me free."

Then, addressing De Croix, she continued sadly, "No, Monsieur, the sense of duty that presses upon me and yields me such strength is beyond your comprehension. I bid you go back to that world of light and gaiety you have always loved so fondly, and think no more of me. To you I am, even as you have supposed, a dead woman, yet happier far in this sad exile than I ever was in that gilded social cage where men laugh while they break the hearts that trust them. My Indians are indeed cruel, but there is a deeper cruelty than that of bloodshed, and I prefer the open savagery of the woods and plains to things I have known in city life. So it must be good-bye, Monsieur!"

I was looking directly at her when she uttered these last words of dismissal, yet as she ended she vanished into the black night beyond, I knew not how. A moment before, two figures had been standing there, De Croix's and hers; and although my eyes never once wavered, suddenly there remained but one, that of De Croix, peering forward with bent body as if he also knew not how or when the girl had vanished from his side. I was staring yet, half believing it was but a trick of my eyes, when suddenly, like phantoms from the mist, a half-dozen naked figures topped the high bank before me. It was the work almost of a second. I caught Burns's low cry of warning from where he sat watching within the boat.

"Run!" I shouted to De Croix. "To the boat, quick! The savages are upon us!"

He made no motion, and I grasped him. Rarely have I laid so heavy a hand on one in friendship; but I lifted him from off his feet and flung him bodily into the boat's bottom, scarce waiting till he struck before I had my shoulder against the stern to send the craft free from shore. I know not what mischance caused it, whether I slipped upon a stone or tripped over a hidden root; but as I shoved the boat far out into the dark current of the river, instead of springing after it, as I had meant to do, I toppled and plunged headlong down at the edge of the stream.