Part 21 (1/2)

She drew herself up proudly now, and felt that she could have said so before the whole world.

”_Parbleu!_” exclaimed Pepin, who did not seem to hail the news with any particular satisfaction. ”You are quite sure it was not any one else you wanted to marry? What?

You are quite sure?”

”Of course, who could there be?”

”Perhaps Mam'selle aspired. But who can tell? After all, a woman must take whom she can get I dare say that he will do just as well as another.”

Pepin Quesnelle, now that his own safety was a.s.sured, did not seem to value it as he thought he would. After all, if the girl's nose did ”stop short too soon,” it was by no means an unpretty one; its sauciness was decidedly taking, and if he saw mischief lurking away back in her eyes, he admitted it was an uncommonly lovable sort of mischief. Being only human, he now began to wish for what he had despised.

As for Dorothy, she could have rated Pepin roundly for his conceit and his sentiments. But it was all too absurd, and she must bear with him. She continued--

”Pepin Quesnelle, you have a good heart, I know, and you can understand how it is. If I had not known that you were not like other men, I would hardly have dared to ask you to come all this long distance to me. I know what you do is not for reward, so I am not afraid to ask you.

Will you find out about my father and Mr. Pasmore and the others, and will you do what you can to save them?

I feel sure there is no man on the Saskatchewan can do more than you.”

Pepin drew himself up to his full height, smiled complacently, and stroked his black moustache. His dark eyes twinkled as he turned to gaze encouragingly at Antoine, who with his tongue out was seated on his hind quarters, watching him meditatively.

”Mam'selle has spoken the truth. I would be sorry to be like other men--particularly your Pasmore”--he grinned impishly as he saw the indignation on Dorothy's face--”but that is not the thing. Pasmore is all right--in his own way. He is even, what you might call, goodfellow. But why is it you should fret for him? He is all right. And even if anything should happen to him, it is not Pepin that has the hard heart--he might even console Mam'selle.

He will not exactly promise that, but he may come to it.

Perhaps Mam'selle will remember in the house when the good mother told how you would like to marry Pepin, and he said you would not do. Well, Pepin has considered well since then, and he has thought that if you tried to suit him, you might”

”It is too great an honour, Pepin. If you expect any one in this world to be as good and kind to you as your mother, you will find you have made a great mistake.

Believe me, Pepin Quesnelle. I am a woman, and I know.”

”_Bien! Oui_, the mother she is good, ver' good, and I know there is right in what you say. So! Still, I think you have improved since we first met, and the mother likes you, so you need not think too much of that you are not good enough, and if you should think better of it--all may yet be well.”

But Dorothy a.s.sured him that, seeing she had given her word to Pasmore, and, moreover, seeing she loved him, it would be a mistake to change her mind upon the subject.

This, however, was not exactly clear to Pepin, who could not understand how any woman could be foolish enough to stand in her own light when he, the great Pepin, who had been so long the catch of the Saskatchewan, had graciously signified his intention to accept her homage. Perhaps she was one of those coy creatures who must have something more than mere conventionalism put into an offer of marriage, so under the circ.u.mstances it might be as well for him to go through with the matter to the bitter end.

”Mam'selle,” he said, ”the honour Pepin does you is stupendous; he is prepared to accept you--to make the great sacrifice. He lays his heart at your feet--he means you have laid your heart at his feet, and he stoops to pick--”

”You'd better do nothing of the kind, Pepin Quesnelle.

It's all a mistake!--You utterly misunderstand--”

But Dorothy could say no more, for, despite her alarm, the situation was too ludicrous for words. What further complications might have arisen, it is difficult to say, had not just then the astute Antoine come to the conclusion that his master was developing some peculiar form of madness and wanted a little brotherly attention. He therefore came noiselessly behind him and with a show of absent-mindedness poked his snout between his legs.

In another moment Pepin had landed on his back on top of his four-footed friend, wherefrom he rolled helplessly to earth. Dorothy ran forward to help him up, but the dwarf could not see her proffered hand now--it was Antoine he had to do business with. He was already creeping on all-fours towards the interrupter. Dorothy's heart was in her mouth when Pepin, with an unexpected movement, threw his arms round the bear's neck and proceeded to force its jaws apart with his powerful hands. He had no twigs or old boots handy, but he meant to try the teeth in its inside by administering earth or young rocks or anything of a nature that could not exactly be called nouris.h.i.+ng. To add to the confusion, the Indian girl fearful that something terrible was about to happen, at once began to indulge in a weird uproar.

What would have happened it is difficult to say had not their attention been suddenly claimed by a couple of shots which rang out from the direction of the gorge.

Pepin released his hold on Antoine, and that resourceful creature took the opportunity of revenging himself by picking up his master's hat and trotting off with it in his mouth. He meant to put it where Pepin intended to put the little rocks.

CHAPTER XXVI

A BOLD BID FOR LIBERTY

It was midnight, and Poundmaker's prisoners, Douglas, Pasmore, Jacques, and Rory, were lying in their tepee under the charge of their armed guards. They knew the latter were asleep, and in answer to some proposition that Rory had just whispered to Jacques, the latter said--