Part 17 (2/2)

Madame Roussillon was lying on a bed in an adjoining room moaning diligently, at intervals handling her rosary and repeating a prayer.

The whole town was silent outside.

”Why don't you go get the pretty flag down and hide it before they come?” Jean murmured from within the silken meshes of Alice's hair.

In his small mind the gaudy banner was the most beautiful of all things. Every day since it was set up he had gone to gaze at it as it fluttered against the sky. The men had frequently said in his presence that the enemy would take it down if they captured the fort.

Alice heard his inquisitive voice; but it seemed to come from far off; his words were a part of the strange, wild swirl in her bosom.

Beverley's look, as he turned and left her, now shook every chord of her being. He had gone to his death at her command. How strong and true and brave he was! In her imagination she saw the flag above him, saw him die like a panther at bay, saw the gay rag s.n.a.t.c.hed down and torn to shreds by savage hands. It was the tragedy of a single moment, enacted in a flashlight of antic.i.p.ation.

She released Jean so suddenly that he fell to the floor. She remembered what she had said to Beverley on the night of the dance when they were standing under the flag.

”You made it and set it up,” he lightly remarked; ”you must see that no enemy ever gets possession of it, especially the English.”

”I'll take it down and hide it when there's danger of that,” she said in the same spirit.

And now she stood there looking at Jean, without seeing him, and repeated the words under her breath.

”I'll take it down and hide it. They shan't have it.”

Madame Roussillon began to call from the other room in a loud, complaining voice; but Alice gave no heed to her querulous demands.

”Stay here, Jean, and take care of Mama Roussillon,” she presently said to the hunchback. ”I am going out; I'll be back soon; don't you dare leave the house while I'm gone; do you hear?”

She did not wait for his answer; but s.n.a.t.c.hing a hood-like fur cap from a peg on the wall, she put it on and hastily left the house.

Down at the fort Helm and Beverley were making ready to resist Hamilton's attack, which they knew would not be long deferred. The two heavily charged cannon were planted so as to cover the s.p.a.ce in front of the gate, and some loaded muskets were ranged near by ready for use.

”We'll give them one h.e.l.l of a blast,” growled the Captain, ”before they overpower us.”

Beverley made no response in words; but he was preparing a bit of tinder on the end of a stick with which to fire the cannon. Not far away a little heap of logs was burning in the fort's area.

The British officer, already mentioned as at the head of the line advancing diagonally from the river's bank, halted his men at a distance of three hundred yards from the fort, and seemed to be taking a deliberately careful survey of what was before him.

”Let 'em come a little nearer, Lieutenant,” said Helm, his jaw setting itself like a lion's. ”When we shoot we want to hit.”

He stooped and squinted along his gun.

”When they get to that weedy spot out yonder,” he added, ”just opposite the little rise in the river bank, we'll turn loose on 'em.”

Beverley had arranged his primitive match to suit his fancy, and for probably the twentieth time looked critically to the powder in the beveled touch-hole of his old cannon. He and Helm were facing the enemy, with their backs to the main area of the stockade, when a well known voice attracted their attention to the rear.

”Any room for a feller o' my size in this here crowded place?” it demanded in a cracked but cheerful tenor. ”I'm kind o' outen breath a runnin' to git here.”

They turned about. It was Oncle Jazon with his long rifle on his shoulder and wearing a very important air. He spoke in English, using the backwoods lingo with the ease of long practice.

”As I's a comin' in f'om a huntin' I tuck notice 'at somepin' was up. I see a lot o' boats on the river an' some fellers wi' guns a scootin'

around, so I jes' slipped by 'em all an' come in the back way. They's plenty of 'em, I tell you what! I can't shoot much, but I tuck one chance at a buck Indian out yander and jes' happened to hit 'im in the lef' eye. He was one of the gang 'at scalped me down yander in Kaintuck.”

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