Part 30 (1/2)

”Ventrebleu!” whined the old man, when the Indian had gone away again.

”Holy Mary! Jee-ru-sa-lem! They's nary bone o' me left 'at's not splintered as fine as toothpickers! S'pose yer satisfied now, ain't ye, Si Kenton? Ef ye ain't I'm sh.o.r.e to satisfy ye the fust time I git a chance at ye, ye blab-mouthed eejit!”

Before this conversation was ended a rain began to fall, and it rapidly thickened from a desultory shower to a roaring downpour that effectually quenched not only the fires around which the savages were dancing, but the enthusiasm of the dancers as well. During the rest of the afternoon and all night long the fall was incessant, accompanied by a cold, panting, wailing southwest wind.

Beverley lay on the ground, face upward, the rawhide strings torturing his limbs, the chill of cold water searching his bones. He could see nothing but the dim, strange canopy of flying rain, against which the bare boughs of the scrub oaks were vaguely outlined; he could hear nothing but the cry of the wind and the swash of the water which fell upon him and ran under him, bubbling and gurgling as if fiendishly exultant.

The night dragged on through its terrible length, dealing out its indescribable horrors, and at last morning arrived, with a stingy and uncertain gift of light slowly increasing until the dripping trees appeared forlornly gray and brown against clouds now breaking into ma.s.ses that gave but little rain.

Beverley lived through the awful trial and even had the hardihood to brighten inwardly with the first flash of sunlight that shot through a cloud-crack on the eastern horizon. He thought of Alice, as he had done all night; but now the thought partook somehow of the glow yonder above old Vincennes, although he could only see its reflection.

There was great stir among the Indians. Long-Hair stalked about scrutinizing the ground. Beverley saw him come near time and again with a hideous, inquiring scowl on his face. Grunts and laconic exclamations pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth, and presently the import of it all could not be mistaken. Kenton and Jazon were gone--had escaped during the night--and the rain had completely obliterated their tracks.

The Indians were furious. Long-Hair sent out picked parties of his best scouts with orders to scour the country in all directions, keeping with himself a few of the older warriors. Beverley was fed what he would eat of venison, and Long-Hair made him understand that he would have to suffer some terrible punishment on account of the action of his companions.

Late in the day the scouts straggled back with the report that no track or sign of the fugitives had been discovered, and immediately a consultation was held. Most of the warriors, including all of the young bucks, demanded a torture entertainment as compensation for their exertions and the unexpected loss of their own prisoners; for it had been agreed that Beverley belonged exclusively to Long-Hair, who objected to anything which might deprive him of the great reward offered by Hamilton for the prisoner if brought to him alive.

In the end it was agreed that Beverley should be made to run the gauntlet, provided that no deadly weapons were used upon him during the ordeal.

CHAPTER XIV

A PRISONER OF LOVE

Alice put on her warmest clothes and followed Captain Farnsworth to the fort, realizing that no pleasant experience awaited her. The wind and rain still prevailed when they were ready to set forth, and, although it was not extremely cold, a searching chill went with every throb that marked the storm's waves. No lights shone in the village houses.

Overhead a gray gloom covered stars and sky, making the darkness in the watery streets seem densely black. Farnsworth offered Alice his arm, but she did not accept it.

”I know the way better than you do,” she said. ”Come on, and don't be afraid that I am going to run. I shall not play any trick on you.”

”Very well, Mademoiselle, as you like. I trust you.”

He followed her from the house. He was so filled with the bitterness of what he was doing that he carried her sword in his hand all the way to the fort, quite unaware that its point often touched her dress so that she plainly felt it. Indeed, she thought he was using that ruffianly and dangerous means of keeping pace with her. He had sent the patrol on its rounds, taking upon himself the responsibility of delivering her to Hamilton. She almost ran, urged by the strange excitement that burned in her heart, and he followed somewhat awkwardly, stumbling over the unfamiliar way in the rain and darkness.

At every step he was wis.h.i.+ng that she would escape from him. Coa.r.s.e as his nature was and distorted by hardening experiences, it was rooted in good English honesty and imbued with a chivalric spirit. When, as happened too often, he fell under the influence of liquor, the bad in him promptly came uppermost; but at all other times his better traits made him a good fellow to meet, genial, polite, generous, and inclined to recognize the finer sentiments of manliness. To march into his commander's presence with Alice as his prisoner lacked everything of agreeing with his taste; yet he had not been willing to give her over into the hands of the patrol. If his regard for military obligation had not been exceptionally strong, even for an English soldier, he would have given way to the temptation of taking her to some place of hiding and safety, instead of brutally subjecting her to Hamilton's harsh judgment. He antic.i.p.ated a trying experience for her on account of this new transgression.

They hastened along until a lantern in the fort shot a hazy gleam upon them.

”Stop a moment, Mademoiselle,” Farnsworth called. ”I say, Miss Roussillon, stop a moment, please.”

Alice halted and turned facing him so short and so suddenly that the rapier in his hand p.r.i.c.ked through her wraps and slightly scratched her arm.

”What do you mean, sir?” she demanded, thinking that he had thrust purposely. ”Do I deserve this brutality?”

”You mistake me, Miss Roussillon. I cannot be brutal to you now. Do not fear me; I only had a word to say.”

”Oh, you deem it very polite and gentle to jab me with your sword, do you? If I had one in my hand you would not dare try such a thing, and you know it very well.”

He was amazed, not knowing that the sword-point had touched her. He could not see her face, but there was a flash in her voice that startled him with its indignant contempt and resentment.

”What are you saying, Miss Roussillon? I don't understand you. When did I ever--when did I jab you with my sword? I never thought of such a thing.”