Part 32 (2/2)
”Who is to suffer now?”
”I am not on the war-path, my son,” replied the priest. ”It is but a rapier that I am going to clean of rust spots that are gathering on its blade.”
”Is it yours, Father? Let me see it.” He held out his hand.
”No, not mine.”
Father Beret seemed not to notice Farnsworth's desire to handle the weapon, and the young man, instead of repeating his words, reached farther, nearly grasping the scabbard.
”I cannot let you take it, my son,” said Father Beret ”You have its mate, that should satisfy you.”
”No, Colonel Hamilton took it,” Farnsworth quickly replied. ”If I could I would gladly return it to its owner. I am not a thief, Father, and I am ashamed of--of--what I did when I was drunk.”
The priest looked sharply into Farnsworth's eyes and read there something that rea.s.sured him. His long experience had rendered him adept at taking a man's value at a glance. He slightly lifted his face and said: ”Ah, but the poor little girl! why do you persecute her? She really does not deserve it. She is a n.o.ble child. Give her back to her home and her people. Do not soil and spoil her sweet life.”
It was the sing-song voice used by Father Beret in his sermons and prayers; but something went with it indescribably touching. Farnsworth felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyes were ready to show tears.
”Father,” he said, with difficulty making his words distinct, ”I would not harm Miss Roussillon to save my own life, and I would do anything--” he paused slightly, then added with pa.s.sionate force; ”I would do anything, no matter what, to save her from the terrible thing that now threatens her.”
Father Beret's countenance changed curiously as he gazed at the young man and said:
”If you really mean what you say, you can easily save her, my son.”
”Father, by all that is holy, I mean just what I say.”
”Swear not at all, my son, but give me your hand.”
The two men stood with a tight grip between them and exchanged a long, steady, searching gaze.
A drizzling rain had begun to fall again, with a raw wind creeping from the west.
”Come with me to my house, my son,” Father Beret presently added; and together they went, the priest covering Alice's sword from the rain with the folds of his ca.s.sock.
CHAPTER XV
VIRTUE IN A LOCKET
Long-Hair stood not upon ceremony in conveying to Beverley the information that he was to run the gauntlet, which, otherwise stated, meant that the Indians would form themselves in two parallel lines facing each other about six feet apart, and that the prisoner would be expected to run down the length of the s.p.a.ce between, thus affording the warriors an opportunity, greatly coveted and relished by their fiendish natures, to beat him cruelly during his flight. This sort of thing was to the Indians, indeed, an exquisite amus.e.m.e.nt, as fascinating to them as the theater is to more enlightened people. No sooner was it agreed upon that the entertainment should again be undertaken than all the younger men began to scurry around getting everything ready for it. Their faces glowed with a droll cruelty strange to see, and they further expressed their lively expectations by playful yet curiously solemn antics.
The preparations were simple and quickly made. Each man armed himself with a stick three feet long and about three-quarters of an inch in diameter. Rough weapons they were, cut from boughs of scrub-oak, knotty and tough as horn. Long-Hair unbound Beverley and stripped his clothes from his body down to the waist. Then the lines formed, the Indians in each row standing about as far apart as the width of the s.p.a.ce in which the prisoner was to run. This arrangement gave them free use of their sticks and plenty of room for full swing of their lithe bodies.
In removing Beverley's clothes Long-Hair found Alice's locket hanging over the young man's heart. He tore it rudely off and grunted, glaring viciously, first at it, then at Beverley. He seemed to be mightily wrought upon.
”White man d.a.m.n thief,” he growled deep in his throat; ”stole from little girl!”
He put the locket in his pouch and resumed his stupidly indifferent expression.
<script>