Part 9 (1/2)
”Even these Indians on the lake sh.o.r.e,” meditated Barbe, ”who settled there out of friends.h.i.+p to my uncle La Salle, may turn against him and try to harm him as every one does now that his fortunes are low. I would be a man faithful to my friend, if I were a man at all.”
She watched for a sight of the withdrawing party on the lake, and presently a large canoe holding three men shot out beyond the walls.
One stood erect, gazing back at the fort with evident anxiety. Neither the smearing medium of damp weather nor increasing distance could rob Barbe of that man's ident.i.ty. His large presence, his singular carriage of the right arm, even his features sinking back to s.p.a.ce, stamped him Henri de Tonty.
”He has come here to see my uncle La Salle, and they have refused to let him enter,” she exclaimed aloud.
Stripping a coverlet from her berth she whipped the outside air with it until the crackle brought up a challenge from below.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Fort Frontenac was a seignorial rather than a military post, and its discipline had been lax since the governor's a.s.sociates seized it, yet a sentinel paced this morning before the officers' quarters. When he saw the signal withdrawn and a lovely face with dark eyelashes and a topknot of curls looking down at him, he could do nothing but salute it, and Barbe shut her window.
Dropping in excitement from the bunk, she ran across the upper room to knock at La Salle's door.
A boy stood basking in solitude by the chimney.
Her uncle La Salle's apartment seemed filled with one strong indignant voice, leaking through crevices and betraying its matter to the common hall.
”You may knock there until you faint of hunger,” remarked the lad at the hearth. ”I also want my breakfast, but these precious a.s.sociates will let us starve in the fort they have stolen before they dole us out any food. I would not mind going into the barracks and messing, but I have you also to consider.”
”It is not anything to eat, Colin--it is pressing need of my uncle La Salle!”
”The Abbe has pressing need of our uncle La Salle. It was great relief to catch him here at Frontenac. I have heard every bit of the lecture: what amounts our uncle the Abbe has ventured in western explorations; and what a fruitless journey he has made here to rescue for himself some of the stores of this fortress; and what danger all we Caveliers stand in of being poisoned on account of my uncle La Salle, so that the Abbe can scarce trust us out of his sight, even with nuns guarding you.”
To Barbe's continued knocking her guardian made the curtest reply. He opened the door, looked at her sternly, saying, ”Go away, mademoiselle,”
and shut it tightly again.
She ran back to her lookout and was able to discern the same canoe moving off on the lake.
”Colin,” demanded Barbe, wrapping herself, ”You must run with me.”
”Certainly, mademoiselle, and I trust you are making haste toward a table.”
”We must run outside the fortress.”
Though the boy felt it a grievance that he should follow instead of lead to any adventure, he dashed heartily out with her, intending to take his place when he understood the action. Rain charged full in their faces.
The sentry was inclined to hold them at the fortress gate until he had orders, and Barbe's impatience darted from her eyes.
”You will get me into trouble,” he said. ”This gate has been swinging over-much lately.”
”Let us out,” persuaded Colin. ”The a.s.sociates will not care what becomes of a couple of Caveliers.”
”Where are you going?”
”My sister wishes to run to the Iroquois village,” responded Colin, ”and beg there for a little sagamite. We get nothing to eat in Fort Frontenac.”
The soldier laughed.
”If you are going to the Iroquois village why don't you say your errand is to Catharine Tegahkouita? It is no sin to ask an Indian saint's prayers.”
Barbe formed her lips to inquire, ”Has Tegahkouita come to Fort Frontenac?” But this impulse pa.s.sed into discreet silence, and the man let them out.