Part 46 (2/2)
”Well, sir,” he inquired, ”do I take it that you desire to further detain me here, or do you merely wish to steal my rifle?”
”I think, truly, that you no longer require your rifle, Mr. Butler,” I said quietly.
”A question--a matter of opinion, Mr. Renault.” He waved his hand gracefully. ”Who are your red friends yonder?” pointing toward the two distant forms at the edge of the willows.
”An Oneida and a quarter-breed.”
”Oh--a squaw? By the head-gear I take the smaller one to be a Huron squaw. Which reminds me, Mr. Renault,” he added, with a dull stare, ”that the last time I had the pleasure of seeing your heels you were headed for the nearest parson!”
That awful, soundless laugh distorted his mouth again:
”I could scarcely be expected to imagine,” he added, ”that it was as far as this to Gretna Green. Is the Hon. Miss Grey with you here?”
”No, Mr. Butler, but your wife is with me.”
”Oh!” he sneered; ”so you have learned at last what she is?”
”You do not understand,” I continued patiently. ”I speak of your wife, Mr. Butler. Shall I name her?”
He looked at me narrowly. Twice his lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came.
”The woman yonder is Lyn Montour,” I said in a low voice.
The yellow flare that lighted his black eyes appalled me.
”Listen to me,” I went on. ”That I do not slay you where you stand is because _she_ is yonder, watching us. G.o.d help her, you shall do her justice yet! You are my prisoner, Mr. Butler!” And I set my foot upon his rifle.
He did not seem to hear me; his piercing gaze was concentrated on the two distant figures standing beside the horse.
I waited, then spoke again; and, at the sound of my voice, he wheeled on me with a snarl.
”You d.a.m.ned spy!” he stammered; ”I'll stop your dirty business now, by G.o.d!” and, leaping back, whipped a ranger's whistle to his lips, waking the forest echoes with the piercing summons ere I had bounded on him and had borne him down, shoulder-deep in moss and marsh-gra.s.s.
Struggling, half smothered by the deep and matted tangle, I heard the startled shout of the Oneida; the distant cras.h.i.+ng of many men running in the underbrush; and, throttling him with both hands, I dragged him to his feet and started toward the Oneida, pulling my prisoner with me.
But a yell from the wood's edge seemed to put fresh life into him; he bit and scratched and struggled, and I labored in vain to choke him or stun him. Then, in very desperation and fear of life, I strove to kill him with my hands, but could not, and at last hurled him from me to shoot him; but he had kicked the flint from my rifle, and, as I leveled it, he dropped on the edge of the Dead Water and wriggled over, splas.h.!.+
into the dark current, diving as my hatchet hit the waves. Then I heard the loud explosion of rifles behind me; bullets tore through the scrub; I turned to run for my life. And it was time.
”Ugh!” grunted the Oneida, as I came bursting headlong through the willows. ”Follow now!” He seized the horse by the bridle; the girl mounted; then, leading the horse at a trot, we started due south through the tossing bushes.
A man in a green uniform, knee-deep in the gra.s.s, fired at us from the Stacking-Ridge as we pa.s.sed, and the Oneida shook his rifle at him with a shout of insult. For now at last the whole game was up, and my mission as a spy in this country ended once and forever. No chance now to hobn.o.b with Johnson's Greens, no chance to approach St. Leger and Haldimand. Butler was here, and there could be no more concealment.
Such an exhilaration of savage happiness seized me that I lost my head, and begged the Oneida to stop and let me set a flint and give the Royal Greens a shot or two; but the wily chief refused; and he was wise, for I should have known that the Sacandaga must already be a swarming nest of Johnson's foresters and painted savages.
The heat was terrific in the willows; sweat poured from the half-naked Oneida as he ran, and my hunting-s.h.i.+rt hung soaked, flapping across my thighs.
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