Part 51 (1/2)

”I will not go,” she cried. ”I know, you want to take me away from dear old Detroit. I heard something the Sieur Angelot said. O Jeanne, the good Father in Heaven sent you back once. Do not go again--”

”The street is all on fire. Oh, Margot, help me, or we shall be burned to death. Pani, dear, we must fly.”

”Where is Jeanne Angelot,” exclaimed a st.u.r.dy voice. ”Jeanne, if you do not escape now--see, the flames have struck the house.”

It was the tall, strong form of Pierre De Ber, and he caught her in his arms.

”No, no! O Pierre, take Pani. She is dazed. I can follow. Cover her with a blanket, so,” and Jeanne, having struggled away, threw the blanket about the woman. Pierre caught her up. ”Come, follow behind me. Do not let go. O Jeanne, you must be saved.”

Pani was too surprised for any resistance. She was not a heavy burthen, and he took her up easily.

”Hold to my arm. There is such a crowd. And the smoke is stifling. O Jeanne! if you should come to harm!” and almost he was tempted to drop the Indian woman, but he knew Jeanne would not leave her.

”I am here. O Pierre, how good you are!” and the praise was like a draught of wine to him.

The flames flashed hither and thither though there was little wind. But the close houses fed it, and in many places there were inflammable stores. Now and then an explosion of powder shot up in the air. Where one fancied one's self out of danger the fire came racing on swift wings.

”There will be only the river left,” said some one.

The crowd grew more dense. Pierre felt that he could hardly get to the gate. Then men with axes and hatchets hewed down the palisades, and, he being near, made a tremendous effort, and pushed his way outside. There was still crowd enough, but they soon came to a freer s.p.a.ce, and he laid his burthen down, standing over her that no one might tread on her.

”O Jeanne, are you safe? Thank heaven!”

Jeanne caught his hand and pressed it in both of hers.

”If we could get to Wenonah!” she said.

He picked up his burthen again, but it was very limp.

”Open the blanket a little. I was afraid to have her see the flames.

Yes, let us go on,” said Jeanne, courageously.

Men and women were wringing their hands; children were screaming. The flames crackled and roared, but out here the way was a little clearer.

They forced a path and were soon beyond the worst heat and smoke.

Wenonah's lodge was deserted. Pierre laid the poor body down, and Jeanne bent over and kissed the strangely pa.s.sive face.

”Oh, she is dead! My poor, dear Pani!”

”I did my best,” said Pierre, in a beseeching tone.

”Oh, I know you did! Pierre, I should have gone crazy if I had left her there to be devoured by the flames. But I will try--”

She bathed the face, she chafed the limp hands, she called her by every endearing name. Ah, what would he not have given for one such sweet little sentence!

”Pierre--your own people,” she cried. ”See how selfish I have been to take you--”

”They were started before I came. Father was with them. They were going up to the square, perhaps to the Fort. Oh, the town will all go. The flames are everywhere. What an awful thing! Jeanne, what can I do? O Jeanne, little one, do not weep.”

For now Jeanne had given way to sobs.

There was a rus.h.i.+ng sound in the doorway, and Wenonah stood there.