CHAPTER XVI
THE WORM TURNS
"Beatrice," said Mrs. Mackenzie, "what day of the month is it?"
"The eighth."
"Why, no, it isn't," put in Mackenzie; "it's the ninth—isn't it, Rob?"
"Certainly—the ninth of August."
"Have it your own way," pouted Beatrice; "what do you suppose I care?"
"There's George across the river," observed Mrs. Mackenzie. "I wonder why he doesn't come over!"
"He's busy, I guess," said Robert; "but I think he will be over this afternoon."
"How do you know?" inquired Beatrice, looking at him narrowly. "You haven't seen him to-day, have you?"
"N—no," stammered Robert, uncomfortably. "I—I just thought so." For the first time he saw how ridiculous, from one point of view, their arrangement was, and became more anxious than ever to keep Beatrice in ignorance of it. Still, it had worked well, for neither had made any evident progress and their friendship was still unbroken.
During the past week the girl had not failed to observe that she never saw Ronald and Forsyth together, except from her window, and had asked each of them in turn if there had been a quarrel. She had also noticed that her admirers were spasmodic, as it were, in their attentions, and had puzzled vainly over the fact. It seemed strange that, at the Fort, Ronald should leave her when Forsyth put in an appearance; or that when she sat on the piazza at the trading station, Forsyth should immediately find something else to do when Ronald came across the river.
The Ensign had taken Queen out for the appointed exercise and was wondering how to kill the time until noon. He was staring vacantly into space at the very moment Robert had said he was "busy," but he soon decided to wash Major in the river.
In spite of the heat the dog regarded the ceremony as a punishment rather than a luxury, and cowered as if from a blow when his master removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The basin of soft soap which Doctor Norton brought, in answer to a loud request from Ronald, was placed conveniently on the bank and operations began.
Beatrice was leaning on the gate, in the shade of the poplar, and chose to consider the affair as undertaken solely for her amusement. "Isn't it nice of Mr. Ronald," she said, with mock gratitude, "to wash Major where we can all see him do it! If he were selfish, he'd take him away."
Protesting barks from the victim punctuated her comment. "If he were selfish," replied Robert, pleasantly, "he wouldn't do it at all."
"I have a mind to go over there," said the girl, suddenly.
"Oh, don't!" begged Robert, with feeling.
"Why not?"
"Oh—because."
"A woman's reason," said Beatrice, scornfully. "I'm going, anyhow."
Robert was allowed to row her across, as a great favour; and Ronald, mindful of his agreement, was not particularly cordial.
"I don't believe he likes it because I've come," she said, to Doctor Norton.
"Oh, yes, he does," the Doctor assured her, gallantly.
"Do you?" she inquired, directly, of Ronald.
"Certainly."
The Ensign's face was red, partly because of his exertions and partly because of various concealed emotions. Major had been thoroughly lathered with soft soap, and was being rinsed with basin after basin of water, whining, meanwhile, because soap was in his eyes.
"There," said Ronald, when the black and white coat was thoroughly clean, "he'll be a beauty when he's dry—won't you, Major?"
The dog shook himself vigorously and sprinkled every one except Beatrice, who was out of range. "Indeed he will," she answered, with suspicious warmth. "It's strange, isn't it, how washing improves pets?"
Forsyth began to dread what was coming, but Ronald heedlessly stumbled into the snare. "Of course it improves 'em," he said. "It's worth doing, if only for artistic reasons."
Her eyes danced and the dimples came and went at the corners of her mouth. "I would like," she began demurely, "to have Queen washed."
"Lord!" muttered the Ensign, mopping his forehead with his sleeve.
"Will you do it for me, Mr. Ronald?" she continued coaxingly.
For an instant he hesitated, then the worm turned. "No," he said quietly, "I won't. You can wash your own horse."
"Will you, Cousin Rob?" she asked sweetly, turning to Forsyth.
The dull colour bronzed his face and he saw a steely glitter in Ronald's blue eyes. "No," he answered, emboldened by the other's example; "not by any means."
"I haven't any friends," remarked Beatrice, sadly, to the Doctor.
"Friends are one thing," retorted Ronald, hotly, "and body servants are another. I'm willing to lead your horse around, because it's too hot for you to ride her, and I wouldn't want to be seen riding a nag like that anyhow; but I won't bathe her nor comb her hair nor put on her shoes." He turned on his heel and walked away, the personification of offended dignity.
Beatrice laughed, while Forsyth and the Doctor looked at her in amazement. "Oh," she gasped, "isn't he—isn't he funny when he's mad!" Ronald strode into the Fort and gave no sign of having heard, save by a tell-tale redness of the ears.
Robert felt concerned in a way, but the Doctor was not. "You'll find, Miss Manning," he said judicially, "as you grow older, that there's a limit to everything and everybody."
"Of course," returned the girl, seriously; "I was just locating it."
"Shall we go back, now?" asked Robert.
"No; I'm going to see Katherine."
"Very well." He started toward the Fort with her and Norton followed them.
"What?" she asked; "are you both coming, too?"
"I'm not," said the Doctor, quietly.
"Are you, Cousin Rob?"
"Of course—I'm going wherever you do."
Ronald was talking with Mrs. Franklin, and did not seem to see the two who went to the Lieutenant's. Robert brought chairs for Mrs. Howard and Beatrice and seated himself on the upper step.
"Where's George?" asked Katherine. "Isn't he coming over?" She had grown accustomed to seeing the three together, and vaguely missed Ronald.
"He was bad," explained the girl, fanning herself with her handkerchief, "and I think he's ashamed to come."
"Bad—how?"
"He wouldn't wash Queen. I asked him to, and he said he wouldn't. Cousin Rob wouldn't, either."
"Well, I don't blame them. You seem to expect a good deal, Bee."
"Oh," laughed Beatrice, "how serious you all are! I believe Mr. Ronald and Cousin Rob thought I meant it!"
"You seemed to," put in Robert, in self-justification.
"Men are very stupid," she observed, dispassionately; "but suppose I did mean it—what then? Were you in earnest when you said you wouldn't?"
"Yes," said Robert, steadfastly; "whether you were joking or not, I was in earnest, and so was Ronald."
Hitherto, men had not openly defied the girl's imperious will, and she had the sensation of unexpectedly encountering a brick wall. "Would you mind going over after my sewing?" she asked, suddenly.
"Certainly not—where is it?"
"Aunt Eleanor knows."
"You're a sad flirt, Bee," remarked Mrs. Howard, as Forsyth went out of the Fort.
"I am not," retorted Beatrice, with spirit. "Why shouldn't he go after my sewing?"
"There's no reason why he shouldn't, if he wants to."
"Well, he wants to," replied Beatrice, "otherwise he wouldn't. That's the man of it."
"It seems strange," observed the other, meditatively, "that in a little place like this, on the very edge of the frontier, one girl can keep two men working hard all the time without half trying. On the face of it, there wouldn't seem to be enough to do."
"It requires talent," admitted Beatrice, modestly, "if not genius. Mr. Ronald!" she called.
The Ensign did not seem to hear. "Mr. Ronald!" she called again. There was no answer, though he must have heard.
"He's in the sulks," explained Beatrice, "and if he wants to stay there, he can."
"I wish you wouldn't do so, Bee," said Katherine, kindly.
"Do what?" demanded Beatrice, with her violet eyes wide open.
"You know what you're doing, and you needn't pretend that you don't."
There was a long silence, then Beatrice sighed heavily. "I think I'll move," she said. "I can go to Detroit, or Fort Mackinac, or back East."
Katherine's heart sank within her, for she knew she would miss the girl more than words could express. "You can't go," she said; "no one would go with you."
"I should hope not. Queen and I could make the trip alone. If I decide to go, why, I'll go—that's all there is about it, war or no war. I know where the pickets are and I could get through the lines without any trouble. If you miss me some morning, you'll know that I've made my escape to some peaceful spot where there is no lecturing."
She spoke with such calm assurance that Katherine was troubled. She swiftly determined to ask Captain Franklin to put an extra guard at the stables, then Beatrice laughed.
"Poor Kit," she said affectionately, "why, you look as solemn as a priest! You don't think I'd go away and leave you, do you? You're too sweet," she cooed, rubbing her soft cheek against her cousin's.
Forsyth, coming back with the sewing, was transfixed with sudden envy of Mrs. Howard. "I thought you were never coming," said the girl, smiling.
"Did it seem long?" he asked, dazed by the implied compliment, for he had been in great haste.
"Yes," said Beatrice; "but it wasn't your fault. It was because I was being lectured."
Katherine's face grew delicately pink, and she looked at Beatrice imploringly.
"Lectured!" repeated Forsyth. "Why, what for?"
"She said I flirted—with you and Mr. Ronald."
"When?"
"Oh, you goose," laughed Beatrice. "She meant I did it all the time; but you don't care, do you?"
"I don't know just what it is," said Robert, truthfully; "but if it's anything you do, I like it."
"There!" said the girl, in a tone of great satisfaction; "you see, don't you, Kit?"
"Yes," answered Mrs. Howard, "I see that you are incorrigible."
Forsyth was content to listen and to watch Beatrice as she sewed. Prosaic needles and thread assumed a mysterious charm in the dimpled hands of the girl he loved. Pretty frowns and troubled shadows flitted across her face as the thread knotted, twisted, or broke, as it frequently did, because she was not familiar with her task.
Ronald left Captain Franklin's and came across the parade-ground with a rapid stride. "Twelve o'clock!" he said, with a radiant smile. "You wouldn't think it, would you?" he added.
"I shouldn't have suspected it," answered Forsyth, with double meaning; "I must be going back."
"I'll go with you, Cousin Rob."
"Me, too," put in Ronald, joyously.
"You needn't," said the girl, coolly.
"I'd just as soon—I'm going to row you across."
"No, you're not; I came with Cousin Rob and I'm going back with him."
"Suit yourself," returned the Ensign, good-humouredly, "the river is a public highway; but I'm going over to dinner."
He was there first, and had wheedled an invitation from Mrs. Mackenzie before they got into the house. "Put me next to Beatrice, please," he said, as they came in.
During dinner every one was in high spirits except Robert, who knew that he must efface himself all the afternoon. Some way, it was harder to have Ronald there than to know that he was with her at the Fort.
However, he felt a wicked thrill of satisfaction when Beatrice pushed back her chair and began to gather up the dishes. "You needn't do that, Bee," remonstrated Mrs. Mackenzie.
"I'm going to help you, Aunty, and then I'm going to take a nap. I'm dreadfully sleepy."
Ronald's face fell. "You're lazy," he said reproachfully.
"No, I'm not," she returned; "but I have to get rested, because to-morrow I'm going to wash Queen."
"Beatrice Manning!" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie. "What in the world do you mean?"
"I'll tell you all about it, Aunt Eleanor." In her own mind Beatrice had determined to make a pretence at Queen's bath the next morning, in front of the Fort, and see who would offer to help her.
"I'm going to help with the dishes, too," announced Ronald.
"You needn't, George," said Mrs. Mackenzie.
"I'd rather he wouldn't," remarked Beatrice, critically, "because I don't think he's clean. He washed Major this morning."
The shaft glanced aside harmlessly, because he prided himself upon his neatness. "I got my hand in this morning," he said imperturbably, "and I've washed many a dish in this very kitchen, long before you came, Miss Bee; didn't I, Aunt Eleanor?"
"Indeed you did," answered Mrs. Mackenzie, warmly. "I don't know how I could have managed without you."
"Very well," said the girl, lightly; "as long as you're used to it, and since you insist upon doing it, I'll go and take my nap right now."
Robert, inwardly joyous, but outwardly calm, took his well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare and went out to read under the trees, while Mrs. Mackenzie and the Ensign laboured with the dishes, and Beatrice slept the sleep of the just.
It was late in the afternoon when she came out, her eyes still languorous under their drooping lids, and found Ronald sitting alone upon the piazza.
"Why, I didn't expect to see you here," she said, in a tone of pleased surprise.
"You aren't very well acquainted with me," murmured Ronald, twisting uneasily in his chair.
"I'd like to be," remarked Beatrice, with a winning smile.
"Now's your chance, then, for I'm going to stay here until six o'clock."
"That's a long time," sighed the girl, with a sidelong glance at him. "It isn't much after four now."
He cleared his throat and coloured deeply. While he was casting about for a suitable reply, Forsyth appeared with his book. "Come and read to us, Cousin Rob," said Beatrice, sweetly.
Ronald looked daggers at him when he hesitated. "Can't," he answered shortly; "I'm going to read to myself."
He went back to his place under the poplars, in sight, but not intentionally within hearing, and Ronald was unreasonably vexed with him, deeming him outside the spirit, though within the letter of the bond.
"I'm sorry he wouldn't read to us," observed Beatrice. "Cousin Rob has such a deep, melodious voice, don't you think so?"
The Ensign was writhing inwardly, but managed to say, "Yes; very deep."
Mackenzie came out and wasted half of a precious hour in talking, though Ronald answered only in monosyllables. Beatrice exerted her rarest powers of entertainment for her uncle's benefit, and he did not notice how the time passed.
"Well," he said, at length, "I guess I'll go across for a bit. I want to see the Captain." Forsyth joined him at the gate, and Ronald heaved a sigh of relief when they were safely on their way to the Fort.
"Your face is red, Mr. Ronald," said Beatrice. She was rewarded by seeing the colour deepen.
"What makes it that way?" she asked, with the air of one pursuing a subject of scientific interest.
"It's the heat," explained the Ensign, miserably; "didn't you know it was hot?"
She shook her head. "I never know anything unless I'm told."
"I believe you," he growled.
"Mr. Ronald," she said, with a bewildering smile, "what makes you so cross to me?"
"I—I'm not," he answered thickly.
"Yes, you are—you're dreadfully cross to me, but you seem to get on all right with everybody else. I don't believe you like me!"
The last remnant of his self-control deserted him. "No, I don't," he said, hotly. "Good God, Beatrice, I love you—can't you see that? Why do you torture me all the time?"
Her face grew a shade paler, and her eyes refused to meet his. She knew she had been playing with fire, but none the less was surprised at the natural result, and was genuinely sorry that she had gone so far. She stared at the Fort, unseeing, and inwardly reproached herself bitterly.
"Beatrice!" he gasped. "Say something to me, can't you?"
She pointed to a cloud of dust in the south-west. "Look, some one is coming!"
"I don't care," he said, roughly, possessing himself of her hand; "you've got to say something to me!"
"I did," she returned, drawing away from him, "I told you somebody was coming. I think it's my relatives from Fort Wayne coming to take me back there."
Ronald turned away, deeply pained, and the pathetic droop in his shoulders got safely through the thorns to the girl's heart. The cloud of dust came nearer and nearer, until at last the rider turned his foam-flecked horse and dashed up the esplanade to the Fort.
Beatrice's temporary tenderness was obscured by curiosity, for the rider was an Indian, with the British flag girded at his loins.
"Why," she said, in an odd little voice, "what has happened!"
Ronald came swiftly toward her. "I don't know and I don't care," he said, in a voice she scarcely recognised; then he put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Beatrice, darling," he pleaded, "haven't you a word for me—don't you love me just the least little bit in the world?"
Then the violet eyes looked up into his and the sweet lips quivered. "I—I don't know," she whispered brokenly; "please let me go!"
His arms fell to his sides and she was free, but there was a lump in his throat and a wild hope in his heart. "My darling," he began, but she stopped him with a warning gesture.
Forsyth was pulling across the river as if his life depended upon it, and for the first time they perceived that something was wrong. With his face white and every muscle of his body tense, he ran toward them.
"What's up?" shouted Ronald.
"Orders!" cried Forsyth, gasping for breath. "Fort Mackinac has fallen and we are ordered to evacuate the post!"
CHAPTER XVII
A COUNCIL OF WAR
Forsyth had the second watch that night, and Mackenzie came out to join him. "I couldn't sleep," he said, in answer to Robert's question. "I don't know what we're coming to, but we mustn't frighten the women."
"Of course I don't know anything about it," Robert returned, "but I must confess that I didn't like the looks of that Indian who brought the despatches."
"He seemed fair enough, but you can't trust any of 'em and that's the whole truth of it. There's been some foul play somewhere, for he knew the purport of the order, and it strikes me that he had been a long time on the way."
"What was it that he wanted you to tell Captain Franklin?"
"He wanted me to find out whether the Captain intended to obey the order, and offered his advice to the contrary. He said the Fort was well supplied with ammunition and provisions—though it beats me to know where he found it out—and that it could be held until reinforcements arrived; but, if we decided to give up the post, it was better to go at once and leave everything standing. His idea was that the Indians would be so interested in plundering that they wouldn't follow us."
"What did Franklin say?"
"Nothing—he never says much, you know."
"Who gave the order?"
"General Hull—the Army of the North-west is at Detroit."
"Perhaps reinforcements will be sent."
"Hardly, in the face of an order to leave the post."
"Why did he wear the British flag?"
"Perhaps to secure safe passage through the country; perhaps to indicate an alliance with the enemy."
"Lieutenant Howard has said all along that the Indians were with the British and against us. It begins to look as though he were right."
"My boy," said Mackenzie, with a sigh, "wherever that flag waves, you'll find blood. The colour of it isn't an accident—it's a challenge and a warning."
"Well," returned Robert, after a silence, "we'll have to do the best we can, and that's all any one can do."
"I've wondered sometimes," said the other, thoughtfully, "if I haven't done wrong."
"How, Uncle?"
"Coming here—with Eleanor. I've brought her into danger, but God knows I haven't meant to. I've always had an adventurous spirit, and I couldn't live in the East—the hills choke me. Somebody has to blaze the trail to the new places, and I thought I might as well do it as anybody else. Things are moving westward, and some day, in this valley, there ought to be a great city about where the Fort stands now. It's the place for it—the river and the lake, with good farming country all around. I knew I couldn't live to see it, but I—I thought my children might."
The man's voice wavered, but did not break. "It's a commonplace thing to do," he went on,—"go to a new place to live,—and our people have been doing it for more than two centuries. No soldiery, no blare of trumpets, nothing to make it seem fine—only discomfort, privation, and danger. The first settlers came from across the water, and since then we've been moving along, a step or two at a time. Some day, perhaps, people will leave this place to go to another farther on, and so keep going, till we reach the ocean on the other side. I haven't done anything," he added, with a short laugh, "only what the men of our race must do for a century and more to come."
"You've done what was right, Uncle, and what seemed for the best—no one could do more. You've given Aunt Eleanor and the children a good home—shelter, warmth, food, and clothing. You've given your children sound minds, sound bodies, free air to breathe, and you're giving them an education. You'll find danger anywhere and everywhere—life hangs by a thread at its best. If it comes to a fight, we have arms and ammunition and fifty men, as strong and true as steel. We have modern weapons against arrows and tomahawks, military skill against savage instincts; and as for the British, why, I have my grandfather's sword, that fought them once at Lexington. They tried it and they failed—they'll fail again; but I say, let them come!"
"God bless you, boy; you put new courage into me!"
Soft darkness lay upon the earth, and pale stars shone fitfully from behind the clouds as slowly the night passed by. Across the river, with measured tread, the sentries kept guard at the Fort. Through one watch and well into another the two men sat there talking, with their voices lowered, lest the sleepers in the house should wake, and from each other taking heart for the morrow.
The spirit of his dead fathers lived again in Forsyth; the blood that burned at Lexington took fire once more at Fort Dearborn. His heart beat high with that resolute courage which sees the end only, with no thought of the possible cost—it was as though Victory, in passing, to hover just beyond him, had brushed his face with her blood-stained wings.
In the first light of morning, Beatrice came across the river from the Fort. Whether she knew of the impending danger or not, she showed no signs of fear. "Well," she said, "it was only yesterday that I told Kit I thought I'd move, and here's a military order to make it practicable. We're going with the soldiers—Queen and I."
Forsyth smiled, but made no other answer, and she went on into the house. Mrs. Mackenzie did not appear, having passed a sleepless night; so Beatrice presided over the coffee-pot and made breakfast a gay affair. She revelled in her new authority, and took advantage of her position to tease the children.
"Maria Indiana," she said, with mock severity, "you'll have to behave yourself better from now out, because I'm your mother."
The child's eyes filled and a big tear rolled down one cheek. She slid out of her chair and instinctively went to Robert, as one who might be trusted. "Is Tuzzin Bee my muzzer?" she asked plaintively.
"No, dear," he laughed, taking her up in his arms.
"Give her to me!" cried Beatrice, snatching her away from him. "You darling," she said tenderly, as another tear followed the first one; "I'm not your 'muzzer,'—I'm only your 'Tuzzin Bee.'"
"She's too little to joke with," said Forsyth, in an aside.
"And I'm too big to be lectured," replied Beatrice, with a saucy smile. "We get on all right, don't we, baby?"
Something in the girl's attitude, as she held the child in her arms, reminded Forsyth of a picture of the Madonna, and an unreasoning giddiness took possession of his senses. With a blind impulse to get away, he went out on the piazza, but Beatrice followed him.
"Cousin Rob," she said, in a low tone, "please tell me the truth—is there danger?"
There was no denial of that look in the eyes of the girl he loved, no chance to conceal the truth. He drew a quick inward breath as he thought, for the first time, what danger might mean to her. "Yes," he said, in a voice that was scarcely audible; "I am afraid there is."
In a flash he saw that she had misunderstood him, but it was too late to explain. The colour flamed into her cheeks, and she held her head high. "I'm sorry you're afraid," she said, scornfully, "I'm not!"
He looked after her helplessly as she went into the house, dazed by the consciousness that he had lost her forever. He knew then that she had never forgotten his failure to go up-stream with Ronald the night the Indians had been at Lee's, even though she had asked him to forgive her.
"I have lost her," he said to himself, over and over again,—"I have lost her." Second thought convinced him that he had had no chance from the beginning—since the night he leaned on his musket in the shelter of the Fort; confused past the power of action, when the Ensign asked for volunteers.
"Want to go over, Rob?" It was Mackenzie who asked the question, and Forsyth gladly welcomed the respite from his torturing thoughts.
At the Fort all was changed, for the order had been read that morning on parade, and the men stood about in little groups earnestly discussing it. Mrs. Franklin and Katherine were on the porch at the Lieutenant's, and Robert went there, feeling that their society would be more bearable than that of the men.
"If we go," said Katherine, "there'll be very little we can take with us."
"If we go!" snapped Mrs. Franklin. "Do you think for a minute we're not going? A soldier's first duty is to obey orders!"
Katherine turned a shade paler as she welcomed Forsyth. "Have you packed your belongings?" she asked.
"Not yet," he answered, with a hollow laugh. The impending danger was obscured, in his mind, by something of infinitely more moment. "When do we start?" he inquired of Mrs. Franklin.
"I don't know—Wallace hasn't decided. But we'll start when he says we will, and nobody need think we won't!"
"Kit," said Mackenzie, as he joined the group, "I wish you'd go over to your mother—she isn't well. Bee is with her, but perhaps you could do something."
"I'll go at once," replied Katherine.
"And I must go home," said Mrs. Franklin. "If I can do anything, just let me know."
Ronald and Lieutenant Howard were standing near the gate, and Forsyth stopped there when Mackenzie and Katherine went on home. "It's usual in such circumstances," Ronald was saying, bitterly, "to call a council of war."
"And by the Lord," flashed the Lieutenant, "there shall be a council of war! What are we—children, or fools?"
Ronald put a friendly arm across Forsyth's shoulders. "What do you think about it, old man?"
"I haven't thought about it. I'm not a soldier, you know, and I'm not supposed to think. Of course, I'll obey orders, and if it comes to trouble, here's one more man to fight—I'm with you to the last."
"Bully for you!" said Ronald. "If the Captain would listen to reason, there wouldn't be any trouble; but he won't—I know him too well."
"He is only one man," put in the Lieutenant, with sinister significance.
"And he is our superior officer," concluded Ronald. "Hello, Norton!"
The Doctor and the Lieutenant exchanged cool salutations. The faces of the others were clouded, but the Doctor was as serene as the clear blue sky overhead. "Haven't you heard?" asked Forsyth, in astonishment.
"What's the odds?" queried Norton, with a cynical shrug of his broad shoulders. "So far, we have one life and one death; at the end of one we meet the other—how does it matter, when or which way?"
"It matters to me," said Ronald, huskily, "whether I die like a soldier or like a beast."
"'Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,'" quoted Norton, suggestively. "Clay we were in the beginning and clay we shall be at the end. 'Dust thou art; to dust shalt thou return.'"
Lieutenant Howard's white teeth showed in a sarcastic smile, but he said nothing. He seemed interested and even amused by the surgeon's point of view.
"That's all very well for you," retorted Ronald, "because you're a selfish brute, with water in your veins instead of a man's blood. If you loved a woman——"
The Lieutenant instantly stiffened. His smile disappeared, leaving a frown in its place, and Norton's face changed, almost imperceptibly. "If I loved a woman," he said, "I would protect her at the risk of my own life, my own happiness, my own soul. If need be, I would protect her even from herself. If I loved a woman she should think of me in just one way—as her shield."
For the sheerest fraction of an instant his eyes met Howard's, openly and unashamed; then, with another shrug of his shoulders, he turned away, saying, "I must go back to my lint and my bandages—we may need them before long."
Forsyth went back to the trading station, and the other two continued their uneasy march around the parade-ground. "I think," said the Lieutenant, "that the sane, reasoning men in the settlement, outside the ranks, ought to get together and talk to the Captain."
"It won't do any good," replied Ronald, dubiously.
"No? Perhaps not, but there's nothing like trying. We don't have to go, you know—it's not compulsory. The boys would be with us, and, as I said before, he's only one man."
Ronald recoiled as if from a blow. "God, man," he said, thickly, "don't make me forget I'm a soldier!" He swallowed hard, and it was some time before he spoke again. "I don't mind telling you, privately, that I don't think much of Captain Franklin, nor," he added, as an afterthought, "of General Hull; but, in one sense at least, they're my superior officers. I don't know what's going to happen to me in the next world, nor even if there is any next world; but I'll march to the end of my enlistment with my soldier's honour still unstained."
The Lieutenant gnawed his mustache in silence while Ronald walked beside him, breathing heavily. "It's madness," said the Ensign; "we all know that. The North-western Army is at Detroit, and the British are at Fort Mackinac—unless they've already started down here. Meanwhile, the Indians, leagued to a man with the enemy, are waiting for us to set foot outside the Fort. That fellow that brought the despatches dared to inquire what we were going to do—so the tribes could act in harmony, I suppose! Of course, it's possible that we can get through to Fort Wayne in safety, and go on to Detroit with a force large enough to clear our path—but I doubt it."
"Well," said Howard, "let's have a try at it. Let's call a council of war."
"All right—I'll go across for Mackenzie and Forsyth, while you get Norton."
The Lieutenant waited until he saw the others coming before he delivered the message. The two men stood facing each other for a moment after the salute. "Doctor Norton," said Howard, stiffly, "we have called a council of war at Captain Franklin's, immediately. Will you be present?"
"Yes; if you wish it, I will."
"I do wish it," answered the Lieutenant, clearing his throat.
Captain Franklin himself opened the door to the five men, and there was no trace of agitation in his manner as he welcomed them and bade them be seated. "To what do I owe the honour of this visit?" he inquired, after an awkward silence.
"We have come for a word with you, Captain," replied Lieutenant Howard. "In effect, this is a council of war."
"One moment please." The Captain went to the door, summoned his orderly, and gave him a whispered message. "Now, then, I am ready to listen."
"Do you intend to obey this order from General Hull's headquarters?"
"Certainly—why not?"
"Captain," said Ronald, "we appreciate your position, but you must see that it is highly improbable that we should ever reach Detroit, or even Fort Wayne, in safety. Since war was declared against England, the Indians have been openly hostile. The country through which we must pass is infested with them, and they are in league with our enemies. For what reason do the English pay an annual tribute to the Indians, at the same time searching our ships on the high seas? Do you remember, before war was declared, two of the Calumet chiefs told you that our women would soon be hoeing in their corn-fields? If you need further proof, consider for a moment that the Indian who brought the despatches wore the blood-red flag of our enemy.
"Captain, our march must be slow. We have women and children to protect, and feeble men of seventy and more in our own ranks. We have only a few horses, scarcely enough for the women, and about fifty fighting men. If General Hull had been acquainted with the conditions, he would not have given the order. As it is, we must act upon our own judgment, and, short of suicide, only one course seems to be open."
"Is this your opinion also, Lieutenant Howard?"
"It is."
"Doctor Norton?"
"I am not a military man, but I agree in substance with what has been said."
"Mr. Mackenzie?"
"I'm no soldier, either," said the trader, "but I think the proper course has been described. Of course, if we go, I'll lose everything I've got in the world; but I don't care for that, if we only do what's best."
"Mr. Forsyth?"
"Like my uncle, I'm no soldier, but I agree with Ensign Ronald. Still, I will do what seems best, obey whatever orders may be given by those in authority, and if you wish to send a messenger to Detroit I am at your service. I will take my horse and start at once."
"Gentlemen," said the Captain, ignoring the suggestion, "I appreciate the spirit in which you have come to me, but it is impossible to disobey orders. A soldier's obedience is paramount to all other considerations. Special orders have been issued by the War Department that no post is to be surrendered without battle having been given. Our force is inadequate to cope with either Indians or British, and I should be severely censured for remaining, if not court-martialed.
"On the other hand, even if the Indians are in league with the enemy because of the yearly distribution of presents, we have weapons of the same kind in our hands, and I shall not hesitate to use them. There is a prospect of a safe march through, and I propose to ally the Indians, temporarily at least, with us."
Here the orderly entered, bringing with him Black Partridge.
"Say to him," said Franklin to Mackenzie, "that the White Father bids him assemble his people from the four quarters of the earth before noon of to-morrow's sun." The trader translated rapidly as the Captain spoke.
"Tell him that we have long dwelt side by side in peace and content, except when our brother, Black Partridge, was away from us, and the Winnebagoes, fearing nothing because our protectors were gone, fell upon us to kill.
"Say that our Great White Father in Washington has bidden us to assemble at another place, even as he will bid his people to assemble here, and that, while our hearts are torn with sorrow, we must obey the command. Tell him that we wish him and his people to see us start upon our journey, and that our cattle and our provisions, our clothing and our supplies, at present in the storehouses of the Great White Father, will be given to him and his people as a parting gift. Tell him all this and ask him if he understands."
Mackenzie was translating, sentence by sentence, and all eyes were turned upon Black Partridge. The Indian stood as calm and as immovable as stone, listening intently, with only the glitter of his eyes betraying any interest whatsoever.
"Tell him that long shall remain in our hearts the memory of the kindness received at the hands of our brethren the Pottawattomies, and the wise counsel of the Great Chief who rules them. Some day, when other suns have run their course, and the Great White Father gives us permission, we shall return to live in peace once more with our brethren, the Pottawattomies, and their Great Chief, Black Partridge, who is our brother and our friend. Ask him if he understands."
The harsh gutturals of the question fell upon the ears of the bronze statue, and, for the moment, there was a tense stillness in the room. Then the Indian signified that he understood, and withdrew as silently and as sinuously as a snake in the grass.