"Aunty," said Beatrice, at breakfast the next morning, "do you think I scared him to death?"
"What do you mean, dear?"
"Why, that young man—yesterday. Mr. Ronald is his name, isn't it?"
Mrs. Mackenzie laughed at the memory of the Ensign's scarlet face. "I think he'll get over it," she said; "don't you, Rob?"
"I certainly do. He's the last man in the world to be afraid of a woman."
"Oh, yes, he'll recover," put in Mackenzie, significantly.
"I think it's lovely here," observed Beatrice, irrelevantly, "and I know I'm going to like it."
"We're going to try very hard to make you happy," said Forsyth, with evident sincerity.
"I've wanted to live with Aunt Eleanor ever since last Spring, when they all came to Fort Wayne. Otherwise, I wouldn't have fought. That is, perhaps I wouldn't."
Rising from the table, she went out on the piazza, and Robert instinctively followed her. If the long journey on horseback had tired her, she showed no sign of it, for she might have been a part of the morning as she stood there, smiling, with the sunlight on her wind-blown hair.
The heavy brown coil, with auburn lights and black shadows in it, had a strange fascination for Forsyth. He liked the way her hair grew around her forehead and temples, and the little curl that escaped at her neck. She was looking away from him, and he thought her unaware of his scrutiny till she said quietly: "Well, how do you like your new cousin? Do you think I will do?"
"Yes," he stammered, dimly grateful for the impulse that kept her face still turned away; "that is, very much."
"How am I going to get my horse over here," she demanded suddenly.
"What horse?" asked Robert, stupidly.
"The one I rode from Fort Wayne, of course. Did I understand you to say you had been to college?"
"Yes; I graduated."
"Really?" Beatrice turned upon him a dazzling smile. "I never should have thought it," she added pleasantly.
"Where is your horse?" he asked, crimsoning.
"You don't see it anywhere, do you?"
"N—no."
"Then, obviously, it's at the Fort, isn't it?"
"I—I suppose so."
"Well, then, we're making progress. Now, how do I get it over here?"
"Swim," said Robert, helplessly, at his wit's end.
Beatrice stamped her small foot upon the piazza. "Uncle John," she called, "come here! How is Queen coming across the river?" she asked, when he appeared.
"Well, now, Bee, I don't know. There's no bridge and no way to go around. She'll either have to come in a boat or swim."
Robert flashed a grateful glance at him, but said nothing.
"She won't get into a boat," said Beatrice, with a puzzled little frown on her face. "We swam a river together once, but she didn't like it, and we both got wet."
"Go down near the bar and come across," suggested Forsyth, having partially recovered his self-possession. "It can't be very deep there."
"No; but the sand is soft. Better leave her at the Fort, Bee, and you can go over there when you want her. It's safer," he added. "The Indians might get her out of my barn, but she'll be all right in the garrison stables."
"That settles it," replied Beatrice. "Here comes Captain Wells."
An erect, soldierly figure came up the path with the characteristic walk of the Indian. His eyes were small and dark, and his face was bronzed like the people among whom he had lived; but when he smiled at Beatrice and bowed with mock humility, all traces of the savage were instantly effaced. He wore the rough garb of the plainsman, and the only suggestion of vanity was in the black ribbon that tied his queue.
"Mackenzie," he said, "I warn you. You have a tyrannical commander-in-chief."
Beatrice pouted prettily. "I'm sorry for Uncle John," she said; "but it's too late to help him now. I've come for keeps."
All the time he was speaking, Captain Wells's piercing glance was fixed upon Forsyth, to whom he had just been introduced, but of whom he had heard at the Fort, and the young man grew vaguely uncomfortable.
"Your pardon, sir," said Captain Wells. "I fear the manners of the prairie seem strange to a gentleman of culture. My only excuse is that your face interests me."
"Come on over to the Fort, Cousin Rob," suggested Beatrice, with ready tact, "and I'll introduce you to Queen. They don't want us here, anyhow."
Together they climbed into the pirogue in which Captain Wells had crossed the river, and with some difficulty reached the opposite shore. Ronald was standing at the entrance, talking with the sentinel, and when he saw them coming he went toward the barracks with more haste than dignity. Forsyth laughed, but Beatrice held her head high, and a faint flush stole into her cheeks.
"Where are the stables, Cousin Rob?"
"This way."
Robert's involuntary gasp of admiration at the sight of Queen instantly placed him high in his fair cousin's favour. "Isn't she a beauty?" she asked.
The little black mare whinnied joyously at the approach of her young mistress, prancing and curvetting prettily in spite of her halter.
"Poor dear," said Beatrice, "you aren't used to being tied, are you?"
She led the horse out on the parade-ground and exclaimed with pleasure at the satin smoothness of the glossy coat. The grooms had done their work well and stood around, grinning broadly, while she praised them. The mare might have hailed from the blue grass country, so perfect were her lines. She was built for speed as well as beauty, and the small black hoofs pawed the ground impatiently, as she rubbed her velvet nose against her owner's cheek by way of a caress.
"There isn't any sugar, Queen," laughed the girl, "and I just came to say good-morning."
"We'll have some rides on the prairie together," said Robert. "My horse isn't much, compared with yours, but he used to get along pretty well on the roads back East."
"Aren't there any roads here?"
"I haven't discovered any, but the prairie isn't bad."
"Come on out now," said Beatrice, "and I'll show you what she can do."
As they passed the barracks, Robert was dimly aware of Ronald's scrutiny from some safe point of observation; but Beatrice chattered merrily until they reached the open space beyond the Fort.
A convenient stump stood near by and she led the mare to it. "Now then, Beauty," she said. In an instant she was mounted on Queen's bare back, and there ensued an exhibition of horsemanship that would have put a cavalryman to shame. Some of the soldiers came out to see the mare change her gait at a word from her rider, and turn readily with neither bit nor bridle. The pins dropped, one by one, from the girl's hair, and when she turned out on the open plain for a final gallop, it streamed out behind her as Atalanta's may have done when she made her last race.
Beatrice was riding like the wind. She went straight on until she was scarcely a speck upon the horizon, then circled back gradually. Queen was on her mettle, and no dame of high degree ever held her head more proudly than the little black mare with the tossing mane. With a last turn she came toward the Fort straight as an arrow, and stopped so suddenly at the word that she was thrown back upon her haunches.
The girl slipped to the ground, laughing and flushed. "Oh!" she cried, "that was glorious, wasn't it, Queen?"
"I'm proud of my cousin," was all Forsyth said; but there was a volume of meaning in the tone.
A groom led the horse away to be rubbed down, and Beatrice began a fruitless search for the lost hairpins, in which Robert refused to join her. "Don't put it up," he pleaded, "you look so much prettier with it down."
"I can't, anyway," she said. "I haven't a single pin."
The heavy mass of brown and auburn hung far below her waist, rippling ever so slightly, and ending in a curl. A pink flush was on her face and her eyes were dancing. "Come," she continued, "they're talking about me over there, and I know it."
She had hit upon the truth, for the Mackenzies were having an animated conference with Captain Wells. "I never suspected there was any trouble," he was saying, "and she didn't mention it. She was waiting for us a piece up the trail, and two men with her were carrying her box. She said she was coming, so the soldiers took her things and she rode with me.
"As she told you, they probably know it now, but I'll see them the first thing when I go back and explain. They'll be glad to know she's safe. She's as skittish a filly as I've ever laid eyes on—she won't wear a bit, nor stand; and that little black devil that she rides is made out of the same kind of timber. The two of them will have the settlement by the ears inside of a month—you wait and see."
Beatrice appeared at this juncture and pointed a rosy finger at Captain Wells. "Perjurer!" she laughed. "You've been taking my character away from me!"
"I never tell anything but the truth, Miss," returned the Captain, awkwardly. "Are you going back with me this afternoon?"
"I told you once," she answered, "that I was going to live with Aunt Eleanor. I'm never going to Fort Wayne again!"
"Do you want me to take a letter or a message to your people?"
"No!" cried Beatrice, with her eyes blazing. "If you dare to mention me to them, or say I sent any kind of a message, I'll—I'll haunt you!"
The Captain went out, murmuring confused apologies; and Robert, feeling himself in the way, went to his room. The moccasins hanging on the wall gave him a vivid moment of self-knowledge. The dainty, arched foot he had seen for the first time when Beatrice stamped on the piazza, might easily have been the one for which the moccasins were made. He stroked the pretty things caressingly, with a soft light in his eyes.
"I knew she was coming," he said to himself; "but how did I know?"
In the afternoon, Mackenzie and the officers rode a little way on the Fort Wayne trail with Captain Wells, who was charged with many letters and messages for friends there, and Beatrice watched the start from the window of the living-room.
"Who's that, Aunt Eleanor, riding beside Uncle John?"
"Captain Franklin, in command of the Fort."
"And who's the mean-looking one, twisting his mustache?"
"Lieutenant Howard, dear—Katherine's husband."
"Oh!" said Beatrice, quickly. "Aren't they happy together?"
There was a long silence. "Not very happy, I'm afraid," sighed Mrs. Mackenzie.
"I'm sorry," said the girl, with genuine sympathy. "Do you think I could help in any way?"
"I don't know, Bee—I wish you could. You will be company for Katherine, and perhaps you can make it easier for her, in some ways, if you try."
"Poor Cousin Kit! Of course I'll try! Look, Aunty," she said, abruptly pointing to a belated rider who was galloping to overtake the others. He had his cap in his hand, and his yellow hair was blowing in the wind. "That's the big boy I scared. Is he married?"
"No," replied Mrs. Mackenzie. Her lips did not move, but her eyes smiled.
"He's handsome," said Beatrice, dispassionately. "I've lived at all the posts—Fort Wayne, Detroit, and Fort Mackinac, and he's the best-looking soldier I've seen. I'd like to paint his picture, if he'd let me."
"I'll ask him, dear; I think he'll let you."
"Aunt Eleanor!" cried Beatrice, reproachfully.
"Why not?"
"Oh—because. Where are those soldiers going, Aunty?"
Mrs. Mackenzie looked out of the window and saw half a dozen men in the boat belonging to the Fort, headed up-stream.
"They're going fishing, I guess. I'll have to go away a little while this afternoon, Bee. Mrs. Burns is sick and she needs me—you won't mind, will you? I'll leave the table all set, and I'll surely be back before dark. Are you afraid to be left alone?"
"No. I'm not afraid of anything; but where is Cousin Rob?"
"He's teaching the children. They don't seem to get much time, someway, in the morning, so they begin right after dinner and study till supper time. I'm so glad to have Robert here—he's doing wonders with them."
"He seems nice," said Beatrice, "and I like him. Can't I go with you, Aunt Eleanor?"
"No, dear—somebody has to stay with the baby. He's asleep, though, and I don't think he'll trouble you."
"I'll take care of him, Aunty. Don't fret about us."
Nevertheless, the house seemed very lonely to Beatrice after Mrs. Mackenzie went away, and she roamed about restlessly. For a time she amused herself by examining the articles on the depleted shelves behind the counters, but the interest soon vanished. She could find nothing to read except a soiled and ragged copy of a paper three months old, which she had already seen at Fort Wayne. The murmur of voices from a distant room, reached her ears with sudden and attractive significance, and her face brightened.
"I don't know as I should do it," she said to herself, but she went to the door and tapped softly.
Robert opened it, in surprise, and Beatrice stepped into the room. "I've come to visit the school," she said.
"Goody!" cried Johnny.
She seated herself on the window ledge and smiled radiantly at the embarrassed teacher. Discipline had been difficult from the beginning, and the guest made matters worse.
"Now, then, Johnny," Forsyth said, "what were we studying?"
"Eight times three."
"Yes, and how many are eight times three?"
"Twenty——"
"Twenty-one," said Beatrice.
"Twenty-one," repeated Johnny, readily, with the air of one who has accomplished a difficult feat.
Robert frowned and bit his lips. "Eight times three are twenty-four, Johnny. Write it ten times on your slate—that will help you to remember."
"What a gift for teaching," murmured Beatrice. Robert flushed, but did not speak, and there was no sound in the room but the pencil scratching on the slate.
"Cousin Rob?"
"Yes, Johnny. What is it?"
"Why, Cousin Bee just said eight times three were twenty-one. Did she tell a lie, or didn't she know?"
"Never mind, Johnny; just attend to your lesson."
"Mamma says it's wicked to tell lies," observed Ellen, virtuously, sucking her slate pencil.
Beatrice was enjoying herself hugely. She flashed a wicked glance at Forsyth as she said, "I'm so glad I came!"
"Go on with your work, Ellen. I want you to write that sentence five times without a mistake. Maria Indiana, bring me your primer. Begin here."
"Tan't. Baby's fordot."
"Oh, no, you haven't. We learned this yesterday, don't you remember? Now, then,—'I see,'—what's the rest of it?"
"I see a tat."
"Where?" asked Beatrice, lightly, and Maria Indiana gazed at her, sadly bewildered.
"Where is the cat?" she asked again. "I don't see any."
"Here, Baby," said Robert; "look at the picture."
"I don't like a picture cat," said Beatrice, with a tempting smile, as she held out her arms to the child.
"Tuzzin Bee!" crowed the baby, running to her, "me loves oo!"
"I've got this done now," said Johnny. "Eight times three are twenty-four."
"That's a mistake," put in Beatrice. "Didn't I tell you it was twenty-one?"
"Cousin Rob," asked Ellen, in deep trouble, "if Cousin Bee has told a lie, will she go to hell?"
"No," sobbed the baby; "me doesn't want Tuzzin Bee to go to hell!"
Robert's face was pale, and there was a dangerous look in the set lines of his mouth. He went to Beatrice, took her by the shoulders, and gently, but firmly, put her out of the room, then locked the door.
"Well, I never!" she said to herself.
Beatrice was not given to self-analysis, but she could not keep from wondering why she felt so queer. She knew she had no right to be angry, and yet she was furious. She was certain that she would have done the same thing if she had been in his place, and much earlier at that; but the fact did not lessen the enormity of his crime.
"He dared to touch me!" she whispered, with her face hidden.
The long afternoon faded into dusk, and then Mackenzie came home. "Where's mother?" he asked.
"She went to see Mrs. Burns. She said she was sick."
"Have you been lonesome, Bee?"
The girl bit her lips. "Not very," she answered grimly.
School was dismissed and the children trooped into the living-room. Robert spoke pleasantly to his uncle, but took no notice of Beatrice.
"Uncle John," she said at length, "what do you think of a person who takes a lady by the shoulders and puts her out of a room?"
"If you had been a lady," retorted Robert, "I wouldn't have put you out."
"Don't quarrel," said Mackenzie. "Life is too short to fuss." He took Chan's violin from the chimney-shelf in the next room, and began to play a lively tune. Ellen and Johnny pranced around the tea-table, and Maria Indiana, with faltering steps, endeavoured to imitate them.
Beatrice laughed, and Robert's heart softened, though he had been very angry with her only a little while before. He was about to beg her pardon for his seeming harshness, when the door burst open and Mrs. Mackenzie rushed in, breathless and white with fear.
"The Indians!" she cried. "The Indians!"
"Where?" shouted Mackenzie, springing to his feet.
"Up at Lee's! Killing and scalping!"
With rare presence of mind, Beatrice blew out the candles, and they made their way to the river in the darkness. The mist was rising from the bare earth and the air was heavy with dew. There was no outward sign of danger; but the grey shadows were portentous of evil, and in the very stillness was a nameless fear.
Mrs. Mackenzie had the baby in her arms. "Smother him if he cries," said the trader, in a low tone, but, fortunately, the child kept quiet. Maria Indiana began to wail and her father shook her roughly. "Keep still!" he whispered warningly.
Beatrice took charge of the other children, who did as they were told without a murmur of complaint. The bateau lay at its moorings and they got into it with as little noise as possible. Mackenzie and Robert were at the oars.
The stream was narrow, yet the minutes passed like hours, and the sound of the oars seemed carried far into the night. "Careful, now," whispered Mackenzie. Robert took the little girl in his arms and they ran up the esplanade to the Fort.
Dim shapes of horror seemed hovering around them as they strained their ears to catch the savage cry which had blazed the red trail of torture from Jamestown to the Lakes. Soldiers ran to meet them, picked up the two older children, and hurried with them into the Fort. As they entered the stockade, the heavy gate crashed into place.
"Thank God," breathed Mackenzie, "we are safe!"
On the parade-ground was a scene of confusion. Men ran to and fro, carrying ammunition and pails of water to the blockhouses and points marked on the stockade. Pine knots, thrust between the bars, blazed fitfully, throwing a lurid light here and there and making the darkness deeper by contrast.
From the windows and open doors of the officers' quarters came stray gleams of light. White-faced men and women ran in and out of the shadows, hoarse cries of command were heard, and it seemed like some vivid dream.
Beatrice ran to the stables, and Queen whinnied when she felt the girl's soft hand upon her. "Hush," she said, "we came together, Beauty, and we'll stay together—while we're here," she added, with a little choke in her voice.
Over by the barracks a man and a boy were talking to Captain Franklin, while a little group of people listened. Beatrice, with Queen's halter in her hand, went near enough to hear.
"I knew something was wrong," the man was saying. "A dozen of 'em came in all painted up, but Frenchy and White seemed to think it was all right and went on talking to them. I says to the kid here, 'They ain't Pottawattomies, and we'd better get away if we can. Do as you see me do.'
"So we went out to the canoes, and two of the red devils followed us to ask where we were going. I told 'em we were going over to feed the cattle and we'd be back soon to get supper. When we got across we pulled some hay and pretended to get the cattle together, but as soon as we got behind a stack, we ran for the Fort. Two shots were fired after we left, and God only knows what they're doing up there now. There must be thousands of them in the woods."
"Where's Chan?" asked Mrs. Mackenzie.
"Haven't seen him since noon," replied her husband. "He'll have to look out for himself."
"Where are the soldiers who went fishing?" asked Beatrice.
"They haven't come back," answered the Captain; "but they're armed."
"That won't do any good," said Lieutenant Howard. Two of the soldiers standing by ran to the blockhouses without waiting for an order. The deep-throated guns thundered a warning, and confused echoes came back, but there was no other answer.
Preparations for fight went on. The men in the blockhouses were ordered to stay there, and others were assigned to the same posts. Still others were stationed at the magazine and at regular intervals along the stockade. The gates were heavily guarded, and Captain Franklin ordered the women and children to the officers' quarters, but only Mrs. Mackenzie obeyed.
"I'll stay here," said Mrs. Franklin, in open defiance.
"Wait till we are attacked," cried Katherine.
"Queen and I will stay together," said Beatrice, proudly.
Ronald was rapidly loading the army pistols and distributing them among the women. Beatrice was standing with her arm thrown over the mare's neck when he came to her, and the fitful light of the pine knots shone full upon her face and her glorious hair. Her eyes were bright and she breathed rapidly, but no one could have said she was afraid.
For a moment they stood there, looking into each other's eyes. "When the first Indian leaps the stockade, put it to your temple and fire," said Ronald, almost in a whisper.
Beatrice took the heavy pistol from him with a steady hand. "Give me another cartridge," she said.
"What for?"
"For Queen. I won't have her hurt, and she goes first."
The Ensign obeyed, with another long look at the girl. "You're a thoroughbred," he said. For a breathless instant they faced each other, then Ronald clicked his heels together, saluted, and turned away.
Something stirred painfully in the girl's heart. As in a dream, she saw Mrs. Mackenzie and the children going into Lieutenant Howard's, watched Forsyth and the trader as they loaded their muskets, and heard Katherine's terrible laugh when she put the cold muzzle of the pistol to her temple to see how it would feel.
Then Franklin and Ronald passed her. "I won't give an order," the Captain was saying; "it's a job for volunteers."
"May I have them?" asked the Ensign.
"Yes—six. We can spare no more."
A moment later a clear voice sounded above the clamour, "Attention!"
There was the rush of hurrying feet, an instant's wondering silence, then Ronald spoke. "Boys," he said, "Mrs. Burns has a baby a day old, and there is no one with her but her husband. I'm going after them—who's going with me?"
The soldiers, to a man, rallied around him. "I!" came from every throat. "I'm going!"
"Six only," he said. He quickly selected his men, they snatched up their guns, and, with a warning "hush!" from him, they went to the bateau in which the Mackenzies had crossed.
"Steady!" came Ronald's low voice, then the oars murmured in the water and the heavy gate rumbled into place once more.
Forsyth, stunned by the whirl of events, was leaning on his musket, staring vacantly into space. Across the parade-ground his face appeared to Beatrice in the last flicker of a burnt-out knot. All her pent-up anger returned to her, and, still smarting under the memory of his affront, she left her horse and went over to him.
"Why didn't you go with him?" she demanded.
"Who—where?"
"Ensign Ronald!"
"I—I don't know," he stammered.
He had told the unvarnished truth, but she interpreted it in her own way. "I'll tell you why you didn't go," she said, with measured distinctness. Then her eyes flashed and her breast heaved.
"Coward!" she blazed.
Robert started as if he had been struck, but before he could speak, she had left him and gone back to Queen.
Her lip curled as she saw him standing there, leaning on his musket, with his head bowed. His habit of self-analysis asserted itself, and he began to wonder whether she had been right. The blood that had left his heart came back in tides of pain, and the word burned itself upon his consciousness. "Coward," he said to himself, "coward! She called me a coward!"
Yet he knew that what she had said did not matter so much as the possibility that she had spoken truly—that his self-respect meant more than any woman's praise or blame. His reason told him that; but her scornful, accusing face flitted before him and he had an impulse to get away—it did not matter where. Still dazed, he went to the blockhouse at the north-west corner of the stockade and joined the men there.
On the parade-ground Doctor Norton was making grewsome preparations. A stretcher was placed near each blockhouse, and others at regular intervals. Bottles were ranged in rows upon the ground, and piles of bandages showed whitely under the flare of the torches.
He looked up, to find Katherine at his side. "Let me help you," she said.
"No; there's nothing you can do just now, but I'm afraid we'll have our hands full later if—Go and scrape some lint," he broke off abruptly, "and make some coffee. Get the other women to help you."
Here the Lieutenant passed them, without seeming to see them, and she followed him with a guilty feeling in her heart.
When she entered her own house, she found her mother there, scraping lint and making bandages, while a pot of strong coffee was already steaming on the hearth and piles of cut bread were stacked upon the table.
"This is all we can do, dear," said Mrs. Mackenzie.
"Let me help you, mother—I'll get some more old linen."
Mrs. Franklin came in with her arms full of white cloth, which she tore into strips and wound tightly, ready for immediate use. They worked by the light of a single candle, and the three loaded pistols lay on the table in front of them.
"If we sleep to-night," said the Captain's wife at length, without pausing in her task, "I'll take Miss Manning and Mrs. Burns, when the boys come back."
"Mother and the children can stay here," said Katherine; "but I haven't room for any more."
"That's all right," answered Mrs. Mackenzie. "The men can go to the barracks."
More than an hour passed, but nothing was heard from the rescue party, and the fear of danger deepened. The Lieutenant came in, endeavouring to conceal his nervousness.
"That's good," he said, indicating the piles of lint and bandages. Then he drank a cup of strong, black coffee, and paced back and forth uneasily.
"Where are the boys?" asked Katherine. "Isn't it time for them to come back?"
"No, I don't think so; we could hardly expect them yet."
"Couldn't some of the others go after them?"
"Heavens, no! We haven't fifty men here, and we need every one. Chan is missing, seven have gone after Mrs. Burns, and six are on a fishing trip—that's fourteen out of our small force. In their place we have Father John, Forsyth, and the man and boy from Lee's. The Indians are probably gathering in the woods and making ready to attack us. God!" he said, under his breath, "why can't we have troops!"
Katherine warned him with a glance which almost imperceptibly indicated Mrs. Franklin, who was hard at work, seemingly absorbed in her task. "Where's Wallace?" she asked, without looking up.
"Walking around the parade-ground. He's safe," he added bitterly; "don't worry about him."
Mrs. Mackenzie and Katherine both frowned at the emphasis on the last word. "Don't worry about me, either," he continued; "I'm going now."
Katherine went to the door with him. "Can I do anything more, dear?" she asked.
"No," he said roughly, "unless you want to mind your own business for a while!" He laughed harshly, pushed her from him, and went out.
"Ralph isn't well," she sighed, going back to the table; "and I'm afraid something has happened outside, too. I wonder where the boys are?"
The whole garrison was asking the same question secretly; but no man would openly admit that there was ground for anxiety. Beatrice had tied Queen to the flag-pole, and was besieging the Doctor with inquiries.
"Tell me," she pleaded, for the third time, "haven't they been gone long enough to get back?"
"Yes," he answered finally; "they have. They should have been here long ago."
"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to the blockhouse to see if they aren't coming!"
She called to those above her, but no one heard, so she went up the ladder. "Where are they?" she cried, bursting in upon the startled group.
Even as she spoke there was a faint "halloo" from the west. "They're coming," shouted Robert, but his voice was lost, for the sentinel at the gate had heard also.
The parade-ground filled with people, and Beatrice had turned to descend the ladder, when Robert caught her by the arm.
"Beatrice!" he gasped. "Let me know the worst—do you despise me?"
"Yes," she answered, coolly. "Please let go of me, and never dare to touch me again."
The gate was lifted and seven men came in, carrying the mattress on which lay Mrs. Burns and her baby. Mrs. Franklin led the way to her hospitable door, where Mrs. Mackenzie and Katherine were already waiting to do what they could in the way of making the mother and child comfortable.
It was Mrs. Mackenzie who first noticed that Ronald was not with them. "Where's George?" she asked, in a low tone.
"He's gone up the river, ma'am," answered one of the soldiers. "We begged him not to, but he would go, and he wouldn't let a one of us go with him. He thought he heard a noise, so he went up-stream to see what it was."
Mr. Burns had seen no Indians, but, like the others, thought they were gathering in the woods. He was far away from the house at the time the man had shouted the warning; but he had heard the two shots at Lee's and the guns from the Fort.
"Captain," said Lieutenant Howard, "I'll be one of a party to go and find Ronald. He's probably up at Lee's."
"You won't," growled the Captain, biting his mustache. "Just because the young fool chooses to risk his life for nothing, I won't expose five or six men to danger. We have none to spare."
"How did he go?" asked the Doctor of Mr. Burns.
"He took my boat. He'll pull back down-stream quick enough if anything is wrong."
"No he won't," returned the Doctor, warmly; "you don't know the lad."
Robert walked back and forth on the parade-ground, sorely troubled on his own account, and deeply concerned for the safety of his friend. Mackenzie shared his anxiety, but quickly vetoed the suggestion that they two follow him.
"'T ain't no manner of use, Rob," he said, kindly. "We're under military orders, and you heard what the Captain said. Besides, that dare-devil boy ain't afraid of anything, and I guess he'll come out with a whole skin—he always has."
"Were you thinking of going after him, Cousin Rob?" asked Beatrice, sweetly.
He started at the sound of her voice, then looked full in her face with no sign of recognition. Beatrice met his eyes squarely until he turned on his heel and walked away, followed by a peal of light, mocking laughter that cut into his heart like a knife.
"What's the matter between you and Rob?" asked the trader, curiously.
"Nothing," answered the girl, shrugging her shoulders; "but I was amused a little while ago because he was so frightened—he was scared almost to death."
Mackenzie's eyes glittered as he peered at her keenly from under his bushy brows. "Don't say that again, my girl," he said, huskily, "for fear doesn't run in the Forsyth blood. His grandfather was killed at Lexington."
"A boat is coming," shouted a man from the blockhouse. Shortly afterward, the fishing party came in, tired but triumphant, with a long string of river fish. They had seen no Indians, and had not met Ronald.
"Did you hear the gun?" asked the Captain.
"Yes, sir," replied one of the soldiers. "We were up on the North Branch and thought it was a warning, so we laid low for a while. Then, as we didn't hear anything more, we came on down as quietly as we could."
"Everything all right at Lee's?" asked Lieutenant Howard.
"As far as we saw, sir."
Still there was uneasiness regarding the Ensign. Katherine was pale, Mrs. Franklin was crying, and Beatrice had her small hands clenched tightly together. Suddenly they all knew how much they should miss him if——
Then there was a familiar whistle outside, the sentinel opened the gate, and Ronald came in with a big black and white dog in his arms.
"I thought I heard him howling," he said, in answer to the torrent of questions, "so I went on up to Lee's to get him. The devils have been there all right,—the guns must have frightened them away.
"Yes," he continued in a low tone, in answer to a whispered question from Howard; "White and Frenchy. White was shot and stabbed in the breast and poor Frenchy was scalped—the whole top of his head lifted off. The dog was guarding the body."
"What's that?" asked Mrs. Franklin, from the edge of the group where all the women were standing together. "Speak louder—we can't hear."
The deep-toned bell tolled taps, and there was a general movement toward quarters. "I was just talking about the dog," shouted Ronald to the women.
"He fought me at first," he continued, addressing the Lieutenant and the Doctor; "but I soon won his heart. Poor old boy," he said, stroking the dog, "he didn't want to be made into a stew, did he?"
"We must go up to-morrow," said the Lieutenant.
"What are you going to call him?" asked the Doctor.
"Major, I guess—we haven't a major here."
Lieutenant Howard's white teeth showed in a sarcastic smile. "You might call him 'Captain,'" he said, twisting his mustache, "for the same good reason."
The guard was doubled that night and the small force was ready for instant action. Sentinels patrolled the river bank and stood at the gates; while in the blockhouses the cannon were trained through the port-holes, and men kept vigilant watch.
At three o'clock the terrified bleating of the sheep aroused every one but the children. A sentinel fired his musket and retreated to the Fort, then a heavy gun rumbled ominously.
Once again the parade-ground filled with people. "What is it? What is it?" they cried.
"Indians," Captain Franklin explained. "They went after the horses, but didn't find them, so they stabbed the sheep and turned them loose. The sentry saw some of them in the pasture, and fired, then ran to the Fort. A tomahawk just missed him—it grazed his head and struck a waggon wheel. The cannon must have frightened them away."
So it proved, for the next morning a trail of blood led from the pasture toward the woods. The sheep lay dead on the plains around the Fort, but search parties found nothing, though they scoured the woods thoroughly for miles around.
Chandonnais appeared at the usual time for work, but refused to say where he had been. When he was asked unpleasant questions, he always pretended that he did not understand, and from this position neither man nor woman could swerve him a hair's breadth.
Lieutenant Howard, with four men, went up the river to Lee's and buried the two victims of the night before. "It wasn't good to look at," he said to Ronald, when he returned.
"I know," answered the Ensign; "I found out that much last night. I didn't dare strike a light, but I felt——" He turned his face away and swallowed hard. "Don't tell the women," he concluded.
"I won't," said Howard, "and I've made the boys promise not to talk. There's no use of making things worse than they are."
Major sat at Ronald's feet, listening intelligently, and thumping the ground vigorously with his bushy tail. "Poor old boy," said his new master, affectionately; "it was pretty bad, wasn't it? He's a nice dog, isn't he, Howard?"
"Washing would help him."
"He's going to have his Spring bath the first warm day. How do you suppose dogs know whom they belong to? Major knows he's mine, and nobody could get him away from me."
Beatrice came out of Captain Franklin's and took a careful survey of the Fort. It was a gloomy place at best, but the disorder of the night made it worse.
"Good-morning," said the Lieutenant, as he passed her on his way home.
"Good-morning," returned the girl, including Ronald in the salutation. Then she whistled to the dog, but he paid no attention to the call other than to lean heavily against his master.
"He's mine," laughed Ronald, meeting her, "and you can't have him. How do you like living in the Fort?"
"I don't like it," she answered disdainfully. "It's about as cheerful as a tomb. I'm glad we're going home."
Ronald lifted his brows inquiringly. "Who's going home?"
"Why, all of us—Uncle John, Aunt Eleanor, the children, and—and Cousin Rob."
"Oh, no, you're not! You're going to stay here."
"Who said so?"
"I say so," replied George, mischievously.
"Can't I go out of the Fort?"
"No."
"We'll see," said Beatrice, tossing her head.
She ran to the gate, but he was there before her and effectually barred the way.
"Let me pass," she said icily.
"I'm sorry, Miss Manning, but you can't go without permission from the Captain. You are under military orders, and no soldier or citizen is to leave the Fort without a guard. After sunset no one but the sentries can pass the gates."
"For how long?" demanded Beatrice.
"Till the Captain orders otherwise."
"And I'm to stay here, then, without a hat, or even a clean handkerchief, until His Majesty sees fit to let me go to my own home in broad daylight!"
The colour flamed in her cheeks, and her eyes snapped dangerously. The Ensign was enjoying the situation hugely, and thought Beatrice was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. In fact, he was on the point of saying so, but, fortunately, thought better of it.
"You can go if I go with you," he suggested.
"Then I'll stay here," announced Beatrice, with unconcealed scorn. She walked away from him with her head high, and went straight to Captain Franklin.
"Gone to see if I lied to her," laughed Ronald to himself. "She's a mettlesome damsel—devilish mettlesome."
"That is my order," said the Captain, in answer to her question, "and it must be obeyed."
"Can't I go home at all?"
"Certainly, for a few minutes at a time. Ask Ensign Ronald to go with you this afternoon."
The Captain turned away, and Beatrice gazed at his retreating figure with fire in her eyes. "Fool!" she said aloud, stamping her foot; "I won't ask him. I'll stay here till I die before I'll ask him!"
Captain Franklin's house immediately became offensive to her, and she knew Robert was at Katherine's, teaching the children. The parade-ground was odious, because Ronald was walking briskly around it for exercise. Her uncle passed her with the coolest kind of a nod, remembering what she had said about Robert the night before, and she began to wish she had never left Fort Wayne.
Only the stables remained, and she went there to see the friend who never failed her. Queen pranced in her stall and tapped with her dainty hoofs impatiently.
"I can't take you out, Beauty," she said sadly, "because they won't let us leave the Fort."
Queen put her nose into the girl's neck and was immediately slapped. "You're not allowed to do that," said Beatrice, sternly, turning away. Queen whinnied and Beatrice understood that the offender was very sorry and very lonely, and would never do it again, so she went back.
"I'll take you around the Fort if you'll be good," she said. Her saddle was hanging there, but she preferred to ride without it, so she replaced the halter with a bridle and went out, mounted, hoping Ronald was not there.
But he was still walking around the parade-ground, with Major in his wake. Queen pricked up her ears but went on, obediently, at the slow pace which was better than nothing. Ronald smiled to himself as Beatrice crossed and turned so that if he kept on he would appear to be following her.
Twice, three times the procession went round the square, with the dog bringing up the rear, before a bright idea struck the Ensign. By slow-degrees he slackened his pace, and as they passed Lieutenant Howard's for the fifth time, Mrs. Mackenzie came out on the piazza.
"What's the matter, Bee?" she called; "can't you catch him?"
In half a minute Queen was in her stall, much surprised, and not a little displeased at the sudden termination of her exercise. "You wretch," whispered Beatrice, as she dismounted; "whatever possessed you to follow him?"
The coast was clear when she left the stables, but she went to Mrs. Howard's in a bad humour. She was not upon good terms with any one, and would have have started back to Fort Wayne that afternoon if it had been possible. She smiled grimly as she realised that, by her own act, she had forever cut herself off from her friends there. "I'll have to fight it out here," she said to herself; "I seem destined to fight."
Mrs. Franklin went to Mrs. Howard's to invite Beatrice to dinner, and was much disappointed when she refused. "Thank you," Beatrice said, trying hard to be pleasant; "but I'll stay with Aunty and Cousin Kit this time. I haven't a doubt you'll get tired of me, though, before His High Mightiness lets me go home."
She could have bitten her tongue out for the unlucky speech, but, to her relief, the Captain's wife misunderstood. "I saw you at the gate this morning," she laughed, "arguing with George. It's no use—he always has his own way."
"What a narrow escape!" she exclaimed, as Mrs. Franklin went out. "Aunt Eleanor, this is one of my bad days."
"You mustn't say any day is bad, dear," replied Mrs. Mackenzie, "because each one is what we make it. We begin afresh every morning with the day in our own hands. I'm sorry this has happened; but I'm very glad we had the Fort to come to, and I am sure you can find something pleasant here if you only look for it."
Nine people crowded around Mrs. Howard's table at dinner time, but Mackenzie and Robert barely spoke to Beatrice. The tribal instinct was strong in the trader, and Robert was of his blood. Katherine perceived that something was wrong and did her best to produce harmony, in which she was ably seconded by her husband. The Lieutenant was in a very pleasant frame of mind.
"Cousin Bee," said Ellen, "are you coming to visit the school this afternoon?" Beatrice was talking with Katherine and did not seem to hear.
"Tuzzin Bee," screamed Maria Indiana, "is oo tummin?"
"No, dear," answered Beatrice, quickly.
"Why not?" asked Mrs. Mackenzie, innocently; "it might amuse you, Bee."
"I doubt it," said the girl. "I'm going to help Kit."
"Cousin Rob put her out," explained Johnny, "because she told a lie."
Above everything else on earth, Beatrice hated to wash dishes, but she plunged into the work with a will after dinner, as a penance, and in spite of Mrs. Howard's protests.
"It's so good of you to help me," sighed Katherine, as the last dish was put away; "for mother is tired out, and I have a headache. None of us slept much last night, I fancy."
"I know I didn't, but I seldom sleep in the daytime. I wish you and Aunt Eleanor would go and lie down. I can take care of myself."
"All right," answered Katherine, "if you don't mind."
Beatrice sat by the window a little while after the house became quiet, then went over to Mrs. Franklin's, but there was no response to her rap. "Everybody's asleep, I guess," she said to herself.
She went to the gate and looked out longingly into the bright Spring sunshine. The sentinel passed her with his musket over his shoulder, and went on around the Fort. She heard his measured steps die away in the distance, and wondered, mechanically, how long it took him to make the round.
It seemed a long time before she heard him coming. A pirogue was tied to a sapling on the river bank and the oars lay near it. Across the stream the lonely house was beckoning to her to come. She slipped out of the gate and leaned up against the stockade outside. Then the sentry passed again.
"Against orders, Miss," he said.
"What?" asked Beatrice.
"Standin' outside."
"Oh," she said, returning to the gate. "Can I stand here?"
"Yes'm, if you don't go no further. Orders is to stay inside."
"All right." She smiled brilliantly, then inquired, in a tone of polite interest, "Are you all alone here?"
"Yes'm. My mate's at mess."
"Too bad. It's lonely for you, isn't it?"
"Yes'm, but I'm used to it."
He went on, and she watched him till he turned the first corner. A backward glance assured her that the parade-ground was deserted, so she edged out of the gate again, and, under cover of the stockade, ran to the pirogue, snatched up the oars, and started across.
The blood beat hard in her pulses, but she was not afraid, and the rare delight of disobeying military orders set her head awhirl. She expected to see the esplanade fill with soldiers, shouting to her to come back, but nothing happened. She reached the other bank safely, tied the pirogue, and ran into the house. From the window of the living-room she saw the sentry pass once more. His head was bowed and he did not notice that a boat was gone.
Then Ronald came out of the Fort alone and took another boat. She shrank back to the farthest corner of the room, and her heart stood still until she saw him turn up-stream. "There," she said to herself, "he's disobeying orders, too, for he's gone without a guard. If he can do it, there's no reason why I shouldn't."
Unconsciously, Beatrice had sustained a high nervous strain for too long a period. The quarrel with her aunt and uncle at Fort Wayne had been an affair of no small moment at the time, and the preparation for the journey and the long horseback ride had told upon her strength. The excitement of her arrival, new scenes and new faces, and the fright of the night before had taxed her still further, and her trouble with Robert had hurt her more deeply than she knew. She had reached the fine dividing line between a let-down and a break.
The indescribable loneliness of the house was depressing. The bare walls seemed to whisper back and forth, and the table, still set for supper, had a ghastly look about it. The rooms were not merely alone, but untenanted. Cold ashes lay upon the hearths, the dust had settled upon the chairs, and the sunlight outside only served to heighten the gloom.
In the schoolroom the books were piled neatly upon the table, and the slates were clean—ready for the next day's task. She experienced an unwonted twinge of conscience as she entered, unrebuked, and remembered how exasperating she had been.
At the Fort she had thought of many things she needed, but now her errand seemed purposeless, and the pleasures of disobedience began to pall. She went into her room, gathered up some of her toilet articles, and stood there, listlessly, watching the sentinel as he passed again without missing the boat.
"They're fine soldiers," she said to herself. "They know lots."
Then her heart gave a great leap, for there was a soft step at the back door. Some one entered very quietly, and she became as cold and immovable as if she had been made of stone. The catlike tread moved slowly into the living-room, and she trembled like an aspen. She tried to raise the window, thinking that she could scream if she could not get out, but her hands shook so that it was useless. Meanwhile the intruder came nearer, with the same stealthy steps. No one had crossed the river and the sentinel was not in sight.
Some one opened the door of the schoolroom and closed it with the least possible noise. Then the hushed steps came nearer still, but the window would not move. Her door was open, but she knew the flimsy lock would not hold, even if she could manage to shut it. An instant—now—she tried to shut her eyes, but could not—horror upon horror came upon her—then Ronald entered her room.
For a blind instant the earth whirled beneath her, then the flood-gates opened and Beatrice wept. He did as any other man in his place would have done and put a protecting arm around her, but, though sorely tempted, manfully refrained from kissing her.
"I'm so sorry I frightened you," he said, with bitter self-reproach. "Don't, Beatrice—Miss Manning,—please don't cry any more!"
As soon as she was conscious of her position, she drew away from him, still sobbing. It was not only her fright, but the natural result of the high tension at which she had lived for more than a week. He left her and rummaged around until he found a bottle of brandy, then he brought her a glass of water liberally strengthened with it.
"Here," he said, "drink this."
She obeyed, and in a few minutes began to recover her self-possession. "How did you get here?" she asked.
"I went up the river a little way, landed on this side, and walked down to the back door. You didn't suppose I'd let you come over here alone, did you?"
"Did you see me when I came?"
"Certainly. I expected you to do just what you did, and I kept my eye on you. I knew you were in the house, because I saw the boat outside, but I didn't mean to frighten you. I just thought I'd look around until we met."
"You—you—walked so softly," she said, with quivering lips.
"Did I? That's the first time I've ever been accused of that. It must have been your imagination."
"Perhaps," she answered, with a long sigh.
"If you have everything you want, we'll go back now."
Scarcely conscious of what she did, she stooped to pick up the things that had fallen to the floor. They seemed utterly useless for all time, but she felt the necessity of action. As they turned to leave the room, he took her cold hands in his and looked down into her wet eyes.
"Promise me," he said, "that you will never again disobey a military order."
She hesitated, and he repeated it.
"How do you know I'd keep a promise?" she asked, to gain time.
"Because you're a thoroughbred."
Something in his eyes subdued her. "I promise," she said, almost in a whisper.
"All right. Now, we'll not say anything about this to any one—do you understand?"
She was still trembling when he helped her into the pirogue, and neither spoke while they were crossing. When they entered the gate, Captain Franklin met them.
"Did she ask you to take her over?" he inquired of Ronald.
The Ensign's eyes met his squarely. "Yes, sir."
"Did you go together? I thought I saw you going alone."
"We went together. She was waiting for me outside."
"Very well. I will have no disobedience of my orders—remember that, both of you."
"Don't faint," George whispered, warningly, as the Captain walked away. "It's all right now, but that's the first time I ever lied—in my official capacity."
Beatrice put a small, icy hand into his own. "Thank you," she said quietly; "you're a thoroughbred, too."