Part 45 (1/2)

Louis help one not able help himself! Ha! _Tres bien! n.o.blesse oblige!

La Gloire!_ She--near! She here! She where I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, snare that she-devil, trap that fox, trick the tigress!

Ha--ol' tombstone! _n.o.blesse oblige_--I say! She near--she here,” and he flung up both arms like a frenzied maniac.

”Man! Are you mad?” I demanded, uncertain whether he were apostrophizing Diable's squaw, or abstract glory. ”Speak out!” I shouted, shaking him by the shoulder.

”These--are they all friends?” asked Louis, suddenly cooled and looking suspiciously at the group.

”All,” said I, still holding him by the shoulder.

”That--that thing--that bear--that bruin--he a friend?” and Louis pointed to Mr. Sutherland.

”Friend to the core,” said I, laying both hands upon his shoulders.

”Core with p.r.i.c.kles outside,” gibed Louis.

”Louis,” I commanded, utterly out of patience, ”what of Miriam? Speak plain, man! Have you brought the tribe as you promised?”

It must have been mention of Miriam's name, for the white, drawn face of Eric Hamilton bent over my shoulder and fiery, glowing eyes burned into the very soul of the Frenchman. Louis staggered back as if red irons had been thrust in his face.

”_Sacredie_,” said he, backing against Father Holland, ”I am no murderer.”

It was then I observed that Frances Sutherland had followed me. Her slender white fingers were about the bronzed hand of the French adventurer.

”Monsieur Laplante will tell us what he knows,” she said softly, and she waited for his answer.

”The daughter of _L'Aigle_,” he replied slowly and collectedly, all the while feasting upon that fair face, ”comes down the Red with her tribe and captives, many captive women. They pa.s.s here to-night. They camp south the rapids, this side of the rapids. Last night I leave them. I run forward, I find Le Pet.i.t Garcon--how you call him?--Leetle Fellow?

He take me to the priest. He bring canoe here. He wait now for carry us down. We must go to the rapids--to the camp! There my contract! My bargain, it is finished,” and he shrugged his shoulders, for Frances had removed her hand from his.

Whether Louis Laplante's excitable nature were momentarily unbalanced by the success of his feat, I leave to psychologists. Whether some premonition of his impending fate had wrought upon him strangely, let psychical speculators decide. Or whether Louis, the sly rogue, worked up the whole situation for the purpose of drawing Frances Sutherland into the scene--which is what I myself suspect--I refer to private judgment, and merely set down the incidents as they occurred. That was how Louis Laplante told us of bringing Diable's squaw and her captives back to Red River. And that was how Father Holland and Eric and Louis and Mr.

Sutherland and myself came to be embarking with a camping outfit for a canoe-trip down the river.

”Have the Indians pa.s.sed, or are they to come?” I asked Louis as Mr.

Sutherland and Eric settled themselves in a swift, light canoe, leaving the rest of us to take our places in a larger craft, where Little Fellow, gurgling pleased recognition of me, acted as steersman.

”They come later. The fast canoe go forward and camp. We watch behind,”

ordered Louis, winking at me significantly.

I saw Frances step to her father's canoe.

”You're no coming, Frances,” he protested, querulously.

”Don't say that, father. I never disobeyed you in my life, and I _am_ coming! Don't tell me not to! Push out, Mr. Hamilton,” and she picked up a paddle and I saw the canoe dart swiftly forward into mid-current, where the darkness enveloped it; and we followed fast in its wake.

”Louis,” said I, trying to fathom the meaning of his wink, ”are those Indians to come yet?”

”No. Simpleton--you think Louis a fool?” he asked.