Part 19 (2/2)

”Loskiel,” he said, ”if I know why, perhaps I know of other matters, too. Ask me some day--before they send you into battle.”

”What matters do you know of?”

”Ask me no more, Loskiel--until your conch-horns blowing in the forest summon Morgan's men to battle. Then ask; and a Sagamore will answer--a Siwanois Mohican--of the magic clan. Hiero!”

That ended it; he had spoken, and I was not fool enough to urge him to another word.

And now, as I rode, my mind was still occupied with my growing concern for the poor child I had come to pity so. Within me a furtive tenderness was growing which sometimes shamed, sometimes angered me, or left me self-contemptuous, restless, or dully astonished that my pride permitted it. For in my heart such sentiments for such a maid as this--tenderness, consciousness of some subtlety about her that attracted me--should have no place. There was every reason why I should pity her and offer aid; none why her grey eyes should hold my own; none why the frail body of her in her rags should quicken any pulse of mine; none why my nearness to her should stop my heart and breath.

Yet, all day long her face and slim shape haunted me--a certain sullen sweetness of the lips, too--and I remembered the lithe grace of her little hands as she broke the morsels of that midnight meal and lifted the cup of chilly water in which I saw the star-light dancing. And ”Lord!” thought I, amazed at my own folly. ”What madness lies in these midsummer solitudes, that I should harbor such fantastic thoughts?”

Seldom, as yet, had dream of woman vexed me--and when I dreamed at all it was but a tinselled figment that I saw--the echo, doubtless, of some tale I read concerning raven hair and rosy lips, and of a vague but wondrous fairness adorned most suitably in silks and jewels.

Dimly I was resigned toward some such goal, first being full of honours won with sword and spur, laden with riches, too, and territories stretching to those sunset hills piled up like sapphires north of Frenchman's Creek.

Out of the castled glory of the dawn, doubtless, I thought, would step one day my vision--to admire my fame and riches. And her I'd marry--after our good King had knighted me.

Alas! For our good King had proved a b.l.o.o.d.y knave; my visionary lands and riches all had vanished; instead of silk attire and sword, I wore a rifle-s.h.i.+rt and skinning-knife; and out of the dawn-born glory of the hills had stepped no silken damsel of romance to pause and wors.h.i.+p me--only a slender, ragged, grey-eyed waif who came indifferent as the chilly wind in spring; who went as April shadows go, leaving no trace behind.

We were riding by the High Dutch Church at last, and beyond, between the roads to Duansboro and Cobus-Kill, we saw the tents and huts of the New York brigade--or as much of it as had arrived--from which we expected soon to be detached.

On a cleared hill beyond the Lower Fort, where the Albany Road runs beside the Fox-Kill, we saw the headquarters flag of the 4th brigade, and Major Nicholas Fish at his tent door, talking to McCrea, our brigade surgeon.

Along the stream were the huts lately tenanted by Colonel Philip Van Cortlandt's Second New York Regiment, which had gone off toward Wyalusing. Schott's riflemen camped there now, and, as we rode by, the soldiers stared at our Indian. Then we pa.s.sed Gansevoort's Third Regiment, under tents and making ready to march; and the log cantonment of Colonel Lamb's artillery, where the cannoneers saluted, then, for no reason, cheered us. Beyond were camped Alden's Regiment, I think, and in the rear the Fourth and Fifth New York. A fort flew our own regimental flag beside the pretty banner of our new nation.

”Oho!” said Boyd, with an oath. ”I'm d.a.m.ned if I care for barracks when a bed in the open is good enough. Why the devil have they moved us indoors, do you think?”

I knew no more than did he, and liked our new quarters no better.

At the fort gate the sentry saluted, and we dismounted. Our junior ensign, Benjamin Chambers, a smart young dandy, met us at the guard-house, directed Boyd to Captain Simpson's log quarters, and then led the Sagamore inside.

”Is this our Moses?” whispered the young ensign in my ear. ”Egad, Loskiel, he looks a treacherous devil, in his paint, to lead us to the promised land.”

”He is staunch, I think,” said I. ”But for heaven's sake, Benny, are we to sleep in filthy barracks in July?”

”Not you, I hear,” he said, laughing, ”----though they're clean enough, by the way! But the Major's orders were to build a hut for you and this pretty and fragrant aborigine down by the river, and lodge him there under your eye and nose and rifle. I admit very freely, Loskiel, no man in Morgan's envies you your bed-fellow!” And he whisked his nose with a scented handkerchief.

”They would envy me if they knew this Sagamore as I think I know him,”

said I, delighted that I was not to lie in barracks foul or clean.

”Where is this same humble hut, my fas.h.i.+onable friend?”

”I'll show you presently. I think that Jimmy Parr desires to see your gentle savage,” he added flippantly.

We seated ourselves on the gate-bench to await the Major's summons; the dandified young ensign crossed the parade, mincing toward the quarters of Major Parr. And I saw him take a pinch o' the scented snuff he affected, and whisk his supercilious nose again with his laced hanker.

It seemed odd that a man like that should have saved our Captain Simpson's life at Saratoga.

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