Читать книгу Beyond the Frontier - Randall Parrish - Страница 6

Table of Contents

It was just before dark when Monsieur Cassion left us, and I watched him go gladly enough, hidden behind the shade of my window. He had been talking for an hour with Chevet in the room below; I could hear the rattle of glasses, as though they drank, and the unpleasant arrogance of his voice, although no words reached me clearly. I cared little what he said, although I wondered at his purpose in being there, and what object he might have in this long converse with my uncle. Yet I was not sent for, and no doubt it was some conference over furs, of no great interest. The two were in some scheme I knew to gain advantage over Sieur de la Salle, and were much elated now that La Barre held power; but that was nothing for a girl to understand, so I worked on with busy fingers, my mind not forgetful of the young Sieur de Artigny.

It was not that I already loved him, yet ever since girlhood the memory of him had remained in my thought, and in those years since I had met so few young men that the image left on my imagination had 17 never faded. Indeed, it had been kept alive by the very animosity which my uncle cherished against Monsieur de la Salle. The real cause of his bitterness, outside of trade rivalry, I never clearly understood, but he was ever seeking every breath of gossip from that distant camp of adventurers, and angrily commenting thereon. Again and again I overheard him conspiring with others in a vain effort to influence Frontenac to withdraw his support of that distant expedition, and it was this mutual enmity which first brought Cassion to our cabin.

With Frontenac’s removal, and the appointment of La Barre as Governor, the hopes of La Salle’s enemies revived, and when Cassion’s smooth tongue won him a place as Commissaire, all concerned became more bold and confident in their planning. I knew little of it, yet sufficient to keep the remembrance of those adventures fresh in my mind, and never did they recur to me without yielding me vision of the ardent young face of De Artigny as he waved me adieu from the canoe. Often in those years of silence did I dream of him amid the far-off wilderness––the idle dreaming of a girl whose own heart was yet a mystery––and many a night I sat at my window gazing out upon the broad river shimmering in the moonlight, wondering at those wilderness mysteries among which he lived.

Yet only once in all those years had I heard mention 18 of his name. ’Twas but a rumor floating back to us of how La Salle had reached the mouth of a great river flowing into the South Sea, and among the few who accompanied him was De Artigny. I remember yet how strangely my heart throbbed as I heard the brief tale retold, and someone read the names from a slip of paper. Chevet sat by the open fire listening, his pipe in his mouth, his eyes scowling at the news; suddenly he blurted out: “De Artigny, say you? In the name of the fiend! ’tis not the old captain?” “No, no, Chevet,” a voice answered testily, “Sieur Louis de Artigny has not stepped foot on ground these ten years; ’tis his brat Rene who serves this freebooter, though ’tis like enough the father hath money in the venture.” And they fell to discussing, sneering at the value of the discovery, while I slipped unnoticed from the room.

Chevet did not return to the house after Monsieur Cassion’s canoe had disappeared. I saw him walking back and forth along the river bank, smoking, and seemingly thinking out some problem. Nor did he appear until I had the evening meal ready, and called to him down the arbor. He was always gruff and bearish enough when we were alone, seldom speaking, indeed, except to give utterance to some order, but this night he appeared even more morose and silent than his wont, not so much as looking at me as he took seat, 19 and began to eat. No doubt Cassion had brought ill news, or else the appearance of De Artigny had served to arouse all his old animosity toward La Salle. It was little to me, however, and I had learned to ignore his moods, so I took my own place silently, and paid no heed to the scowl with which he surveyed me across the table. No doubt my very indifference fanned his discontent, but I remained ignorant of it, until he burst out savagely.

“And so you know this young cockerel, do you? You know him, and never told me?”

I looked up in surprise, scarce comprehending the unexpected outburst.

“You mean the Sieur de Artigny?”

“Ay! Don’t play with me! I mean Louis de Artigny’s brat. Bah! he may fool Cassion with his soft words, but not Hugo Chevet. I know the lot of them this many year, and no ward of mine will have aught to do with the brood, either young or old. You hear that, Adele! When I hate, I hate, and I have reason enough to hate that name, and all who bear it. Where before did you ever meet this popinjay?”

“At the convent three years ago. La Salle rested there overnight, and young De Artigny was of the party. He was but a boy then.”

“He came here today to see you?”

“No, never,” I protested. “I doubt if he even had 20 the memory of me until I told him who I was. Surely he explained clearly why he came.”

He eyed me fiercely, his face full of suspicion, his great hand gripping the knife.

“’Tis well for you if that be true,” he said gruffly, “but I have no faith in the lad’s words. He is here as La Salle’s spy, and so I told Cassion, though the only honor he did me was to laugh at my warning. ‘Let him spy,’ he said, ‘and I will play at the same game; ’tis little enough he will learn, and we shall need his guidance.’ Ay! and he may be right, but I want nothing to do with the fellow. Cassion may give him place in his boats, if he will, but never again shall he set foot on my land, nor have speech with you. You mark my words, Mademoiselle?”

I felt the color flame into my cheeks, and knew my eyes darkened with anger, yet made effort to control my speech.

“Yes, Monsieur; I am your ward and have always been obedient, yet this Sieur de Artigny seems a pleasant spoken young man, and surely ’tis no crime that he serves the Sieur de la Salle.”

“Is it not!” he burst forth, striking the table with his fist. “Know you not I would be rich, but for that fur stealer. By right those should be my furs he sends here in trade. There will be another tale to tell soon, now that La Barre hath the reins of power; and this 21 De Artigny––bah! What care I for that young cockerel––but I hate the brood. Listen, girl, I pay my debts; it was this hand that broke Louis de Artigny, and has kept him to his bed for ten years past. Yet even that does not wipe out the score between us. ’Tis no odds to you what was the cause, but while I live I hate. So you have my orders; you will speak no more with this De Artigny.”

“’Tis not like I shall have opportunity.”

“I will see to that. The fool looked at you in a way that made me long to grip his throat; nor do I like your answer, yet ’twill be well for you to mark my words.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Oh, you’re sweet enough with words. I have heard you before, and found you a sly minx––when my back was turned––but this time it is not I alone who will watch your actions. I have pledged you a husband.”

I got to my feet, staring at him, the indignant words stifled in my throat. He laughed coarsely, and resumed his meal.

“A husband, Monsieur? You have pledged me?”

“Ay! why not? You are seventeen, and ’tis my place to see you well settled.”

“But I have no wish to marry, Monsieur,” I protested. “There is no man for whom I care.”

22

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and laughed.

“Pooh! if I waited for that no doubt you would pick out some cockerel without so much as a spur to his heel. ’Tis my choice, not yours, for I know the world, and the man you need. Monsieur Cassion has asked me to favor him, and I think well of it.”

“Cassion! Surely, you would not wed me to that creature?”

He pushed back his chair, regarding me with scowling eyes.

“And where is there a better? Sacre! do you think yourself a queen to choose? ’Tis rare luck you have such an offer. Monsieur Cassion is going to be a great man in this New France; already he has the Governor’s ear, and a commission, with a tidy sum to his credit in Quebec. What more could any girl desire in a husband?”

“But, Monsieur, I do not love him; I do not trust the man.”

“Pah!” He burst into a laugh, rising from the table. Before I could draw back he had gripped me by the arm. “Enough of that, young lady. He is my choice, and that settles it. Love! who ever heard of love nowadays? Ah, I see, you dream already of the young gallant De Artigny. Well, little good that will do you. Why what is he? a mere ragged adventurer, 23 without a sou to his name, a prowling wolf of the forest, the follower of a discredited fur thief. But enough of this; I have told you my will, and you obey. Tomorrow we go to Quebec, to the Governor’s ball, and when Monsieur Cassion returns from his mission you will marry him––you understand?”

The tears were in my eyes, blotting out his threatening face, yet there was naught to do but answer.

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“And this De Artigny; if the fellow ever dares come near you again I’ll crush his white throat between my fingers.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“To your room then, and think over all I have said. You have never found me full of idle threats I warrant.”

“No, Monsieur.”

I drew my arm from his grasp, feeling it tingle with pain where his fingers had crushed the flesh, and crept up the narrow stairs, glad enough to get away and be alone. I had never loved Chevet, but he had taught me to fear him, for more than once had I experienced his brutality and physical power. To him I was but a chattel, an incumbrance. He had assumed charge of me because the law so ordained, but I had found nothing in his nature on which I could rely for sympathy. I was his sister’s child, yet no more to him than some 24 Indian waif. More, he was honest about it. To his mind he did well by me in thus finding me a husband. I sank on my knees, and hid my face, shuddering at the thought of the sacrifice demanded. Cassion! never before had the man appeared so despicable. His face, his manner, swept through my memory in review. I had scarcely considered him before, except as a disagreeable presence to be avoided as much as possible. But now, in the silence, the growing darkness of that little chamber, with Chevet’s threat echoing in my ears, he came to me in clear vision––I saw his dull-blue, cowardly eyes, his little waxed mustache, his insolent swagger, and heard his harsh, bragging voice.

Ay! he would get on; there was no doubt of that, for he would worm his way through where only a snake could crawl. A snake! that was what he was, and I shuddered at thought of the slimy touch of his hand. I despised, hated him; yet what could I do? It was useless to appeal to Chevet, and the Governor, La Barre, would give small heed to a girl objecting to one of his henchmen. De Artigny! The name was on my lips before I realized I had spoken it, and brought a throb of hope. I arose to my feet, and stared out of the window into the dark night. My pulses throbbed. If he cared; if I only knew he cared, I would fly with him anywhere, into the wilderness depths, to escape Cassion. I could think of no other 25 way, no other hope. If he cared! It seemed to me my very breath stopped as this daring conception, this mad possibility, swept across my mind.

I was a girl, inexperienced, innocent of coquetry, and yet I possessed all the instincts of a woman. I had seen that in his eyes which gave me faith––he remembered the past; he had found me attractive; he felt a desire to meet me again. I knew all this––but was that all? Was it a mere passing fervor, a fleeting admiration, to be forgotten in the presence of the next pretty face? Would he dare danger to serve me? to save me from the clutches of Cassion? A smile, a flash of the eyes, is small foundation to build upon, yet it was all I had. Perchance he gave the same encouragement to others, with no serious thought. The doubt assailed me, yet there was no one else in all New France to whom I could appeal.

But how could I reach him with my tale? There was but one opportunity––the Governor’s ball. He would be there; he had said so, laughingly glancing toward me as he spoke the words, the flash of his eyes a challenge. But it would be difficult. Chevet, Cassion, not for a moment would they take eyes from me, and if I failed to treat him coldly an open quarrel must result. Chevet would be glad of an excuse, and Cassion’s jealousy would spur him on. Yet I must try, and, in truth, I trusted not so much in Monsieur 26 de Artigny’s interest in me, as in his reckless love of adventure. ’Twould please him to play an audacious trick on La Salle’s enemies, and make Cassion the butt of laughter.

Once he understood, the game would prove much to his liking, and I could count on his aid, while the greater the danger the stronger it would appeal to such a nature as his. Even though he cared little for me he was a gallant to respond gladly to a maid in distress. Ay, if I might once bring him word, I could rely on his response; but how could that be done? I must trust fortune, attend the ball, and be ready; there was no other choice.

’Tis strange how this vague plan heartened me, and gave new courage. Scarce more than a dream, yet I dwelt upon it, imagining what I would say, and how escape surveillance long enough to make my plea for assistance. Today, as I write, it seems strange that I should ever have dared such a project, yet at the time not a thought of its immodesty ever assailed me. To my mind Rene de Artigny was no stranger; as a memory he had lived, and been portion of my life for three lonely years. To appeal to him now, to trust him, appeared the most natural thing in the world. The desperation of my situation obscured all else, and I turned to him as the only friend I knew in time of need. And my confidence in his fidelity, his careless 27 audacity, brought instantly a measure of peace. I crept back and lay down upon the bed. The tears dried upon my lashes, and I fell asleep as quietly as a tired child.