Beyond the Frontier. Randall Parrish

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      “Then, Monsieur Cassion is not observant,” returned the younger man pleasantly, “as I accompanied the Sieur de la Salle in his attempt to have audience with the governor.”

      “Ah!” the word of surprise exploded from the lips. “Sacre! ’tis true! My faith, what difference clothes make. I mistook you for a courier du bois.”

      “I am the Sieur Rene de Artigny.”

      “Lieutenant of La Salle’s?”

      “Scarcely that, Monsieur, but a comrade; for three years I have been with his party, and was chosen by him for this mission.”

      Cassion laughed, chucking the gloomy-faced Chevet in the side, as though he would give point to a good joke.

      “And little the trip hither has profited either master or man, I warrant. La Barre does not sell New France to every adventurer. Monsieur de la Salle found different reception in Quebec than when Frontenac ruled this colony. Where went the fur-stealer?”

      “To whom do you refer?”

      “To whom? Heaven help us, Chevet, the man would play nice with words. Well, let it go, my young cock, and answer me.”

      11

      “You mean the Sieur de la Salle?”

      “To be sure; I called him no worse than I have heard La Barre speak. They say he has left Quebec; what more know you?”

      “’Tis no secret, Monsieur,” replied De Artigny quietly enough, although there was a flash in his eyes, as they met mine. “The Sieur de la Salle has sailed for France.”

      “France! Bah! you jest; there has been no ship outward bound.”

      “The Breton paused at St. Roche, held by the fog. When the fog lifted there was a new passenger aboard. By dawn the Indian paddlers had me landed in Quebec.”

      “Does La Barre know?”

      “Faith! I could not tell you that, as he has not honored me with audience.”

      Cassion strode back and forth, his face dark with passion. It was not pleasant news he had been told, and it was plain enough he understood the meaning.

      “By the saints!” he exclaimed. “’Tis a sly fox to break through our guard so easily. Ay, and ’twill give him a month to whisper his lies to Louis, before La Barre can forward a report. But, sacre! my young chanticleer, surely you are not here to bring me this bit of news. You sought me, you said? Well, for what purpose?”

      12

      “In peace, Monsieur. Because I have served Sieur de la Salle loyally is no reason why we should be enemies. We are both the King’s men, and may work together. The word has come to me that you head a party for the Illinois, with instructions for De Baugis at Fort St. Louis. Is this true?”

      Cassion bowed coldly, waiting to discover how much more his questioner knew.

      “Ah, then I am right thus far. Well, Monsieur, ’twas on that account I came, to volunteer as guide.”

      “You! ’Twould be treachery.”

      “Oh, no; our interests are the same so far as the journey goes. I would reach St. Louis; so would you. Because we may have different ends in view, different causes to serve, has naught to do with the trail thither. There is not a man who knows the way as well as I. Four times have I traveled it, and I am not a savage, Monsieur––I am a gentleman of France.”

      “And you pledge your word?”

      “I pledge my word––to guide you safe to Fort St. Louis. Once there I am comrade to Sieur de la Salle.”

      “Bah! I care not who you comrade with, once you serve my purpose. I take your offer, and if you play me false––”

      “Restrain your threats, Monsieur Cassion. A quarrel will get us nowhere. You have my word of honor; ’tis enough. Who will compose the party?”

      13

      Cassion hesitated, yet seemed to realize the uselessness of deceit.

      “A dozen or more soldiers of the Regiment of Picardy, some couriers du bois, and the Indian paddlers. There will be four boats.”

      “You go by the Ottawa, and the lakes?”

      “Such were my orders.”

      “’Tis less fatiguing, although a longer journey; and the time of departure?”

      Cassion laughed, as he turned slightly, and bowed to me.

      “We leave Quebec before dawn Tuesday,” he said gaily. “It is my wish to enjoy once more the follies of civilization before plunging into the wilderness. The Governor permits that we remain to his ball. Mademoiselle la Chesnayne does me the honor of being my guest on that occasion.”

      “I, Monsieur!” I exclaimed in surprise at his boastful words. “’Twas my uncle who proposed––”

      “Tut, tut, what of that?” he interrupted in no way discomposed. “It is my request which opens the golden gates. The good Hugo here but looks on at a frivolity for which he cares nothing. ’Tis the young who dance. And you, Monsieur de Artigny, am I to meet you there also, or perchance later at the boat landing?”

      The younger man seemed slow in response, but 14 across Cassion’s shoulder our eyes met. I know not what he saw in the glance of mine, for I gave no sign, yet his face brightened, and his words were carelessly spoken.

      “At the ball, Monsieur. ’Tis three years since I have danced to measure, but it will be a joy to look on, and thus keep company with Monsieur Chevet. Nor shall I fail you at the boats: until then, Messieurs,” and he bowed hat in hand, “and to you, Mademoiselle, adieu.”

      We watched him go down the grape arbor to the canoe, and no one spoke but Cassion.

      “Pouf! he thinks well of himself, that young cockerel, and ’twill likely be my part to clip his spurs. Still ’tis good policy to have him with us, for ’tis a long journey. What say you, Chevet?”

      “That he is one to watch,” answered my uncle gruffly. “I trust none of La Salle’s brood.”

      “No, nor I, for the matter of that, but I am willing to pit my brains against the best of them. Francois Cassion is not likely to be caught asleep, my good Hugo.”

      He turned about, and glanced questioningly into my face.

      “And so, Mademoiselle, it did not altogether please you to be my guest at the ball? Perchance you preferred some other gallant?”

      15

      The sunlight, flickering through the leaves, rested on his face, and brought out the mottled skin of dissipation, the thin line of his cruel lips, the insolent stare of his eyes. I felt myself shrink, dreading he might touch me; yet dominating СКАЧАТЬ