IX
HIDDEN FIRE
After a few moments' silence we moved forward towards thepleasure-house, and we had scarcely started when down the road, from thenorth, came the patroon riding a powerful black horse, attended by oldCato mounted on a raw-boned hunter, and by one Peter Van Horn, thedistrict Brandt-Meester, or fire-warden. As they halted at Sir GeorgeCovert's door, we rode up to join them at a gallop, and the patroon,seeing us far off, waved his hat at us in evident good humor.
"Not a landmark missing!" he shouted, "and my signs all witnessed forrecord by Peter and Cato! How do the southwest landmarks stand?"
"The tenth pine is blasted by lightning," said Dorothy, walking herbeautiful gray to Sir Lupus's side.
"Pooh! We've a dozen years to change trees," said Sir Lupus, in greatcontent. "All's well everywhere, save at the Fish-House near theSacandaga ford, where some impudent rascal says he saw smoke on thehills. He's doubtless a liar. Where's Sir George?"
Sir George sauntered forth from the doorway where he had been standing,and begged us to dismount, but the patroon declined, saying that we hadfar to ride ere sundown, and that one of us should go around byBroadalbin. However, Dorothy and I slipped from our saddles to stretchour legs while a servant brought stirrup-cups and Sir George gathered aspray of late lilac which my cousin fastened to her leather belt.
"Tory lilacs," said Sir George, slyly; "these bushes came from cuttingsof those Sir William planted at Johnson Hall."
"If Sir William planted them, a rebel may wear them," replied Dorothy,gayly.
"Ay, it's that whelp, Sir John, who has marred what the great baronetleft as his monument," growled old Peter Van Horn.
"That's treason!" snapped the patroon. "Stop it. I won't have politicstalked in my presence, no! Dammy, Peter, hold your tongue, sir!"
Dorothy, wearing the lilac spray, vaulted lightly into her saddle, and Imounted my mare. Stirrup-cups were filled and passed up to us, and wedrained a cooled measure of spiced claret to the master of thepleasure-house, who pledged us gracefully in return, and then stood byDorothy's horse, chatting and laughing until, at a sign from Sir Lupus,Cato sounded "Afoot!" on his curly hunting-horn, and the patroon wheeledhis big horse out into the road, with a whip-salute to our host.
"Dine with us to-night!" he bawled, without turning his fat head orwaiting for a reply, and hammered away in a torrent of dust. Sir Georgeglanced wistfully at Dorothy.
"There's a district officer-call gone out," he said. "Some of thePalatine officers desire my presence. I cannot refuse. So ... it isgood-bye for a week."
"Are you a militia officer?" I asked, curiously.
"Yes," he said, with a humorous grimace. "May I say that you also are acandidate?"
Dorothy turned squarely in her saddle and looked me in the eyes.
"At the district's service, Sir George," I said, lightly.
"Ha! That is well done, Ormond!" he exclaimed. "Nothing yet toinconvenience you, but our Governor Clinton may send you a billet douxfrom Albany before May ends and June begins--if this periwigged beau,St. Leger, strolls out to ogle Stanwix--"
Dorothy turned her horse sharply, saluted Sir George, and galloped awaytowards her father, who had halted at the cross-roads to wait for us.
"Good-bye, Sir George," I said, offering my hand. He took it in a firm,steady clasp.
"A safe journey, Ormond. I trust fortune may see fit to throw ustogether in this coming campaign."
I bowed, turned bridle, and cantered off, leaving him standing in theroad before his gayly painted pleasure-house, an empty wine-cup inhis hand.
"Damnation, George!" bawled Sir Lupus, as I rode up, "have we all day tostand nosing one another and trading gossip! Some of us must ride byFonda's Bush, or Broadalbin, whatever the Scotch loons call it; and I'llsay plainly that I have no stomach for it; I want my dinner!"
"It will give me pleasure to go," said I, "but I require a guide."
"Peter shall ride with you," began Sir Lupus; but Dorothy broke in,impatiently:
"He need not. I shall guide Mr. Ormond to Broadalbin."
"Oh no, you won't!" snapped the patroon; "you've done enough offorest-running for one day. Peter, pilot Mr. Ormond to the Bush."
And he galloped on ahead, followed by Cato and Peter; so that, by reasonof their dust, which we did not choose to choke in, Dorothy and Islackened our pace and fell behind.
"Do you know why you are to pass by Broadalbin?" she asked, presently.
I said I did not.
"Folk at the Fish-House saw smoke on the Mayfield hills an hour since.That is twice in three days!"
"Well," said I, "what of that?"
"It is best that the Broadalbin settlement should hear of it."
"Do you mean that it may have been an Indian signal?"
"It may have been. I did not see it--the forest cut our view."
The westering sun, shining over the Mayfield hills, turned the dust togolden fog. Through it Cato's red coat glimmered, and the hunting-horn,curving up over his bent back, struck out streams of blinding sparks.Brass buttons on the patroon's broad coat-skirts twinkled like yellowstars, and the spurs flashed on his quarter-gaiters as he pounded alongat a solid hand-gallop, hat crammed over his fat ears, pig-taila-bristle, and the blue coat on his enormous body white with dust.
In the renewed melody of the song-birds there was a hint of approachingevening; shadows lengthened; the sunlight grew redder on the dusty road.
"The Broadalbin trail swings into the forest just ahead," said Dorothy,pointing with her whip-stock. "See, there where they are drawing bridle.But I mean to ride with you, nevertheless.... And I'll do it!"
The patroon was waiting for us when we came to the weather-beatenfinger-post:
"FONDA'S BUSH 4 MILES."
And Peter Van Horn had already ridden into the broad, soft wood-road,when Dorothy, swinging her horse past him at a gallop, cried out, "Iwant to go with them! Please let me!" And was gone like a deer, tearingaway down the leafy trail.
"Come back!" roared Sir Lupus, standing straight up in his ponderousstirrups. "Come back, you little vixen! Am I to be obeyed, or am I not?Baggage! Undutiful tree-cat! Dammy, she's off!"
He looked at me and smote his fat thigh with open hand.
"Did you ever see the like of her!" he chuckled, in his pride. "She's aDutch Varick for obstinacy, but the rest is Ormond--all Ormond. Ride on,George, and tell those rebel fools at Fonda's Bush that they should behunting cover in the forts if folk at the Fish-House read that smokearight. Follow the Brandt-Meester if Dorothy slips you, and tell herI'll birch her, big as she is, if she's not home by the new moon rise."
Then he dragged his hat over his mottled ears, grasped the bridle andgalloped on, followed by old Cato and his red coat and curly horn.
I had ridden a cautious mile on the dim, leafy trail ere I picked up VanHorn, only to quit him. I had ridden full three before I caught sight ofDorothy, sitting her gray horse, head at gaze in my direction.
"What in the world set you tearing off through the forest like that?" Iasked, laughing.
She turned her horse and we walked on, side by side.
"I wished to come," she said, simply. "The pleasures of this day mustend only with the night. Besides, I was burning to ask you if it is truethat you mean to stay here and serve with our militia?"
"I mean to stay," I said, slowly.
"And serve?"
"If they desire it."
"Why?" she asked, raising her bright eyes.
I thought a moment, then said:
"I have decided to resist our King's soldiers."
"But why here?" she repeated, clear eyes still on mine. "Tell me thetruth."
"I think it is because you are here," I said, soberly.
The loveliest smile parted her lips.
"I hoped you would say that.... Do I please you? Listen, cousin: I havea mad impulse to follow you--to be hindered rages me beyondendurance--as when Sir Lupus called me back. For, within the past hourt
he strangest fancy has possessed me that we have little time left to betogether; that I should not let one moment slip to enjoy you."
"Foolish prophetess," I said, striving to laugh.
"A prophetess?" she repeated under her breath. And, as we rode onthrough the forest dusk, her head drooped thoughtfully, shaded by herloosened hair. At last she looked up dreamily, musing aloud:
"No prophetess, cousin; only a child, nerveless and over-fretted withtoo much pleasure, tired out with excitement, having played too hard. Ido not know quite how I should conduct. I am unaccustomed to comradeslike you, cousin; and, in the untasted delights of such companionship,have run wild till my head swims wi' the humming thoughts you stir inme, and I long for a dark, still room and a bed to lie on, and think ofthis day's pleasures."
After a silence, broken only by our horses treading the moist earth: "Ihave been starving for this companionship.... I was parched!... Cousin,have you let me drink too deeply? Have you been too kind? Why am I inthis new terror lest you--lest you tire of me and my silly speech? Oh, Iknow my thoughts have been too long pent! I could talk to you forever! Icould ride with you till I died! I am like a caged thing loosed, I tellyou--for I may tell you, may I not, cousin?"
"Tell me all you think, Dorothy."
"I could tell you all--everything! I never had a thought that I do notdesire you to know, ... save one.... And that I do desire to tellyou ... but cannot.... Cousin, why did you name your mare Isene?"
"An Indian girl in Florida bore that name; the Seminoles called herIssena."
"And so you named your mare from her?"
"Yes."
"Was she your friend--that you named your mare from her?"
"She lived a century ago--a princess. She wedded with a Huguenot."
"Oh," said Dorothy, "I thought she was perhaps your sweetheart."
"I have none."
"You never had one?"
"No."
"Why?"
I turned in my saddle.
"Why have you never had a gallant?"
"Oh, that is not the same. Men fall in love--or protest as much. And atwine they boast of their good fortunes, swearing each that his mistressis the fairest, and bragging till I yawn to listen.... And yet you sayyou never had a sweetheart?"
"Neither titled nor untitled, cousin. And, if I had, at home we neverspeak of it, deeming it a breach of honor."
"Why?"
"For shame, I suppose."
"Is it shameless to speak as I do?" she asked.
"Not to me, Dorothy. I wish you might be spared all that unlicensedgossip that you hear at table--not that it could harm such innocence asyours! For, on my honor, I never knew a woman such as you, nor a maidso nobly fashioned!"
I stopped, meeting her wide eyes.
"Say it," she murmured. "It is happiness to hear you."
"Then hear me," I said, slowly. "Loyalty, devotion, tenderness, all areyour due; not alone for the fair body that holds your soul imprisoned,but for the pure tenant that dwells in it so sweetly behind the bluewindows of your eyes! Dorothy! Dorothy! Have I said too much? Yet I begthat you remember it, lest you forget me when I have gone from you....And say to Sir George that I said it.... Tell him after you are wedded,and say that all men envy him, yet wish him well. For the day he weds heweds the noblest woman in all the confines of this earth!"
Dazed, she stared at me through the fading light; and I saw her eyes allwet in the shadow of her tangled hair and the pulse beating inher throat.
"You are so good--so pitiful," she said; "and I cannot even find thewords to tell you of those deep thoughts you stir in me--to tell you howsweetly you use me--"
"Tell me no more," I stammered, all a-quiver at her voice. She shrankback as at a blow, and I, head swimming, frighted, penitent, caught hersmall hand in mine and drew her nearer; nor could I speak for the loudbeating of my heart.
"What is it?" she murmured. "Have I pained you that you tremble so? Lookat me, cousin. I can scarce see you in the dusk. Have I hurt you? I loveyou dearly."
Her horse moved nearer, our knees touched. In the forest darkness Ifound I held her waist imprisoned, and her arms were heavy on myshoulders. Then her lips yielded and her arms tightened around my neck,and that swift embrace in the swimming darkness kindled in me a flamethat has never died--that shall live when this poor body crumbles intodust, lighting my soul through its last dark pilgrimage.
As for her, she sat up in her saddle with a strange little laugh, stillholding to my hand. "Oh, you are divine in all you lead me to," shewhispered. "Never, never have I known delight in a kiss; and I have beenkissed, too, willing and against my will. But you leave me breathing myheart out and all a-tremble with a tenderness for you--no, not again,cousin, not yet."
Then slowly the full wretchedness of guilt burned me, bone and soul, andwhat I had done seemed a black evil to a maid betrothed, and to the manwhose wine had quenched my thirst an hour since.
Something of my thoughts she may have read in my bent head and faceaverted, for she leaned forward in her saddle, and drawing me by thearm, turned me partly towards her.
"What troubles you?" she said, anxiously.
"My treason to Sir George."
"What treason?" she said, amazed.
"That I--caressed you."
She laughed outright.
"Am I not free-until I wed? Do you imagine I should have signed myliberty away to please Sir George? Why, cousin, if I may not caress whomI choose and find a pleasure in the way you use me, I am no better thanthe winter log he buys to toast his shins at!"
Then she grew angry in her impatience, slapping her bridle down to rangeher horse up closer to mine.
"Am I not to wed him?" she said. "Is not that enough? And I told him so,flatly, I warrant you, when Captain Campbell kissed me on theporch--which maddened me, for he was not to my fancy--but Sir Georgesaw him and there was like to be a silly scene until I made it plainthat I would endure no bonds before I wore a wedding-ring!" She laugheddeliciously. "I think he understands now that I am not yoked until Ibend my neck. And until I bend it I am free. So if I please you, kissme, ... but leave me a little breath to draw, cousin, ... and a saddleto cling to.... Now loose me--for the forest ends!"
"NOW LOOSE ME--FOR THE FOREST ENDS!".]
A faint red light grew in the woodland gloom; a rushing noise likeswiftly flowing water filled my ears--or was it the blood that surgedsinging through my heart?
"Broadalbin Bush," she murmured, clearing her eyes of the clouded hairand feeling for her stirrups with small, moccasined toes. "Hark! Now wehear the Kennyetto roaring below the hill. See, cousin, it is sunset,the west blazes, all heaven is afire! Ah! what sorcery has turned theworld to paradise--riding this day with you?"
She turned in her saddle with an exquisite gesture, pressed heroutstretched hand against my lips, then, gathering bridle, launched herhorse straight through the underbrush, out into a pasture where, acrossa naked hill, a few log-houses reddened in the sunset.
There hung in the air a smell of sweetbrier as we drew bridle before acabin under the hill. I leaned over and plucked a handful of the leaves,bruising them in my palm to savor the spicy perfume.
A man came to the door of the cabin and stared at us; a tap-roomsluggard, a-sunning on the west fence-rail, chewed his cud solemnly andwatched us with watery eyes.
"Andrew Bowman, have you seen aught to fright folk on the mountain?"asked Dorothy, gravely.
The man in the doorway shook his head. From the cabins near by a fewmen and women trooped out into the road and hastened towards us. One ofthe houses bore a bush, and I saw two men peering at us through the openwindow, pewters in hand.
"Good people," said Dorothy, quietly, "the patroon sends you word of astrange smoke seen this day in the hills."
"There's smoke there now," I said, pointing into the sunset.
At that moment Peter Van Horn galloped up, halted, and turned his head,following the direction of my outstretched arm. Others came, blinkinginto the r
uddy evening glow, craning their necks to see, and from thewretched tavern a lank lout stumbled forth, rifle shouldered, pewtera-slop, to learn the news that had brought us hither at that hour.
"It is mist," said a woman; but her voice trembled as she said it.
"It is smoke," growled Van Horn. "Read it, you who can."
Whereat the fellow in the tavern window fell a-laughing and called downto his companion: "Francy McCraw! Francy McCraw! The Brandt-Meester saysa Mohawk fire burns in the north!"
"I hear him," cried McCraw, draining his pewter.
Dorothy turned sharply. "Oh, is that you, McCraw? What brings you to theBush?"
The lank fellow turned his wild, blue eyes on her, then gazed at thesmoke. Some of the men scowled at him.
"Is that smoke?" I asked, sharply. "Answer me, McCraw!"
"A canna' deny it," he said, with a mad chuckle.
"Is it Indian smoke?" demanded Van Horn.
"Aweel," he replied, craning his skinny neck and cocking his headimpudently--"aweel, a'll admit that, too. It's Indian smoke; a cannadeny it, no."
"Is it a Mohawk signal?" I asked, bluntly.
At which he burst out into a crowing laugh.
"What does he say?" called out the man from the tavern. "What does hesay, Francy McCraw?"
"He says it maun be Mohawk smoke, Danny Redstock."
"And what if it is?" blustered Redstock, shouldering his way to McCraw,rifle in hand. "Keep your black looks for your neighbors, Andrew Bowman.What have we to do with your Mohawk fires?"
"Herman Salisbury!" cried Bowman to a neighbor, "do you hear what thisTory renegade says?"
"Quiet! Quiet, there," said Redstock, swaggering out into the road."Francy McCraw, our good neighbors are woful perplexed by that thread o'birch smoke yonder."
"Then tell the feckless fools tae watch it!" screamed McCraw, seizinghis rifle and menacing the little throng of men and women who had closedswiftly in on him. "Hands off me, Johnny Putnam--back, for your life,Charley Cady! Ay, stare at the smoke till ye're eyes drop frae th'sockets! But no; there's some foulk 'ill tak' nae warnin'!"
He backed off down the road, followed by Redstock, rifles cocked.
"An' ye'll bear me out," he shouted, "that there's them wha' hear thesewords now shall meet their weirds ere a hunter's moon is wasted!"
He laughed his insane laugh and, throwing his rifle over his shoulder,halted, facing us.
"Hae ye no heard o' Catrine Montour?" he jeered. "She'll come in thenight, Andrew Bowman! Losh, mon, but she's a grewsome carlin', wi' thewitch-locks hangin' to her neck an' her twa een blazin'!"
"You drive us out to-night!" shouted Redstock. "We'll remember it whenBrant is in the hills!"
"The wolf-yelp! Clan o' the wolf!" screamed McCraw. "Woe! Woe toBroadalbane! 'Tis the pibroch o' Glencoe shall wake ye to the woodsafire! Be warned! Be warned, for ye stand knee-deep in ye're shrouds!"
In the ruddy dusk their dark forms turned to shadows and were gone.
Van Horn stirred in his saddle, then shook his shoulders as thoughfreeing them from a weight.
"Now you have it, you Broadalbin men," he said, grimly. "Go to the fortswhile there's time."
In the darkness around us children began to whimper; a woman broke down,sobbing.
"Silence!" cried Bowman, sternly. And to Dorothy, who sat quietly on herhorse beside him, "Say to the patroon that we know our enemies. And you,Peter Van Horn, on whichever side you stand, we men of the Bush thankyou and this young lady for your coming."
And that was all. In silence we wheeled our horses northward, Van Hornriding ahead, and passed out of that dim hamlet which lay already in theshadows of an unknown terror.
Behind us, as we looked back, one or two candles flickered in cabinwindows, pitiful, dim lights in the vast, dark ocean of the forest.Above us the stars grew clearer. A vesper-sparrow sang its pensive song.Tranquil, sweet, the serene notes floated into silver echoesnever-ending, till it seemed as if the starlight all around us quiveredinto song.
I touched Dorothy, riding beside me, white as a spirit in the paleradiance, and she turned her sweet, fearless face to mine.
"There is a sound," I whispered, "very far away."
She laid her hand in mine and drew bridle, listening. Van Horn, too, hadhalted.
Far in the forest the sound stirred the silence; soft, stealthy, nearer,nearer, till it grew into a patter. Suddenly Van Horn's horse reared.
"It's there! it's there!" he cried, hoarsely, as our horses swung roundin terror.
"Look!" muttered Dorothy.
Then a thing occurred that stopped my heart's blood. For straightthrough the forest came running a dark shape, a squattering thing thatpassed us ere we could draw breath to shriek; animal, human, or spirit,I knew not, but it ran on, thuddy-thud, thuddy-thud! and we strugglingwith our frantic horses to master them ere they dashed us lifeless amongthe trees.
"Jesu!" gasped Van Horn, dragging his powerful horse back into the road."Can you make aught o' yonder fearsome thing, like a wart-toadscrabbling on two legs?"
Dorothy, teeth set, drove her heels into her gray's ribs and forced himto where my mare stood all a-quiver.
"It's a thing from hell," panted Van Horn, fighting knee and wrist withhis roan. "My nag shies at neither bear nor wolf! Look at him now!"
"Nor mine at anything save a savage," said I, fearfully peering behindme while my mare trembled under me.
"I think we have seen a savage, that is all," fell Dorothy's calm voice."I think we have seen Catrine Montour."
At the name, Van Horn swore steadily.
"If that be the witch Montour, she runs like a clansman with the fierycross," I said, shuddering.
"And that is like to be her business," muttered Van Horn. "The paintedforest-men are in the hills, and if Senecas, Cayugas, and Onondagas donot know it this night, it will be no fault of Catrine Montour."
"Ride on, Peter," said Dorothy, and checked her horse till my mare cameabreast.
"Are you afraid?" I whispered.
"Afraid? No!" she said, astonished. "What should arouse fear in me?"
"Your common-sense!" I said, impatiently, irritated to rudeness by theshocking and unearthly spectacle which had nigh unnerved me. But sheanswered very sweetly:
"If I fear nothing, it is because there is nothing that I know of in theworld to fright me. I remember," she added, gravely, "'A thousand shallfall at my side and ten thousand at my right hand. And it shall not comenigh me.' How can I fear, believing that?"
She leaned from her saddle and I saw her eyes searching my face in thedarkness.
"Silly," she said, tenderly, "I have no fear save that you should proveunkind."
"Then give yourself to me, Dorothy," I said, holding her imprisoned.
"How can I? You have me."
"I mean forever."
"But I have."
"I mean in wedlock!" I whispered, fiercely.
"How can I, silly--I am promised!"
"Can I not stir you to love me?" I said.
"To love you?... Better than I do?... You may try."
"Then wed me!"
"If I were wed to you would I love you better than I do?" she asked.
"Dorothy, Dorothy," I begged, holding her fast, "wed me; I love you."
She swayed back into her saddle, breaking my clasp.
"You know I cannot," she said.... Then, almost tenderly: "Do you trulydesire it? It is so dear to hear you say it--and I have heard the wordsoften enough, too, but never as you say them.... Had you asked me inDecember, ere I was in honor bound.... But I am promised; ... only aword, but it holds me like a chain.... Dear lad, forget it.... Use mekindly.... Teach me to love, ... an unresisting pupil, ... for all lifeis too short for me to learn in, ... alas!... God guard us both fromlove's unhappiness and grant us only its sweetness--which you havetaught me; to which I am--I am awaking, ... after all these years, ...after all these years without you.
* * * * *
&nbs
p; Perhaps it were kinder to let me sleep.... I am but half awake to love.
* * * * *
Is it best to wake me, after all? Is it too late?... Draw bridle in thestarlight. Look at me.... It is too late, for I shall neversleep again."
The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel Page 11