Alice of Old Vincennes

by Maurice Thompson

  CHAPTER XXI

  SOME TRANSACTIONS IN SCALPS

  History would be a very orderly affair, could the dry-as-dusthistorians have their way, and doubtless it would be thrillinglyromantic at every turn if the novelists were able to control itscurrent. Fortunately neither one nor the other has much influence, andthe result, in the long run, is that most novels are shockingly tame,while the large body of history is loaded down with picturesqueincidents, which if used in fiction, would be thought absurdly romanticand improbable.

  Were our simple story of old Vincennes a mere fiction, we shouldhesitate to bring in the explosion of a magazine at the fort with aview to sudden confusion and, by that means, distracting attention fromour heroine while she betakes herself out of a situation which,although delightful enough for a blessed minute, has quickly become anembarrassment quite unendurable. But we simply adhere to theestablished facts in history. Owing to some carelessness there was,indeed, an explosion of twenty-six six-pound cartridges, which made amighty roar and struck the newly installed garrison into a heap, so tosay, scattering things terribly and wounding six men, among themCaptains Bowman and Worthington.

  After the thunderous crash came a momentary silence, which embracedboth the people within the fort and the wild crowd outside. Then therush and noise were indescribable. Even Clark gave way to excitement,losing command of himself and, of course, of his men. There was astampede toward the main gate by one wing of the troops in the hollowsquare. They literally ran over Beverley and Alice, flinging them apartand jostling them hither and yonder without mercy. Of course theturmoil quickly subsided. Clark and Beverley got hold of themselves andsang out their peremptory orders with excellent effect. It was like oilon raging water; the men obeyed in a straggling way, getting back intoranks as best they could.

  "Ventrebleu!" squeaked Oncle Jazon, "ef I didn't think the ole worldhad busted into a million pieces!"

  He was jumping up and down not three feet from Beverley's toes, wavinghis cap excitedly.

  "But wasn't I skeert! Ya, ya, ya! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!"

  Hearing Alice's name caused Beverley to look around. Where was she? Inthe distance he saw Father Beret hurrying to the spot where some of themen burnt and wounded by the explosion were being stripped and caredfor. Hamilton still stood like a statue. He appeared to be the onlycool person in the fort.

  "Where is Alice?--Miss Roussillon--where did Miss Roussillon go?"Beverley exclaimed, staring around like a lost man. "Where is she?"

  "D'know," said Oncle Jazon, resuming his habitual expression of drolldignity, "she shot apast me jes' as thet thing busted loose, an' shewent like er hummin' bird, skitch!--jes' thet way--an' I didn't see 'rno more. 'Cause I was skeert mighty nigh inter seven fits; 'spect that'splosion blowed her clean away! Ventrebleu! never was so plum outenbreath an' dead crazy weak o' bein' afeard!"

  "Lieutenant Beverley," roared Clark in his most commanding tone, "go tothe gate and settle things there. That mob outside is trying to breakin!"

  The order was instantly obeyed, but Beverley had relapsed. Once morehis soul groped in darkness, while the whole of his life seemed unreal,a wavering, misty, hollow dream. And yet his military duty was all realenough. He knew just what to do when he reached the gate.

  "Back there at once!" he commanded, not loudly, but with intense force,"back there!" This to the inward surging wedge of excited outsiders.Then to the guard.

  "Shoot the first man who crosses the line!"

  "Ziff! me voici! moi! Gaspard Roussillon. Laissez-moi passer,messieurs."

  A great body hurled itself frantically past Beverley and the guard,going out through the gateway against the wall of the crowd, bearingeverything before it and shouting:

  "Back, fools! you'll all be killed--the powder is on fire! Ziff! run!"

  Wild as a March hare, he bristled with terror and foamed at the mouth.He stampeded the entire mass. There was a wild howl; a rush in theother direction followed, and soon enough the esplanade and all thespace back to the barricades and beyond were quite deserted.

  Alice was not aware that a serious accident had happened. Naturally shethought the great, rattling, crashing noise of the explosion a merepart of the spectacular show. When the rush followed, separating herand Beverley, it was a great relief to her in some way; for a suddenrecognition of the boldness of her action in the little scene justended, came over her and bewildered her. An impulse sent her runningaway from the spot where, it seemed to her, she had invited publicderision. The terrible noises all around her were, she now fancied, butthe jeering and hooting of rude men who had seen her unmaidenlyforwardness.

  With a burning face she flew to the postern and slipped out, once moretaking the course which had become so familiar to her feet. She did notslacken her speed until she reached the Bourcier cabin, where she hadmade her home since the night when Hamilton's pistol ball struck her.The little domicile was quite empty of its household, but Alice enteredand flung herself into a chair, where she sat quivering and breathlesswhen Adrienne, also much excited, came in, preceded by a stream ofpatois that sparkled continuously.

  "The fort is blown up!" she cried, gesticulating in every direction atonce, her petite figure comically dilated with the importance of herstatement. "A hundred men are killed, and the powder is on fire!"

  She pounced into Alice's arms, still talking as fast as her tonguecould vibrate, changing from subject to subject without rhyme orreason, her prattle making its way by skips and shies until what wasreally upper-most in her sweet little heart disclosed itself.

  "And, O Alice! Rene has not come yet!"

  She plunged her dusky face between Alice's cheek and shoulder; Alicehugged her sympathetically and said:

  "But Rene will come, I know he will, dear."

  "Oh, but do you know it? is it true? who told you? when will he come?where is he? tell me about him!"

  Her head popped up from her friend's neck and she smiled brilliantlythrough the tears that were still sparkling on her long black lashes.

  "I didn't mean that I had heard from him, and I don't know where he is;but--but they always come back."

  "You say that because your man--because Lieutenant Beverley hasreturned. It is always so. You have everything to make you happy, whileI--I--"

  Again her eyes spilled their shower, and she hid her face in her handswhich Alice tried in vain to remove.

  "Don't cry, Adrienne. You didn't see me crying--"

  "No, of course not; you didn't have a thing to cry about. LieutenantBeverley told you just where he was going and just what--"

  "But think, Adrienne, only think of the awful story they told--that hewas killed, that Governor Hamilton had paid Long-Hair for killing himand bringing back his scalp--oh dear, just think! And I thought it wastrue."

  "Well, I'd be willing to think and believe anything in the world, ifRene would come back," said Adrienne, her face, now uncovered, showingpitiful lines of suffering. "O Alice, Alice, and he never, never willcome!"

  Alice exhausted every device to cheer, encourage and comfort her.Adrienne had been so good to her when she lay recovering from the shockof Hamilton's pistol bullet, which, although it came near killing her,made no serious wound--only a bruise, in fact. It was one of thosefortunate accidents, or providentially ordered interferences, whichonce in a while save a life. The stone disc worn by Alice chanced tolie exactly in the missile's way, and while it was not broken, theball, already somewhat checked by passing through several folds ofFather Beret's garments, flattened itself upon it with a shock whichsomehow struck Alice senseless.

  Here again, history in the form of an ancient family document (a letterwritten in 1821 by Alice herself), gives us the curious brace ofincidents, to wit, the breaking of the miniature on Beverley's breastby a British musket-ball, and the stopping of Hamilton's bullet overAlice's heart by the Indian charm-stone.

  "Which shows the goodness of God," the letter goes on, "and also seemsto sustain the Indian legend con
cerning the stone, that whoever mightwear it could not be killed. Unquestionable (sic) Mr. Hamilton's shot,which was aimed at poor, dear old Father Beret, would have pierced myheart, but for that charm-stone. As for my locket, it did not, as somehave reported, save Fitzhugh's life when the musket-ball was stopped.The ball was so spent that the blow was only hard enough to spoiltemporary (sic) the face of the miniature, which was afterwardsrestored fairly well by an artist in Paris. When it did actually saveFitzhugh's life was out on the Illinois plain. The savage, Long-Hair,peace to his memory, worked the miracle of restoring to me--" Here afold in the paper has destroyed a line of the writing.

  The letter is a sacred family paper, and there is not justification forgoing farther into its faded and, in some parts, almost obliteratedwriting. But so much may pass into these pages as a pleasantauthentication of what otherwise might be altogether too sweet a doublenut for the critic's teeth to crack.

  While Adrienne and Alice were still discussing the probability of Renede Ronville's return, M. Roussillon came to the door. He was in searchof Madame, his wife, whom he had not yet seen.

  He gathered the two girls in his mighty arms, tousling them with roughtenderness. Alice returned his affectionate embrace and told him whereto find Madame Roussillon, who was with Dame Godere, probably at herhouse.

  "Nobody killed," he said, in answer to Alice's inquiry about thecatastrophe at the fort. "Some of 'em hurt and burnt a little. Greatbig scare about nearly nothing. Ziff! my children, you should have seenme quiet things. I put out my hands, this way--omme ca--pouf! It wasall over. The people went home."

  His gestures indicated that he had borne back an army with open hands.Then he chucked Adrienne under the chin with his finger and added inhis softest voice:

  "I saw somebody's lover the other day, over yonder in the Indianvillage. He spoke to me about somebody--eh, ma petite, que voulez-vousdire?"

  "Oh, Papa Roussillon! we were just talking about Rene!" cried Alice."Have you seen him?"

  "I saw you, you little minx, jumping into a man's arms right under theeyes of a whole garrison! Bah! I could not believe it was my littleAlice!"

  He let go a grand guffaw, which seemed to shake the cabin's walls.Alice blushed cherry red. Adrienne, too bashful to inquire about Rene,was trembling with anxiety. The truth was not in Gaspard Roussillon,just then; or if it was it stayed in him, for he had not seen Rene deRonville. It was his generous desire to please and to appear opulent ofknowledge and sympathy that made him speak. He knew what would pleaseAdrienne, so why not give her at least a delicious foretaste? Surely,when a thing was so cheap, one need not be so parsimonious as towithhold a mere anticipation. He was off before the girls could presshim into details, for indeed he had none.

  "There now, what did I tell you?" cried Alice, when the big man wasgone. "I told you Rene would come. They always come back!"

  Father Beret came in a little later. As soon as he saw Alice he frownedand began to shake his head; but she only laughed, and imitating hishypocritical scowl, yet fringing it with a twinkle of merry lines anddimples, pointed a taper finger at him and exclaimed:

  "You bad, bad, man! why did you pretend to me that Lieutenant Beverleywas dead? What sinister ecclesiastical motive prompted you to describehow Long-Hair scalped him? Ah, Father--"

  The priest laid a broad hand over her saucy mouth. "Something or otherseems to have excited you mightily, ma fille, you are a trifleimpulsively inclined to-day."

  "Yes, Father Beret; yes I know, and I am ashamed. My heart shrinks whenI think of what I did; but I was so glad, such a grand joy came allover me when I saw him, so strong and brave and beautiful, comingtoward me, smiling that warm, glad smile and holding out his arms--ah,when I saw all that--when I knew for sure that he was not dead--I, why,Father--I just had to, I couldn't help it!"

  Father Beret laughed in spite of himself, but quickly managed to resumehis severe countenance.

  "Ta! ta!" he exclaimed, "it was a bold thing for a little girl to do."

  "So it was, so it was. But it was also a bold thing for him to do--tocome back after he was dead and scalped and look so handsome and grand!I'm ashamed and sorry, Father; but--but, I'm afraid I might do it againif--well, I don't care if I did--so there, now!"

  "But what in the world are you talking about?" interposed Adrienne.Evidently they were discussing a most interesting matter of which sheknew nothing, and that did not suit her feminine curiosity. "Tell me."She pulled Father Beret's sleeve. "Tell me, I say!"

  It is probable that Father Beret would have pretended to betray Alice'ssource of mingled delight and embarrassment, had not the rest of theBourcier household returned in time to break up the conversation. Alittle later Alice gave Adrienne a vividly dramatic account of thewhole scene.

  "Ah, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the petite brunette, after she had heard theexciting story. "That was just like you, Alice. You always do superbthings. You were born to do them. You shoot Captain Farnsworth, youwound Lieutenant Barlow, you climb onto the fort and set up yourflag--you take it down again and run away with it--you get shot and youdo not die--you kiss your lover right before a whole garrison! BonDieu! if I could but do all those things!"

  She clasped her tiny hands before her and added rather dejectedly: "ButI couldn't, I couldn't. I couldn't kiss a man in that way!"

  Late in the evening news came to Roussillon place, where GaspardRoussillon was once more happy in the midst of his little family, thatthe Indian Long-Hair had just been brought to the fort, and would beshot on the following day. A scouting party captured him as heapproached the town, bearing at his belt the fresh scalp of a whiteman. He would have been killed forthwith, but Clark, who wished toavoid a repetition of the savage vengeance meted out to the Indians onthe previous day, had given strict orders that all prisoners should bebrought into the fort, where they were to have a fair trial by courtmartial.

  Both Helm and Beverley were at Roussillon place, the former sippingwine and chatting with Gaspard, the latter, of course, hovering aroundAlice, after the manner of a hungry bee around a particularly sweet anddeliciously refractory flower. It was raining slowly, the fine dropscoming straight down through the cold, still February air; but the twoyoung people found it pleasant enough for them on the veranda, wherethey walked back and forth, making fair exchange of the excitingexperiences which had befallen them during their long separation.Between the lines of these mutual recitals sweet, fresh echoes of theold, old story went from heart to heart, an amoebaean love-bout likethat of spring birds calling tenderly back and forth in the bloomingMaytime woods.

  Both Captain Helm and M. Roussillon were delighted to hear ofLong-Hair's capture and certain fate, but neither of them regarded thenews as of sufficient importance to need much comment. They did notthink of telling Beverley and Alice. Jean, however, lying awake in hislittle bed, overheard the conversation, which he repeated to Alice nextmorning with great circumstantiality.

  Having the quick insight bred of frontier experience, Alice instantlycaught the terrible significance of the dilemma in which she andBeverley would be placed by Long-Hair's situation. Moreover, somethingin her heart arose with irresistible power demanding the final, theabsolute human sympathy and gratitude. No matter what deeds Long-Hairhad committed that were evil beyond forgiveness, he had done for herthe all-atoning thing. He had saved Beverley and sent him back to her.

  With a start and a chill of dread, she thought: "What if it is alreadytoo late!"

  But her nature could not hesitate. To feel the demand of an exigencywas to act. She snatched a wrap from its peg on the wall and ran asfast as she could to the fort. People who met her flying alongwondered, staring after her, what could be urging her so that she sawnobody, checked herself for nothing, ran splashing through the puddlesin the street, gazing ahead of her, as if pursuing some flying objectfrom which she dared not turn her eyes.

  And there was, indeed, a call for her utmost power of flight, if shewould be of any assistance to Long-Hair, who even then stood bound to
astake in the fort's area, while a platoon of riflemen, those unerringshots from Kentucky and Virginia, were ready to make a target of him ata range of but twenty yards.

  Beverley, greatly handicapped by the fact that the fresh scalp of awhite man hung at Long-Hair's belt, had exhausted every possibleargument to avert or mitigate the sentence promptly spoken by the courtmartial of which Colonel Clark was the ruling spirit. He had succeededbarely to the extent of turning the mode of execution from tomahawkingto shooting. All the officers in the fort approved killing theprisoner, and it was difficult for Colonel Clark to prevent the menfrom making outrageous assaults upon him, so exasperated were they atsight of the scalp.

  Oncle Jazon proved to be one of the most refractory among those whodemanded tomahawking and scalping as the only treatment due Long-Hair.The repulsive savage stood up before them stolid, resolute, defiant,proudly flaunting the badge which testified to his horrible efficiencyas an emissary of Hamilton's. It had been left in his belt by Clark'sorder, as the best justification of his doom.

  "L' me hack 'is damned head," Oncle Jazon pleaded. "I jes' hankers tochop a hole inter it. An' besides I want 'is scelp to hang up wi' minean' that'n o' the Injun what scelped me. He kicked me in the ribs, thestinkin' varmint."

  Beverley pleaded eloquently and well, but even the genial Major Helmlaughed at his sentiment of gratitude to a savage who at best butrelented at the last moment, for Alice's sake, and concluded not tosell him to Hamilton. It is due to the British commander to record herethat he most positively and with what appeared to be high sincerity,denied the charge of having offered rewards for the taking of humanscalps. He declared that his purposes and practices were humane, andthat while he did use the Indians as military allies, his orders tothem were that they must forego cruel modes of warfare and refrain fromsavage outrage upon prisoners. Certainly the weight of contemporarytestimony seems overwhelmingly against him, but we enter his denial.Long-Hair himself, however, taunted him with accusations ofunfaithfulness in carrying out some very inhuman contracts, and to adda terrible sting, volunteered the statement that poor Barlow's scalphad served his turn in the place of Beverley's.

  With conditions so hideous to contend against, Beverley, of course, hadno possible means of succoring the condemned savage.

  "Him a kickin' yer ribs clean inter ye, an' a makin' ye run thega'ntlet, an' here ye air a tryin' to save 'is life!" whined OncleJazon, "W'y man, I thought ye hed some senterments! Dast 'is Injinliver, I kin feel them kicks what he guv me till yit. Ventrebleu! quediable voulez-vous?"

  Clark simply pushed Beverley's pleadings aside as not worth a moment'sconsideration. He easily felt the fine bit of gratitude at the bottomof it all; but there was too much in the other side of the balance;justice, the discipline and confidence of his little army, and theclaim of the women and children on the frontier demanded firmness indealing with a case like Long-Hair's.

  "No, no," he said to Beverley, "I would do anything in the world foryou, Fitz, except to swerve an inch from duty to my country and thedefenceless people down yonder in Kentucky, I can't do it. There's nouse to press the matter further. The die is cast. That brute's got tobe killed, and killed dead. Look at him--look at that scalp! I'd havehim killed if I dropped dead for it the next instant."

  Beverley shuddered. The argument was horribly convincing, and yet,somehow, the desire to save Long-Hair overbore everything else in hismind. He could not cease his efforts; it seemed to him as if he werepleading for Alice herself. Captain Farnsworth, strange to say, was theonly man in the fort who leaned to Beverley's side; but he wasreticent, doubtless feeling that his position as a British prisonergave him no right to speak, especially when every lip around him wasmuttering something about "infamous scalp-buyers and Indian partisans,"with whom he was prominently counted by the speakers.

  As Clark had said, the die was cast. Long-Hair, bound to a stake, thescalp still dangling at his side, grimly faced his executioners, whowere eager to fire. He appeared to be proud of the fact that he wasgoing to be killed.

  "One thing I can say of him," Helm remarked to Beverley; "he's thegrandest specimen of the animal--I might say the brute--man that I eversaw, red, white or black. Just look at his body and limbs! Thosemuscles are perfectly marvelous."

  "He saved my life, and I must stand here and see him murdered," theyoung man replied with intense bitterness. It was all that he couldthink, all that he could say. He felt inefficient and dejected, almostdesperate.

  Clark himself, not willing to cast responsibility upon a subordinate,made ready to give the fatal order. Turning to Long-Hair first, hedemanded of him as well as he could in the Indian dialect of which hehad a smattering, what he had to say at his last moment.

  The Indian straightened his already upright form, and, by a strongbulging of his muscles, snapped the thongs that bound him. Evidently hehad not tried thus to free himself; it was rather a spasmodicexpression of savage dignity and pride. One arm and both his legs stillwere partially confined by the bonds, but his right hand he lifted,with a gesture of immense self-satisfaction, and pointed at Hamilton.

  "Indian brave; white man coward," he said, scowling scornfully."Long-Hair tell truth; white man lie, damn!"

  Hamilton's countenance did not change its calm, cold expression.Long-Hair gazed at him fixedly for a long moment, his eyes flashingmost concentrated hate and contempt. Then he tore the scalp from hisbelt and flung it with great force straight toward the captiveGovernor's face. It fell short, but the look that went with it did not,and Hamilton recoiled.

  At that moment Alice arrived. Her coming was just in time to interruptClark, who had turned to the waiting platoon with the order of death onhis lips. She made no noise, save the fluttering of her skirts, and herloud and rapid panting on account of her long, hard run. She sprangbefore Long-Hair and faced the platoon.

  "You cannot, you shall not kill this man!" she cried in a voice loadedwith excitement. "Put away those guns!"

  Woman never looked more thrillingly beautiful to man than she did justthen to all those rough, stern backwoodsmen. During her flight her hairhad fallen down, and it glimmered like soft sunlight around her face.Something compelling flashed out of her eyes, an expression between atriumphant smile and a ray of irresistible beseechment. It took ColonelClark's breath when he turned and saw her standing there, and heard herwords.

  "This man saved Lieutenant Beverley's life," she presently added,getting better control of her voice, and sending into it a thrillingtimbre; "you shall not harm him--you must not do it!"

  Beverley was astounded when he saw her, the thing was so unexpected, sodaring, and done with such high, imperious force; still it was but arealization of what he had imagined she would be upon occasion. Hestood gazing at her, as did all the rest, while she faced Clark and theplatoon of riflemen. To hear his own name pass her quivering lips, inthat tone and in that connection, seemed to him a consecration.

  "Would you be more savage than your Indian prisoner?" she went on,"less grateful than he for a life saved? I did him a small, a verysmall, service once, and in memory of that he saved LieutenantBeverley's life, because--because--" she faltered for a single breath,then added clearly and with magnetic sweetness--"because LieutenantBeverley loved me, and because I loved him. This Indian Long-Hairshowed a gratitude that could overcome his strongest passion. You whitemen should be ashamed to fall below his standard."

  Her words went home. It was as if the beauty of her face, the magnetismof her lissome and symmetrical form, the sweet fire of her eyes and thepassionate appeal of her voice gave what she said a new andirresistible force of truth. When she spoke of Beverley's love for her,and declared her love for him, there was not a manly heart in all thegarrison that did not suddenly beat quicker and feel a strange, sweetwaft of tenderness. A mother, somewhere, a wife, a daughter, a sister,a sweetheart, called through that voice of absolute womanhood.

  "Beverley, what can I do?" muttered Clark, his bronze face as pale asit could possibly become.

>   "Do!" thundered Beverley, "do! you cannot murder that man. Hamilton isthe man you should shoot! He offered large rewards, he inflamed thepassions and fed the love of rum and the cupidity of poor wild men likethe one standing yonder. Yet you take him prisoner and treat him withdistinguished consideration. Hamilton offered a large sum for me takenalive, a smaller one for my scalp. Long-Hair saved me. You let Hamiltonstand yonder in perfect safety while you shoot the Indian. Shame onyou, Colonel Clark! shame on you, if you do it."

  Alice stood looking at the stalwart commander while Beverley waspouring forth his torrent of scathing reference to Hamilton, and shequickly saw that Clark was moved. The moment was ripe for the finishingstroke. They say it is genius that avails itself of opportunity.Beverley knew the fight was won when he saw what followed. Alicesuddenly left Long-Hair and ran to Colonel Clark, who felt her warm,strong arms loop round him for a single point of time never to beeffaced from his memory; then he saw her kneeling at his feet, herhands upstretched, her face a glorious prayer, while she pleaded theIndian's cause and won it.

  Doubtless, while we all rather feel that Clark was weak to be thusswayed by a girl, we cannot quite blame him. Alice's flag was over him;he had heard her history from Beverley's cunning lips; he actuallybelieved that Hamilton was the real culprit, and besides he felt not alittle nauseated with executing Indians. A good excuse to have an endof it all did not go begging.

  But Long-Hair was barely gone over the horizon from the fort, as freeand as villainous a savage as ever trod the earth, when a discoverymade by Oncle Jazon caused Clark to hate himself for what he had done.

  The old scout picked up the scalp, which Long-Hair had flung atHamilton, and examined it with odious curiosity. He had lingered on thespot with no other purpose than to get possession of that ghastlyrelic. Since losing his own scalp the subject of crownlocks had grownupon his mind until its fascination was irresistible. He studied thehair of every person he saw, as a physiognomist studies faces. He heldthe gruesome thing up before him, scrutinizing it with the expressionof a connoisseur who has discovered, on a grimy canvas, the signatureof an old master.

  "Sac' bleu!" he presently broke forth. "Well I'll be--Look'ee yer,George Clark! Come yer an' look. Ye've been sold ag'in. Take a squint,ef ye please!"

  Colonel Clark, with his hands crossed behind him, his face thoughtfullycontracted, was walking slowly to and fro a little way off. He turnedabout when Oncle Jazon spoke.

  "What now, Jazon?"

  "A mighty heap right now, that's what; come yer an' let me show ye. Yera fine sort o' eejit, now ain't ye!"

  The two men walked toward each other and met. Oncle Jazon held up thescalp with one hand, pointing at it with the index finger of the other.

  "This here scalp come off'n Rene de Ronville's head."

  "And who is he?"

  "Who's he? Ye may well ax thet. He wuz a Frenchman. He wuz a fine youngfeller o' this town. He killed a Corp'ral o' Hamilton's an' tuck terthe woods a month or two ago. Hamilton offered a lot o' money for 'imor 'is scalp, an' Long-Hair went in fer gittin' it. Now ye knows thewhole racket. An' ye lets that Injun go. An' thet same Injun he mightynigh kicked my ribs inter my stomach!"

  Oncle Jazon's feelings were visible and audible; but Clark could notresent the contempt of the old man's looks and words. He felt that hedeserved far more than he was receiving. Nor was Oncle Jazon wrong.Rene de Ronville never came back to little Adrienne Bourcier, although,being kept entirely ignorant of her lover's fate, she waited anddreamed and hoped throughout more than two years, after which there isno further record of her life.

  Clark, Beverley and Oncle Jazon consulted together and agreed amongthemselves that they would hold profoundly secret the story of thescalp. To have made it public would have exasperated the creoles andset them violently against Clark, a thing heavy with disaster for allhis future plans. As it was, the release of Long-Hair caused a greatdeal of dissatisfaction and mutinous talk. Even Beverley now felt thatthe execution ordered by the commander ought to have been sternlycarried out.

  A day or two later, however, the whole dark affair was closed foreverby a bit of confidence on the part of Oncle Jazon when Beverley droppedinto his hut one evening to have a smoke with him.

  The rain was over, the sky shone like one vast luminary, with a nearlyfull moon and a thousand stars reinforcing it. Up from the south pouredone of those balmy, accidental wind floods, sometimes due in Februaryon the Wabash, full of tropical dream-hints, yet edged with a winterchill that smacks of treachery. Oncle Jazon was unusually talkative; hemay have had a deep draught of liquor; at all events Beverley hadlittle room for a word.

  "Well, bein' as it's twixt us, as is bosom frien's," the old fellowpresently said, "I'll jes' show ye somepin poorty."

  He pricked the wick of a lamp and took down his bunch of scalps.

  "I hev been a addin' one more to keep company o' mine an' the tothers."

  He separated the latest acquisition from the rest of the wisp andadded, with a heinous chuckle:

  "This'n's Long-Hair's!"

  And so it was. Beverley knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose to go.

  "Wen they kicks yer Oncle Jazon's ribs," the old man added, "they'djes' as well lay down an' give up, for he's goin' to salervate 'em."

  Then, after Beverley had passed out of the cabin, Oncle Jazon chirrupedafter him:

  "Mebbe ye'd better not tell leetle Alice. The pore leetle gal hev hedworry 'nough."