"Oh, sir," she cried, in excellent French, "oh, sir, can I really believe my ears! Is it true?"
"You would insult me by disbelieving," he replied, in the same language; "tomorrow you will be with your friends."
"Thank you, sir, from my soul," she sobbed forth.
And before the captain could prevent her – before he suspected her intention, the was on her knees kissing his hand.
Tom Mitchell respectfully raised her from the ground and led her to the chair she had once refused.
"Then you are very unhappy here?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," she cried, "I have indeed been very unhappy; how, in fact, could I be otherwise?"
"And yet," said the captain, with a frown, "I have given the most strict orders with regard to your treatment."
"I beg most earnestly to acknowledge, sir, that I have been treated in the most honourable fashion, that I have been surrounded by the most delicate attentions. But oh, sir, I was a prisoner, alas! Far away from those I love, and whom my absence plunges, like myself, in utter despair."
"Pardon me, miss," said the chief, "my wrong towards you will soon be repaired, I promise you."
"Then you are good indeed!"
"Tomorrow," he added, with considerable emotion, "you shall be restored to the bosom of your family."
"Do that, sir," she cried, "and I will love you. Ever after you shall be as a brother to me."
"I will endeavour to merit the title, Miss Angela," he said, softly; "henceforth you will no longer curse me."
"Curse you who give me back to those I love! No, I will bless you from the bottom of my heart," she cried, earnestly, "and, believe me, God will amply reward you."
"I have a strong conviction that way myself," he said, smiling; "even heaven could scarcely be deaf to your prayer."
The girl coloured deeply at these words, which were uttered with such earnest conviction as caused her to bow her head.
The captain simply smiled softly.
"Are you tolerably strong, miss?" he asked.
"Why do you ask me this question?" she said.
"Because," he answered, "we have a very long journey to go before we find your friends."
"What matters about fatigue, sir? I am already strong. The very idea has restored my vigour."
"We shall have to undertake a long night journey," he continued, "through the prairies, by very rough ways."
She clapped her pretty hands together joyously; a charming smile lightened up her physiognomy, and then she cried out in a delighted and proud accent —
"I have Indian blood in my veins, sir," she cried; "I am the daughter of a brave Canadian hunter. Fear nothing for me. I am not a woman of the towns, who, I am told, can neither walk nor run."
"They are very much like it," growled Pierre.
"Try me, put me to any proof, and you will see of what I am capable to get back to my friends."
"Come, I see, at all events, that you are as brave and noble a woman as you are beautiful. Come, it is time."
"Do we go directly?" she cried.
"Yes," was his smiling answer.
"One moment," she said; "give me time to thank God for having touched your heart. Let me pray."
"Do as you wish," he replied, respectfully.
The young girl folded her arms across her breast, raised her looks heavenward with an inspired air for some minutes. One could see by her thoughtful brow, from the compression of her coraline lips, that she was praying. Her face was radiant, her eyes were full of tears. She seemed transfigurated.
The two men, despite their rude aspect and rough natures, stood respectfully beside her, utterly cowed, overcome, crushed under the weight of her purity and innocence. They stood before her hat in hand.
When her short and ardent prayer was over, the girl turned to them with an ineffable smile.
"Now, gentlemen," she said, bowing to the two men who she saw were henceforth her slaves, "I am quite ready."
The outlaw and his companion bowed and followed behind as she led the way outside.
Camotte was there, as was also the valorous Tête de Plume, holding the horses.
Tom Mitchell led Miss Angela to the mare Lara, which he had ordered to be saddled, and held the stirrup respectfully.
"Mount," he said, just as if he had been speaking to a princess in her own right.
Then, as soon as the outlaw had given some last whispered directions to Camotte, they started, Tom Mitchell riding at the head of the little band.
By the time the ford was passed over in safety the moon had risen in the sky above the trees.
The four travellers were now safe on terra firma.
"Now, Miss Angela," said Tom Mitchell, gallantly, "place yourself between this gentleman and myself. Good. And now, Tête de Plume, my boy, take the rearguard, and, whatever you do, look out."
The four cavaliers dashed off at a hand gallop, and soon disappeared in the windings of the defile.
CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH TOM MITCHELL DISCOVERS THAT HONESTY IS A GOOD SPECULATION
We now direct our steps to one of the most savage and abrupt sites in all the desert, before the rising of the sun.
Five men are crossing a narrow gorge in the mountains, the tops of which are rocky and bare or covered with snow. Just now they are rendered almost invisible by the dense fog which the sun's rays cannot dissipate.
These five travellers came from the interior of the mornes, as the hilly plains are called, and were bound for the plains, which they began to make out a short distance before them, traversed, or rather cut in two, by the extensive stream of the Missouri, the sandy waters of which were half concealed by high grass, willow, and the cottonwood trees that lined its shores.
The five wayfarers of whom we have spoken walked painfully over the flints that paved the gorge, the dried-up bed of a torrent, which itself had suddenly disappeared during one of the cataclysms so common in that region.
Having reached the extremity of the gorge, they stopped, looked around, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.
Their task had been a rude one. For far more than three hours they had been stumbling in the midst of a whirlpool, nothing else, of flint stones, which, at every step they took, slid under their feet like mountain shingle.
Four of these men were whites, wearing the costume of hunters of the prairies; the fifth was an Indian.
They were George Clinton, Oliver, Bright-eye, Keen-hand, and Numank-Charake, the chief.
Now, then, let us ask how it came about that these five men should be there at that early hour in a place so far from their home – a hundred miles, in fact, from the regions they were in the habit of frequenting, and why were George Clinton and Keen-hand members of this singular and perhaps fortuitous group.
Of course we shall as soon as possible satisfy the legitimate curiosity of our friend the reader.
"Oh!" said Keen-hand, "It is my opinion, friends and companions, that the wisest thing to be done is to stop here."
"Why stop here?" cried Bright-eye, in far from a pleasant tone of voice; "Explain yourself."
"For a hundred reasons, every one of which is better than the other," resumed Keen-hand.
"I should like to know the first," said the Canadian.
"Well, it is a very excellent one, I think. You and I and the chief are used to these diabolical roads, which is far from being the case with our companions, which you ought to have observed without telling a very long time ago."
Both Oliver and Clinton tried to protest.
"No! No!" cried Bright-eye, in his frankest manner. "I am a brute. So say no more about it, as I proclaim it myself. Let us camp at once."
"Here is an excellent place," cried Keen-hand.
The hunters had halted under a grove of gigantic gumtrees. A fire was lighted, and each one, resting himself, prepared for the morning meal.
"Well, to tell the truth," said Oliver, gaily, "I will now confess that I needed repose; I was simply done up."
"I could scarcely put one foot before the other," observed George Clinton, who was stretched out on the grass.
"There!" cried Keen-hand; "Was I not right?"
"Well, considering that I have owned I was a brute," growled Bright-eye, "are you not satisfied?"
"Perfectly!" said the guide.
Numank-Charake had in the meantime undertaken the office of cook, an office he filled effectively.
A few minutes later all were eagerly devouring slices cut from a quarter of venison which had been broiled upon the hot embers.
Then the gourds were opened and passed joyously from hand to hand.
These brave young men had walked all night through impracticable paths which only hunters could overcome. They were literally famished.
But now they entered into the spirit of the thing rarely. Soon everything had disappeared. All was eaten.
When the last mouthful had been washed down, and the very last drop of brandy absorbed, each man in his turn gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Now, then," remarked Bright-eye, looking obliquely at his companions, "I think we may talk."
"Well, I am of opinion," said Keen-hand, gaily, "that after a hearty meal, two things are agreeable – a pipe and talk."
This declaration, the justice and opportuneness of which everybody at once recognised, was like a signal; instantly, pipes in red clay, with cherry tree tubes, were drawn from their belts, stuffed, lighted, and soon a cloud of blue smoke surrounded the head of every guest like a glory.
"Now, then, Bright-eye," said Oliver, gaily, between two puffs, "fire away as soon as you like."
"Messieurs, my friends," replied Bright-eye, "my heart is very sad. Despite all I can do, I feel a kind of presentiment that this man, in whom we have so trusted, is deceiving us."
Numank-Charake lifted up his head.
"I know the paleface chief," he said, in his guttural tones, shaking his head in a way to give more emphasis to his words; "he is a man whose tongue is not forked. His word is as gold – and my brother, Bright-eye, is wrong."
"In the name of heaven, is it you who speak in that way, chief?" asked the astonished hunter; "You, of all men in the world, so deeply interested."
"Numank-Charake is a chief in his nation," quickly interrupted the redskin, his words, which swelled his bosom, coming directly from his heart; "the man who despises his enemies is not a brave warrior, but exposes himself to the reproach of only vanquishing cowards."
"Well spoken, chief," said Keen-hand.
"The Grey Bear, the paleface chief, is ferocious, cruel, and a thief, but he is brave and truthful."
Oliver and Clinton stared.
"What he has said he will do, he will do. What he has offered he will give. Did we go openly to him? No! We hunted him like a wild beast Wounded, dying, we wished to kill him. He escaped; thanks not to cunning, but to audacity. He is a great chief."
The whites exchanged glances.
"Nothing would have been more easy for him than to laugh at our menaces and to conceal himself from us. Instead of that, he has sent us a collar – letter – in which he invites us to an interview, for the purpose of ending the troubles which divide us."
"This may be a trick," said Oliver.
"No! It is neither the act of a false nor of a double-faced man. No! It is the act of a brave and loyal warrior. That is my opinion. Whatever may happen during the next few hours, I am convinced that if we have confidence in him I shall be found right. I have said."
The chief relighted his pipe, which had gone out during his speech, and from that moment he appeared to take no further part in the conversation. Still he listened to what the others said.
"As far as I am concerned," observed Oliver, "I think the chief has spoken well. I agree with him on every point. As far as I can judge, this pirate or this outlaw, whichever you choose to call him, is not a man like other men. There is something in him which is not at all ordinary. In one word, he may, it is true, be a brigand, but, certainly, his is a very lofty nature. Until further events, I, for one, shall believe in his word."
"All this is very possible," observed Bright-eye, shaking his head doubtingly, "but no one can deny that he is the captain of a monstrous set of brigands."
"What does that prove?" said Oliver.
"Nothing that I know of. Still I am decidedly of opinion that his word is not to be trusted."
"Then allow me to observe," said George Clinton, drily, "why are we here?"
"Why, because one always lives in hope, despite our better reason. Still we ought to be prudent."
"Though I am not quite of the opinion of Bright-eye," said Charbonneau, "I think we should be wise not to rush headlong into a possible trap which the bandits may be preparing for us. He is right as to the wisdom of prudence."
"I, too, am an advocate for prudence," said George Clinton; "nothing can be more wise than to take all proper precautions. That I fully agree with. But do not act in such a way as to cause our loyalty to be suspected, or our confidence in the man's word."
"That can be easily arranged, my friends," said Charbonneau, with a cunning smile "let me alone, and, believe me, all will go well."
"My worthy friend, act just as you think proper. You, perhaps, more than anyone, have experience of the desert, and nobody objects to your taking every precaution."
"The best precaution," said the Indian chief, again speaking, "when you deal with a loyal enemy is to have every faith in his word; to have no suspicion of any kind in your mind."
"Very good, chief. It is very likely after all that you are right. I will not discuss the matter with you, though I repeat I am very much surprised to hear you speak thus. I only ask of you one thing – that is, to remain neutral in this affair until the actual moment of action has come."
"Numank-Charake loves Bright-eye; he is his brother. He will do whatever the hunter wishes; still regretting that he is constrained to act against his wishes," he answered.
"I take all the blame on myself," said Bright-eye; "and shall be the first to own my error, if indeed I am found to be in error. A man can say no more, even if he were speaking to his father."
The Indian said no more, but bowed his head in token of acquiescence. But he smiled with such a keen and subtle irony that the hunter was so deeply moved as to blush.
"I fear nothing for myself," he cried.
"Eh, what!" exclaimed Charbonneau, stretching out his arm towards the river, "What is going on?"
Every eye was fixed upon the spot indicated by the hunter's sudden exclamation.
"It is a canoe," said George Clinton.
"Manned by two men," observed Charbonneau.
"And those two men," said the chief, after one glance from his eagle eye, "are two palefaces. He knows them well. One is the old hunter called Sharpear, the other the son of my nation – Leave-no-trail."
"My father and my grandfather!" cried Bright-eye, in utter surprise. "Surely, chief, you must be mistaken. Why should they come here?"
"Very likely," observed Oliver, gently, "the same motive leads them here that has led us."
Meanwhile the canoe, impelled by vigorous arms, approached with extreme rapidity, and soon was at no very great distance from the camp of the hunters. Then it turned rapidly towards the shore, and its bow was soon stuck in the sand.
Two men landed.
Numank-Charake had been right. These two men were indeed the father and grandfather of the young hunter. They were coming to the encampment.
The five adventurers all leaped up, and eagerly rushed to meet the two old men.
After the first compliments had passed and welcomes had been exchanged with effusion between the newcomers and their friends, the Canadians seated themselves by the fire, and, upon the invitation given, ate some mouthfuls of fresh-cooked venison and drank some brandy.
"We have been to see our relative, Lagrenay, the squatter of the Wind River," said the old man. "It appears he had received a very pressing message from Tom Mitchell, the outlaw."
"Yes," said Bright-eye, "we were there when it was delivered. We know all about it. But, as far as I am concerned, I am afraid – "
"Of what are you afraid, my son?" asked François Berger, in a rather imperious tone of voice.
"That all this pretended facility and frankness on the part of the pirate chief hides a snare."
The two old hunters exchanged a smile.
"Child, you are very much mistaken," said the grandfather. "Tom Mitchell means exactly what he says. He has no intention, no motive for laying any unworthy trap."
"I am certain of it," added the son.
Bright-eye had nothing to say to so positive an assertion. He silently bowed his head.
"We have done all in our power to come here quickly, knowing we should meet you," went on François Berger; "we are only too happy to be in time."
"In time to do what?" asked Oliver.
"We will explain," said the elder of the two men; "when Tom Mitchell comes we shall receive him."
"But that is our business?" cried Bright-eye.
"I know the message was addressed to you," said his father; "I am well aware of it that it is our business, and, in fact, it is more proper it should be so. At all events we have decided that it is to be so, so that you will keep out of sight until the affair is finished."
"But," said Bright-eye, with considerable hesitation, "supposing there was treachery?"
"My son," sententiously observed the old man, "prudence is wise, but suspicion in certain cases is an insult. Think of that. Believe me when I say that your father and I know better what we are about than you do."
"We shall certainly obey you," said Oliver, in the name of all. "We shall remain at a distance during the interview, and only interfere when called upon."
"I thank you cordially," said the old man; "everything will go rightly, I promise you."
And he waved his hand as if to dismiss them.
The five young men rose, bowed respectfully to the two old men, and watched them as they walked slowly down to the banks of the river.
About two gunshots distance from the camp, or thereabouts, was a rather thick wood, composed of oaks and gumtrees. The hunters entered the wood, and soon afterwards disappeared under the forest.
Remaining alone, the old hunters lifted their Indian calumets and began to smoke, without exchanging one single word.
This went on for about three-quarters of an hour – incessant smoking. Suddenly, François Berger let fall his pipe, fell flat on his face, put his ear to the ground, and listened.
"They come," he said, rising.
"I have heard them coming for some time," quietly replied the old grandfather. "How many?"
"Not more than four."
"Just as I expected. He has acted in perfect good faith," said the old man.
"Then you are quite determined?"
"Yes. The Indians are not in want of it, and I should not like to see the Yankees or English profit by it."
"You are the master. You are the one to whom it belongs to a certain extent," said the son.
"Yes; it is today my property. Besides, it should be kept up for the support of a great cause. Tom Mitchell is a very different man from what he appears," added the old man, gravely.
"That, of course, I know."
"Besides, I have another very strong motive for acting as I do, and that is the establishment, on the very spot I allude to, of the Yankee squatter."
"Yes. And, between you and me, father, these Yankees have very sharp noses. They will find it out before long."
"Exactly so, my son. For my part, I prefer that Frenchmen should derive the advantage."
At this moment a distant gunshot was heard.
"Here they come," said François Berger.
He then rose, placed his hand over his mouth like a funnel, and twice imitated, with marvellous dexterity and perfection, the cry of the water hawk.
A similar cry came in response, and almost immediately afterwards four cavaliers, well mounted, appeared galloping through the high grass and trees, and coming directly towards them.
The Canadians held their rifles in their hands, while the newcomers showed no apparent arms. They had left their pistols in the holsters, their sabres were in their scabbards, their rifles by their sides.
On coming within a short distance of the two old men the strangers exchanged a few words in a low tone of voice, two of them slackened their pace, while the others rushed forward with the rapidity of the gazelle.
In another instant Angela, for it was herself, was in the arms of the friends, answering by cries of joy and tears of happiness the sweet caresses of her relatives and friends.
Tom Mitchell and his companions stood apart discreetly, and then, when they saw that the first transports were over or becoming calmer, approached.
"Welcome," said the old man, "welcome, gentlemen," holding out his two hands.
"Have I kept my promise?" asked Tom Mitchell.
"Nobly; I solemnly declare it, and I thank you," cried Berger, with deep emotion.
"You have worthily made up for the act you had done. Let us forget the past," said the old man; "what can we do for you?"
"Nothing," he said, quietly.
"You exact no ransom whatever?"
"Why should I exaggerate, old hunter? I was drawn into committing a bad action by a man whose name I will not mention. Though a pirate, I am not so bad as I am painted. I have therefore sought to condone the evil."
"Admirably spoken," said François Berger, again embracing his daughter. "Go, darling, to your brother yonder."
"Allow me first to thank Captain Mitchell," she said, "for his extreme kindness during my captivity."
"You bear me no malice?"
"None whatever," she said, "but eternal gratitude. You deserve it and you have it."
Then with a gesture of adieu and a sweet smile on her adorable lips she ran off in the direction of the forest.
The men waited until she was out of sight.
"I will now take my leave," said the outlaw.
"One moment," replied the old man; "the recompense which you refuse I must force upon you."
He pulled forth a large folded parchment.
"This is the ransom of my daughter," he said: "it is a regular deed of gift of the Valley of the Deer."
"What!" cried the outlaw, with singular emotion.
"Yes, and here on the map is a red mark, indicating the spot where what you know of is concealed."
"Accept without scruple, captain," said François Berger; "it is ours and ours alone to give."
"Since you wish it, gentlemen. I should show but ill grace to refuse, the more that I value your gift highly."
"I only ask one thing in return," said the old man.
"I shall be ready to promise anything."
"You will use what I have given you only with an honourable – " he said, with some hesitation.
"It shall be so, I promise you."
"And so we part friends; captain, your hand."
"Friends, yes," said the pirate; "and I hope the day may come when you may try my friendship."
"Who knows? The day may come sooner than we expect."
"I shall be ready to shed the very last drop of my blood to defend or avenge you or yours."