a dark object showed in the sun-flecked greenery of the woods. tawannears thrust forward his musket, and sighted along the barrel.
"he is alone," murmured peter.
"then there will be none to tell his story," remarked tawannears grimly. "but corlaer must not be too sure. he may be the bait to a trap."
the strange figure strode into an opening bathed in the warm sunlight, and i had a brief vision of a fluttering black habit and a white blob of a face.
"it is black robe!" i cried softly.
tawannears cuddled his gun to his cheek.
"hawenneyu has delivered him into our hands," he commented. "if i miss, corlaer must shoot before he can run."
"ja," grunted peter.
"no, no," i exclaimed, "there must be no shooting."
"he is an enemy," answered tawannears, unmoved. "he hates us. why should my brother care whether he lives or dies?"
"but he has done nothing to us that advantaged him," i argued. "he does not even know that we are here."
"perhaps he does," said tawannears. "perhaps he has followed us, when le moyne refused to do so. perhaps his ouabaches and miamis lurk behind him."
"he is alone," repeated peter. "but just der same we better shoot him. he is no goodt."
"it would be murder," i insisted. "we shall serve no object by killing him. what harm can he do us? in a few hours we shall have passed the river where his indians cannot reach us."
the jesuit was in full view, advancing almost directly toward us, his eyes on the blue horizon. he was chanting to himself in a deep, sonorous voice, and as he drew nearer i identified the words of the vesper hymn:
"mens gravata crimine,
vitae sit exul munere,
dum nil perenne cogitat,
seseque culpis illigat."
"i am going to speak to him," i said. "it can do no harm. he does not know we are here. why, tawannears, the man is fearless. he would walk straight into your musket, and defy you to shoot. moreover, he has withstood the torture more than once, and i do not think he is right in his head. would you be proud of killing one whose mind the great spirit had wrapped in a cloud?"
tawannears was all indian, despite his perfect english and the erudition he had absorbed from his missionary teachers. corlaer, after a life among the red men, had imbibed many of their prejudices. my last remark turned the scale. a man whose mentality had been touched was sacred to any tribe.
the seneca smiled unwillingly.
"otetiani is a strong pleader. very well. let black robe live. but if he meditates treachery we must kill him, even though hawenneyu has set him aside among men."
"he is alone," declared peter for the third time. "always he trafels alone. i know it. but he is no friend to us. we watch him, eh?"
"surely," i agreed. "he is a frenchman and our enemy. that i do not deny. but he cannot harm us. come, we will ask him his business here. afterwards, if necessary, we will keep watch on him."
black robe had halted some thirty yards south of our hiding place, and stood now on the edge of the bluff, surveying the wonderful prospect of the unbridled river, its yellow waters glistening in the sunlight, the opposite bank a low green wall two miles or more away. his lips moved in words i could not hear, and he dropped to his knees in the attitude of prayer, head bowed, and remained so many minutes, his body rigid with the ecstasy of devotion.
i waited until he had risen again, then stepped from our hiding-place and walked toward him. tawannears and corlaer followed me. he saw us almost at once, but he made no sign of surprise. he simply stood, facing us, his terribly maimed hands locked in front of him, his spare frame vibrant with the suppressed energy of the indomitable spirit within him.
"so you came this way," he said harshly. "i thought as much, but they would not listen to me."
"and you, père hyacinthe?" i asked. "where do you go?"
"i go upon my father's business," he answered in the phrase i had heard him use more than once before.
"alone?"
his pallid, riven face cracked in what i suppose he intended for a smile of sarcasm.
"shall i take with me such guards as attend the holy father when he rides in state? no, but i am guarded, englishman. cohorts of angels attend me. the cherubim chant me on my way. it suffices."
"i do not seek to probe your affairs," i replied as politely as i could, "but you are our enemy. we do not wish to harm you, yet we must protect ourselves."
"you cannot harm me," he said without irritation. "enemy? no, my erring son, i am not your enemy—or, rather say i am enemy only to the evil that hath possession of you. but content yourself. i have come many miles this day and i saw no living thing, save the beasts of the forest."
i was satisfied, for i knew it was not in the priest to lie.
"have you food?" i asked.
"food?" he repeated doubtfully, almost as if he had not understood me. "no, but i shall eat."
"if a heretic's food——" i began.
"heaven's grace is vouchsafed in divers ways," he cut me off curtly. "it may be this opportunity has been given you to find an escape from sin. i will eat your food, englishman."
tawannears and peter listened sullenly to my invitation, and their faces expressed neither welcome nor toleration as the jesuit walked back with us to the recess under the bluff.
his hollow eyes lighted with unusual interest when he spied our raft.
"you are crossing the great river, monsieur ormerod?"
he seemed tricked out of his dour mannerisms for the moment. his voice took on the casual courtesy of one gentleman to another. but it was a fleeting manifestation, no doubt an echo from some long-buried past.
"yes," i said, "as i told the chevalier——"
"strange," he interrupted me abruptly, his old manner returning, "that you of all men should be appointed to aid in the fulfilling of my mission. how inscrutable are god's ways! yet there must be a meaning in this. blessed virgin aid me!"
my comrades would have nothing to do with him. they took their food and removed out of ear-shot, leaving me to do the honors, which was only fair, inasmuch as i had foisted him upon them. but it insured an ill evening for me, for black robe utilized the opportunity to examine me at length upon my religious convictions—sketchy, at best, i fear, after a lifetime of wandering—and read me a lecture upon the errors of my creed. i marvel much as i look back upon that incident. in many ways i hold he was wrong, but of all men i have known as well i must account him the most holy. he knew not the meaning of the word self-interest. life for him was service of the word of god, as he understood it. he wasted no time in the search of truth, for he held that it was ready to hand, ay, inscribed in letters of fire across the skies for all men to see.
he talked to me for hours after the others slept, and i listened with undiminished interest to the end. the man's stern conviction was an inspiration, whether you agreed with him or not. and if some hold me religiously a weakling because i grant him the merit of believing what he preached, my answer is that such as he was, he—and many others like him—was one of the most potent forces in carrying the rule of the white man into the wilderness country. if he and his fellows did not convert the savages, at least they taught them the strength of the white man's will, and by their pioneering endeavor they taught their own people the worth of the unknown lands that always lie beyond the horizon's rim.
in the night the weather shifted, and the morning was overcast and blustery, with a changeable wind. we debated whether we should trust ourselves to the raft under such conditions, and tawannears and peter advised against it until black robe derided their fears.
"what?" he cried in the seneca dialect, which came readily to him, he having been long a missionary to the people of the long house. "is the warden of the western door afraid to go upon the waters? is corlaer, whose fat belly is dreaded by every squaw from jagara to the mouth of the mohawk, fearful lest he wet his moccasins? you have dared all manner of perils over hundreds of leagues, and now you wince at a few leagues of water! pluck up your courage! i am the wreck of what was a man, yet i am not afraid. will you let me daunt you?"
"black robe does not know what he says," replied tawannears stiffly. "a silly little bird has whistled idle thoughts in his ear. he knows well that tawannears does not fear even the master of evil, hanegoategeh, whom black robe serves."
peter said nothing, after his fashion, but his little eyes squinted thoughtfully, and presently he drew us aside.
"if black robe is touched in der head we might be safe," he proposed.
"nonsense," i retorted impatiently, "what has that to do with whether the wind blows or the waters rise? it is dangerous out there on the raft or it is not. black robe has nothing to do with it."
"my brother otetiani may be right," said tawannears, "yet he has said that the great spirit has taken black robe under his protection. if that is true, will hawenneyu allow him to drown?"
"perhaps not," i admitted, "but we might drown whilst he escaped."
"otetiani speaks with a straight tongue," affirmed the seneca. "nevertheless i say that we cannot let black robe put a slight upon us. there is danger on the bosom of the father of waters. but if we do not venture forth black robe will laugh at us, and perhaps some day he will tell the story to his people. let us go."
i shrugged my shoulders. i did not like the look of the river. it was roughening every minute. but neither could i resist the quaint logic of tawannears, and of course, no man enjoys being told he is afraid.
"have it your own way," i said at last.
tawannears walked up to the priest.
"we go," he said quietly. "if we die, remember that you urged us forth."
one of those rare reflections of a personality long submerged shone in the jesuit's face. he dropped his hand upon the seneca's bare shoulder.
"there is naught to fear," he said gently. "god watches over us on the water as on the land. if he has ordained for you to die, you will die. the good warrior thinks not upon death, but upon his mission."
his manner changed. his hand dropped by his side. his voice became harsh.
"heathen, would you blame me for your wickedness? as well do so as charge me with your death! you and i have no power over life! look up! look up, i say! there is the power that decides all. ha, you fear—you fear what you know not!"
his face a study in masked fury, tawannears strode to the side of the raft, drew his knife and laid the keen edge against the mooring withe.
"tawannears waits," he said.
black robe stepped aboard without a word. peter and i climbed after him, and the seneca severed the withe with a single slash. we piled our muskets, powder-horns and pouches upon a raised framework in the center of the unwieldy craft, where they would be out of the reach of the water, and took to the pushing poles, the jesuit lending a hand, and shoved out into the current.
the raft rode high, as we had expected, but its heavy weight made it drag fearfully in the slack water under the bank. we bent all our strength on the poles, yet the headway we achieved was trifling. sagging, lurching, its component trees rustling and squelching, it crawled forward a foot or two at a time. a sandbar held us up for an hour, and after an unsuccessful effort to push across, we finally contrived to float around it. then we resumed the battle, and half-naked as we were, the sweat poured from us and our muscles ached. how black robe endured it i do not know. of us all he alone did not sweat, but he worked unflinchingly until the moment, when, without warning, a monstrous force seemed to seize upon the raft.
there was a swirl, a peculiar sucking noise—and the shore began to recede. the raft wavered crazily, twirled about, started across the current and as abruptly was spun back downstream. we stood stupidly, leaning on our poles, scarcely realizing what had happened.
"the river does our work for us, it seems," i remarked.
tawannears shook his head, a worried expression in his eyes.
"no, brother, the worst is ahead of us. the river is like a wild beast to-day."
"ja," squeaked corlaer, striking his pole down in a futile effort to find bottom.
black robe remained by himself on the forepart of the raft, his gaze on the mirky distance where he appeared to be able to see landscapes that were denied to our earth-bound spirits.
"we can work across the current," i suggested. "it may take time, but——"
a yellow-brown wave, its crest tipped with scum, slapped against the side of the raft and spattered our feet. another rolled in from the opposite quarter and lapped over the side. the structure of the raft groaned and shifted.
"it will take many hours," answered tawannears. "our work has just begun."
we got out the rough paddles we had carved and undertook to steer diagonally with the current, but experience proved that a consistent course was impossible of attainment. we made distance in the desired direction—and were promptly picked up by an eddy and tossed back again, or else the vagrant wind set in to toy with us. the waves rolled higher constantly, and we were wet to the waist. but we fought on, and the longer we fought the more intelligent our efforts became.
there was a trick to this work, a trick entirely different from navigating a light, amenable, birchen canoe. our raft had a will of its own, and a certain sense of decency. handled as it desired to be, it would even accomplish a measure of our desires, and gradually we came to learn its ways. this aided us in winning ground—or, i should say, water; but nothing could aid us in conflicting the capricious moods of wind and current. sometimes we had both behind us, and then we were driven rapidly downstream. again, the wind would come from the quarter and mitigate somewhat the effect of the current. mid-afternoon found us with nothing gained beyond a hazardous mid-stream course that was varied by occasional wild lurches in the direction of one shore or the other.
when the current discharged us towards the eastern bank we battled desperately against it. when, in one of its incomprehensible moments of beneficence, it started us in the desired direction we labored with gritting teeth to assist it. and every time this happened it ended by spinning us around and starting us back the way we had come. night shut down upon us miles from our starting place, but less than half-way across.
sleep, of course, was unthinkable. we were wet. we had little edible food. but tired as we were, we were still unwilling to suspend for a minute our struggle against the river. moreover, we now required all our vigilance, for the waters were laden with other floating objects, sinister, half-sunken projectiles that had been trees and were now the instruments of the river's wrath. one of these, a giant hulk of wood, careened against us in the faint star-light and partially demolished the structure upon which we had placed our arms and superfluous clothing. we narrowly escaped losing all our store of powder in this misadventure, and the shock had noticeable effect in loosening the fabric of the raft. it developed an increasing sluggishness, a more frequent tendency to lurch uncertainly, and our attempts to direct its progress became ridiculously inept.
but we did not desist. the night was cool, but we sweated as we had on the broiling savannahs, and tapped unknown reservoirs of strength to maintain our fight. we seldom spoke to one another. there was little occasion for words, except once in a while to shout a warning. and black robe paddled and poled beside us, hour by hour. i do not remember that he ever spoke that night. we were afraid, frankly, openly afraid, admitting it tacitly one to another. but i am sure that he was as serenely indifferent to fate as he had been in prodding us to start. he was the only one who did not croak hoarse exultation when the river played its last trick upon us.
this came just after sunrise. we had felt for the past hour an erratic swirl in the eddying current. now we sighted a mile or so ahead of us to the right the mouth of another river, little narrower than the mississippi.
"that is the missouri, brothers!" exclaimed tawannears. "we are far downstream. if we are carried beyond this we shall land in the country of the mandans, who are enemies of the dakota and eaters of human flesh. hawenneyu has veiled his face from us!"
but at that instant hawenneyu withdrew the veil and smiled upon us. what happened, i think, was that the incoming stream of the missouri, meeting the torrent of the mississippi, combined with the great river to form a whirlpool of eddies, with a backshoot toward the western bank. at any rate, we were suddenly spun about like a chip in a kennel, so rapidly that it was dizzying. nothing that we could do had any influence upon the course of the raft. we tried to work against the eddies for several moments, and finally gave it up in disgust, determined to meet whatever doom was in store for us without flinching.
our reward was to be impelled at most amazing speed toward the west bank. twice on our way we were caught and torn at by opposing eddies, but each time the raft worked free of its own volition, and the rising sun saw us floating, water-logged and bedraggled, in a backwater under the western bank, perhaps half a mile above the mouth of the missouri.
we were still a long way from shore, of course, and it required two hours of steady poling to work us through the sandbars to within wading distance of the river's edge; but we made it. we shouldered our muskets and staggered ashore to collapse upon the bank just above the water-level—all except black robe. without a glance at us or the sodden remnants of the raft that had carried him here, without even a casual inspection of the country before him, he climbed the bank and strode westward. he had not slept through the night; he had eaten a bare handful of food since morning; he had labored as hard as we had.
i called after him, but he dismissed me with an impatient wave of the hand. the last i saw of him his black figure was outlined sparsely against a low wood. there was an uncompromising air to his back i did not like, but i could not have pursued him to save myself. tawannears and peter were stretched inert upon the bank beside me, their eyes closed in sleep. i hesitated—and sank beside them.
