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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: With Sword and Crucifix; Being an Account of the Strange - Adventures of Count Louis Sancerre, Companion of Sieur LaSalle, on - the Lower Mississippi, in the Year of Grace 1682 - -Author: Edward S. Van Zile - -Release Date: October 10, 2021 [eBook #66503] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH SWORD AND CRUCIFIX; BEING AN -ACCOUNT OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF COUNT LOUIS SANCERRE, COMPANION OF -SIEUR LASALLE, ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI, IN THE YEAR OF GRACE 1682 *** - -[Illustration: [Page 11 - -“‘THE SWORD AND THE CRUCIFIX,’ WHISPERED DE SANCERRE, -POINTING TO THE SOLDIER AND THE PRIEST”] - - - - - With - Sword and Crucifix - - _Being an Account of the Strange Adventures of - Count Louis de Sancerre, Companion of Sieur - de la Salle, on the Lower Mississippi - in the Year of Grace 1682_ - - BY - EDWARD S. VAN ZILE - - ILLUSTRATED - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS - 1900 - - - - - Copyright, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. IN WHICH A GREAT EXPLORER LISTENS AT MIDNIGHT TO A TALE - OF LOVE 1 - - II. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE IS CONFRONTED BY A MYSTERY 9 - - III. IN WHICH A MAIDEN SHOWS HER HEART 18 - - IV. IN WHICH DE LA SALLE REACHES A FATEFUL DECISION 26 - - V. IN WHICH A DAUGHTER GRANTS A FATHER’S WISH 33 - - VI. IN WHICH JUAN RODRIQUEZ UNDERGOES AN UNPLEASANT HALF-HOUR 40 - - VII. IN WHICH JUAN RODRIQUEZ TAKES HIS REVENGE 49 - - VIII. IN WHICH SATAN HAS HIS WAY WITH THE _CONCEPCION_ 58 - - IX. IN WHICH TWO CHILDREN OF THE SUN ASTONISH A SCOUNDREL 64 - - X. IN WHICH THE CROSS IS CARRIED TO A CITY OF IDOLATERS 72 - - XI. IN WHICH THE BROTHER OF THE SUN WELCOMES THE CHILDREN - OF THE MOON 81 - - XII. IN WHICH CHATÉMUC FINDS THE INSPIRATION WHICH HE LACKED 92 - - XIII. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE RUNS A STUBBORN RACE 103 - - XIV. IN WHICH THE RESULTS OF CHATÉMUC’S ENTHUSIASM ARE SEEN 114 - - XV. IN WHICH THE GRAY FRIAR DONS THE LIVERY OF SATAN 123 - - XVI. IN WHICH A SPIRIT SAVES DE SANCERRE FROM DEATH 133 - - XVII. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE BREAKS HIS FAST AND SMILES 146 - - XVIII. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE HEARS NEWS OF THE GREAT SUN 156 - - XIX. IN WHICH COHEYOGO EXHIBITS HIS CRAFTINESS 167 - - XX. IN WHICH A WHITE ROBE FAILS TO PROTECT A BLACK HEART 181 - - XXI. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE WIELDS HIS SWORD AGAIN 194 - - XXII. IN WHICH THE CITY OF THE SUN ENJOYS A FÊTE 206 - - XXIII. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE UNDERGOES MANY VARIED EMOTIONS 219 - - XXIV. IN WHICH SPIRITS, GOOD AND BAD, BESET A WILDERNESS 232 - - XXV. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE WEEPS AND FIGHTS 242 - - XXVI. IN WHICH DOÑA JULIA IS REMINDED OF THE PAST 253 - - XXVII. IN WHICH ST. EUSTACE IS KIND TO DE SANCERRE 264 - - XXVIII. IN WHICH DE SANCERRE’S ISLAND IS BESIEGED 277 - - XXIX. IN WHICH THE GREAT SPIRIT COMES FROM THE SEA TO - RECLAIM COYOCOP 290 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - “‘THE SWORD AND THE CRUCIFIX!’ WHISPERED DE SANCERRE, - POINTING FROM THE SOLDIER TO THE PRIEST” _Frontispiece_ - - “THE CAPTAIN HURLED HIM DOWN UPON THE DECK” _Facing p._ 46 - - “THE FRENCHMAN, WITH A GRAY SMILE UPON HIS PALLID FACE, - RUSHED PAST THE LINE, A WINNER OF THE RACE BY TWO - FULL YARDS” “ 112 - - “COOL, MOTIONLESS, WITH UNFLINCHING EYES, THE FRENCHMAN - STOOD WATCHING THE CHIEF PRIEST” “ 176 - - “A WHITE-FACED MAN PRESSING TO HIS BREAST A DARK-HAIRED - MAIDEN” “ 238 - - “HE FELT A LIGHT HAND UPON HIS ARM, AND GAZED DOWN INTO - THE DARK EYES OF THE MAIDEN” “ 296 - - - - -WITH SWORD AND CRUCIFIX - - - - -CHAPTER I - -IN WHICH A GREAT EXPLORER LISTENS AT MIDNIGHT TO A TALE OF LOVE - - -“Louis le Grand, King of France and Navarre, has deserted pleasure to -follow piety--and times are changed, monsieur.” - -The speaker, Louis de Sancerre, of Languedoc, descendant of a famous -constable of France, leaned against a tree near the shore of a majestic -river, and musingly watched the moonbeams as they chased the ripples -toward an unknown sea. A soft, cool breeze, heavy with the odor of -new-born flowers, caressed his pale, clear-cut face, and toyed with the -ruffles and trappings of a costume more becoming at Versailles than in -the mysterious wilderness through which its wearer had floated for many -weeks. - -On the bank at the exiled courtier’s feet lay reclining the martial -figure of a man, whose stern, immobile face, lofty brow, and piercing -eyes told a tale of high resolve and stubborn will. Sieur de la Salle, -winning his way to immortality through wastes of swamp and canebrake -and the windings of a great river, had made his camp at a bend in the -stream from which the outlook seemed to promise the fulfilment of his -dearest hopes. On the crest of a low hill, sloping gently to the water, -his followers had thrown up a rude fort of felled trees, and now at -midnight the adventurous Frenchmen and their score of Indian allies -were tasting sleep after a day of wearisome labor. - -De la Salle and a hapless waif from the splendid court of Louis -XIV., more sensitive than their subordinates to the grandeur of the -undertaking in which they were engaged, had felt no wish to slumber. -They had strolled away from the silent camp; and, for the first time -since Count Louis de Sancerre had joined the expedition, its leader -had been learning something of the flippant, witty, reckless, debonair -courtier’s career. - -“Beware the omnipresent ear of the Great Order, Monsieur le Comte!” -exclaimed La Salle, rising to his elbow and searching the shadows -behind him with questioning eyes. “Think not, de Sancerre, that in the -treacherous quiet of this wilderness you may safely speak your mind. -I have good reason to distrust the trees, the waters, and the roving -winds. Where I go are ever savages or silence, but always in my ear -echoes the stealthy footfall of the Jesuit. And this is well, monsieur. -I seize this country in the name of France; the Order takes it in the -name of God!” - -“In the name of God!” repeated de Sancerre, mockingly. “You know -Versailles, monsieur? There is no room for God. Banished once by a -courtesan, the Almighty now succumbs to a confessor.” - -“Hold, monsieur!” cried La Salle, sternly. “This is blasphemy! -Blasphemy and treason! But enough of priests! You tell me that you -loved this woman from the court of Spain?” - -“How can I say? What is love, monsieur?” exclaimed de Sancerre, -lightly, throwing himself down beside his leader. - -It was as if a butterfly, born of the moonbeams, had come to ask a -foolish riddle of the grim forest glades. The incarnation of all that -was most polished, insincere, diabolical, fascinating at Versailles -had taken the form of a handsome man, not quite forty years of age, -who reclined at midnight upon the banks of an unexplored river, and -pestered the living embodiment of high adventure and mighty purposes -with the light and airy nothings of a courtier’s tongue. How should -Sieur de la Salle know the mystery of love? He who had wooed hardship -to win naught but the kiss of disappointment, he who had cherished -no mistress save the glory of France, no passion but for King and -Church, was not a source from which a flippant worldling could wring a -definition of the word of words. - -The majestic silence of the night was broken by the raucous muttering -of some restless dreamer within the confines of the camp. An owl -hooted, and far away a wolf bayed at the moon. La Salle arose, climbed -the bank to see that his sentries were attentive at their posts, and -then returned to Count de Sancerre’s side. - -“You do not answer me, Sieur de la Salle!” exclaimed the latter, -testily. “I have sought the answer from La Fontaine, from Moliêre, -Racine; aye, from Bossuet and Fénelon. ’Twas all in vain. They were -men, you say, and did not understand? But I have asked the question of -de Montespan, la Vallière, la Fayette, Sêvigné. One was witty, another -silent, and all were wrong. There remained, of course, de Maintenon. -Her I never asked. She would have said, I doubt not, that love is a -priest who leads by prayer to power.” - -“You wander far afield, Monsieur le Comte,” remarked La Salle, coldly, -after an interval of silence. “The night grows old, and still you have -not told me why you left the splendors that you love, to risk your life -in this fierce struggle in an unknown land.” - -“To risk my life?” cried the Count, laughingly. “If that were all! -To tear my velvets where no draper is, to see the gay-plumed birds -a-laughing at my plight, to long in vain for powder for my wig, to -find my buckles growing red with damp--all this is worse than death. -But still, I bear it bravely, do I not? Ah, well, Turenne--God rest -his soul!--taught me the lessons of a hard campaign. What is this -voyage in a bark canoe upon the peaceful breast of yonder stream? A -pleasure-jaunt, monsieur, to one who fought with France against the -world--who sheathed his sword at Nimeguen. Once only were we beaten, -de la Salle. The Dutch let in the sea, and, lo! his Majesty and -Luxembourg, Turenne and Condé, Vauban and the rest, were powerless -against the mighty ally of the foe. I say to you, Monsieur le -Capitaine, beware the sea! You seek it in your quest. ’Tis full of -treachery.” - -The Count had arisen and drawn his sword, which gleamed in the -moonlight as he turned its point toward the unknown mouth the roving -river sought. - -“This blade,” he said, reseating himself and patting the steel with -affection, “flashed gayly for the King upon the Rhine. Alas for me, it -drove me at the last to seek my fortunes in a weary land.” - -“You drew it, then, for something other than the cause of France?” -remarked La Salle, suspiciously. - -“For that of which we spoke, which no tongue voices but all hearts have -felt. I drew it once for love--_et voilà tout_!” - -“You killed a Spaniard, then?” - -“They speak the truth, monsieur, who say your mind is quick. She--as I -told you--came to France with Spain’s great embassy. He, a strutting -grandee, proud and bigoted, came with the suite, holding some post that -made his person safe. The tool of diplomats, the pet of priests, my -rival--as he was--defied my hate. ’Tis said they were betrothed, Don -Josef and-- But hold! her name I need not speak.” - -The Count remained silent for a time, watching the moon-kissed -waters at his feet. La Salle, grim, reticent, but not unsympathetic, -gazed steadfastly at his companion’s delicately-carved face. A stern -knight-errant, who sought to win an empire for his king, lay wasting -the midnight hours to listen to a love-tale from a flippant tongue. - -“’Twas with this blade,” went on de Sancerre after a time, waving -his sword from side to side in the moonlight, “that I pierced his -heart--and broke my own. For which all praise be to Saint Maturin, who -watches over fools.” - -“He was no coward, then?” questioned La Salle. - -“Not when his pride was pricked,” answered de Sancerre. “Great wars -have been begun with less diplomacy than I employed to make my insult -drive him to his steel. But, Spanish blood is hot, and, truth to tell, -my tongue can cut and thrust. Her eyes were on us at a _fête champêtre_ -when, standing by his side, I spoke the words that made him mine at -midnight--’neath a moon like this. There’s little left to tell. He knew -a Spanish trick or two, but, monsieur, he was a boy! In the moonlight -there his eyes were so like hers I lost all pity--and--so--he died.” - -“And then?” - -“And then I vowed a candle to St. Christopher and sailed across the -sea. Breathe it not, monsieur--I bore a letter from de Montespan to -Frontenac.” - -“Then cut your tongue out ere you tell the tale,” exclaimed La Salle, -gruffly. After a moment’s silence he went on, more gently: “But, -Monsieur le Comte, I cannot understand the ease of your escape. You’ve -roused the anger of the King, de Maintenon, the Jesuits, and Spain. -Such foes could crush an empire in a day.” - -“But you yourself, monsieur, have stood against them all.” - -“I?” exclaimed La Salle, musingly. “You may be right, my friend. I -sometimes wonder if my life is charmed. Whom can I trust, monsieur? -Allies false when the hour of danger came, assassins at my bedside, and -poison in my food--all these I’ve known, monsieur. And still I live.” - -The two adventurers had arisen and were facing each other in the -moonlight. La Salle, tall, commanding--a king by the divine right of -a dauntless soul--stood, with head uncovered, looking down at the -slender, graceful patrician confronting him. - -“You strive for France, Sieur de la Salle,” exclaimed de Sancerre, the -mocking note gone from his voice--“for the glory of dear France--and -France will not destroy you.” - -“For France!” repeated La Salle, solemnly. “For France and for the -Church! _Vive le Roi!_” - -Silently they turned and, mounting the hillock, made their way toward -the sleeping camp, while the Mississippi rolled on beneath the moon to -tell a strange tale to the listening waters of the gulf. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE IS CONFRONTED BY A MYSTERY - - -Like a statue done in bronze stood Chatémuc before a -hastily-constructed hut at the rear of the log fort in which the rank -and file of the explorers lay sleeping. La Salle had chosen the sentry -as his special body-guard, for at many a critical juncture in his -long years of exploration--menaced at all times, as he had been, by a -thousand lurking perils--the daring Frenchman had tested the loyalty -and courage of this stalwart Mohican, who, for love of a white man, had -wandered many weary miles from his tribal hunting-grounds. - -Within the rude but spacious hut over which the phlegmatic Indian stood -guard lay sleeping, as La Salle and de Sancerre entered the enclosure, -two men who had found rest upon heaps of leaves and grass, and whose -strangely-contrasted outlines, emphasized by the errant moonbeams -that penetrated the chinks between the logs, called attention to -the curious mixture of unrelated nationalities of which La Salle’s -expedition was made up. In one corner of the hut reclined the slender -form of the Franciscan friar, Zenobe Membré. Upon his placid, smiling -face--a countenance suggestive of religious enthusiasm even while -he slept--rested a ray of silvery light, as if the prayer that he -had uttered ere he fell asleep had transformed itself into a halo to -glorify his pillow through the night. His thin hands were crossed -upon his breast, and showed white and transparent against the gray -background of his garb. - -Within the shadows at an opposite corner of the apartment lay the -lithe, muscular figure of a man whose costume made it difficult for the -observer to determine whether the wearer was a foot-soldier from the -Low Countries or a Canadian _coureur de bois_. The truth was that Henri -de Tonti’s experiences as an Italian officer in the Sicilian wars had -left their impress upon his attire as an explorer under de la Salle. -As he lay, fully dressed, in the moonlight that night he might well -have been a sculptor’s dream, representing in his outlines the martial -genius of the Old World, bringing “not peace but a sword” to the New. -A bare hand rested lovingly upon the cross-piece of his rapier, which -he had unfastened from his waist and tossed upon the dry grass of his -couch. His other hand was covered by a glove. - -Before they threw themselves upon their tempting beds of leaves, La -Salle and de Sancerre stood side by side in the centre of the hut for a -moment, gazing thoughtfully at the weird tableau that their slumbering -comrades made. - -“The sword and crucifix!” whispered de Sancerre, pointing from the -soldier to the priest. “Strange allies these, monsieur.” - -“But one without the other were in vain! They serve together by the -will of God. Good-night, Monsieur le Comte.” - - * * * * * - -How long de Sancerre had slept before he was awakened by a light touch -upon his shoulder he never knew. It must have been a considerable -time, for, as he opened his reluctant eyes, he saw that the moonlight -no longer gleamed in all quarters of the hut, but dimly illumined -only one corner thereof. Inured though he was to perils of all kinds, -the Count felt a thrill of dismay as his eyes rested upon a hideous, -grinning face leering at him from the shadows close at hand. He sat up -hurriedly, uttering no sound, but fumbling in the leaves and grass for -his rapier. A glance assured him that his comrades had been undisturbed -by the intruder at his side. - -“Be not afraid, señor,” whispered a voice in broken Spanish. “The -children of the moon have naught to fear from us.” - -De Sancerre, to whom Spanish was like a native tongue, raised himself -upon his elbow and gazed searchingly at the misshapen hag who had -disturbed his sleep. - -“I crave your pardon,” he murmured, with the air of a courtier -addressing a coquette in the Salon de Venus, while the mocking smile -that his face so often wore gleamed in the half-light. “Then I am of -the children of the moon?” - -“At night ye come from out the shadows of the distant lands, ye -white-faced offspring of your Queen, the Moon. The Sun, our God, has -told us you would come. Be not afraid. We have rare gifts for you--and -loving hearts.” - -The harsh, guttural voice in which the aged crone spoke these gentle -words added to the uncanny effect of her wrinkled, time-marked face, -peering at the smiling Frenchman through the gloom. - -“I bring you this,” she went on, still speaking in a mongrel Spanish -patois, which de Sancerre found it difficult to interpret. “Remember -what I say. The children of the sun send greeting to their brothers of -the moon.” - -She laid upon the dried grass of his bed a piece of white mulberry -bark, upon which de Sancerre’s eyes rested indifferently for an -instant. When he raised them again the hag had left his side, and he -saw her pushing her way through an opening in the tree-limbs at the -further end of the hut. For an instant her diminutive body stopped the -gap in the wooden wall. Then, from where he lay, the Frenchman could -catch a glimpse of moonbeams on the river through the opening that she -had made. - -For a moment this strange visitation affected de Sancerre unpleasantly. -Surrounded, as their little party was, by unknown tribes with whom -the wily Spaniards had had intercourse, the words of the old crone, -cordial though they had been in their way, filled the Count with alarm. -Furthermore, the ease with which she had made an undiscovered entrance -to their hut emphasized the disquiet that he had begun to feel. -Thorough soldier as he was, this seemingly harmless invasion of his -leader’s quarters became to his mind a more menacing episode the more -he weighed it in all its bearings. - -Rising noiselessly from his resting-place, de Sancerre made his way -between his sleeping comrades to the entrance to the hut. Stepping -forth into the white night, he confronted Chatémuc, who still stood -motionless in the same spot that he had occupied when La Salle and his -companion had returned from the river. The Mohican, from long service -with the explorer, had acquired a practical knowledge of the French -tongue, but, as a general rule, he made use of it only in monosyllables. - -“Chatémuc,” said de Sancerre, sternly, “your eyes are heavy with the -moonlight or with sleep. You keep indifferent guard. Did you not see -an aged witch who even now stood within the hut and roused me from my -sleep?” - -The tall Mohican gazed down upon the Frenchman with keen, searching -eyes, which glowed at that moment with a fire that proved him innocent -either of treason or stupidity. His stern, immobile face gave no -indication of the astonishment which the Frenchman’s accusation must -have caused him. - -“There’s nothing stirring but the river and the leaves,” said Chatémuc, -with grim emphasis, turning his shapely head slowly to sweep the -landscape in all directions with eyes for which the forest had no -mysteries. - -“_Ma foi_, my Chatémuc! You’re as proud and stubborn as de Groot, the -Hollander. But follow me. I’ll show you a hole that proves I dreamed no -dream.” - -De Sancerre, behind whom stalked the stately Mohican, made his way -hurriedly to the further side of the hut. Pointing to an opening -between the logs, through which a small boy might have crawled, the -Count said: - -“Behold, monsieur, the yawning chasm in your reputation as a sentry! -’Twould not admit an army, but it might serve for a snake.” - -Chatémuc had fallen upon his knees, and was examining the aperture -and the trampled grass which led to it. Presently he arose and turned -towards the Count. - -“A woman,” he muttered. “Small. Light. Old.” - -“Fine woodcraft, Chatémuc! You read the blazonry that crossed the -drawbridge with great skill--after the castle has been captured. But -let it pass. No harm’s been done, save that your pride has had a fall. -And so I leave you to your watch again. If you loved me, Chatémuc, -you’d keep old women from my midnight couch. I fear my sleep is lost.” - -Stealing noiselessly past the motionless forms of La Salle, the -friar, and the Italian captain, after his successful demonstration of -Chatémuc’s negligence as a sentinel, de Sancerre approached his tumbled -bed of leaves with weary step. A feeling of depression, a sudden -realization of the horrid possibilities that his environment suggested, -a sensation of impotent rebellion at the fate that had hurled him -from the very centre of seventeenth-century civilization into the -rude embrace of a horror-haunted wilderness, came suddenly upon the -vivacious Frenchman, mocking at his stoical views of life and making -of the satirical tendency of his mind a knife with which to cut himself. - -“_Nom de Dieu!_” he muttered, as he gazed down upon the dry grass and -leaves of his uninviting couch, “these be fine lodgings for a Count of -Languedoc! At the worst, with Turenne, there was always Versailles at -our rear.” - -At that instant his heavy eyes lighted upon the slip of white bark -which his recent caller had left with him as a token of good-will. -De Sancerre bent down and, grasping the seemingly meaningless gift, -gazed at it inquiringly. To his amazement, he made out in the -darkness what seemed to him to be a bit of writing, scratched with a -pointed instrument upon this fragment from a mulberry bush. Hastily, -stealthily, making his way to the opening through which the donor of -the gift had forced her exit, the Count leaned forward, and in the -moonlight read, with wondering eyes, the name: - - _Julia de Aquilar_ - -It was the name of the woman for love of whom he had killed a Spaniard -and lost his native land. Instantly his mind harked back to the -confession that, but an hour or so before, he had poured into the ears -of Sieur de la Salle. Had an eavesdropper overheard his words, and, in -a spirit of mischief, sought to tease him by a trick? He rejected the -supposition at once, for the conviction came upon him, increasing a -thousandfold the consternation which he felt, that he had deliberately -refrained from mentioning the name of his inamorata to La Salle. - -De Sancerre drew himself erect and stood motionless for a moment, the -most amazed and startled being in all the strange new world. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -IN WHICH A MAIDEN SHOWS HER HEART - - -Sieur de la Salle’s temporary stockade had been erected upon the -western bank of the great river, and his followers had received -with delight the report that their leader had decided to indulge -in a few days of recuperation before continuing his journey to the -gulf. After weeks of labor at the paddles, the canoemen were in -sore need of rest. The party consisted of twenty-three Frenchmen, -eighteen Indians--Abenakis and Mohicans--ten squaws, and three -pappooses. Discontent and even open grumbling had already developed -in this incongruous assemblage, and it was only the stern, imperious -personality of de la Salle that had saved the expedition from falling -asunder through the inherent antagonisms of the elements of which it -was composed. - -But upon the morning following the Count de Sancerre’s receipt of an -inexplicable gift from the children of the sun there reigned an air -of gayety in the camp. Provisions were plentiful, the terminus of the -exploration, it was rumored, was near at hand, and, for the next few -days, at least, no exhausting task, no menacing danger seemed likely -to annoy the adventurers. The glories of early spring upon the lower -Mississippi met their wondering and grateful eyes. In his delight the -Frenchman carolled forth a _chanson_ to greet the rising sun, while his -phlegmatic comrade, the native American, grunted with satisfaction as -he reclined upon the long grass and appeared to muse indolently upon -the strange vivacity of the men from over-sea. - -Shortly after dawn de Sancerre, pale, heavy-eyed, restless, weary of -his vain efforts to gain a dreamless sleep, had wandered away from the -camp and thrown himself listlessly down upon the gently sloping shore -of the river, across whose ripples flashed the gleaming arrows of the -April sun. As he lay there, reclining against a slender tree-trunk, the -last few hours seemed to him to have been a long nightmare, through -which the mocking black eyes of a woman of wondrous beauty had taunted -him for his helplessness. - -As de Sancerre, refreshed by the cool breeze that chased the sunbeams -across the flood, recalled every detail of his recent adventure, -he found himself confronted not only by a mystery, but by a choice -between two courses of action which must be made at once. Should he -tell his comrades of the strange episode that had disturbed his -rest, or should he keep the secret to himself, trusting to Chatémuc’s -pride and reticence to repress the story of the night? In a certain -sense he was under obligations to de la Salle to keep him informed -of every happening which, even remotely, might affect the welfare of -the expedition. On the other hand, there was that in his leader’s -personality which caused de Sancerre to hesitate before telling him a -tale which, he reflected, would sound like the ravings of a lunatic. He -could picture the cold, disdainful glance in de la Salle’s searching -eye ere he turned upon his heel with the curt remark that the Count de -Sancerre’s dreams should test the friar’s skill. - -To the Count, thus vexed by a most disturbing problem, came Katonah, -sister of Chatémuc, the only Indian maiden in Sieur de la Salle’s -strangely-assorted suite. With the most punctilious courtesy de -Sancerre sprang erect, removed from his head his travel-worn but -still picturesque bonnet, and, making a sweeping bow, pointed to the -grass-grown seat that he had just vacated. - -“Mademoiselle Katonah, I bid you welcome! I was dreaming, _petite_, -of the land across the sea. Your eyes and smile shall change my mood -again.” - -The Indian girl gazed at the Frenchman with dark, fearless eyes, -in which there gleamed a light that told the courtier a tale he had -no wish to learn. Not that the Count was better than his age, more -scrupulous than the pleasure-loving court in which his youth had been -passed, but in the freer, nobler atmosphere of this brave New World, -and in the companionship of men striving in the midst of peril to do -great deeds, all that was most admirable in de Sancerre’s character -had been born anew, and, to his own amazement, he had learned that his -views of life had undergone a change, that there had grown up something -in his soul which gave the lie to his scoffing tongue, still from habit -the tongue of a _mondain_ fashioned in an evil school. - -Katonah, reclining against the tree and gazing upward at the Frenchman, -formed a deep-toned picture becoming to that land of hazy sunlight, -drowzy zephyrs, and opening flowers, bright-hued and redolent of -spring. Her dark eyes, clear-cut features, and white, even teeth, her -slender, supple limbs, satisfied even the exacting eye of a man who had -looked with admiration upon La Vallière, de Montespan, de Maintenon. - -“The land across the sea!” exclaimed Katonah, waving a slender, -well-turned hand toward the opposite shore of the great river. “You -would go back to it?” She had learned the French tongue from her -brother, Chatémuc. - -Her eloquent eyes rested questioningly upon the pallid, symmetrical -face of de Sancerre. - -The barbaric directness of her question brought a smile to the -Frenchman’s lips as he threw himself down by her side and took her hand -in his. - -“Mayhap some day I shall go back, _ma petite_. But at this moment I -have no wish to go.” - -De Sancerre was looking at Katonah, but in his mind was the picture of -a scrap of white bark upon which had been scrawled the name of the only -woman his heart had ever loved. Perhaps Katonah weighed his words at -their real worth, for she withdrew her hand from his, while her gentle -eyes rested mournfully upon the mighty river upon whose bosom she had -learned the joy and sorrow of a hopeless love. - -De Sancerre, whose delicately-moulded face, graceful figure, ready -wit, and quick perceptions, added to high birth and a reputation for -physical courage, had made him a favorite at a voluptuous court, felt -a mixture of self-satisfaction and annoyance at the unsought homage -that he had won from this handsome savage. No coquette at Versailles -could have put into artful words the flattery that Katonah gave him by -a glance. But de Sancerre realized that, under existing circumstances, -her devotion to him might involve them both in serious peril. Her -brother, Chatémuc, was a sentry whose eyes and ears would not always -be blind and deaf to what was stirring besides the river and the leaves. - -“Katonah,” said the Count, presently, “let me tell you why I may never -go back to the land beyond the sea.” - -The Indian girl gazed up at him with earnest attention. - -“To the great wigwam of the king who rules all kings there came a -maiden from a distant land. Her eyes were like the night, her hair the -color of a raven’s wing.” - -De Sancerre met Katonah’s eyes and remained silent for a time. There -was something in her glance that chilled him for the moment with an -inexplicable foreboding. Annoyed at his weakness, he went on: - -“All men loved her, _ma petite_, and so it was not strange that I-- -_Mais n’importe._ Among the braves, Katonah, who followed in her train -was a youth with evil eye, a black, soft-footed, proud, and boastful -man, to whom her word was sworn.” - -“You killed him, then,” said Katonah, with conviction. - -De Sancerre started nervously and gazed around him searchingly. There -was an uncanny precipitancy in Katonah’s mental methods which affected -him unpleasantly. - -“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I killed him, Katonah.” - -“And the maiden with the raven hair? You carried her away?” - -“No, Katonah. I came across the sea and left her there.” - -The eyes of the Mohican wore a puzzled expression as she tried to read -his face. - -“I do not understand,” she murmured, presently. - -De Sancerre remained silent for a while. He realized that, with the -limited vocabulary at his disposal, he could not make the Indian girl -comprehend the exigencies which, in a civilized land, might arise -to drive a lover from his loved one’s side. The mind of the savage -maiden was unfitted to grasp those finer distinctions which made -the habits and customs at Versailles so superior to the methods and -manners prevailing among her Mohican kindred. Presently the expatriated -courtier said: - -“Katonah, let me tell you a strange tale. Your brother kept guard last -night between the river and our hut. But while we slept an aged woman -crept up beside my bed and gave me this.” - -De Sancerre removed from his breast the piece of mulberry bark upon -which rested the name of Julia de Aquilar. Katonah gazed at the writing -awe-struck. - -“It is the name,” said the Frenchman, in answer to her glance, “of the -woman with the raven hair.” - -The Indian girl, with marvellous grace and agility, sprang to her feet. -Motionless she stood for a moment looking down at de Sancerre. - -“She followed you across the sea?” she asked, in a dull, passionless -voice. - -De Sancerre smiled as he slipped the bark into his doublet and rose to -a standing posture. - -“That could not be, Katonah,” he said, lightly. “I think some wizard, -making medicine, has read her name upon my heart.” - -More he might have said, but at that instant Chatémuc, with stormy -brow, stood beside them. Not glancing at the Frenchman, his angry gaze -rested upon the shrinking figure of Katonah. With an imperious gesture -he pointed towards the camp, and, as the girl hurried away in obedience -to her brother’s silent behest, de Sancerre threw himself wearily upon -the bank, a mocking light gleaming in his eyes as he turned and watched -the retreating Mohicans until they were lost to sight behind the -osier-trees. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN WHICH DE LA SALLE REACHES A FATEFUL DECISION - - -“I have heard it said that the good Father le Jeune, the Jesuit, not -speaking Algonquin, was obliged to expound the mysteries of the faith -to the Montagnais through the aid of a blasphemous backslider, far gone -in liquor. This tool of Satan put vile words into the mouth of the -Jesuit, so that the Montagnais laughed mockingly while le Jeune fondly -thought that he was explaining to them the doctrine of the Trinity.” - -Henri de Tonti, Zenobe Membré, and Sieur de la Salle had joined the -Count de Sancerre, after the departure of Chatémuc and Katonah, and the -quartet had formed itself for the time being into a council, to answer -at once an insistent and momentous question. Two white-robed envoys, -carrying a disk of burnished copper to represent the sun, had entered -La Salle’s hut an hour before this, bringing to him an invitation to -visit, with his followers, the city of their chief. Henri de Tonti, -enthusiastic lay proselyter though he was, had taken the ground that -an expedition to the haunts of the sun-worshippers would result in -nothing more valuable than a waste of time and energy, while it might -involve the party in unforeseen dangers. To check the enthusiasm of the -Franciscan friar, who longed to convert these friendly idolaters to the -true faith, de Tonti had just been calling the attention of the council -to the difficulties besetting a missionary who attempted to explain the -teachings of Mother Church in a tongue with which he was not thoroughly -conversant. - -The slender, white-faced friar, whose great physical endurance was -suggested by nothing in his outward seeming but the clear, steady -gleam in his large gray eyes, turned, rather impatiently, from the -Italian adventurer and put forth an appealing palm towards Sieur de la -Salle, who lay at full length upon the bank, his head resting upon his -upturned hand, as he listened attentively to the debate between the -soldier and the priest. - -“There is much efficacy in signs, monsieur,” exclaimed Membré, with -fervor. “Could I have led a thousand redmen to a knowledge of the -truth had I always waited for an alien tongue? When all seemed lost, -when their ears were deaf, when my prayers and hymns were but the -feeble strivings of a voice they would not heed, has come a miracle, -vouchsafed by Jesus Christ, and howling savages have fallen prone in -penitence before the cross. I ask not much of you, monsieur, but in the -name of Mother Church I crave an escort to these children of the sun. -To pass them by, to leave them hopeless in their blind idolatry, to say -no word to bring them to the faith--Mother of God, but this would be a -sin!” - -The delicate face of the Franciscan glowed with the fervor of his soul. -He had drawn himself up to his full height, and his rich, penetrating -voice echoed weirdly across the gleaming waters of the flood. - -De la Salle put up his hand with a gesture seemingly intended to calm -the exuberance of the devoted priest. Turning to de Sancerre, who was -seated on his right, he said: - -“What think you, Monsieur le Comte? Shall we risk a visit to these -children of the sun?” - -“_Mais oui, monsieur._ There is no other course. If they should take -offence at our neglect--_ma foi_, it might go hard with us.” - -A scornful smile played across de Tonti’s scarred and rugged face. He -was annoyed at his failure to prevent the delay which this apparently -useless visit to a pagan tribe would engender. De Sancerre observed -the satirical expression upon the Italian’s countenance, but wisely -refrained from giving voice to the anger which he felt at the sight. -Between de Tonti and de Sancerre a national antagonism had been -intensified by the jealousy existing between them regarding the -attitude of their leader. The evident fondness shown by de la Salle -for the companionship of the itinerant French nobleman had displeased -the Italian veteran, whose long years of devotion to the explorer’s -service had begotten a claim to special consideration. In more highly -civilized surroundings the friction between de Tonti and de Sancerre -would long ago have found relief in bloodshed. One striking difference -between Versailles and the wilderness lay in the fact that in the -latter greater provocation was needed to impel men to run each other -through with steel than in the parks in which gay courtiers insulted -one another with soft words. - -“Furthermore, monsieur,” went on de Sancerre, observing that his -words had not impelled de la Salle to come to an immediate decision -regarding the question at issue--“furthermore, there may be a way to -find an interpreter through whom these lost idolaters shall learn the -teachings of our faith.” If there sounded a note of insincerity in the -Frenchman’s voice, none marked it save de Tonti, whose smile was always -satirical when de Sancerre touched upon the Church. - -“Your words, Monsieur le Comte, mean much or nothing. Explain -yourself,” said de la Salle, coldly. - -“Did you notice at the further end of yonder hut a hole through which a -good-sized dog might crawl?” asked de Sancerre, impressively, arising -and pointing toward the camp. - -“Sieur de la Salle has eyes for everything, Monsieur le Comte,” -remarked de Tonti, tauntingly. - -Paying no attention to his rival, de Sancerre went on: - -“Through that hole last night there crept into the hut an aged hag, -who, coming to my side, gave us a welcome from the children of the sun. -They call us--as you know--the children of the moon.” - -De la Salle, calm, phlegmatic, but ever on the alert, gazed searchingly -at the speaker. - -“Your tale is somewhat late, monsieur,” he remarked, meaningly. - -“I feared the gossip of an idle camp,” said de Sancerre, lightly, -carelessly tossing a pebble into the rippling waters at his feet. “The -matter’s not of moment but for this: the old crone spoke a Spanish -_patois_, hard to understand, but not impossible. Her tongue, I think, -might serve our friar well.” - -“A Spanish _patois_?” repeated de la Salle, musingly. “’Tis well you -spoke of this, Monsieur le Comte. I told the keen-eyed Colbert that -there was no time to lose. Below, around us lie the lands of gold, and -stretched across them rests the arm of Spain. The time has come when we -must lop it off.” - -De la Salle had arisen and, with his hand upon the hilt of his sword, -gazed toward the waters which flowed toward a Spanish sea. He looked, -for the moment, the very incarnation of the martial spirit of an -adventurous age, bidding defiance to a mighty foe. Suddenly he turned -and eyed his followers sternly. In a voice which admitted of no reply, -he said: - -“De Tonti, de Sancerre, and Membré, prepare to set out at once to these -people of the sun. I’ll give you presents for their chiefs and wives. -Send Chatémuc to me. He shall go with you, and his sister--Katonah, is -it not? She’ll find the woman with the Spanish tongue where you, as -men, might fail.” - -“But,” exclaimed de Sancerre, springing to his feet, “there may be -peril for the girl in this. ’Tis best we go alone.” - -“I am amazed, Monsieur le Comte,” remarked La Salle, sternly. “Obey my -orders! ’Tis not for you to question what I plan. Whatever comes of -this, the blame shall rest with me.” - -De Tonti, Membré, and de Sancerre had turned to make their way -hurriedly back to the camp. - -“De Sancerre,” called La Salle, ere they had gone beyond ear-shot. The -French nobleman returned hurriedly to his leader’s side. - -“There is no danger to Katonah in all this,” said La Salle, meaningly, -his eyes reading de Sancerre’s face. “No harm can come to her, for -Chatémuc is ever by her side. No nobleman in Spain or France is -prouder, de Sancerre, than Chatémuc. You understand me?” - -“_Ma foi_, I am not dull, monsieur!” exclaimed the Count, a note of -anger in his voice. Then he turned on his heel and strode rapidly -toward the camp. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -IN WHICH A DAUGHTER GRANTS A FATHER’S WISH - - -Late in the afternoon of a day in April, just one year before the date -of the occurrences recorded in the foregoing chapters of this tale, -Don Rodrigo de Aquilar, statesman, soldier, scholar, devout Catholic, -sat at a curiously-carved table in the library of his ancestral house -in the street of Las Palmas, Seville. His gray hair and pointed beard, -his keen, dark eyes and lofty brow, the simple elegance of his attire, -and the artistic luxury of his surroundings combined to form a striking -picture in the half-lights of the waning day. Upon the table before him -lay pompous tomes, quaint old manuscripts, and several crude maps and -charts. - -Copies of the letters of Menendez to Philip II. of Spain, made by -Don Rodrigo in the archives of Seville; a transcript of the bull “by -the authority whereof Pope Alexander, the sixth of that name, gave -and granted to the Kings of Castile and their successors the regions -and islands found in the west ocean sea by the navigations of the -Spaniards:” a reproduction of a map of the western world, dedicated -to Sir Philip Sidney by Michael Lok; a volume entitled _Hakluyt’s -Divers Voyages_, hot with hatred of the Spanish, and other misleading -data concerning a misunderstood continent confronted the Castilian -aristocrat, and by their united efforts cast upon him a spell which -had brought to his thin cheeks a hectic flush, and to his haughty lips -lines of determination. - -It was, however, with a much later manuscript than any one of those -above mentioned that Don Rodrigo was engaged at the moment of which we -write. Bending eagerly forward from a quaintly-cut, high-backed chair, -the aged Spaniard was scanning attentively a parchment upon which a -recent explorer, with artistic tendencies, had inscribed a pictorial -outline of his discoveries. Ports, harbors, islands, and rivers -competed for the attention of the observer with rudely outlined birds, -beasts, and fishes. Indians feasting and dancing, Indians flogged by -priests. Indians burning alive for heresy, gave grim testimony to the -fact that the eccentric cartographer had witnessed sympathetically -the saving of souls in the New World. It was not upon these, however, -nor upon the chameleon with two legs confronting a bat-winged griffin -having the tail of an alligator--a weird product, according to the -map-maker, of Mexico--that Don Rodrigo de Aquilar was squandering -the retreating light of day. His eyes and mind rested upon a sketch -representing a group of Indians working silver mines. - -“Methinks, Juan, the venture’s worth the risk. Were it not for Doña -Julia, I’d slip my anchor of old age and sail across the sea. I have no -mind to place the King’s gift in an agent’s hands, to let him rob the -Mexicans and me.” - -Don Rodrigo had leaned back in his chair, and was gazing across the -disordered table at a pale, dark-eyed youth, attired in black velvet, -whose thin, nervous hand had been making a copy of letters-patent from -Charles of Spain to his Majesty’s “dear beloved son in Christ, Don -Rodrigo de Aquilar.” Juan Rodriquez, secretary to Don Rodrigo, was a -lineal descendant of a _marinero_ of Seville who had returned safely to -his native city after circumnavigating the globe with Magellan. Of this -same _marinero_ it had been written that he was “energetic, courageous, -but marvellous unprincipled.” - -“I have heard Doña Julia say, señor,” remarked Juan in a softly -modulated voice--“I have heard her say, within the last few days, that -she would be glad to see those strange lands over-sea, where palaces -are made of gold and pearls grow upon the trees.” - -A grim smile played across the haughty countenance of the old statesman. - -“An idle whim begot of idle tales, young man! But were I sure that -sufferings and danger would not beset our ship, I’d take the girl -and look upon my grant before I die. ’Twill be her heritage at last. -But, look you, Juan! These blind cartographers have dealt in fancies -tempting men to death. Somewhere beneath the soil of yonder fatal land -lie my two sons--and in my death a famous name must die. And I am old. -They’d say at court, should I set sail from here, that his Majesty’s -rich gifts had made me mad at last.” - -There was silence at the table for a time. Don Rodrigo reclined in his -chair and watched the changing lights and shadows of the waning day as -they emphasized the sombre beauty of the room. Presently he said: - -“You’ve made the footings, Juan? A hundred thousand ducats will cover -everything?” - -“And leave a handsome margin, señor,” answered the secretary, referring -to a parchment upon which daintily-executed rows of figures had been -inscribed. “As times go, señor, the vessel costs you but a song.” - -Don Rodrigo eyed Juan Rodriquez searchingly. His secretary’s apparent -eagerness for the venture mystified him. Diplomatist, educated in a -crafty school, the old Spaniard had never lost sight of the advantages -to be gained at times by frank directness. - -“You are urging me to take this step, Juan. Let me ask you why?” - -The pale face of the youth had turned yellow in the twilight. His dark, -shifty eyes refused to meet his master’s insistent gaze. His thin hand -drummed nervously on the dry, rattling parchment in front of him as he -said, with an attempt at candor which did not ring true: - -“I believe, señor, that it would be well for Doña Julia, and for you, -to leave Seville for a time. She mourns Don Josef--does she not? And -you, Don Rodrigo, have won a triumph in diplomacy that frees you for a -while from public life. The voyage now is not so fraught with danger -as of old, nor is there peril when you reach New Spain. More than -one fair lady of Seville has been across and back for love of Mother -Church. And, as I said, the marvels of the sea might serve to turn your -daughter’s mind from thoughts of her betrothed.” - -Don Rodrigo gazed earnestly at the eager face of his secretary. - -“You believe, then, Juan, that Doña Julia’s heart was broken when Don -Josef fell, run through by the Frenchman’s sword? You think she loved -him?” - -“Nay, señor, such thoughts are not for me,” answered Juan, in a voice -that resembled the purring of a cat. “But this I see--that since you -returned from France her eyes are heavy and her cheeks are pale. The -songs she used to sing we hear no more. She’s fading like a flower -which craves the sun. Give her, señor, new aims, new scenes, the -splendors of the sea, the marvels of New Spain, and once again her eyes -and smile will be as sunny as they were of old.” - -“You’re wise beyond your years, young man,” remarked the old diplomat, -playfully. “Mayhap, my Juan, you know a charm to make me young again. -Or perhaps you can find the island of Bimini and the fountain of -eternal youth which bold de Leon sought. But, hark, I hear her step! -We’ll lay the venture, in all its bare simplicity, before her, and do -as she decides.” - -As Don Rodrigo ceased speaking there entered the library a dark-haired, -large-eyed, graceful girl, who glided from the shadows of the twilight -toward the centre of the room, and stood motionless at the lower end of -the long table. A belated sunbeam, stealing through the distant window, -caressed her face for a moment, upon which a sad smile rested as her -eyes met her father’s. - -“You disobey his Majesty’s behest, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar!” she -exclaimed, playfully, pointing toward the books and maps before her. -“Did not the King command you to take a well-earned rest, my father?” - -“But his Majesty has never ordered me to sit here and die,” remarked -Don Rodrigo, emphatically. “Be seated, Julia. You come to us at a most -opportune moment. For my services in France his Majesty has granted me -fair lands across the sea. Mines rich in silver belong to me by virtue -of this seal. The question is, my daughter, will you go with me to view -my province in New Spain?” - -Juan Rodriquez, who had arisen upon Doña Julia’s entrance, stood -watching the girl with stealthy eyes, in which there gleamed a light -not there before. There was silence in the room for a moment. Then -Julia, looking Don Rodrigo fearlessly in the face, said: - -“I will go with you gladly, father. Seville has stifled me. But place -no faith upon my changing whims. If we’re to go, then let us sail at -once.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -IN WHICH JUAN RODRIQUEZ UNDERGOES AN UNPLEASANT HALF-HOUR - - -In the year 1681 the fickle Guadalquivir still pursued a liberal policy -toward Seville and vouchsafed sufficient water to that port to enable -sea-going vessels to begin or end their voyages within sight of the -Alcazar. Later on, the Spanish sailors were forced, by the treachery of -the famous river, to abandon Seville and betake themselves to Cadiz for -an ocean harborage. - -At the time, however, at which Don Rodrigo de Aquilar fitted out the -_Concepcion_--a high-pooped vessel of ninety tons burden--for his -voyage to the silver mines bestowed upon him by Charles II. of Spain, -the harbor at Seville enabled the aged diplomat to equip his ship -without leaving his library. By giving his orders to his secretary, -Juan Rodriquez, who carried them to Gomez Hernandez, captain of the -_Concepcion_, Don Rodrigo was relieved of the friction which in those -days frequently soured an adventurer’s disposition even before he had -put to sea. - -The necessity for haste, lest the veering winds of Doña Julia’s fickle -fancy should at the last moment balk her father’s enterprise, had been -impressed upon Juan Rodriquez, who needed no hint from Don Rodrigo to -make him a gadfly to the captain of the _Concepcion_. Long before he -weighed anchor, Gomez Hernandez had sworn by his favorite saint that if -the opportunity ever came to him to put the white-faced, soft-voiced -secretary into irons, he would show him no pity. That the perilous -voyage before them might furnish him with the means for punishing -Juan’s insolence the captain well knew. Let the _Concepcion_ toss the -Canaries well astern, and for many weeks Gomez Hernandez would be -autocrat in a little kingdom of his own. - -Doña Julia’s cabin was, as it were, the hawser which held the clumsy -little ship to her moorings. A stuffy room between decks, it seemed -cruel to ask a maiden used to the luxury of Seville, Madrid and Paris -to spend weeks within its irritating confines. Don Rodrigo had devoted -great energy and ingenuity to the task of making his daughter’s -quarters aboard ship less repulsive than they had at first seemed. Rugs -from the Orient, a hammock made of padded silk, jars of sweetmeats -from Turkey, a priceless oil-painting of the Virgin Mary, and other -quaintly contrasted offshoots of a fond father’s anxious care combined -to make Doña Julia’s cabin a compartment whose luxury was ludicrous and -whose discomfort was pathetic. - -Had Don Rodrigo de Aquilar better understood the peculiarities of his -daughter’s disposition, he would have spent less time in making of -her cabin a mediæval curiosity-shop, and would have weighed anchor -a week sooner than he did--thus gaining a span of time which would -have begotten across the sea a radical difference in the outcome of -his expedition. Something of this found its way into the mind of the -aged Spaniard after the _Concepcion_ had cleared the mouth of the -Guadalquivir and was standing out to sea. Beside him upon the poop-deck -stood Julia, her dark eyes gleaming with excitement as they swept the -tumbling sea or glanced upward at the bulging sails which drove the -awkward craft haltingly across the deep. She had paid little or no -attention to the cabin which had taxed Don Rodrigo’s ingenuity, Juan’s -patience, and Captain Hernandez’s temper for a month; but the flush -in her cheeks and the smile upon her lips, as she watched the waters -sweeping the Old World away from her, gladdened her father’s heart as -he scanned her changing face. - -“The sea is kind to us. See yonder rainbow ’gainst the purple east! An -omen such as that is worth a candle to St. Christopher.” - -The soft, insistent voice of Juan Rodriquez broke in upon the musings -of the grandee and his daughter. - -“’Tis not so strange the saints should wish us well,” remarked Don -Rodrigo, removing a black velvet cap from his head to let the sea-wind -play with his white locks. “We go to serve the work of Mother Church. -To tell the heathen of Mary and her Son, to raise the cross where -blood-soaked idols stand, to fight the devil with the Book and prayer.” - -“And, then--to work the mines,” put in Juan gently. - -Doña Julia turned quickly and flashed an angry glance at the -soft-tongued secretary. She had noticed, with annoyance, a change in -Juan’s manner since the ship had steered for the open sea. In a way -that defied explanation in words, the young man had carried himself -for the past few hours as if, upon the deck of a ship, he had found -himself upon an equality with his master. There was an elusive sarcasm -in his words at times, a defiant gleam in his restless eyes, a mocking -note in his voice, which the girl noted with an inexplicable feeling of -foreboding. - -“Aye--to work the mines,” repeated Don Rodrigo, unsuspiciously. “Why -not? ’Tis nigh two centuries since treasures from New Spain came -over-sea. And for their paltry gold we’ve given them the cross. For -every ducat gained by Spain, a soul’s been won for heaven. Harsh -measures with the stubborn--these, of course. ’Tis thus the Church must -win its way on earth. The fight is not yet done. Upon the border of the -lands I own the good Dominicans have built a mission-house. On you, my -daughter, will devolve the task to raise a great cathedral where the -friars dwell. I’ll dig the silver from the ground for you, and mayhap -from my place in paradise the saints will give me eyes to see the glory -of your deeds. May Mother Mary will it so!” - -The old man’s eyes were upturned in fervor toward the changing glories -of the evening sky. The excitement of the embarkation, the enlivening -influence of the stiff, salt breeze, and the mysterious promises held -out to him by that seductive West toward which his vessel plunged had -stirred the blood in the aged Spaniard’s veins, and emphasized at the -same moment both his religious enthusiasm and his earthly ambitions. - -Doña Julia was on the point of commenting upon her father’s words when -there sprang to the deck from below a slender, active man who, ashore, -would have looked like a sailor, but aboard ship resembled a soldier. -Gomez Hernandez, captain of the _Concepcion_, was the very incarnation -of that dauntless spirit which had, within the lapse of two centuries, -carried the arms of Castile and Aragon to the farthest quarters of an -astonished globe. Bright, dark eyes, a cruel mouth, a small, agile, -muscular frame, and a manner proud or cringing as occasion dictated, -combined to make of Gomez Hernandez a typical Spanish seaman of the -seventeenth century. Saluting Don Rodrigo de Aquilar respectfully the -captain said: - -“May I trouble you, señor, to join me in my cabin for a while? I have -matters to lay before you which brook no delay.” - -Hernandez’s words were addressed to the diplomat, but his piercing eyes -rested as he spoke upon the face of Juan Rodriquez. The secretary, even -paler than his wont was, gazed across the sea toward the horizon from -which the shades of night had begun to creep. - -“Await me here, Julia,” said Don Rodrigo, cheerfully, turning to follow -the captain to the lower deck. “I will return to you at once. Lead on, -my captain. You’ll find I am not mutinous, no matter what you ask.” - -In another moment Doña Julia and Juan Rodriquez stood alone upon the -poop. The secretary turned from his contemplation of the sea and his -restless eyes fell full upon the disturbed face of the girl, a face -of marvellous beauty in the half-lights of the fading day. There -was silence between them for a time. The creaking of timbers, the -complaining of the cordage, the angry splash of the disturbed sea, -and from the bow the subdued notes of an evening hymn, sung by devout -sailors, reached their ears. - -“Señora,” said Juan, moving toward Doña Julia, “I have much to say to -you--and there is little time. If my words to you should seem abrupt, -the blame lies with my tongue, not with my heart. If that could speak, -you’d find me eloquent indeed. I--” - -With an imperious gesture, Doña Julia checked his speech. Her -symmetrical, somewhat voluptuous, mouth was curved at that moment in a -smile of disdain. - -“Spare me--and spare yourself, Juan Rodriquez,” she said, coldly, -turning her back to the sea and facing squarely the youth, whose -eyes met hers with a glance of crafty defiance not unmingled with an -admiration that filled her with loathing. “You say more only at your -peril. I’ll forgive you your presumption--once. But take good heed of -what I say. If you address me in such words again, it shall go hard -with you.” - -A grayish pallor overspread Juan’s face in the twilight. A cruel smile -played across his thin lips, and his hand grasped a railing at his side -as if it would crush the stubborn wood. - -[Illustration: “THE CAPTAIN HURLED HIM DOWN UPON THE DECK”] - -“You threaten me, Doña Julia de Aquilar,” he murmured, showing his -teeth in an evil smile. “You know not what you do. See how our ship is -driving toward the murky blackness of the West. Think you I shall be -powerless beyond? I say to you, señora, that you, your father, and all -you hold most dear, are in the grasp of Juan Rodriquez--your servant in -Seville, your master in New Spain.” - -He had seized the girl’s wrist and was gazing into her white face with -vindictive, hungry eyes. She wrenched her arm free from his repellent -grasp, and, drawing herself up to her full height, gazed haughtily at -the boastful youth. - -“What mad fancies there may be in your mind, Juan Rodriquez, I cannot -guess. But this I know: if I should breathe a word of what you’ve said -into my father’s ears, you’d lie a prisoner between the decks. And he -shall know of this, unless you swear to me to leave me to myself, to -speak no word to me, to keep your eyes from off my face, my name from -off your lips.” - -The threatening smile upon Juan’s mobile face had changed to a spiteful -grin while the girl was speaking. - -“Your love for Don Rodrigo would be weak, indeed, should you, señora, -speak a word of this. I tell you, Doña Julia, your father’s in my -grasp. I’ll show him mercy--but I make my terms with you. ’Tis no mad -fancy, nor an idle boast,” went on Juan, making a significant gesture -toward the slashed velvet upon his breast, “which you have heard from -me. I know my power. If you are wise, you’ll take my word for this.” - -There was a calm, convincing note in Juan’s voice that froze the rising -anger in Doña Julia’s veins. She knew the crafty nature of the man too -well to believe that he would thus threaten her unless he had gained -possession of some weapon for the working of great mischief. In mute -dismay she stood for a moment gazing helplessly at the gray, grim -waters which seemed to yawn in hunger for the tossing ship. Suddenly -she felt an arm around her waist, and turning quickly found the flushed -face of the youth pressed close to hers. An exclamation of mingled -disgust, anger, and fear escaped her. - -At that instant the strong, nervous hand of Gomez Hernandez seized Juan -Rodriquez by the neck. With an ease which his slight figure rendered -marvellous, the captain twisted the youth like a plaything in his -grasp, and then hurled him, full length, prone upon the deck. - -“I crave your pardon, señora,” said Hernandez, with cool politeness, -bowing low to Doña Julia, “but Don Rodrigo requests your presence in -his cabin.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN WHICH JUAN RODRIQUEZ TAKES HIS REVENGE - - -The voyage of the _Concepcion_, thus inauspiciously begun, continued -with fair weather upon the sea and squalls threatening aboard the ship. -Doña Julia spent much time in her oddly-equipped cabin; Don Rodrigo, -impatient of delay, fretted at the tedium of the passage and paced the -poop restlessly for hours at a time. Between Juan Rodriquez and Captain -Hernandez a sullen truce was maintained for several weeks succeeding -the incident recorded at the end of the foregoing chapter. But Juan had -neither forgotten nor forgiven the insult which he had received at the -hands of the relentless navigator. He awaited, with the patience of a -crafty schemer, an opportunity to avenge himself upon the man who had -turned his melodramatic declaration of love into an undignified farce. - -A Carmelite friar, who had begged passage to Hispaniola from Don -Rodrigo, discovered, after a time, a radical change in the disposition -manifested by the heterogeneous crew toward his white frock and all -that it represented. In so far as the discipline of Captain Hernandez -permitted open grumbling, the sailors grew outspoken in their protests. -The good priest, who had found the crew devoted to their beads at the -outset of the voyage, was unable, as the weeks went by, to persuade -the sailors to put their grievance into words. Nor was he able to keep -them at their prayers or to lead their voices in quaint old Latin -hymns. There was in the ship a mysterious, elusive influence which had -convinced the impressionable, superstitious seamen that the vessel was -accursed and that somebody aboard ship, being in league with Satan, was -able to nullify the effects of their religious observances. Thus it was -that the sweet-faced Carmelite labored in vain to restore before the -mast the devout atmosphere which had prevailed among the crew while the -coast of Spain still lay but a few miles astern. - -Matters grew worse aboard the _Concepcion_ after the white friar had -been put ashore at the Indies and the clumsy vessel had begun to -beat up the Gulf of Mexico against baffling head-winds. The sailors -whispered to each other that the desertion of the Carmelite had left -the Prince of Darkness in full control of the ship. To a crew composed -in large part of Spanish desperadoes, with a sprinkling of Portuguese -cutthroats, it was not easy to restore an atmosphere of religious -fervor after it had once been destroyed by evil tongues. Experienced -as he was in the fickleness of the half-savage sailors who in those -adventurous days manned the omnipresent ships of Spain, Captain -Hernandez witnessed with grave concern the gradual abandonment by his -crew of its religious attitude and the increasing tendency of the -sailors to imply, either by word or manner, that Mary and the saints -had abandoned the ship to a cruel fate. - -To Julia de Aquilar the voyage had become a seemingly interminable -imprisonment. The elation which she had felt at the outset of the -cruise had never returned to her after the depressing episode which had -aroused in Juan Rodriquez a deadly hatred for the captain of the ship. -The girl had caught the gleam of murder in the secretary’s eyes as he -lay out-stretched upon the deck gazing upward at Gomez Hernandez, and -in her cabin, as she tossed restlessly in her hammock, her mind grew -sick with a foreboding which waxed more insistent as the weary days -and nights crept by. Now and then she would climb the clumsy ladder to -walk the deck for a while, but the dread of finding herself again alone -with Juan Rodriquez made her shy of this diversion. Don Rodrigo, whose -spirits rose higher the nearer the ship approached the land in which -his silver lay concealed, would enter her stuffy cabin--a hole between -decks hardly worthy of the name--to rally her upon her indifference to -the splendors of the sea and the polychromatic beauties of the islands -on their bow. Upon her father’s departure, the tears, held back while -he was by her side, would dim the lustre of her splendid eyes, and her -white, slender hands would rise in supplication to the smiling Virgin -who looked down upon her from the slanting wooden wall above her head. - -Why had she, to whom the Old World offered all its sweetest gifts, -become a voluntary exile, a hopeless maiden weeping in a corner of a -vagrant ship? Ever with her through those weary weeks this question -craved an answer. Ever from the past arose the gorgeous pictures of her -former life, a life of courtly splendor where the world was gay. In the -dark watches of the night, Doña Julia de Aquilar, half dozing, half -awake, would tread again the stately mazes of a contre-dance or smile -demurely upon a powdered and bejewelled cavalier. She would hear again -the merry, mocking voices of Versailles or the stately tones of Spanish -gentlemen. Suddenly the lurching of the ship would rouse her from her -waking dream, and, putting up a hand, as if defying fate, she would -touch the wooden walls of her voluntary cell, walls that seemed to be -bearing down upon her with the weight of worlds, crushing out the color -from her cheeks, the light from her eyes, the joy of youth from her -rebellious soul. - -But, waking or sleeping, one face was always gazing at her from the -past, a face which seemed to laugh in courteous derision at her plight. -“I slew Don Josef--your betrothed,” the haunting vision seemed to say, -while upon the clear-cut countenance which memory photographed the -girl could see the gay and mocking smile of one who knew the world too -well. Her betrothed? Though dead, she hated him. Caprice and vanity had -forged for her the chains that had made her, at Versailles, a captive, -longing to be free. And when her freedom came, when the sword of him -whose vibrant voice she could hear above the creaking and groaning of -the ship had severed forever the bonds which tied her to an unloved -man, her liberty was nothing worth, taking its revenge upon her for her -former negligence by coming back too late. She had learned, through the -gossip of a chattering court, that he who had cut down her betrothed -had fled across the sea. Never again would she look upon de Sancerre’s -face, nor hear a voice which, while it mocked at love, had thrilled her -heart of hearts. The years in passing would leave to her a memory--and -nothing more. - -What mattered it, then, whether she passed her weary span of life in -the city of Seville or in the strange environment toward which the ship -plunged on? In either case, the romance of her youth was dead. That the -strange chances of existence would ever bring Louis de Sancerre again -to her side, Julia de Aquilar never dreamed. Even in the prayers that -she offered day and night to the Virgin Mother above her head she had -never voiced a longing which, put into words, would have sounded to -her ears like the incipient ravings of insanity. Her betrothed and the -man whom she had begun to love had both passed from her life at the -same moment, and through the gloom of night there came to Doña Julia no -ray of hope save from the gentle radiance of Mother Church. The veil, -and its promise of perfect peace, grew constantly more alluring to her -distraught soul, as week crept into week and the very timbers of the -ship cried ever louder against the cruel persistence of the lonely sea. - -From a dreamless sleep--a rare blessing vouchsafed by Mother Mary--Doña -Julia awoke one night with a start and sat upright in her hammock, -peering into the darkness with straining eyes. What had disturbed -her slumber she did not at first know. But above her head echoed the -shuffling sounds of hurrying feet, and the flapping of canvas as the -ship came about in a stiff breeze. Leaping down from her hammock and -throwing a long, black cape over her shoulders, she groped her way to -the entrance to her cabin and threw open the clumsy door. A swinging -lantern lighted the hatchway, and, almost before her eyes had grown -accustomed to the sudden glare, above her head sounded the grewsome cry -of “Man overboard!” - -At that instant down the ladder in front of the trembling girl crept -the slinking figure of Juan Rodriquez. For a fleeting moment Doña Julia -caught a glimpse of the youth’s pallid face, upon which there rested -an evil smile made up of fear, cruelty, and triumph. Believing himself -unobserved, Juan stood for a moment at the foot of the ladder looking -upward toward the deck and listening intently to the uproar above his -head. Then, with a subdued chuckle, which sent a chill through the -heart of the motionless girl, he stole into the shadows toward his -berth amidships. - -The harsh cries of the panic-stricken sailors filled the night with a -horrid din. The Spanish maiden, undecided whether to climb to the deck -or to return to her hammock, crossed herself devoutly and murmured a -prayer to St. Christopher, who watches over seamen and protects the -faithful from night alarms. The mischievous lantern, vibrating wildly -as the ship took the seas broadside on, threw lights and shadows across -the disturbed face of the girl, and seemed to rejoice at its chance to -add to the uncanny features of her surroundings. - -The turmoil on the deck decreased as the moments passed, but Doña Julia -still stood waiting, listening, praying; chafing at inaction, but -distrustful of the night beyond the hatchway. To her, thus agitated, -came her father down the ladder, his worn figure bent as if it carried -a great burden. He turned and faced her, and as the playful lantern -swung toward them she saw that his face was ghastly pale, and that his -thin hand trembled as he wiped the sea-spray from his furrowed brow. - -“What is it, father?” asked the girl, springing toward Don Rodrigo and -placing both hands upon his shoulders as she peered into his white face. - -“Captain Hernandez,” muttered the old man, in a voice that told the -story of his despair--“he fell into the sea. None saw him in the -blackness of the night, but far astern the helmsman heard a cry--and -that was all! God rest his soul!” he groaned, crossing himself. “It -will go hard with us, I fear.” - -“But, father--Mother Mary, pray for him!--the voyage nears its end. -Captain Hernandez--the saints receive him!--had with him men who know -these seas?” - -“I trust them not,” murmured the old man, wearily. Then, as if he -regretted the admission he had made, he bent and kissed the anxious -face of his daughter and said, with an effort at cheerfulness, “But -fear not, Julia. All will yet be well. I’ve vowed an altar to St. James -of Compostella, whose blessing rests on pilgrims of the faith. But how -to calm the crew I hardly know. The sailors seem nigh mad with fear. -They say that Satan is aboard the ship.” - -“Alas, I think he is,” murmured Julia to herself, as she returned to -her cabin and threw herself despondently upon her swinging bed. That -she had solved by chance the awful secret of the captain’s death, she -could not for a moment doubt. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -IN WHICH SATAN HAS HIS WAY WITH THE _CONCEPCION_ - - -Dawn crept sullenly across the heaving bosom of the gulf, as if -disaffected by the night’s dark deed. The sun gazed for a moment -upon a ship accursed, then hid its light behind black, evil-looking -clouds. From the east and south came winds that smote the sea and dug -deep valleys in the briny waste. Then, where the valleys gaped, great -hills of water rose and wet the air, and chased each other toward the -wind-made chasms just beyond. Losing their temper in their wild career, -the boisterous blasts let forth an angry roar and lashed the waters -viciously. Before the dawn could take the name of day, a mighty battle -raged between the gale and gulf. - -The command of the _Concepcion_ had fallen to Miquel Sanchez, a -veteran seaman, but unskilled in the nicer points of navigation. -Knowing the treacherous nature of the waters through which his ship -was reeling, uncertain of his course, and depending for aid upon a -sullen, superstitious crew, already persuaded that the vessel had -been doomed to destruction, the outlook seemed menacing, wellnigh -hopeless, to the new master of the _Concepcion_, as he paced his narrow -deck at dawn, and hoarsely shouted orders for the taking in of sail. -The ship, showing her keel to the yawning chasms in the sea, rushed -affrighted under bare poles through the welter toward the west. As the -storm increased in fury, the panic of the crew grew less controllable. -Even the helmsman strove to tell his beads when the eyes of Sanchez -turned to scan the sky; and, broken by the howling blasts, the noise of -prayers and curses echoed from the decks. The desperate sailors knew -the sea too well to hug the hope that such a ship as theirs could foil -the fury of the storm. Had not a priest deserted them? Had not their -captain perished in the waves? Who doubted Satan’s presence on the ship -would be too dull to die! - -Don Rodrigo de Aquilar had made his way with much effort to Doña -Julia’s cabin, and had found her on her knees before the painting -of the Virgin, praying for a miracle that should snatch the vessel -from its certain doom. The girl’s face, above which raven-black locks -were coiled in picturesque disorder, was white from the imminence of -their peril, while her soft, dark eyes gleamed with the fervor of her -supplication. As she arose to greet her father, the hand which she -slipped into his was cold, but trembled not. If the fear of death -lurked in her heart, it was only by the pallor of her cheek its -presence could be known. Her eyes were steady and her lips were firm as -she stood there reading her father’s haggard face to find, if so the -saints decreed, a gleam of hope to cheer her soul. - -“God’s mercy on us all!” muttered the old Spaniard, pressing his -daughter’s hand to his breast. “This Sanchez is as stubborn as a Moor! -He will not change his helm! I am no seaman, but I’ve sat with poor -Hernandez many an hour and conned the chart of this same sea we sail. -But yesternoon he made a reckoning. If the sun spake sooth, upon the -course we hold we’ll dash to pieces ’gainst a curving coast. I told -this sullen Sanchez what I knew, but, ’though he crossed himself, he -gave no heed to me.” - -Doña Julia’s arm, showing white as marble against the black cloak -hanging from his shoulders, was thrown around her father’s neck. -Kissing his pallid cheek, she said: - -“I have no love of life; no fear of death! To die with you, my -father--will it be so hard?” - -“To die without confession--that is hard!” exclaimed Don Rodrigo, -despondently. “I begged the Carmelite to stay with us; but, still, -he gave me absolution ere he left. And if I perish, ’tis for Mother -Church! But listen, Julia! I am old and worn. A few years more or less -are little worth. But you are young. You must not die, my child! If I -had lured you to an ocean grave, I’m sure my soul would find no peace -in Paradise.” - -Doña Julia had seated herself upon the edge of her uneasy hammock, -and was looking down at her father, who had attempted to maintain an -upright posture upon the treacherous surface of a sea-chest fastened by -clamps to the cabin floor. Suddenly the old Spaniard arose and stumbled -to the hatchway. - -“Juan!” he cried, striving to cast his voice amidships in spite of the -howling of the gale, the ominous thumping of the loosened ballast, the -cries of frantic sailors, and the thunder of the seas as they pounded -vengefully against the frail timbers of the ship. “Juan Rodriquez, come -aft at once! Juan! Juan!” - -A hand, cold as ice, was clapped upon the old man’s white and trembling -lips. - -“Father, I implore you, do not summon him,” prayed Julia, striving to -drag the aged Spaniard back into her cabin. “He cannot serve you now. -For Mother Mary’s sake, I beg of you to leave him to his prayers. He -has sore need of them.” - -Her protest came too late. In the dim, gray light of the hatchway the -girl caught sight of a face which even in that awful hour wore an -inscrutable, evil smile, as if the diabolical spirit of the storm had -rejoiced the soul of Juan Rodriquez. - -“We’re driving fast, Juan, upon an unknown coast,” said Don Rodrigo, -coolly, a detaining arm thrown around his daughter’s waist. “You’re -lithe and muscular, and come of fearless stock. I’ve seen you in the -water at Seville.” At this moment the increasing uproar aboard ship -compelled the old man to raise his thin voice to a shout. Drawing from -his breast a package wrapped in oil-skin, he thrust it toward the -out-stretched hand of his secretary. “Here is my patent from the King -of Spain. ’Twill serve as Julia’s title to the mines--to the greater -glory of our Mother Church! And, for the sake of heathen souls beyond, -your arm, my Juan, must save my daughter from these hungry seas. I say -to you--” - -“Father, as you love me, as you hope for Paradise, put no trust in -this man’s loyalty! If you must die, I do not care to live. A thousand -deaths were better than a life saved by a--” - -At that instant a crash, as if the storm had served as usher to the -crack of doom, drove the word she would have uttered back upon her -tongue. Don Rodrigo’s white head was turned to crimson by its impact -with an iron-jointed beam, and, plunging forward, he lay dead beside -his daughter’s feet. Doña Julia tottered forward a step or two, and -then fell swooning into Juan’s arms. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -IN WHICH TWO CHILDREN OF THE SUN ASTONISH A SCOUNDREL - - -Before the day was ended the winds and waves had signed a truce, but on -the beach, far to the westward of the Mississippi’s mouth, lay ghastly -trophies of their recent war. In a vain effort to propitiate the demon -of the storm--according to the Portuguese sailors: to lighten the -vessel, the captain would have said--cables, spars, water-casks, kits -and chests of varying size, puncheons of wine, bags of sea-biscuit, -cannon, powder, and stone ballast had been thrown overboard in a futile -effort to float the shattered ship from a sunken reef. A portion of -this impotent sacrifice the sullen surf had uplifted upon its crest, -and, rushing shoreward, had tossed it spitefully upon the sands. - -As the hours dragged on, while the storm, in full retreat, hurried -its black battalions toward the west, the moaning beach became a -resting-place for grimmer flotsam than sailor’s kit or broken spar. -Trusting to the stanchness of their ships and the favor of their -saints, the Spanish seamen in those adventurous days but seldom learned -to swim. In constant peril from the hungry waves, forever searching -unknown seas, where shipwreck menaced him at every hour, the Spaniard -or the Portuguese would drown, amazed to find no saving potency in -strings of beads, no buoyancy in dangling crucifix. - -When the ship _Concepcion_, abandoned by the saints, struck on a rock, -concealed beneath the waves by Satan’s crafty hand, there was only -one man aboard the vessel who had learned to breast the surf with -strength and skill sufficient for a crisis such as this--and he was -a white-faced landsman, who had spent his life with pen and books, -learning nothing of the sea save what had come to him when bathing in -the sunny waters of Seville. - -For the first time in all the countless centuries since the floods -had tossed it there, the curving beach now watched the grewsome -pastime which a shipwreck grants the surf. A shadow on a billow -rushing landward, a black spot on a white-plumed, tossing wave, a -splash and hissing on the trembling sands, and there on the shore, -as the storm-wind rushes by, lies a thing which was once a man, a -black-and-white blotch in the dim light vouchsafed by the scudding -clouds. With uncanny satisfaction at its task, the undercurrent, -slinking back again beneath the sea, returns to lay upon the sands -another horrid plaything of the surf. ’Tis novel sport for this -deserted coast, but how the waves enjoy it! They roar and thunder, sob -and laugh and hiss; they toss their new-found toys upon the sands, then -snatch them back again and turn them ’round and ’round as if in envy of -the grasping beach. But as the hours pass by, the shore keeps gaining -what the billows lose. When the sun has pierced the western clouds, to -cast a passing gleam across the panting sea, the glistening sands are -dotted far and wide with worthless relics of the surf’s grim sport. - -The arms of Juan Rodriquez had been moved by mighty passions to a -most stupendous feat. Strong swimmer though he was, the burden of a -senseless girl, and the striving of the deep to make no blunder in the -game it played, had turned his heart to ice, while the minutes seemed -like hours and each stroke that he made was feebler than the last. -But the struggling wretch was urged to mad endeavor by a combination -of the most potent motives which can inspire the efforts of a man. -Fear of death and love of a woman united in that awful hour to give -to Juan’s slender but well-knit body a stubborn endurance that foiled -the undertow and checked, for the nonce, the surf’s ghastly pastime. -Slowly but persistently, with gasping breath and straining eyes, now -smothered in the brine, now lifted like a cork upon a wave, a man who -was not fit to die fought wildly with the sea for life and love. To -leave the girl to drown and struggle on alone, with certain victory -within his grasp, his dread of death had tempted him to do. But at that -instant a kindlier current than he had hoped to find eased for a moment -the pressure upon his chest, and bore him slantingly athwart the beach -far westward of the wrecked _Concepcion_. - -To the fainting youth and his senseless burden the damp strand offered -no easy couch, but it was better to lie there on the shore, while the -enemy, checkmated, scolded and threatened and boasted in complaining -impotence just outside the danger-line, than to choke and die, and -go to judgment unshrived and with black crimes upon one’s soul. What -mattered it to Juan Rodriquez that for a time, as he lay struggling -for breath upon the beach, the ripples, malicious offspring of the -giant breakers, washed moist sand into his hair and ears, and licked -his corpselike face as if they kissed him for his prowess while they -whispered vengeful threats? - -Presently the victorious swimmer regained his senses, and, tottering -to his feet, dragged the shrunken figure of Doña Julia further up the -beach. Her black gown clung close around her as she lay, as if asleep, -upon the sands, the only thing of beauty that the sea had brought to -land. Juan bent down and placed his hand upon her bosom. The gleam of -despair in his sunken eyes died out as he felt the feeble beating of -her heart and upon his cheek the faint impact of her returning breath. -Then he drew himself up to his full height, cast a glance of triumph -at the treacherous sea, and, assured of Doña Julia’s safety, hurried -eastward across the shingle, glistening at that moment from the rays of -the setting sun. - -It was a dismal task that the dripping, trembling youth had essayed. -From one staring, motionless victim of the storm to another went Juan, -placing his shaking hand above hearts which would never beat again, -and starting back in horror from faces which served as mirrors to the -pain of sudden death. And ever as he crept on from one purple corpse -to another the conviction became more fixed in his mind that he alone, -of all the sturdy men upon that fated ship, had kept the spark of life -within his breast. Suddenly the sightless eyes of Miquel Sanchez stared -up at him in the sunlight. - -“Curse you! Curse you!” cried Juan, kicking the unprotesting corpse in -senseless rage. “Had I known you were a lubber, Hernandez had not died! -’Tis well for you the sea took all your life, or I’d choke the dying -breath from out your throat! Curse you!” - -Bending down, the youth, a madman for the instant, seized a handful -of moist sand and hurled it spitefully into the upturned face of the -man whose stubborn ignorance had placed in jeopardy his schemes for -self-aggrandizement. But at that horrid moment Juan Rodriquez knew, -for self-confession forced itself upon him, that it was his own weak -yielding to the thirst for vengeance which had wrecked the vessel. -Coward that he was, the fury of his self-reproach found vicious vent -upon a lifeless trunk that had no power of protest against so grave a -wrong. - -The fervor of his unjust anger spent, Juan turned, like a snarling cur, -from the outraged corpse, and, hungry for human intercourse, resolved -to return at once to Doña Julia’s side, restore her to her senses, and -fortify his faltering heart by the sound of a living voice. He had -gazed into dead men’s faces until his soul was sick with the horror of -the day. He glanced at the sinking sun petulantly, as if he awaited -with impatience the black shroud that oncoming night would throw over -the motionless bodies scattered along the beach. - -Suddenly the youth, an expression of mingled astonishment, horror, and -fear upon his changing face, fell upon his knees and crossed himself -with a fervor begotten of the miracle upon which his straining eyes -now gazed. - -Beside the out-stretched figure of Doña Julia stood two angelic beings, -taller than the run of men, who faced the sun and raised their arms -straight upward toward the evening sky. They wore white robes, and -from the distant dune to which the startled Juan crawled it seemed as -if golden halos glorified the heads of these marvellous messengers -from Paradise. They stood for a time with arms upraised, while to the -straining ears of a youth whose heart felt like a lump of ice came -the subdued notes of a chant which, he knew full well, was music not -of earthly origin. Presently the angels bent their heads together, -as if in heavenly converse, while Juan cast a stealthy glance across -the sun-red sands to see if Miquel Sanchez had roused himself from -death to totter toward God’s envoys with an awful accusation upon his -lips. When his eyes turned toward the west again, relieved to find the -sailor still lying stark and still, Juan saw that the angels had gently -uplifted the body of Julia de Aquilar, and, with stately grace, were -bearing it away toward the twilight of the foot-hills. With his wet -garments chilling the very marrow in his bones, the thief and murderer -watched these celestial beings bearing his love away to Paradise. The -grim mockery of the chattering prayer that he breathed he could not -comprehend. He paid the homage of furtive worship to angels whose -searching glance, he feared, might seek him out behind his sandy -lurking-place. - -The red-fringed twilight had lost its glow, and the zenith had pinned -a star upon its breast before Juan Rodriquez, still trembling at the -miracle that he had seen, found courage to slink westward along the -shore. Behind him dead men seemed to stalk, following his footsteps -with grim persistence, while somewhere from the hills upon his right -the eyes of angels searched his very soul. On across the beach he -hurried, while the waters of the gulf turned black, and the dread -silence of the night was broken only by the gossip of the waves, -telling the sands a horrid secret that they had learned. - -Alone with his thoughts, with the memory of dark crimes upon his soul, -Juan strove through the long night to cast far behind him the haunted -shore upon which angels came and went. The interplay of life and death -had left him only this--the hope of wealth. Had he known that between -him and the silver mines that he sought lay more than a thousand weary -miles, he would have made a pillow of the sand in his despair. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -IN WHICH THE CROSS IS CARRIED TO A CITY OF IDOLATERS - - -“I have learned something of these proud pagans, Chatémuc. They are -worshippers of fire; fruit ripe to pluck, to the greater glory of -Mother Church.” - -The Mohican grunted in acquiescence as he strode forward, a -copper-colored giant by the side of the gray-garbed, undersized -Franciscan. - -Beneath budding trees and along a flower-haunted trail went de la -Salle’s envoys to the children of the sun. It was high noon, and the -god of the idolaters shone down upon those who would dethrone him as a -deity with a kindly radiance behind which no malice lurked. Mayhap the -warm-hearted luminary had grown weary of the human sacrifices offered -up by his deluded worshippers, and was pleased to see the gentle Membré -carrying a cross, symbol of a faith which demands for its altars no -gifts but contrite hearts, toward a blood-stained city in which a -savage cult still lay as a curse upon a race endowed by nature with -many kindly traits. - -Between Membré, the friar, and Chatémuc, the Mohican, had long existed -a cordial friendship, based, in part, upon hardships and dangers -shared together, but more especially upon the relationship existing -between them of a missionary to a convert. Of the many native Americans -who had become good children of Mother Church under the inspiring -influence of the magnetic Franciscan none had been more faithful to his -adopted religion than the stately Mohican, whose proud, reserved, but -inherently enthusiastic temperament derived warmth and inspiration from -the friar’s exalted soul. Of late years much of Zenobe Membré’s success -as a proselyter had been due to long and earnest consultations held in -the wilderness with Chatémuc, an Indian understanding Indians, and a -Roman Catholic who spoke French. - -Just in front of the Mohican and the Franciscan walked Katonah by the -side of de Sancerre; a forest belle attended by a courtly swain. Used -as he was to the startling contrasts which the exodus of Europeans to -the New World had begotten in such abundance, the friar had been struck -by the incongruity of this pair, who laughed and chatted just beyond -him with a gayety born of the sunshine and the spring. - -At the head of the little procession strode the soldierly Henri de -Tonti, attended on either hand by a long-limbed child of the sun. The -Italian veteran looked like a pygmy beside his tall, white-garbed, -black-haired guides, who stalked along on his flanks with a stately -grace which had aroused the enthusiastic admiration of de Sancerre, a -cosmopolite who had in his time looked upon many well-formed warriors -both in the Old World and the New. - -“They worship fire, Chatémuc,” repeated the Franciscan, earnestly, -after a moment’s silence. “Their god is the sun, and they have a -priesthood whose duty it is to keep alive in their temple a blaze of -logs, first lighted, generations back, by the sun itself.” - -The Mohican turned and looked down at the friar with a gleam of mingled -astonishment and inquiry in his melancholy eyes. The grunt to which he -gave vent the Franciscan well understood. - -“You are amazed at my knowledge of their customs, my Chatémuc,” -remarked the Franciscan, smilingly. “But have I not heard many wild -and horrid tales in the years through which I’ve borne the cross to -outlands such as this? ’Tis strange, indeed, how rumor flies through -forests, over lakes, and makes the mountains rear their tops in vain. -’Tis thus the saints work miracles for us, that we may bear the Word -to savage lands. As feeble men, we could do naught, my son; but with -the pioneers of Mother Church march all the hosts of heaven, and when -the day is darkest and the heathen shout for joy, there comes a wonder, -some marvel on the earth, some sudden splendor of the midnight sky, and -the cross, triumphant, gains another tribe! Oh, Chatémuc, the glory of -it all!” - -The gray eyes of the Franciscan gazed upward at the set face of the -seemingly stoical Indian, whose religious enthusiasm was rapidly rising -to fever-heat under the intoxicating influence of the fanatical friar’s -carefully-chosen words--words whose effect upon the devout Mohican -Zenobe Membré was not now testing for the first time. - -“But their fire, father? It always burns?” asked Chatémuc, presently, -in a low voice. - -“Day and night, year after year, from generation to generation, they -keep alive this idolatrous blaze, a flame lighted in hell and carried -to these pagans by Satan’s self. And while it burns, my Chatémuc, -’twill be impossible to lure their souls to Christ.” - -The searching gaze of the friar scanned closely the phlegmatic face -of the Mohican. Not a muscle in Chatémuc’s copper-colored countenance -moved, but a dangerous gleam had begun to flash in his eyes as they -rested now and again upon the white-robed sun-worshippers striding on -ahead of him. - -“They guard the fire by day and night?” - -“’Tis never left alone, my son,” answered the Franciscan, fully -satisfied with the effect that his words had had upon Chatémuc. - -The native American is not a rash and impulsive being. Courageous -Chatémuc was, beyond many of his race; but he was, nevertheless, an -Indian, and inclined to attain his ends by craft and subtlety rather -than by reckless daring. It was not until the French had introduced the -native American to the civilizing influence of brandy that the latter -abandoned, at times, in his warfare the methods of a snake, and fought, -now and then, like a lion. - -“How large a guard, my father, do they keep around their fire?” asked -the Mohican, presently. - -“That I do not know, my son. But bear this in mind, good Chatémuc: -against a soldier fighting for the cross the powers of hell cannot -prevail. Remember, Chatémuc, that unless that blaze is turned to ashes -in their sight, my prayers and exhortations will be of no avail. We’ll -leave them pagans as we found them, unless their sacred fire no longer -burns.” - -The vibrant notes in the friar’s rich voice rekindled the light in the -Indian’s gloomy eyes. - -“Either the fire or a Mohican shall die, my father!” exclaimed the -warrior, in low, earnest tones. “Chatémuc, your son in Christ, has -sworn an oath.” - -Meanwhile the high spirits of Louis de Sancerre had cast their spell -upon Katonah, a maiden whose ready smile seldom changed to laughter. -But on this bright spring day, treading a flower-bedecked path by the -side of a man whose delicately chiselled face was to her eyes a symbol -of all the joy of life, it was not hard for the Mohican maiden to -affect a gayety uncharacteristic of a race lacking in vivacity. - -“They are splendid fellows,” remarked de Sancerre, gazing at the -stalwart messengers from the Brother of the Sun. “With ten thousand -men like these, Turenne could have marched around the world. But our -mission to them is one of peace. I must teach them the steps of the -_menuet_.” - -“And what is that?” asked Katonah, glancing over her shoulder to see -whether Chatémuc’s rebuking eye was fixed upon her. To her great -satisfaction she discovered that her brother seemed to be absorbed in -the words of the gray friar. - -“The _menuet, ma petite_? ’Twas made for you. ’Tis a _coupée_, a high -step and a balance. Your untrammelled grace, Katonah, would hurt the -eyes of _mesdames_ at Versailles.” - -Little of this the Indian maiden understood, but she realized -intuitively that her cavalier had been paying her an honest compliment. -Her quick ear, more sensitive to the changes in his voice than to all -other sounds, had learned to detect and dread a sarcastic note in -his tones that often cut her to the heart. But on this gay noontide -of a day at the close of what the sun-worshippers called the Moon of -Strawberries, Louis de Sancerre was a joyous, frank, vivacious man who -paid the beautiful savage at his side acceptable homage with his eyes -and in whose words she could find nothing to wound her pride. - -“When we reach this sun-baked centre of idolatry, _ma petite_,” -remarked De Sancerre, presently, “we must make an effort to remain side -by side. Though I should pass a thousand years in harems of the Turks, -I could not forget the face of that old hag who came to haunt me by -my lonely couch. ’Tis her you are to find--for the greater glory of -our Mother Church. But bear this in mind, _petite_, that I must have -some speech with her before the friar seizes on her tongue and makes -her Spanish eloquent for Christ. I’d ask her of a miracle, before good -Membré goes to work with his.” - -For Katonah the glory of the day had passed. The gleam of happiness -died slowly in her eyes, and the smile which lingered still upon her -lips had lost its joyousness. Not only had the mocking echo returned -to de Sancerre’s voice, but he had recalled to the girl’s mind the -story that he had told her, earlier in the day, of a Spanish maiden -whose name had come to him so strangely in the dark hours of the -night. It was, then, the memory of a maiden over-sea which had led -the Frenchman’s footsteps toward the city of the sun! The misery in -Katonah’s heart crept into her voice. - -“I’ll serve you as I can,” she said, gently, her eyes avoiding his. -“But,” and she lowered her tones until her words became a warning made -in whispers--“but I say to you, monsieur, beware of Chatémuc! Stay not -by my side. I’ll serve you as I can, but leave me when we reach the -town. Believe me when I say ’tis safer so.” - -“_Ma foi, ma petite_,” exclaimed de Sancerre, petulantly, turning his -head to cast a glance behind him at Chatémuc, “your warning, though -well meant, was hardly fair to him! Your brother is too good a friend -of Mother Church to harbor hatred of a Catholic like me, who only -yesternight vowed three long candles to the Virgin-mother--after that -ugly crone had left my side at last.” - -“You smile, and speak light words,” murmured Katonah, deprecatingly. -“But I say to you, beware of Chatémuc. He loves the faith, but hateth -you, monsieur. I know not why. ’Tis strange!” - -She gazed at the Frenchman’s face with a frank admiration which brought -a self-conscious smile to the courtier’s lips. Flicking a multicolored -insect from the tattered velvet of his sleeve, de Sancerre exclaimed: - -“Ah, my Katonah! ’Tis those who know me best who love me best. Your -brother is a stranger, who cannot read my heart. But, hark! what have -we here?” - -The noise of kettle-drums and the howling of a great throng arose in -front of them. Their stately guides withdrew from de Tonti’s side and -stalked sedately to the rear of the little group of strangers, leaving -the Italian captain to lead his followers to the imminent outskirts of -the town. - -“Listen to the drums, _petite_!” exclaimed de Sancerre, gayly. “We’ll -dance a _menuet_ in yonder city, or I am not a moonbeam’s favorite -son!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IN WHICH THE BROTHER OF THE SUN WELCOMES THE CHILDREN OF THE MOON - - -The Brother of the Sun, overjoyed at the opportunity now before -him to offer hospitality to guests upon whose white faces he gazed -with mingled admiration and astonishment, had come in state to the -confines of the forest to testify to the cordiality of a greeting that -illuminated his well-cut, strong, and mobile countenance. The Great -Sun, as he was called--his exact relationship to the orb of day being, -to a large extent, a matter of conjecture--was an elderly man, fully -six feet six inches in height, with a light-mahogany complexion, hair -still jet-black, and brilliant, dark eyes gazing proudly forth upon a -world which, from the hour of his birth, had paid abject homage to his -exalted rank. - -He was enthroned in a litter resembling a huge sedan-chair, which was -carried upon the shoulders of eight stalwart men in white attire but -bare-footed. The four long arms of the litter were painted red, and -its body was decorated with embroidered deer-skins, leaves of the -magnolia-tree, and garlands of red and white flowers. His head was -ornamented by a diadem of white feathers. Inserted in the lobes of his -shapely ears were rings of decorated bone. He wore a necklace made of -the teeth of alligators, and against the background of his raven-black -hair gayly colored beads shone in the sunlight. - -Behind his litter marched a mighty army of three thousand stalwart -men, bare-armed, bare-legged, in a uniform of flowing, white, plaited -mulberry bark, relieved by dyed skins, striped with yellow, black, and -red, thrown across their broad shoulders. They carried bows made of the -acacia-wood, and arrows of reed tipped with bird-feathers. Gigantic, -muscular, stern-faced warriors, the army of the sun-worshippers broke -upon the gaze of the astonished Europeans with startling effect. - -It has been asserted that the immediate ancestors of these children -of the sun, angered at Montezuma, had joined Cortez in his victorious -campaign against that unfortunate monarch. Later on, crushed and -rebellious under Spanish tyranny, they had migrated toward the north -and had found peaceful lands to their liking near the banks of the -lower Mississippi. Whatever may be the truth of this, the fact remains -that upon the afternoon which found Sieur de la Salle’s envoys the -honored guests of the Brother of the Sun, the latter’s army defiled -to the eastward of the city with ranks which begot in the eyes of -the Count de Sancerre and the veteran de Tonti a gleam of mingled -amazement and admiration. Not only were the warriors of the sun, -individually, men suggesting prowess and endurance, but they, as a -body, gave evidence of having learned, from sources beyond the reach -of native Americans further to the northward, tactics indicating a -European origin. If the sun-worshippers had, in fact, suffered from -Spanish cruelty, they had also derived from their tyrannical allies -valuable hints pertaining to the art of war. As he gazed at this army -of athletes, Henri de Tonti, for the first time since he had left -de la Salle’s camp, felt regret for the protest he had made against -the expedition which his leader had decreed. Here before him stood a -splendid band of soldiers who might be made, with some diplomacy, loyal -friends to the on-pushing French. - -To the mind of Zenobe Membré the martial array before him presented a -magnificent collection of lost souls, well worthy, in outward seeming, -of the saving grace of the cross. To snatch from the grasp of Satan -so many glorious exponents of manly vigor would be, indeed, a triumph -for Mother Church. Something of this he breathed into the ear of the -motionless and silent Chatémuc, who stood with the friar upon a low -hillock, overlooking the plain, viewing with amazement this imposing -regiment, each member of which seemed to be taller by several inches -than the stately Mohican. - -“Look, Katonah!” cried de Sancerre, seizing the Indian maiden by the -arm. “See, there, at the side of his dark-brown Majesty’s peripatetic -flower-garden, stands my aged midnight prowler! Her old face is turned -up to his. Can you see her, _ma petite_?” - -Katonah stretched her shapely limbs to their utmost to look above -the press in front of her, and presently her eyes lighted upon the -shrivelled crone with whose discovery she had been intrusted by de la -Salle. - -“Go to your brother and keep the friar by his side until I return, -Katonah,” whispered the Frenchman, excitedly. “I must have speech at -once with this old hag.” - -The sun-worshippers, pouring in throngs from their abandoned city--men, -women, and children following and preceding the army in the fervor -of their welcome to the white-faced children of the moon, who had -come to them so mysteriously from the bosom of a wonder-working -stream--impeded, by their respectful but exacting curiosity, the -progress of de Sancerre toward the royal group. Women, scantily clad -but gay with flowers and feathers, would put forth their brown hands to -touch the tattered velvets of the Frenchman’s travel-stained but once -gorgeous costume. Naked boys and girls squirmed toward him unabashed, -marvelling at the pallor of his face and the splendor of the buckles -upon his shoes. - -“_Peste!_” muttered the annoyed courtier under his breath. “If they but -knew how hard I have to strive to hold these outworn garments to my -back, they’d keep their hands away. I’ll reach the royal presence as -naked as a baby unless they grow more gentle with my garb.” And all the -time he smiled and bowed, while men and women, boys and girls, cried -out in wild approval of his courtly grace. - -Henri de Tonti, who had lost much of his European polish through the -long friction of camps and the wilderness, had reached the Great Sun’s -flowery throne without winning the enthusiastic good-will of these -impressionable adult children, who seemed to feel instinctively that -the unbending, sallow, grim-faced Italian was less worthy, somehow, of -their friendship than the fascinating, smiling Frenchman who followed -gayly in the footsteps of the unmagnetic captain toward their king. -In the presence of royalty the advantage in address possessed by de -Sancerre over de Tonti was emphasized at once. With curt ceremony the -Italian had saluted the smiling, black-eyed monarch, and had then stood -silent, gazing helplessly upon the expectant throng pressing toward the -litter, in the vain hope of finding some way to communicate with the -royal sun-worshipper. - -De Sancerre’s triumphal progress toward the throne had attracted the -attention of the Brother of the Sun, and the plaudits of his subjects -had led the latter to believe that the leading personage among his -pale-faced guests was now before him. Falling gracefully upon one knee, -the Frenchman kissed the out-stretched hand of the beaming King with a -flourish and a fervor which aroused the admiring multitude to a fresh -outburst of delighted shouts. - -“_Ma foi_, your Majesty!” exclaimed de Sancerre, in French, as he arose -to his feet, “the encore warms my blood like wine! I like your people! -They see at once the difference ’twixt a curmudgeon and a cavalier.” - -His eyes rested triumphantly upon the countenance of the disconcerted -de Tonti for a moment, and then looked forth upon the sea of dusky, -smiling faces upturned to his. Almost within reach of his hand stood -the old woman who had borne to his bedside a welcome from the children -of the sun. - -“Well met, señora!” cried de Sancerre, in Spanish, to the grinning -hag. “Come to me here! Your tongue shall bind the ties of love between -your king and mine!” - -With the quickness of perception which his bright eyes indicated, the -Brother of the Sun seemed to grasp the significance of de Sancerre’s -last words, for he beckoned to the aged crone to approach the royal -presence. With a rapidity of motion strangely out of keeping with her -time-worn appearance, the old woman reached de Sancerre’s side on the -instant, and, having made her obeisance to the throne, stood looking up -at the Frenchman expectantly. To the latter’s astonishment he saw in -her small, black, beady eyes a gleam of saturnine humor which assured -him that between his soul and hers stretched at least one sympathetic -bond. - -“Say to his Majesty for my king, my people, and myself,” went on de -Sancerre, in Spanish, holding the gaze of the interpreter to his, “that -our hearts beat with joy at the welcome you extend to us. Say to him -that the king of kings, far beyond the great water of the sea, sends -greeting to his Brother of the Sun, and craves his friendship for all -time to come. This much at once; but, later on, assure his Majesty I -hope to lay before him plans and projects worthy of his warlike fame, -that he, your monarch, and my king of kings may know no equals ’neath -the sun and moon.” De Sancerre paused to give the interpreter a chance -to turn his words into her native tongue. (“In sooth,” he muttered -to himself, as he turned to smile again upon the now silent throng -surrounding the low hillock upon which the King’s litter stood, “had I -but shown myself so great a diplomat in France, I might have changed -the map of Europe with my tongue and pen.”) “And what, señora, saith -the Son of Suns?” - -“He answers you with words of deepest love,” answered the old woman, -turning toward the Frenchman from the royal sun-worshipper, whose -dark-hued face glowed with the delight de Sancerre’s adroitly-framed -sentences had begotten. “He offers the hand of friendship to your king, -the Brother of the Moon, and will divide with him the waters and the -lands in perfect amity. He bids me say to you that in this day the -children of the sun find glorious fulfilment of ancient prophecies. -Before the East had parted from the West, and North and South were -wrapped in close embrace, ’twas told by wise, inspired tongues that -some day by the waters of a boundless sea a goddess in deep sleep, -sent to our people by the sun itself, would meet the eyes of roving -huntsmen, wandering far afield. Our seers have told us that when she -had come--Coyocop, the very spirit of the sun, our god--our race would -meet our brothers of the moon, and all the world would bow beneath our -yoke.” - -De Sancerre, impatient by temperament, and finding difficulty in fully -understanding the disjointed Spanish _patois_ used by the old woman, -had paid but little real attention to this long speech, in spite of the -attitude of absorbed interest which he had assumed, knowing that the -piercing eyes of the sun’s brother were scanning his face attentively. - -“Your name is, señora--is--” he asked, as the wrinkled hag paused an -instant to regain her breath. - -“Noco,” she answered, simply. - -“Doña Noco, say to his Majesty that others of our suite are approaching -the throne to lay their homage at his feet, and that I, his servant, -crave further speech with him anon. Then, señora, if you love me, draw -aside a pace or two, that I may have a word with you alone.” - -Hardly had de Sancerre ceased to speak when through an opening in the -throng made by the courteous sun-worshippers came toward the throne the -gray-frocked friar, Zenobe Membré, followed by Katonah and Chatémuc, -side by side. The Franciscan, chanting in a light but well-rounded -voice a Latin hymn, bore aloft before him a rudely-carved wooden -crucifix. With his large gray eyes raised to heaven, and his face -radiant with the religious ecstasy which filled his soul, he looked, -at that moment, to the eyes of the overwrought sun-worshippers, like a -man created of shadows and moonbeams, bearing toward their sovereign a -mystic symbol potent for good or ill. - -The effect of the friar’s dramatic approach upon the impressionable -Brother of the Sun served de Sancerre’s purpose well. Unobserved by the -King, whose eyes were fixed upon the chanting priest, the Frenchman -seized this opportunity to draw Noco aside. Removing from his breast -the piece of mulberry bark upon which was scrawled the name of Julia de -Aquilar, he asked, in a whisper which did not disguise his excitement: - -“Who wrote this name? Tell me, Doña Noco, for the love of God!” - -“Coyocop,” muttered the hag, in a voice indicating the fear that she -felt of the Frenchman’s impetuosity. Her answer conveyed no meaning to -the straining ear of de Sancerre. - -“Tell me more, good Noco,” he implored, glancing furtively at the -Brother of the Sun, who had arisen to greet the oncoming Franciscan. - -“I dare not--now,” whispered Noco, nervously. “Anon, perhaps, if the -chance should come.” - -With this unsatisfactory promise the interpreter returned to resume -her duties at her sovereign’s side, and de Sancerre, mystified and -morose, turned to watch the efforts of Zenobe Membré to dethrone the -deified sun in favor of the true God. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -IN WHICH CHATÉMUC FINDS THE INSPIRATION WHICH HE LACKED - - -“’Twas as I said it would be, my Chatémuc,” exclaimed Membré, -mournfully, as the friar and his convert retired from the immediate -presence of royalty. “As long as yonder temple protects its hellish -fire, the ears of this great monarch will be deaf to words of mine. -Mother of God, ’tis sad! He has a noble face! I would that I might live -to shrive him of the many sins his haughty pride begets!” - -Chatémuc gave vent to what might have been a pious groan, though it -sounded to a listening group of sun-worshippers like the grunt of an -ill-tempered man. The half-civilized Mohican had good reasons for -his discontented mood. His unexpected discovery of a race of native -Americans taller, better proportioned, and seemingly more muscular than -his kinsmen of the North, had touched his sullen pride. Furthermore, -Chatémuc felt that he had been made a victim, at the very foot of the -throne, of a cleverly designed conspiracy. De Sancerre had spoken a -few words to Noco, and the latter had addressed the King himself. In -his native tongue the Great Sun had issued an order which had been -translated by Noco into Spanish, and which de Sancerre had turned into -French for the benefit--or, rather, for the disturbance--of Chatémuc. -The royal behest had been uncompromising in its curt simplicity. The -Brother of the Sun had ordered Noco to act as hostess to Katonah during -the latter’s sojourn within his domain. Annoyed as the Mohican had -been at this command, he had reluctantly recognized the futility of an -open protest against the disposition made, without his consent, of his -sister. He had retired with the Franciscan from the group surrounding -the King’s litter, with a burning desire in his heart to make mischief. -Quick to read the mind of Chatémuc, the gray friar, whose open zeal as -a proselyter had been changed, by the Great Sun’s stubborn indifference -to the awful significance of the crucifix, into the craft of a schemer, -was now pouring into the Mohican’s ears words emphasizing the glories -of martyrdom, and picturing the bliss which awaited those who perished -for the cause of Mother Church. The Franciscan and his convert -had withdrawn to a sunny slope a few yards to the eastward of the -flower-strewn hillock upon which the Brother of the Sun maintained the -pomp of royalty. - -Had the eyes and ears of Chatémuc and Membré been open at that moment -to pleasant impressions, they would have found many sources of delight -in their surroundings. They gazed upon a multicolored scene whose most -striking features they had never, in their many years of forest-travel, -looked upon before. Bright-hued flowers, trees gay with the blossoms of -spring, birds whose brilliant plumage suggested the possibility that a -rainbow, shattered into small bits, had found wings for the remnants -of its glory, and, over all, a blue canopy across which floated white, -fleecy playthings of the breeze, whispered in vain their story of love -and peace to the zealous friar and his attentive tool. - -From the westward came the inspiring shouts of the home-going multitude -and the noise of kettle-drums helping the army to keep perfect time -as it marched, a snow-white phalanx, toward the City of the Sun. From -their coigne of vantage Membré and the Mohican could see that a monarch -who had snubbed the former and enraged the latter harbored no present -intention of following his subjects and his army toward his city. In -fact, it soon became apparent that the Brother of the Sun was about to -regale his guests with a somewhat pretentious feast. Upon litters, -undecorated and simple in construction, servants belonging to the -lowest social caste--slaves in fact, if not by law--bore from the city -food designed to give a substantial foundation to the Great Sun’s _fête -champêtre_. Bustling women brought rudely-constructed wooden benches to -the grass-carpeted banquet-hall whose decorations were the flowers of -spring and whose roof was the smiling sky. - -It was well for the good feeling that de Sancerre had done so much to -strengthen between the children of the sun and moon that the slaves -made ready the feast with great despatch, for the inopportune attempt -of Zenobe Membré to convert the King at one stroke from the religion of -his ancestors to a faith whose mysteries a sign-language was impotent -to explain had cast a damper upon the group surrounding royalty. -While it was true that the Great Sun had not taken offence at the -inexplicable demonstration made by the zealous friar, he had become -thoughtful and silent after the retreat of Membré and the Mohican. To -relieve the situation, Henri de Tonti, a soldier unfitted either by -disposition or habit for delicate feats of diplomacy, made no effort. -Upon his scarred and unsymmetrical countenance rested an expression of -sullen discontent as he stood, with folded arms, pretending to watch -the preparations for a feast for which he had no heart. His jealousy -of de Sancerre increased as he saw that, through the aid of Noco’s -tongue, the courtier was tempting back again the smile of friendly -interest to the black-eyed monarch’s face. Undecided whether to flee -to the hillock where her brother stood or to place herself in Noco’s -charge, according to the King’s command, Katonah lingered irresolutely -by de Sancerre’s side, while her heart beat fast with the dread of an -impending peril whose source she could not divine. - -Presently the activity of the slaves ceased for a moment, and the -master of ceremonies--“_le maître d’hôtel_” as de Sancerre dubbed him -under his breath--approached the throne with arms stretched upward -above his head, and announced in one word that the preparations for the -banquet had been completed. - -“Cahani!” exclaimed the Great Sun, seating himself upon a bench in -front of the royal litter, and motioning to de Sancerre to take the -place at his right hand. “Cahani! Sit down!” - -At the monarch’s left stood Noco, duenna and interpreter, a useful -creature at that moment, but unfitted by birth to eat meat with her -sovereign. The Brother of the Sun smiled upon Katonah, and graciously -offered her the second place of honor by his side. What the maiden’s -rank among the Mohicans might be made no difference at this juncture. -She had been honored by the Great Sun’s gracious recognition, and -from that instant was looked up to as a princess by the ceremonious -sun-worshippers, who held that their monarch’s nod might serve as a -patent of nobility to a stranger from an alien land. Among themselves, -the road from the lowest social status to the highest was a hard one. -To enter the circle of the nobility, a low-caste man and wife among the -children of the sun must strangle one of their own offspring, having -proved, by this heroic sacrifice, their superiority to the humble rank -to which birth had consigned them. - -On the royal bench beyond Katonah sat the restless and dissatisfied de -Tonti, silently protesting against the turn which events had taken, -but just now impotent to change their course. The Italian veteran had -walked far since breaking his fast, and had undergone the exhausting -conflict of many antagonistic emotions. Hunger and thirst combined -for the moment to postpone the withdrawal of his followers from the -too-hospitable grasp of the sun-worshippers, but the observant captain -realized the immediate necessity of a consultation with de la Salle -before proceeding further with negotiations which the impulsiveness -of de Sancerre might twist into an awkward shape. De Tonti had -started out that morning to visit, he had imagined, an insignificant -tribe of friendly Indians, and, behold, he had come upon a powerful -nation, equipped with an army of gigantic warriors and endowed with a -civilization whose outward manifestations were extremely impressive. -Distrustful of de Sancerre, and knowing well the extremes to which -Zenobe Membré’s zeal as a proselyter might carry him, the Italian -soldier scented danger in their present environment. He determined, -therefore, to withdraw his followers from the feast at an early moment, -to reject the Great Sun’s proffer of hospitality for the night--which, -he felt sure, would be extended to them--and to return to de la Salle’s -camp by the river as quickly as circumstances permitted. - -On the small plateau below the hillock upon which the Great Sun and -his guests sat in state a hundred dusky noblemen had ranged themselves -along the benches, awaiting, in solemn silence, the signal from their -monarch which should reawaken the activity of the serving-women and -inaugurate a banquet bidding fair to last until sundown. The Great Sun -had raised his sceptre of painted feathers to indicate to his master of -ceremonies that the time had come for the serving of the first course, -when the royal eye lighted upon Zenobe Membré and the Mohican, who -still stood upon a hillock beyond the furthest line of benches, plunged -in deep converse. - -“Go to your friend who sings the praises of his god, the Moon,” -exclaimed the King, turning to Noco, who stood behind him awaiting his -pleasure, and pointing his tawdry sceptre toward the Franciscan, “and -say to him that the Brother of the Sun invites him to meat and drink. -Have my people make a place for him, and for his captive who leans upon -his voice. Go quickly, and return to me at once.” - -Without further delay, the monarch gave the impatiently-awaited -signal for the serving of the feast, and the hunger of his guests was -suddenly confronted by a throng of antagonists, any one of which was -fashioned to appease, in short order, the appetite of a European. The -coarser meats, the buffalo steaks and the clumsily cooked venison, -were relieved by fish prepared for the table with some skill, and by -old corn made palatable in a variety of ways. To Henri de Tonti’s -great satisfaction, he found that the _cuisine_ of the sun-worshippers -was the most admirable which he had encountered in his long years of -pilgrimages from one native tribe to another. - -It was with a great deal of reluctance that the Franciscan friar, -followed by Chatémuc, had accepted the invitation extended to him from -the Great Sun through Noco’s overworked tongue. She had delivered her -message to the friar in her mongrel Spanish, and the Franciscan’s -knowledge of Latin had enabled him to grasp the general tenor of -her words. He had been endeavoring to throw upon the embers of the -Mohican’s religious enthusiasm sufficient fuel to beget a flame that -should result in immediate action of an heroic nature. But while -the Franciscan dwelt upon the glories of martyrdom and the splendor -of the rewards awaiting a servant of the Church who gave his life -for the faith, fatigue and hunger, having possessed themselves of -Chatémuc’s earthly tabernacle, formed a powerful alliance against that -self-abnegation which the priest labored earnestly to arouse in the -Mohican’s soul. - -“To eat meat with these children of Satan, who worship the very fires -of hell, is, I fear, to commit a grave sin,” remarked the friar, -gazing upward at Chatémuc dubiously, as they followed Noco toward the -lower benches. Being a hungry barbarian, not a devout and learned -controversialist, the Mohican could vouchsafe in answer to this nothing -more satisfactory than a grunt, a guttural comment upon the delicate -point raised by the agitated friar which might mean much or nothing. - -Seated at the very outskirts of the picturesque throng, Zenobe Membré -bent his tonsured head and told his beads for a time, watching Chatémuc -furtively as the Mohican indulged freely in roasted meats, half-cooked -fish, and various preparations made from last year’s corn. - -“How proudly yonder temple rises toward the sky, my Chatémuc,” muttered -the friar, glancing toward the City of the Sun. “Great will be the -glory of the hand chosen by the saints to pull it to the ground.” - -Chatémuc chewed a morsel of tough venison and said nothing, but his -eyes rested with a hostile gleam upon the Great Sun a hundred yards -beyond him, beside whom sat Katonah, seemingly removed from her -brother by the breadth of a mighty nation. Suddenly by the Mohican’s -side appeared a serving-woman, who placed upon the bench at his right -hand a gourd containing a fermented liquor made of the leaves of -the cassia-tree. The increasing loquacity of the banqueters beyond -the friar and his companion proved that the beverage, which had now -reached them, possessed exhilarating properties. If the Franciscan had -needed further evidence of the enlivening influence of the seductive -liquor, which had come late to the feast as an ally to good-fellowship, -the change in Chatémuc’s face would have offered it. After emptying -his gourd twice--for the Mohican liked the cinnamon flavor of the -drink--Chatémuc, flashing a glance of hatred at the Great Sun, looked -down at the attentive friar at his side. - -“The fire of hell shall burn no more beyond,” he said, jerking his hand -toward the distant city, behind which the weary sun had begun to creep. -“The oath I swore to you shall be no idle boast.” - -Having observed that the Mohican liked the wine she offered him, -the woman delegated to serve the friar and his comrade refilled the -latter’s gourd for the third time. Chatémuc swallowed the fiery liquor -eagerly, and turned to speak a final word to the priest. - -At that instant Zenobe Membré’s eyes were fixed upon the royal group -beyond him. The Great Sun had arisen and stood waving his feathered -sceptre energetically, while he gazed down at Noco, to whom he seemed -to be talking with some excitement. Gazing up at the King, with a -satirical smile upon his delicate face, sat de Sancerre, while de Tonti -had sprung to his feet with an expression of anger upon his countenance. - -When the friar turned to address Chatémuc, he discovered that the -Mohican had left his side and had been lost to sight in the long -shadows of the stealthy twilight. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE RUNS A STUBBORN RACE - - -It is but fair to the memory of a noble, if somewhat too impetuous -proselyter, to say that if Zenobe Membré--whose achievements and -sufferings entitle him to all praise--had realized that martyrdom, the -rewards for which he had painted in such glowing colors, really menaced -the aroused Mohican, he would have weighed his words with greater care. -But the gray friar had long been in the habit of using heroic language -to stir the soul of Chatémuc to religious enthusiasm, and he had not, -as yet, found cause to regret the use which he had made for years -of his pliable convert. Furthermore, the Franciscan placed absolute -confidence in the Mohican’s ability to take good care of his red skin. -He had seen the craft of Chatémuc overcome appalling odds too many -times to long indulge the fear that the Indian’s sudden disappearance -at this juncture presaged disaster. Nevertheless, he regretted that his -convert had set out upon a mission of some peril with such unwonted -precipitancy. The friar would have felt better satisfied with himself -if he had been permitted to breathe a word of caution into Chatémuc’s -ear before the latter had gone forth upon his lonely crusade against -the fires of hell. - -“At the worst,” muttered the Franciscan to himself, as he made his -way toward the royal litter between lines of black-eyed, smiling -sun-worshippers--“at the worst, it would be one life for Paradise and a -nation for the Church! May the saints be with my Chatémuc! If he won a -martyr’s crown, his blood would quench a fire which Satan keeps alive. -But Mother Mary aid him! I love him well! I’d lose my right hand to -save my Chatémuc from death! May Christ assail me if so my words were -rash!” - -Thus communing with himself, the Franciscan approached the excited -group surrounding royalty. - -“_Ma foi_, good father, you come to us most opportunely!” cried de -Sancerre, springing to his feet, a smile upon his lips but a gleam -of repressed anger in his eyes. “Monsieur de Tonti is bent upon -repaying his Majesty’s hospitality with marked ingratitude. He orders -us--courageous captain that he is--to return at once to Sieur de la -Salle. As for me, I have promised the Brother of the Sun to pass the -night in yonder city--to the greater glory of our sire, the moon!” - -Henri de Tonti, a black frown upon his brow, had overheard the -Frenchman’s sarcastic words. Seizing the friar by the arm, he flashed a -glance of rage and menace at the exasperating de Sancerre, and drew the -Franciscan aside, to lay before him weighty arguments in favor of an -immediate retreat to the river. - -Meanwhile the younger men among the sun-worshipping nobility, moved by -the same cinnamon-flavored inspiration which had driven Chatémuc toward -a Satan-lighted fire, had abandoned the scene of the recent feast to -indulge in athletic rivalries on the greensward which undulated gently -between the outskirts of the forest and the City of the Sun. - -“Will you say to his Majesty, señora,” cried de Sancerre, gayly, -drawing near to the Great Sun and addressing Noco, “that he has reason -to be proud of the prowess of his young men? I have never watched -a more exciting wrestling-bout than yonder struggle between those -writhing giants. It is inspiring! It is classic! Could Girardon carve -a fountain from that Grecian contest over there, ’twould add another -marvel to Versailles.” - -The Brother of the Sun smiled down upon de Sancerre with warm -cordiality as the aged interpreter, having caught the general drift -of the Frenchman’s words, turned his praise into her native tongue. -The monarch’s momentary annoyance at Henri de Tonti’s lack of tact -had passed away, and, standing erect, a right royal figure on his -flower-bedecked dais, he watched, with unconcealed pride, the skilful -feats with bow-and-arrow performed by the sun-worshipping aristocrats -and the prodigies of strength which the wrestlers and stone-hurlers -accomplished. - -“Tell me, Doña Noco,” exclaimed de Sancerre presently, at the -conclusion of a closely-contested foot-race, which even the distraught -and restless Katonah, searching vainly with her eyes for Chatémuc, -had watched for a moment with bated breath--“tell me the name of -yonder greyhound, carved in bronze, who smiles so disdainfully upon -the victor. I have never before seen a youth whose legs and shoulders -seemed to be so well fashioned by nature to outstrip the wind itself. -Why does he not compete?” - -The shrivelled crone grinned with delight. - -“That is my grandson, Cabanacte,” she answered, proudly. “He’s now a -nobleman, for, at the risk of life, he bore the spirit of the sun to -us. The whirlwind cannot catch him. The falling-star seems slow behind -his feet. He stands, in pride, alone; for none dare challenge him.” - -A flush crept into the pale face of the Frenchman as his sparkling -eyes garnered with delight all the inspiring features of the scene -before him, features which formed at that moment a picture reminding -him of the glory of ancient Athens, the splendors of a pagan cult which -found in strength and beauty idols worthy of adoring tribute. The -passing day breathed a golden blessing upon the City of the Sun, which -gleamed in the distance like a dream of Greece in the old, heroic days. -De Sancerre, well-read and impressionable, mused for a moment upon the -strange likeness of the scene before him to a painting that he had -gazed upon, in a land far over-sea, representing Attic athletes engaged -in classic games beneath a stately temple behind which the sun had hid -its weary face. Awakening from his day-dreams, he turned toward Noco -and addressed her in a voice which made his Spanish most impressive. - -“Go to Cabanacte, señora, and say to him that Count Louis de Sancerre -of Languedoc--the fairest province in the silver moon--dares him to a -test of speed, the course to run from here to yonder lonely tree, near -to the city’s gate, and back again.” - -A grin of mingled admiration and amazement lighted the old hag’s face -as she turned toward the King and repeated to him his guest’s daring -defiance of a runner whose superiority no sun-worshipper had cared to -test for many waning moons. A courteous smile played across the firm, -well-cut mouth of the Great Sun as he listened to Noco’s words, but the -scornful gleam in his black eyes as they rested upon the Frenchman’s -slender, undersized figure was not lost upon the observant challenger. -De Sancerre realized fully that he had placed in jeopardy his influence -with the Brother of the Sun by risking a trial of speed with a youth -whose fleetness he had had, as yet, no means of gauging. If he should -be outstripped by Cabanacte the good-will of the Great Sun would be -changed to contempt, and the relationship of host to guests, already -disturbed by de Tonti’s lack of tact, might be transformed into that -of a victor to his captives. What, then, would become of de Sancerre’s -efforts to solve the mystery to which old Noco held the key? - -But de Sancerre, always self-confident, placed absolute faith in the -elasticity of his light, nervous frame, whose muscles had been hardened -by his campaigns over-sea and by his wanderings with de la Salle. -No fleeter foot than his had been found in the sport-loving army of -Turenne, and he had been as much admired in camps for his agility as -at courts for his grace. If, perchance, he should outrun the stalwart -Cabanacte, de Sancerre felt sure that his easily-won popularity with -these impressionable sun-worshippers would be placed upon a much more -stable foundation than its present underpinning of smiles and courtly -bows. - -“My grandson, Cabanacte, sends greeting to the envoy of the moon,” -panted Noco, returning speedily to de Sancerre’s side, “and will gladly -chase the wind with him in friendly rivalry. He bids me say that night -falls quickly when the sun has set and that he craves your presence at -this moment on the course.” - -Making a courteous obeisance to the Brother of the Sun, de Sancerre was -about to hasten to the side of his gigantic adversary, who, stripped -almost to nakedness, stood awaiting his challenger, when he felt a -detaining hand upon his arm, and, turning petulantly, looked into -Katonah’s agitated face. - -“Chatémuc! My brother! I cannot see him anywhere!” - -“Fear not, _ma petite_,” exclaimed de Sancerre, cheerily. “Wait here -until I’ve made this sun-baked Mercury imagine he’s a snail, and we’ll -find your kinsman of the joyous face. ’Twould break my heart to lose -the gay and smiling Chatémuc! Adieu! I go to victory, or, perhaps, to -death! Pray to Saint Maturin for me, Katonah! He watches over fools!” - -A great shout arose from the sun-worshippers as de Sancerre and -Cabanacte, saluting each other with ceremonious respect, stood side -by side awaiting the signal for their flight toward the distant tree -which marked the turning-point in the course which they were about -to run. The Frenchman, attired in tattered velvets and wearing shoes -never designed for the use of an athlete, seemed to be at that moment -handicapped by both nature and art for the race awaiting him. Almost a -pygmy beside the bronze giant, whose limbs would have driven sleep from -a sculptor’s couch, de Sancerre had apparently chosen well in asking -Katonah for an invocation to the saint who protects fools from the -outcome of their folly. The black-eyed sun-worshippers glanced at each -other in smiling derision. Surely, these children of the moon must eat -at night of some plant or fruit which stirred their blood to madness -when they wandered far afield! No dwarf would dare to measure strides -with a colossus unless, indeed, he’d lost his wits through midnight -revelry in moonlit glades! This white-faced, queerly-dressed, and most -presumptuous rival of the mighty Cabanacte might smile and bow and -gain the ear of kings, but look upon him now, with head bent forward, -waiting for the word! Fragile, petite, thin in the shanks, and with -a chest a boy might scorn, he dares to measure strides with a sturdy -demigod who towers above him, a giant shadow in the gloaming there! - -A howl from the overwrought throng shook the leaves upon the trees. -The runners had sprung from the line at a cry and, elbow to elbow, -were speeding toward the distant tree. Falling back to Cabanacte’s -flank, de Sancerre, seeming to grow taller as he ran, and using his -feet with a nimbleness and grace which emphasized the clumsiness of -his fleet rival’s tread, hung with ease upon the giant’s pace, moving -with a rhythmical smoothness which indicated reserved power. Through -the twilight toward the city rushed the courtier and the savage, made -equals at that moment by the levelling spirit of a manly sport, while -the onlookers stood, eager-eyed and silent, watching with amazement -the pertinacity of the lithe Frenchman who so stubbornly kept the pace -behind their yet unconquered champion. - -As the racers turned the tree marking the half of their swift career, -the dusky patriots saw, with growing consternation, that the child of -moonbeams still sped gayly along behind the stalwart, wavering figure -of a son of suns. The pace set by Cabanacte had been heartrending -from the start, for he had cherished the conviction that he would be -able to shake off his puny rival long before the turn for home was -made. But ever as he strove to increase his lead the bronze-tinted -athlete heard, just behind his shoulder, the dainty footfalls of -a light-waisted, wiry, bold-hearted antagonist, who panted not in -weariness behind the champion after the manner of his rivals of other -days. Out of the glowing West came the racers side by side, every step -a contest as they struggled toward the goal. - -“Cabanacte! Cabanacte!” cried the sun-worshippers, mad with the fear -that the dwarf might outrun the giant at the last. For the Frenchman -had crept up from behind and was now speeding homeward on even terms -with his delirious, reeling, wind-blown, but still unconquered -rival. For a hundred yards the racers fought their fight by inches, -each marvelling in his aching mind at the stern persistence of his -antagonist. Then, when the strain grew greater than human muscles could -endure, the bursting heart of de Sancerre seemed to ease its awful -pressure upon his chest, his faltering steps regained their light and -graceful motion, and, passing Cabanacte as the latter glanced up with -eyes bloodshot with longing, the Frenchman, with a gay smile upon his -pallid face, rushed past the line, a winner of the race by two full -yards. - -[Illustration: “THE FRENCHMAN, WITH A GAY SMILE UPON HIS PALLID FACE, -RUSHED PAST THE LINE, A WINNER OF THE RACE BY TWO FULL YARDS”] - -The hot, generous blood of the sun-worshippers bounded in their veins -as they seized the tottering victor and, with shouts of wonder and -acclaim, raised him to their shoulders and bore him, a wonder-worker -in their eyes, to the smiling presence of their astonished king. But -before de Sancerre could receive the congratulations of the Brother of -the Sun, the voice of Katonah had reached him over the heads of the -excited patricians. - -“Monsieur,” cried the Mohican maiden, in French, her voice vibrating -with excitement, “Père Membré and Monsieur de Tonti have set out for -the camp, and Chatémuc has not returned!” - -“_Peste, ma petite!_” exclaimed de Sancerre, blowing her a kiss over -the turmoil of black heads beneath him. “Why trouble me with trifles -such as these? See you not that a splinter from a moonbeam has put -the sun to shame--to the greater glory of our Mother Church. _Laude, -Katonah! Laude et jubilate!_” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -IN WHICH THE RESULTS OF CHATÉMUC’S ENTHUSIASM ARE SEEN - - -“Courage, _ma petite_! We’ll find your Chatémuc; then learn the -mysteries of yonder sun-kissed town. That the stubborn captain has -deserted us is hardly strange. Always in fear of de la Salle’s -displeasure, Monsieur de Tonti has grown erratic, unreliable, jealous. -As for the friar, his retreat surprises me. He lacks not courage nor -persistence. He would not leave our brother of the sun without, at the -least, one more attempt to show him the path which leads to Mother -Church.” - -Released from the enthusiastic arms of the noblemen who had carried -him in triumph to their king, de Sancerre was now following the royal -litter toward the City of the Sun, walking the well-beaten path with -the mincing step of a courtier whose feet, though swifter than the -winds, pay homage gayly to Grace as a worthier deity than Speed. On -either side of the victorious runner, whose eyes still glowed with -the joy of triumph, walked Noco and Katonah. The latter, downcast and -apprehensive, gazed gloomily toward the city, whose roofs could now -be plainly seen, while she listened apathetically to the Frenchman’s -encouraging words. Changing the tongue he used from French to Spanish, -de Sancerre, turning toward Noco, who looked, in the twilight, like a -hideous heathen idol carved in mahogany, said: - -“I trust, señora, that your courageous grandson, my very worthy -opponent, will bear me no ill-will because my slender body was less a -burden than his giant frame.” - -Noco, to whom de Sancerre’s overthrow of the erstwhile invincible -Cabanacte had appeared like a miracle wrought by some mysterious -moon-magic, gazed reverentially at the Frenchman with beady, black -eyes, which seemed to be fully half a century younger than the other -features of her wrinkled face. Her countenance was a palimpsest, with -youth staring out from beneath the writings made by time. - -“My grandson, Cabanacte, O Son of the Full Moon, will ever do your -bidding with a loyal heart. According to the customs of our land, your -triumph in the race entitles you to service at his hands until his feet -wax swift enough to fly away from yours.” - -“Caramba!” exclaimed de Sancerre, whose expletives bore testimony to -the cosmopolitan tendencies of his adventurous career, “your words, -señora, rejoice my heart! I stand in sore need of a servitor to save -me from the nakedness which one more heated foot-race would beget. If -Cabanacte can repair the rents which make my costume such a marvel to -the eye, I’ll free him from his _villein socage_ and make him proud -again.” - -Enough of this the old hag understood--enlightened, to a great extent, -by the Frenchman’s eloquent gestures--to emphasize the grin upon her -ugly but intelligent face. - -“Cabanacte is a warrior, not a maker of flowing robes!” she exclaimed, -with a raucous chuckle. “But to-night old Noco will repair the holes -in the Son of the Full Moon’s garb. Look at this.” Fumbling at her -waist, she presently held out to de Sancerre’s gaze a needle made of -fish-bone. Lowering her voice, she said: “Coyocop, the spirit of the -sun, has not disdained to let my needle prick her sacred dress. She -weeps, and cares for nothing but to lie upon her couch and whisper -secrets to the mother of the sun. ’Tis sad, but so she must fulfil her -mission to our race. Our nation’s wise men and the priests who tend the -temple-fire had told us she would come. My grandson, Cabanacte, bore -her from the sea.” - -De Sancerre listened attentively to the old crone’s words. He recalled -Noco’s assertion that Coyocop had scrawled his inamorata’s name upon -the mulberry bark, though, at the time, he had not grasped the full -significance of her mumbled, mongrel Spanish words, rendered less clear -to him by the use of the meaningless name, Coyocop. But now, as they -hurried on behind the porters who carried the King’s litter, followed -by a hundred chattering noblemen, a veil seemed to be lifted from de -Sancerre’s mind. His heart beat with suffocating rapidity, and his -voice trembled as he looked down at Noco, trying to catch her eyes in -the darkening twilight, and exclaimed: - -“’Twas Coyocop who scratched that name upon the bark? But why, good -Doña Noco? Tell me why.” - -The old woman glanced over her shoulder, to assure herself that they -could not be overheard. Then she whispered: - -“I told her the white-faced children of the moon had come to us upon -the bosom of the flood, according to an ancient prophecy. The temple -priests would strangle me with cords if they should learn how my old -tongue has wagged. They watch me closely, for they worship her. But -once she found a moment, when no priest was near, to scratch the mystic -symbols on the bark. I crept away at night and, lo, your god, the moon, -was guide to my old feet--and, so, I came to you from Coyocop.” - -That Noco had told him all she had to tell, the Frenchman did not for -a moment doubt. But, even then, she had thrown little light upon the -mystery which confronted him. A mondain to his finger-tips, at heart -a sceptic, de Sancerre fostered no belief in miracles. Surrounded, -as he had been all the days of his life, by men and women steeped -in superstition, his spirit had revolted at the impostures which -had served to blind mankind through centuries of human history. Had -de Sancerre been wrought of the stuff of which his age was made, he -would have reached the conclusion at once that here in the wilderness -the avenging spirit of the Spaniard whom he had slain in France was -haunting him at night to play him tricks to drive him straight to -madness. ’Twould be so easy to account thus for what his reason could -not now explain. But de Sancerre was a man who, intellectually, had -pressed on in advance of his times. By policy a conformist to the -exterior demands of his avowed religion, he had long lost his faith in -the active interference in earthly affairs of saints and devils. How -the name of Julia de Aquilar had found its way to a piece of vagrom -bark in a wilderness, thousands of miles across the sea from the land -of her nativity, he could not explain, nor could he harbor, for an -instant, the wild idea that Coyocop and his inamorata would prove -to be identical. In spite of the malicious horns of his dilemma, -nevertheless, he eliminated from his thoughts the possibility that he -had become the plaything of supernatural agencies. But who was Coyocop? -He must look upon her face without delay. - -“Señora, listen!” exclaimed de Sancerre, seizing Noco by the arm. “I -must see the spirit of the sun to-night! From the mountains of the -moon, where reigns our god in silvery state, I bear a message to the -goddess Coyocop. _Peste_, Doña Noco! Have you gone to sleep?” He shook -her gently, striving hard to find her eyes. - -“It cannot be,” muttered the old crone, trembling under his grasp as if -the night wind chilled her time-worn frame--“it cannot be. ’Twould mean -your life--and mine.” - -“Hold, señora! Remember Cabanacte--and pin your faith to me! No matter -what the odds may be, the brother of the moonbeams always wins! Bear -that in mind, good Noco, or the future may grow black for thee. Be -faithful to my fortunes--and I’ll make your grandson noble once again.” - -How deep an impression his words had made upon the beldame, de Sancerre -could not tell, for at that moment there arose behind him a weird -chant, sung by a hundred tuneful voices, rising and falling upon the -evening air with thrilling effect. Suddenly beyond them from the very -heart of the City of the Sun arose a mightier chorus than the King’s -suite could beget, and the night grew vibrant with a wild, menacing -song which chilled de Sancerre’s heart and caused Katonah to press -close to his side, in vain striving for the comfort she could not find. - -Presently the litter of the King, passing between two outlying houses, -turned into a broad avenue which led directly to the great square of -the city, at one side of which stood the temple of the sun. The moon -had not yet arisen, and what was twilight in the open had turned to -night within the confines of the town. De Sancerre, who was a close -observer, both by temperament and by habit, strove in vain to obtain a -satisfactory view of the dwelling-houses between which the royal litter -passed. But when the King and his followers had reached the outskirts -of the great square, the Frenchman forgot at once his curiosity as a -traveller; forgot, even for a moment, the problem to solve which he -had dared to enter this pagan city, in defiance of all discipline and -in direct disobedience to La Salle’s lieutenant. The scene which broke -upon his staring eyes stilled, for an instant, the beating of his -heart, which seemed to bound into his throat to choke him. - -The square between the King’s litter and the entrance to the temple -was thronged with men and women, in front of whom stood long lines of -stalwart warriors, the flower of the army which had recently astonished -the eyes of the wanderers from over-sea. Waving lights and shadows, the -quarrelsome offspring of flaring torches, changed constantly the grim -details of the scene, as if the night wind strove to hide the horrors -of a dancing, evil dream. - -Directly in front of the main entrance to the temple of the -sun-worshippers stood a post to which Chatémuc had been tied by cords. -On either side of him white-robed priests, wielding long wooden rods, -the ends of which had been turned to red coals in the sacred fire, -prodded his hissing flesh, while they sang a chant of devilish triumph, -in which the populace, enraged at the sacrilege attempted by the -Mohican, joined at intervals. - -Facing the dying martyr, who gazed down at him with proud stoicism, -knelt the gray-frocked Franciscan, Zenobe Membré, holding toward -the victim of excessive zeal the crude crucifix, for love of which -Chatémuc, the Mohican, was now freeing his soul from torment. - -“Nom de Dieu!” cried de Sancerre, placing his hand upon his rapier, -“this savage sport must end!” In another instant the reckless -Frenchman, carving his way to death, would have challenged an army, -single-handed, had not Katonah, reeling from the horror of her -brother’s death, fallen senseless into his reluctant arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -IN WHICH THE GRAY FRIAR DONS THE LIVERY OF SATAN - -“It was a miracle! A voice from heaven whispered in my ear, and, -turning back, I left de Tonti, angry, threatening, to take his way -alone. To give my Chatémuc the words of absolution at the last, the -Virgin Mother led me by the hand. And now in Paradise he wears a -martyr’s crown. The saints be praised!” - -The earnest eyes of the Franciscan were turned upward in an ecstasy of -gratitude and devotion. Seated upon a wooden bench by the gray friar’s -side, de Sancerre listened musingly to Membré’s account of the Italian -captain’s attempt to entice him back to de la Salle’s camp before he -had learned the outcome of Chatémuc’s effort to extinguish a flame from -hell. - -Noco, well understanding the present temper of the sun-worshipping -priesthood, and acting upon a command given to her by the Great Sun -himself, had managed, with considerable difficulty, to persuade -de Sancerre and Katonah to secrete themselves for a time in her -unpretentious but not comfortless hut. Her rescue of Zenobe Membré -from his threatening environment at the martyred Mohican’s side had -been, she flattered herself, a triumph of adroitness, and she sat in -a dark corner of the room at this moment whispering to her gigantic -grandson. Cabanacte, warm praise of her own cleverness. She had saved -the Franciscan from the immediate vengeance of the sun-worshipping -priests by suggesting to the latter that the summary execution of the -gray-frocked singer of unorthodox chants might arouse the anger of -Coyocop, whose coming, prophecy had told them, was connected, in some -occult way, with the predicted advent of the white-faced envoys from -the moon. Sated with the cruel entertainment vouchsafed to them by the -death-twitchings of the stoical Chatémuc, the white-robed guardians -of the sun-temple had permitted the Franciscan to depart with Noco, -although the latter well knew that thenceforth every movement which she -and her gray-garbed companion made would be noted by the dark eyes of -fanatical spies. - -The room in which the refugees--for such the antagonism of the dominant -sun-priests had made them--had found shelter for the night was a -picturesque apartment, fifteen feet in length and breadth, and lighted -by flickering gleams from the embers of a fire of walnut-wood. Upon a -bed of plaited reeds, resting upon a wooden frame two feet high, lay -Katonah, grief-stricken, motionless, making no sound. Heart-broken -at her brother’s awful fate, the Indian maiden nursed her sorrow in -loneliness and silence. In vain had the good friar attempted to console -her for her irreparable loss by painting, in eloquent words, the -rewards awaiting a martyr who died for love of Mother Church. Katonah -was too recent a convert to the Franciscan’s faith to realize and -rejoice in the unseen glories of her brother’s heroic self-sacrifice. -She had listened to Membré’s soothing words with a grateful smile -upon her strong, symmetrical face, but evident relief had come to her -when the gray-frocked enthusiast had retired from her bedside to seat -himself beside de Sancerre in the centre of the room. - -“Pardieu!” muttered the Frenchman, casting a searching glance at the -corner in which Noco and Cabanacte were engaged in earnest, low-voiced -converse, “these people show outward signs of enlightenment, but they -have a most brutal way of putting a man to death. The savage delight -which those white-robed devils seemed to take in basting poor Chatémuc -made my sword-point itch. ’Twas well for me Saint Maturin was kind. -He checked my folly just in time! But listen, father! The martyrdom -of Chatémuc must now suffice. Those imps of hell will have your life, -anon, unless you foil their craft by craft. I think I hear their -stealthy footsteps menacing these sun-cooked walls and making challenge -of our god, the moon.” - -The Franciscan put up his hand to enforce silence that he might -listen to the furtive footfalls outside the hut. At that moment Noco -and her grandson stole toward the centre of the room. The stalwart -sun-worshipper, who now looked upon de Sancerre as a supernatural being -worthy of the most reverential treatment, towered aloft in the narrow -chamber like a keen-eyed, sun-burnt ogre who had lured a number of -unlucky dwarfs to his den to have his grim way with them. Stretching -his long body at full length before the sputtering fire, Cabanacte -turned his admiring gaze toward the troubled face of his fleet-footed -conqueror and waited for Noco to put into words the thoughts which -fretted him. - -“You--all of you--must leave here to-night, señor,” said the old woman -in a guttural whisper. “The Brother of the Sun is your friend, but -the priests of the temple look with suspicion upon you and the gray -chanter. They would not dare to defy openly the King, but they have -tracked you to this hiding-place and will work you mischief if they -may.” - -“But, señora, I fear them not!” exclaimed de Sancerre, drawing his -rapier and allowing the fire-flashes to gleam along the steel. “Saving -the father’s presence here, one sword against a priesthood is enough. -My tongue’s as boastful as a Gascon’s, is it not? But list to this, -señora! I leave here only when I’ve had some speech with Coyocop, -the spirit of the sun. When that may be I do not know, but Louis de -Sancerre, a moonbeam’s eldest son, has sworn an oath--and so, señora, -my welcome I must stretch.” - -Cabanacte, who had learned a little distorted Spanish from his -loquacious grandparent, had caught the drift of the Frenchman’s speech. -Putting forth a large, brown hand, shapely in its massiveness, he -touched the buckles upon de Sancerre’s shoes and exclaimed, in what -sounded like a parody upon Noco’s rendition of an alien tongue: - -“Good! Good! The son of moonbeams has a lofty soul! And Cabanacte is -his body-guard! No harm shall come to you, despite the oath our priests -have sworn!” - -The smile upon de Sancerre’s ever-changing face was the visible sign -of varied emotions. Pleased at the cordial proffer of Cabanacte’s -friendship, the Frenchman was astonished to discover that the giant -had picked up a Spanish vocabulary which, in spite of his peculiar -pronunciation, was not wholly useless. That the survival of a Spanish -_patois_ among these sun-worshippers suggested a pathetic page of -unwritten history de Sancerre realized, but his mind at that moment -was too disturbed to linger long over an ethnological and linguistic -problem. Turning to face the Franciscan friar, he said: - -“Père Membré, these pagan priests seek vengeance upon you. They have no -reason yet for hating me, a splinter from a moonbeam who makes no open -war against their creed. But, for the cause of Mother Church, we must -lure them from their grim idolatry. Let Cabanacte use his strength and -wits to find a pathway leading to our camp by which you may return. -Here I shall stay until our leader, coming North again, shall send me -word to quit this place, leaving behind me a friendly race, soil ready -for the seeds of living truth.” - -It was not excessive self-laudation which had led de Sancerre to -believe that he possessed the qualifications essential to success in -diplomacy. Whenever he had set out to effect a purpose seemingly worthy -of studied effort, he had found no difficulty in checking the satirical -tendencies of his flippant tongue. At this moment he was gazing at the -Franciscan’s disturbed countenance with eyes which seemed to gleam -with the fervor of his zeal for Mother Church. Wishing to convince -Père Membré that the ultimate conversion of these pagans from their -worship of hell-fire to the true faith depended upon their possession -of a hostage who should study their manners and customs and learn the -shortest path by which their unregenerated souls might be reached, de -Sancerre explained his plan of action to the friar with an unctuous -fervor which convinced the latter that he had underestimated the errant -courtier’s enthusiasm as a proselyter. - -“But the Mohican maiden, monsieur? I owe it to Chatémuc, the martyr, -now with the saints in Paradise, to place her in the care of de la -Salle. His sword, my crucifix, must guard Katonah for her brother’s -sake.” - -The walnut embers in the clumsy fireplace had grown black and cold. For -some time past no sound had reached the ears of the schemers from the -menacing environment outside the hut. The moon had touched its midnight -goal, and sought, in passing, to probe the secrets of old Noco’s home. - -“_Bonnement!_” exclaimed de Sancerre. “Go to her at once, good father, -and tell her that ’tis best she should return with you to-night. I’ll -join you presently. Meanwhile, I must have further speech with Noco and -her grandson.” - -Presently the moonbeams, which had stolen into the hut through chinks -between the timbers and the hardened mud, threw a dim light upon a -most impressive tableau. The white face of the Frenchman was bent -close to the dusky visage of the athletic sun-worshipper, while Noco, -squatting upon the ground, bent toward them her wrinkled, grinning -countenance, an effigy of “Gossip,” wrought in bronze. Bending over the -reed-made couch upon which Katonah, dumb with misery, lay listening, -stood the gray friar, whispering to the phlegmatic and seemingly -obedient maiden the Frenchman’s late behest. - -Before the moonbeams could take their tale abroad, the scene had -changed. From a corner of the hut Noco had brought to the Franciscan -and his charge flowing garments of white mulberry bark, in which -Katonah and the friar reluctantly enrobed themselves. With a harmless -dye, old Noco, whose time-tested frame seemed to defy fatigue, deftly -changed the protesting Membré’s white complexion to light mahogany. - -“Mother of Mary! I fear me this is sacrilege,” muttered the friar, -nervously seeking his breviary beneath the white uniform of a lost -sun-worshipper. “_Satis, superque!_ You’ll make my face, old woman, -as black as Satan’s heart! The saints forgive me! Were not my life of -value to the Church, I’d gladly die before I’d don this ghostly livery -of sin.” - -Meanwhile de Sancerre had been straining his weary eyes in the effort -to scratch a message to de la Salle with his dagger’s-point upon a slip -of white bark. - -“The Spanish have tampered with a mighty nation,” he wrote. “I remain -to learn the truth; to find a way to win them to our king. Camp where -you are when you return. I’ll learn of your approach, rejoin you -then, and bring you news most worthy your concern. _Au revoir, mon -capitaine!_ For France, with sword and crucifix!” - -As he scrawled his signature beneath these words, Katonah glided -silently to his side, a maiden whose grace was not destroyed by her -unwonted garb, a costume enhancing the dark beauty of her proud, -melancholy face. Her light hand rested gently upon his arm for a moment. - -“The good father tells me that you would have me go,” she murmured in -a voice of mingled resignation and regret. De Sancerre, handing her -the slip of mulberry bark upon which he had scratched a message to his -leader, smiled up into the yearning face of the lonely girl. - -“Give this to our captain, Sieur de la Salle,” he said, sharply. “Fail -not, Katonah! My life, I think, depends upon this scrawl.” - -A smile flashed across the maiden’s mournful face as she pressed the -bark to her bosom, heaving with a conflict of emotions to which no -words of hers could give relief. - -“His hand shall hold it ere the sun is up,” she said, simply. -“Farewell!” - -De Sancerre, looking up into the girl’s eyes felt, with amazement, the -tears creeping into his. He bent his head and imprinted a kiss upon her -slender, trembling hand, which felt like ice beneath his lips. - -“Courage, _ma petite_!” he cried, with forced gayety. “You will return -anon! And then, the river once again, and home--and friends--and--” - -His voice broke, and when he had regained his self-control he saw that -Katonah had joined Cabanacte and the friar at the entrance to the hut. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -IN WHICH A SPIRIT SAVES DE SANCERRE FROM DEATH - - -There reigned in Noco’s hut intense silence. Stretched upon a bench in -the centre of the room lay de Sancerre, his head bent forward and his -eyes agleam, while he listened apprehensively to the murmurs of the -night outside. On the ground at his feet squatted his aged hostess, -quick to interpret every sound which echoed from the sleeping town. Her -eyes still burned with the light of her marvellous vitality, but her -present posture indicated that her old bones had grown weary of the -friction begotten by a long and exacting day. - -“All is well, señora? You hear no threatening sound?” De Sancerre’s -voice bore witness to the excitement under which he labored at that -crucial moment. - -“A dog barks, near at hand; an owl hoots, far away. Our friends are -safe beyond the town--and all is well!” - -“_Bien!_ Doña Noco, I trust the keenness of your ears. I feared the -searching gaze of wakeful spies. ’Tis possible your priests have gone -to sleep.” - -The old hag grinned. “Make no mistake,” she exclaimed, in her broken -Spanish. “Their eyes have seen your people, but, fearing Cabanacte’s -wrath, they dared not search beneath the white robes at his side. -Within the temple chattering priests will ask each other whom my -grandson guides. They’ll ask in vain! But, hark! The night’s as quiet -as a sleeping babe.” - -“Then, when I’m in the mood, I’ll vow a candle to St. Raphael,” cried -de Sancerre, lightly. “He travelled safe by wearing a disguise! But -tell me, Doña Noco, is the coast now clear? I’ve set my heart upon a -look at Coyocop’s abode. I cannot sleep until I know where this fair -spirit of the sun is lodged.” - -The beldame’s black eyes flashed with excitement. Her overwrought -frame seemed to renew its vigor as she arose to her feet and hurried -toward the low-cut entrance to the hut. An instant later, de Sancerre -found himself the solitary occupant of a dreary and disordered room. -He peered through the shadows toward the exit through which Noco had -passed and, for a moment, doubt of her good faith entered his mind. He -fully comprehended the perils of his environment, and realized that -upon the loyalty of the old hag who had just left his side depended -his escape from the dangers which beset him. While it might be that -he, an envoy from the moon, helped to fulfil an ancient prophecy in -which these fickle sun-worshippers put faith, the fact remained that -their chief, the Great Sun, had failed to give him countenance before -the temple priests. It had become painfully apparent to de Sancerre -that the real centre of authority in this land of superstitions was -to be looked for near the sacred fire and not at the King’s throne. -The fact that the Brother of the Sun had found it inexpedient to lodge -the Frenchman in the royal residence bore testimony to the strong -ties which bound the palace to the temple, to the close relationship -of church and state. To a man who had spent years at Versailles, the -influence exerted by a priesthood upon a king was not a marvel. - -“_Ma foi!_” muttered de Sancerre to himself, as he rested his aching -head upon his hand and watched expectantly the hole in the wall through -which Noco had departed. “The old finesse which served me well at -courts has worn itself to naught. In France or in this wilderness my -fate’s the same. I jump to favor--then the King grows cold and potent -priests usurp the place I held. But, even so, the tale is not all told. -I’m here to solve a puzzle, not to fawn upon a prince nor tempt the -vengeance of a temple’s brood. So be that Noco’s true, I yet may work -my will upon a stubborn mystery.” - -At that moment a hideous grin, weird offspring of ivory and bronze, -rewarded de Sancerre’s straining gaze. - -“Follow me, señor,” whispered Noco through the hole which served as a -door to the hut. “There’s no one in the city now awake save nodding -priests who feed the fire with logs. I’ll show you in the moonlight -where Coyocop’s at rest.” - -In the white light of a cloudless night the City of the Sun lay -disguised in a beauty which the bright glare of its own deity destroyed -by day. Grouped around the temple, the houses of the sun-worshippers, -rising gracefully from artificial mounds, were softened in their -outlines by the moonbeams until they formed a city upon which de -Sancerre, accustomed, as he was, to the architectural splendors of the -old world, gazed with surprise and pleasure. Choosing the shadows cast -by the sun-baked walls for her pathway, Noco led the stranger past -the most pretentious building in the town, the sacred temple in which -a mystic fire was ever kept alive. Like an earthen oven, one hundred -feet in circumference, the stronghold of a cruel priesthood impressed -the Frenchman with its grim significance. As he and his withered guide -crept noiselessly past the silent, shadow-haunted fane, de Sancerre -succumbed to a shudder which he could not readily control. Upon a -palisade above his head, surrounding the temple upon all sides, skulls -gleamed in the moonlight, bearing sombre witness to the horrors of the -cult by which a noble race was brutalized. - -“_Dios!_” he muttered in the old hag’s ear, as he clasped her by the -arm. “The shambles of your creed offend my sight! If you love me, -señora, we’ll leave this place behind!” - -They had not far to go. Beyond the temple and facing the east stood the -spacious cabin in which the Brother of the Sun maintained his royal -state. It was silent and deserted as they stole by it, to take their -stand in the shadow cast by a house proud of its nearness to the home -of kings. White and silent, the night recalled to de Sancerre’s mind an -evening in the outskirts of Versailles when, having eluded the watchful -eyes of his Spanish rival, he had tempted Doña Julia de Aquilar to a -stroll beneath the moon. His heart grew sick with the sweetness of his -revery. He could see again the dark, liquid eyes, the raven hair, the -pale, perfect face of a woman whose splendid beauty mocked him now as -he stood there a waif, blown by the cruel winds of misfortune to a land -where grinning skulls stared down at him at night, as if they’d heard -the story of his lost love and rejoiced at his cruel plight. - -“Come! Come, señora,” he murmured, fretfully, turning to retrace -his steps, and seemingly forgetful of the object of his perilous -pilgrimage. “Come! Let us go back!” - -“Hush, señor! Listen!” whispered the old crone, hoarsely, pulling him -closer toward the house in the shadow of which they lingered. “Listen! -’Tis Coyocop!” - -De Sancerre leaned against the wall of the hut, made dizzy for a -moment by the wild beating of his heart. In perfect harmony with the -melancholy beauty of the night arose a sad, soft, sweet-toned voice, -which came to him at that moment like a caress bestowed upon him in a -dream and made real by a miracle. De Sancerre clutched old Noco’s arm -with a grasp which made her wince. Gazing at the moon-kissed scene -before him with eyes which saw only a picture of the past he listened, -white-lipped, breathless, trembling, to an old Spanish song, into which -Juan Fernandez Heredia, more than a century before this night, had -breathed the passion and the melancholy of a romantic race. - - “To part, to lose thee, was so hard, - So sad that all besides is nought; - The pain of death itself, compared - To this, is hardly worth a thought.” - -A sob set to music, despair turned into song, a voice telling of unshed -tears echoed through the night and gave way to silence for a time. - -“_Nom de Dieu!_ Do I dream, or am I going mad?” muttered de Sancerre to -himself, peering down at his silent companion as if seeking an answer -to the questions that beset him. Suddenly the voice, whose tones spoke -to his heart in the only language known to all the world, again made -music out of misery: - - “There is a wound that never heals-- - ’Tis folly e’en to dream of healing; - Inquire not what a spirit feels - That aye has lost the sense of feeling. - - “My heart is callous now, and bared - To every pang with sorrow fraught; - The pain of death itself, compared - To this, is hardly worth a thought.” - -The song gave way to silence, and, drawing himself erect, like a man -who awakens from a trance, de Sancerre turned to Noco: - -“’Tis the spirit of the sun,” whispered the old crone. “’Tis Coyocop. -She sings at night the songs we cannot understand.” - -“Listen, señora,” muttered the Frenchman, striving to check the -impetuosity which tempted him to defy the perils surrounding him and to -enter the hut without more ado. “’Tis the spirit of the sun--of life -and hope and love! I worship her, señora. By what astounding chance-- -But let that pass! Doña Noco, you must speak to Coyocop at once. Tell -her--” - -De Sancerre’s words died upon his lips, for the wiry old hag had -dragged him by the arm around a corner of the cabin before he could end -his sentence. - -“Silence,” she murmured. “A priest of the temple has come this way to -listen to the spirit’s voice. ’Tis well for us that my old eyes are -quick.” - -Not heeding the angry protests of the Frenchman, whose longing to send -a word of greeting to a singer whose voice seemed to have reached him -from a land far over-sea was driving him to desperate deeds, Noco led -de Sancerre rapidly, by a circuitous path they had not trod before, -toward the quarter of the sleeping town in which her hut awaited them. -Beneath the ghastly sentinels grinning down at them from the temple’s -palisades they stole for a space, and then turned to pick their way -toward Noco’s home behind cabins which cast long shadows toward the -east. - -Stepping from the gloom into the moonlight, Noco, holding the Frenchman -like a captive by the arm, was about to enter her hut with her -rebellious guest when there arose around them, as if the earth had -suddenly given birth to a night-prowling priesthood, the white-robed -figures of a score of silent men. - -“What have we here?” exclaimed de Sancerre, breaking away from Noco’s -clutch, and drawing his rapier from its sheath. “My sword is fond of -moonlight! Ask these ghostly cowards, señora, how they dare to dog -the footsteps of the Brother of the Moon. Just say to them that in -this blood-stained blade there’s magic, made of silver-dust, to kill a -thousand men.” - -“Be silent, señor,” implored Noco. “I’ll save you, if I can.” Then, -facing the chief priest, who towered above them a few paces in front of -his silent and motionless brethren, she exclaimed, in the tongue of the -sun-worshippers: - -“What would you with this scion of the moon? He worships Coyocop.” - -“How know we that?” asked the chief priest, sternly, a bronze giant -questioning a bronze dwarf surrounded by sentinels of bronze. In the -very centre of the dusky, white-garbed group stood the pale, desperate -Frenchman, his rapier pointed at an angle toward the ground, while his -keen eyes, bold and unflinching, travelled defiantly from face to face -of the scowling priests. - -“What says the Inquisition? Will they dare the terrors of my hungry -blade, señora?” cried de Sancerre, mockingly. - -“’Tis dread of the gray chanter that inspires them,” muttered Noco. -Then she turned to the Frenchman. “I’ve told them that you worship -Coyocop. They have no proof of it.” - -“Pardieu!” exclaimed the Frenchman, elevating his rapier. “The blood of -a sulky Spaniard on this blade is proof enough. But, I have it! Say to -his holiness, the chief priest, that I will scratch a message to the -spirit of the sun upon a piece of bark. Bid him, in person, take it -straight to Coyocop. If he obeys not what she says to him, the City of -the Sun is doomed.” - -Quickly translating de Sancerre’s defiant words into her native tongue, -Noco, at a gesture from the chief priest, entered her hut. She was -absent but a moment and, upon her return, handed a piece of virgin -mulberry-wood to de Sancerre. Drawing his dagger from its sheath, the -Frenchman scrawled these words upon the white bark: - - “Louis de Sancerre, of Languedoc, sends greeting to Coyocop. Warn - the bearer that my person must be sacred in the City of the Sun. - To-morrow I will speak to you the words I cannot write.” - -Noco, without more ado, handed the note to the guardian of the sacred -fire, who received it with evident reluctance. Ignorant of the art of -writing, he looked upon the gleaming bark as a bit of moon-magic which -might, at any moment, cast upon him an evil spell. But, for the sake -of his prestige with his order, he dared not give way to the dread -which filled his superstitious soul. Stalking away, with Noco hurrying -on behind him, he strode through the moonlight toward the house in -which the spirit of the sun was lodged. - -The minutes which preceded his return were like weary hours to the -distraught Frenchman, surrounded, as he was, by pitiless faces from -which black, piercing eyes seemed to singe his velvets with their -spiteful gleams. A tattered courtier, with drawn sword, he stood there -motionless, silent, awaiting with foreboding the return of his most -influential foe. If fancy, or a fever begotten of a long and exciting -day, had played him a trick; if the song of Coyocop had been voiced -by Julia de Aquilar only in his imagination, he knew that he was -doomed. Presently he drew from his bosom the piece of bark upon which -was written the Spanish maiden’s name. The sight revived his drooping -courage. Whatever might be the explanation of the presence of Julia de -Aquilar in this grim outland, his reason told him that his eyes and -ears had not deceived him. - -At that moment the chief priest, breaking through the circle of his -subordinates, strode quickly toward de Sancerre. Falling upon his -knees, he raised his long arms toward the sky and uttered a harsh shout -which was repeated by the onlooking priests. - -“You are saved!” whispered the panting Noco, an instant later, to the -Frenchman. “Coyocop has rescued you from death!” - -Having paid homage to the misunderstood scion of the moon, the guardian -of the sacred fire handed to de Sancerre the bark, within which the -former had found no evil spell. Scrawled beneath the Frenchman’s words -were these: - - “The Holy Mother has heard my prayers. All glory be to her for this - strange miracle. I await your coming with a grateful heart. No harm - can fall upon you, for I have warned the temple priest. May the - saints guard you through the night. - - “JULIA DE AQUILAR.” - -Turning to Noco, who had regained her breath, de Sancerre said: - -“Say to this servant of the sun that I grant him pardon for his foolish -threats. But warn him to take heed of how he walks. Unless he payeth -abject homage to my power, it may go hard with him.” - -Waving his rapier ’til it flashed before the eyes of the overawed -priest like a magic wand made of silvery moonbeams, de Sancerre strode -with studied dignity toward Noco’s hut, and disappeared from sight. -The sun-priests, headed by their subdued chief, filed solemnly toward -their blood-stained temple, and presently the moon, drooping toward the -west, gazed down upon a city apparently abandoned by all men. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE BREAKS HIS FAST AND SMILES - - -Worn out with the exhausting experiences of long hours, unprecedented, -even in his varied career, for the many contrasted emotions with -which they had assailed him, de Sancerre had thrown himself, fully -dressed, upon a bed of plaited reeds in Noco’s hut, and, despite his -inclination to muse upon the joy and wonder of the day’s concluding -episode, had fallen into a dreamless, restful sleep, which still -wrapped him in its benign embrace long after the sun-god had blinked -at the matutinal shouts with which the shining orb was greeted by its -worshippers at dawn. The day was nearly ten hours of age before the -Frenchman, stretching his arms and legs to their full length, awoke -suddenly, and, with a smile upon his lips and a gleam of happiness in -his eyes, recalled instantly the marvel which had made his present -environment, with all its perils, a delight to his refreshed and ardent -soul. Suddenly he discovered that while he slept his outer garments had -been removed. Turning on his side he raised his head, rested it upon -his hand, and glanced toward the centre of the room, which still bore -marks of the disorder begotten by the hasty flight of the disguised -Franciscan and his charge. - -Squatting upon the ground beside a bench, upon which rested de -Sancerre’s nether garments, sat old Noco, busily plying her fish-bone -needle, while she repaired the many rents in his doublet and crooned -a monotonous chant in a harsh, guttural voice. At the further end -of the hut a crackling fire sent forth an odor which increased the -satisfaction of the Frenchman with his surroundings. With corn-meal -and fish, de Sancerre’s hostess had prepared a repast which the most -fastidious palate at Versailles would have found seductive. Upon a -small bench at Noco’s right hand stood a bowl of reddish crockery, in -which wild strawberries awaited the pleasure of her guest. - -“You will pardon me, señora,” cried de Sancerre, gayly, “if I remark -that my present plight is somewhat embarrassing. I shall be late at -table unless my overworked wardrobe is restored to me at once.” - -“_Mas vale tarde que nunca!_” retorted the old hag, glancing -inquiringly at the fire, and then resuming her patchwork. “You slept -well, señor?” - -“Like a log,” answered de Sancerre--“a log saved from the sacred fire. -And now, there is no time to lose! We have before us, Doña Noco, a busy -day.” - -“Nay,” returned his hostess, approaching his bedside with his -rejuvenated garments upon her withered arm. “’Tis well to wait a while. -When Cabanacte has returned, we’ll hold a council and perfect a plan. -It is not fitting that the Brother of the Moon should show himself at -once. My people worship best the gods they do not see.” - -Again de Sancerre caught in Noco’s eyes a mocking gleam which once -before had placed him in close sympathy with her. That this old hag, -whose mind was quick and clear, had, in her heart of hearts, discarded -many of the ancient superstitions to which she outwardly conformed -the Frenchman more than half suspected. But he spoke no further -word to her until he had made a hasty toilet, and, refreshed by an -application of cool water to his face and hands, had seated himself -upon a bench to rejoice his inner man with strawberries, corn-cake, and -skilfully-cooked fish. The variety of Noco’s accomplishments filled -de Sancerre with mingled admiration and astonishment. Speaking two -languages, expert with her needle, an admirable cook, quick-witted, -fertile in resource, the old woman impressed the Frenchman that -morning as a being well entitled to his respect and gratitude. But -his mind dwelt no long time upon the praiseworthy versatility of his -aged hostess. Impatient and impetuous by nature, he chafed sorely at -inaction. - -“Cabanacte!” he exclaimed, after he had satisfied his appetite, -observing that Noco had disposed of the most exacting of her many -tasks. “When think you, señora, your grandson will return?” - -“When ’tis best for you, señor,” answered the old woman, shortly. - -“And ’twas he, Doña Noco, who found Coyocop, the spirit of the sun, by -the shore of the great sea?” - -“’Twas Cabanacte who found Coyocop, whose coming was foretold when the -mountains were but hillocks, and bore her to the sacred City of the -Sun.” - -“He found her by the sea alone?” asked de Sancerre, wonderingly. - -“The Brother of the Moon should know all things,” muttered Noco, with -satire in her eyes and voice. Then she went on: “The white-faced -children of the moon who bore her to our land lay sleeping on the -beach, awaiting the coming of their god to waken them. But Cabanacte -knew that she was Coyocop. And so, she came to us.” - -From outside the hut de Sancerre could hear the noises of a town -astir, the tread of bare-footed men upon the hardened earth, the cries -of children at their play, and, now and then, the voices of women -chattering of many wondrous things. He longed to make his way at once -to Coyocop’s abode that with his eyes he might assure himself that last -night’s strange adventures had not taken place in dreams. Even yet, -he found it hard to believe that Julia de Aquilar was, in reality, -a captive, like himself, in this weird town. But there lay her own -handwriting on the bark! He read and reread the message which she had -sent to him, and, turning toward Noco, asked, pensively: - -“Coyocop, señora, seemed glad to learn that I was here?” - -“I know not what the chief priest may have thought,” croaked the old -crone, a gleam of malice in her black eyes as they met de Sancerre’s -gaze, “but to me she seemed less like a goddess than a girl. She wept -for joy to read your note.” - -De Sancerre sprang to his feet and paced up and down the hut restlessly. - -“Cabanacte!” he exclaimed, petulantly. “_Nom de Dieu!_ When will the -man return?” - -“We care not much for women in this land of ours,” muttered Noco, using -her broken Spanish to tease her impatient guest. “Out of clay the -Great Spirit moulded the first man, and, pleased with what he’d made, -blew into him the breath of life. And thus he fell to sneezing, the -first man, ’til from his nose there dropped a doll-shaped thing which -set to dancing upon the ground there at his feet. And as she danced, -she grew in size, until a woman stood before his eyes. It is not -strange that man should make us work!” A sarcastic grin rested upon the -hag’s brown face as she gazed up at de Sancerre. - -“But Coyocop is more than woman,” cried de Sancerre, earnestly. -“_Caramba!_ But you love to torture me, señora! I say to you, beware! I -know not what may lie the deepest in your heart, but this I say to you, -’twill serve you well to do your best for me. The time is coming when -I’ll pay you tenfold for your kindness now.” - -Noco drew near to the Frenchman and stood before him, listening for a -time to the familiar noises outside her hut. Then she asked, in a tone -which had no mischief in it: - -“The Spanish, señor. Do you love them well?” - -For a moment de Sancerre, startled by so unexpected an interrogatory, -gazed down at the old hag, speechless. His suspicious mind strove in -vain to find her motive for a question which seemed to him, at first, -to have no bearing upon the topics they had just discussed. But his -intuitions told him that upon the answer he should make to her would -depend her attitude toward him from this time forth. By one word, he -well knew, he might destroy in an instant the good-will of the one -ally who could save him and Julia de Aquilar from the dangers which -menaced them. Noco spoke Spanish, a tongue which, it seemed probable, -she had learned from her immediate ancestors. That the Spaniards had -treated the native Americans with great cruelty, de Sancerre had often -heard. Was it possible that Noco had inherited a hatred for a race of -oppressors from whom her forebears had fled in fear? On the chance that -this might be, the Frenchman, hesitating only a moment, decided finally -to tell the truth to his dusky inquisitor. - -“Doña Noco,” said de Sancerre, impressively, placing a hand upon the -old crone’s arm, “the Spanish are my dearest foes. Often have I led my -men against them on the fields of war. I hold for them a hatred only -less intense than the love I bear for Coyocop.” - -The dark, beady eyes of the beldame seemed to search de Sancerre’s very -soul. Suddenly she fell upon her knees, and, seizing his cold hand, -pressed it to her shrivelled lips. - -“I am your servant, señor--even unto death,” she muttered, hoarsely. -Then she sprang to her feet with marvellous agility and stood listening -intently, as if the noise outside bore some new tale to her quick ears. - -“’Tis Cabanacte!” she exclaimed. “And with him comes the sister of the -foolish man they slew.” - -Hardly had de Sancerre grasped the significance of her words, when -Katonah, followed by Noco’s grandson, stole into the hut, panting as if -their journey had been a hurried one. - -“_Bienvenue_, Katonah!” cried de Sancerre, a note of mingled annoyance -and surprise in his voice. “I did not think to see you here again. You -bring me word from Sieur de la Salle?” - -Katonah’s sensitive ear caught the hollow sound in the Frenchman’s word -of welcome. The suggestion of a sad smile played across her weary face, -as she said: - -“The great captain urged me not to come. But, monsieur, I was so -lonely! With you and Chatémuc not there, I could not stay.” A -suppressed sob checked her words. Handing to de Sancerre a note from -de la Salle, the Mohican maiden seated herself upon a bench and gazed -mournfully at the glowing embers of Noco’s dying fire. - -“_Ma foi_, Cabanacte, I’m glad to see your giant form again!” cried -de Sancerre, smiling as he perused de la Salle’s epistle. It ran as -follows: - - “Let this chance, monsieur, to serve your king atone for your - disobedience to me. Be firm, unbending, and conservative. Well I - know that you will be courageous. Await me where you are. I return - shortly, and will send for you. I must teach the mouth of this great - river to speak the name of France. I go to ring the knell of Spain! - _Adieu et au revoir!_ - - “DE LA SALLE.” - -“_Bien!_” exclaimed de Sancerre, kissing his hand to old Noco, -smilingly. “We hold the cards we need. ’Twill be my fault if blunders -now should lose the game we play.” - -The old woman had come to the side of her eccentric guest. - -“My captain,” went on de Sancerre, in a lower tone, “a brother of the -moon-god, like myself, tells me in this note that he goes to seize -a kingdom from our Spanish foes. You are content, señora? You are -content?” - -“Aye, señor, well content!” answered the old hag with grim emphasis. - -“And now,” exclaimed the Frenchman, beckoning to Cabanacte to approach -them, “we’ll hold a solemn council, for the truth is this: unless I -soon have speech with Coyocop, my throbbing heart will thump itself -to death. Tell me, Cabanacte, is there danger for yon maiden, whose -brother died the death?” - -The bronze athlete had stretched himself at de Sancerre’s feet in -such a position that he could fix his gaze upon the sombre beauty of -Katonah’s face. He showed his perfect teeth, and his black eyes gleamed -as he answered: - -“Danger for her? No, none! Not while Cabanacte lives.” - -De Sancerre smiled gayly. Cabanacte’s answer had delighted him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE HEARS NEWS OF THE GREAT SUN - - -The Count de Sancerre’s desire to come to an immediate decision -regarding a line of action that should lead him at once into the living -presence of Coyocop was not to be gratified. Noco’s sensitive ear, -acting as a thermometer to register the degree of excitement prevailing -outside her cabin, had heard an ominous murmur that had lost none of -its threatening significance because it had come from afar. She knew at -once that a crowd of gossiping sun-worshippers, inspired by some new -rumor, had gathered in the great square near the temple of the sun. -Hurrying to her grandson’s side, she said: - -“Go forth at once, Cabanacte, and mingle with the throng outside. -There’s news abroad which makes the city talk. Return to us when you -have learned the meaning of the uproar in the square.” - -The dark-hued colossus reluctantly arose and stood, for a moment, -listening to the increasing disturbance among his easily-excited -neighbors. Hurrying feet, making toward the temple of the sun and -the King’s cabin, echoed from the street just outside the hut. The -pattering footsteps of chattering women and children mingled with the -louder tread of stalwart men, aroused from their siesta by an epidemic -of distrust. Cabanacte, dismayed at the grim possibilities suggested by -this unwonted demonstration upon the part of a people little given to -activity at noonday, bent down to Noco before obeying her behest. - -“Secrete the maiden where no prying eye can see her,” he murmured, -hoarsely, still gazing at Katonah. “I’ll join the rabble and return at -once. I dread the cruel fervor of our priests. But still they cannot -know that it was her brother whom they killed?” - -“Stop not to make conjecture, Cabanacte,” scolded the old crone, -pushing her grandson toward the hut’s ignoble exit. “I say to you, ’tis -not Katonah who has made the city talk. ’Tis some calamity--I know not -what.” - -Without more ado, the tall sun-worshipper crawled from the twilight -of the hut into the burning sunshine of the agitated street, and, -drawing himself erect, joined the gossiping throng which poured noisily -toward the great square. To Cabanacte’s great surprise and relief, -his appearance in the open caused no added excitement among the -bronze-faced, eager-eyed men and women who hurried by his side toward -the centre of the town. It became evident to him at once that the news -which awaited him beyond had nothing to do with the strangers whom he -had left in the hut behind him. - -Meanwhile de Sancerre, vexed at the delay to which a mercurial -people had forced him to submit, gazed despondently now at Noco and -now at Katonah. French expletives, colored by a Spanish oath at -times, escaped from his erstwhile smiling mouth. Noco had stationed -herself at the entrance to the cabin, endeavoring to catch the echo -of some enlightening rumor as it flew back from the crowded square. -Katonah, watching the Frenchman with eyes which seemed to implore his -forgiveness, had withdrawn to a remote corner of the room and seated -herself wearily upon a wooden bench. If she had heard a menace to -herself in the uproar in the town, she gave no outward indication -of the dread that her heart might feel. With the proud shyness of a -sensitive girl, and the external stoicism of an Indian, she withdrew, -as far as was possible, from the presence of her companions and made -no further sign. Had Zenobe Membré known that at this ominous juncture -Katonah had murmured no prayer, no invocation to the saints, the -sanguine Franciscan would have marvelled, perhaps wept, at the mighty -gulf which stretched between the martyred Chatémuc, secure in Paradise, -and a melancholy maiden who had known the faith and lost it. - -The chagrined Frenchman, fully realizing his own impotence at this -mysterious crisis, presently arose and began to pace the room with -impatient steps. He felt like a man to whom some unexpected and glowing -promise had been given by destiny, to be withdrawn almost at the -moment of its presentation. During the long, weary hour which followed -Cabanacte’s departure from the hut, de Sancerre’s mind vibrated between -hope and despair. Had he made the amazing discovery of Julia de -Aquilar’s presence in the City of the Sun only that it might mock him -for his lack of power? Could it be that fate had lured him in malice -within sound of her sweet voice to hurl him into the lonely silence -of the wilderness at last? And to himself he swore an oath that he -would never leave the City of the Sun alive unless the Spanish maiden -fled with him to the wilds. Death in the effort to save her from years -of hopeless captivity was preferable, a thousand times, to life and -freedom and a vain regret. How well he loved this woman de Sancerre had -never known before. For the first time this _mondain_, who had fondly -imagined that life had nothing new to give him, realized the might and -majesty of a great passion, and his soul grew sick with the fear that -its ecstasy might change to misery at last. - -But while de Sancerre’s mind dwelt fondly upon the joy of an -all-absorbing love, it endeavored, at the same time, to make an -inventory of the actual and the possible dangers which he would be -compelled to confront before he could indulge the hope that the love he -welcomed would ever fulfil the promise which it held within itself. - -Weeks must pass before de la Salle could return from his voyage to the -gulf. Even then the explorer had at his command no force with which to -overcome these martial and stalwart sun-worshippers. De Sancerre’s only -hope lay in diplomacy and craft. It was essential to the success of his -scheme, whose general outlines were already forming in his mind, that -the superstitious tendencies of the people surrounding him be used as -a tool for forging his escape. But their fanaticism was a double-edged -instrument which must be handled with the nicest care or it would turn -within his hands and destroy him at a blow. - -Coyocop? How far could he trust her quickness and discretion? That she -possessed both of these qualities he was inclined to believe. One of -her greatest charms in the blithesome days at Versailles had consisted -in her ready responsiveness to his changing moods, in the keenness of a -mind which shone to advantage even in that centre of the great world’s -sharpest wit. As for her discretion, had it not been proved by the -fact that she had maintained for many months her alien authority over -these fickle, jealous, sharp-eyed people? Furthermore--and de Sancerre -lingered over the mystery with much concern--she had, during that same -period, managed to conceal from the keen-witted and revengeful Noco the -fact that her origin was Spanish, not divine. How well the girl must -have played a most exacting part to deceive the eccentric old hag, de -Sancerre fully realized. That in Julia de Aquilar he would find an ally -well-fitted to play the rôle which he had in mind for her, her skill in -blinding Noco gave good proof. But, at the best, de Sancerre’s growing -project must win the full fruition of success much more by chance than -by design. Even before he took initial steps, he must learn what new -excitement had aroused the lazy town at noon. - -“_Peste!_” he exclaimed, fretfully. “It was no victory to outrun -Cabanacte. His heavy limbs are slower than a Prussian’s wits.” - -At that very instant the hole beside which Noco lurked was darkened -by her grandson’s stooping form. Drawing himself erect, after he had -pulled his long limbs into the hut, Cabanacte glanced searchingly -around the room until his black eyes lighted upon the self-absorbed -Katonah. Then, followed by Noco, he strode toward de Sancerre. - -“There is no danger to the girl,” muttered the giant, as he seated -himself upon a bench, which groaned in protest beneath his weight. “But -I bring to you bad news.” - -“_Ma foi_, you look it!” exclaimed de Sancerre to himself, scanning the -troubled countenance of the dusky youth. - -Turning to Noco, Cabanacte poured forth rapidly in his native tongue -the sombre story which he had heard abroad, and then stood erect, -gazing at Katonah. - -“The Great Sun lies dying!” exclaimed the old woman, excitedly, turning -from her grandson to her guest. “In perfect health at sunrise, he fell -near noonday, and none can make him speak.” - -De Sancerre had sprung to his feet and was glancing alternately down at -Noco and up at Cabanacte. The menacing significance of the misfortune -which had fallen upon the King appeared to him at once. Had evil come -to the Great Sun in some way not readily explainable, the crafty -sun-priests would lay his sickness to the blighting influence of the -stranger’s magic, the fatal witchery brought with him from the moon. - -“He’s dying, do you say? There is no hope?” gasped the Frenchman, -looking into Noco’s eyes for a ray of encouragement. - -“He’s dying as his mother died,” muttered the old crone, musingly, -seemingly forgetful of de Sancerre’s presence. “But, even then, he had -long years to live. And yesterday he looked no older than my Cabanacte -there.” - -“He’s dying, do you say?” repeated the Frenchman, mechanically. - -“Aye, dying, señor,” hissed the beldame, spitefully. “And now the -temple priests prepare the cords with which they’ll choke his servants -and his wives to death. No Great Sun goes alone into the land beyond! -What sights my eyes have seen! King follows king into the spirit-world, -and with them go the best and noblest of our weeping race. Aye, -señor, the Great Sun’s dying and the city mourns. When he has passed, -his household follows him. The sight you saw but yesternight was -child’s-play for the priests. ’Tis when a Great Sun dies they have -man’s sport with death.” - -The mocking, angry tones in Noco’s guttural voice made the broken -Spanish in which she spoke impress the Frenchman’s ears as a most -repellent tongue. De Sancerre was striving feverishly to grasp the full -significance of her grim words, to weigh in all its bearings the new -exigency which had increased a hundredfold the peril in which he stood. -But the thought beset him, with tyrannical persistence, that he had no -time to lose. Should the Great Sun die at once, de Sancerre would be -powerless against any revenge which the sun-priests might, in their -crafty cruelty, seek to take. How far the homage which they paid to -Coyocop could be trusted to save him in the crisis which would follow -the King’s death he could not determine, but he had begun to fear that -not only the priests but the people at large would hold him responsible -for the sudden and mysterious blow which had fallen upon the throne. -With little time at his disposal in which to examine the crisis from -many points of view, de Sancerre came quickly to the conclusion that -his doom was sealed unless he acted with boldness, decision, and -rapidity. Satisfied of the loyalty of Noco and Cabanacte, although he -marvelled somewhat at their good-will, he drew himself up to his full -height, and, putting up his hand to command silence, said: - -“Go forth at once, Cabanacte, and tell the people of this afflicted -town that it was the insult cast upon me by the temple priests which -brought down the wrath of Heaven upon the Great Sun’s head. Tell this -to the rabble. Then go to the chief priest and say to him that he, too, -shall fall with suddenness before his fire unless he heeds the words -that I shall speak. Bid him be silent ’til I come to him, and to keep -his priests at prayer. _Nom de Dieu_, my Cabanacte, have you lost your -ears? Stop staring at me and go forth at once, or, with the ease with -which my legs outran you, I’ll strike you dead with this!” - -Waving his rapier threateningly at the giant’s panting breast, de -Sancerre drove the startled athlete through the entrance to the street, -and then turned back to seize the trembling Noco by the arm. - -“I have a message which you must take to Coyocop! If you should fail to -gain her ear, the City of the Sun is doomed. Say this to her, that when -I send a priest to summon her she must be quick to join me at the Great -Sun’s lodge. Repeat my words, señora.” - -Shaking the old crone roughly by the arm, de Sancerre bent down to -catch her gasping voice. - -“_Bien!_” he cried, “you’ve conned your lesson well! Go, now, señora, -and make no mistake! If you would save your dying king, see Coyocop and -tell her what I say.” - -In another instant the panting Noco, grumbling but overawed, had left -the hut upon a mission for which she had no hungry heart. - -De Sancerre drew back from the entrance, and dropped limply upon -a bench. He had put into operation a hastily-formed plan with an -impetuosity which, in its rebound, left him faint and dazed. Suddenly -a warm pressure upon his cold hands aroused him from his momentary -submission to this enervating reaction. Looking down, he saw that -Katonah was gazing up at him with sympathetic apprehension. - -“I have placed you in great danger by my return!” she exclaimed. “I am -going now. I will not come back.” - -She had arisen and was about to leave the hut. Seizing her hand, de -Sancerre drew her to his side. - -“No, _ma petite_! You are not at fault! Don’t leave me--but do not -speak! I must think--I must think! But my mind’s in a whirl. _Courage_, -Katonah! There, do not tremble so! _Ma foi_, little one, ’tis a hard -nut we have to crack! There, do not move! Let me take your hand. -_Bien!_ Now, let me think!” - -Silence, intense, unbroken, reigned within the hut; while, outside, -the hot sun beat down upon a city in which rumor itself had become -voiceless in growing dread of a fatal word. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -IN WHICH COHEYOGO EXHIBITS HIS CRAFTINESS - - -While the Great Sun, by virtue of his divine origin, was technically -the high-priest of the nation, it had come about, at the time of Count -Louis de Sancerre’s sojourn among the sun-worshippers, that the chief -of the holy men, upon whom devolved the duty of keeping alive the -sacred fire, had, by the strength of his bigoted personality, usurped -all religious authority and had made the temple independent of, and -more potent than, the royal cabin. While the chief priest had never -openly defied the Great Sun, he had, nevertheless, gradually become the -most influential personage in the nation. - -It was the advent of Coyocop which had given to Coheyogo, the chief -priest, an opportunity for making himself, with no visible break -between the church and state, practically omnipotent in the City of the -Sun. - -Just how thoroughly Coheyogo believed that Julia de Aquilar was the -very incarnation of the sun-spirit which, tradition had assured his -people, would come to them from the shore of a distant sea, it is -impossible to say. It is a fact, however, that from the moment of her -arrival among the sun-worshippers the chief priest had openly accepted -the maiden as a supernatural guest from whom emanated an authority -which he and his fellow-priests were in duty bound to obey. For the -furtherance of his own ends and the increase of his own power, the -crafty Coheyogo could have taken no better course. - -It had come about that Noco as interpreter--the connecting link between -the spirit of the sun and the chief priest of the temple--had found -herself in a position of great influence. The old hag, a compound of -superstition, spitefulness, and saturnine humor done up in a crumpled -brown package, had derived malicious satisfaction from playing -Coheyogo’s game with a skill and an audacity which had saved her from -the many perils which had menaced her in the pursuit of this eccentric -pastime. - -Coheyogo would visit Coyocop with Noco and lay before the sun-spirit -some problem dealing with the attitude of the temple toward a question -at that moment interesting the sun-worshippers. The quick-witted -and fearless interpreter would answer the chief priest with advice -originating in her own fertile brain, and, in this way, would protect -Coyocop from cares of state, while she made a willing tool of -Coheyogo and satisfied her own love of mischief. Within well-defined -limitations, old Noco, at the moment of which we write, held under -her control more actual power than either the Great Sun or the chief -priest. As the tongue of Coyocop, the court of last resort in a -priest-ridden state, the old crone, with little fear of detection, -could put into the mouth of the sun-spirit whatever words she chose. -Fortunately for Coyocop and the sun-worshippers, the aged linguist -was, at heart, progressive rather than reactionary. She had cherished -for years a detestation for the bloody sacrifices of the temple, which -heterodoxy, had Coheyogo suspected it, would have long ago brought -her life to a sudden end. As it was, the old interpreter had made use -of Coyocop to mitigate, as far as possible, the horrors which a cruel -cult, administered by heartless priests, had inflicted upon a brave, -kindly, but too plastic race. - -It was now a full hour past high noon, and Coheyogo stood, surrounded -by the temple priests, confronting Cabanacte by the sacred fire. The -interior of the sun-temple was not less repulsive to an unbiased eye -than the skull-crowned palisades outside. Divided into two rooms -of unequal size, the interior of the blood-stained fane served the -double purpose of a gigantic oven to keep the veins of the living at -fever-heat and of a tomb in which the bones of the noble dead might -crumble into dust. In the larger of the two rooms, in which the chief -priest was now holding a council of the elders, stood an altar seven -feet long by two in width and rising to a height of four feet above -the floor. Upon this altar rested a long, hand-painted basket in which -reposed the remains of the reigning Great Sun’s immediate predecessor. - -The heat of the room was intense, for no windows broke the monotony of -the temple’s walls; mud-baked partitions, nine inches in thickness. -Rows of plaited mats covered the arched ceiling of the interior. At the -end of the room furthest from the sacred fire, folding doors, closed at -this moment, opened into the private apartments of the chief priest. -Running from these doors, along both sides of the smoke-blackened hall, -wooden shelves supported the grewsome relics of horrid ceremonials. -Long lines of baskets, daubed with red and yellow paint, contained the -revered dust of Great Suns gone into the land of spirits accompanied -by the loyal souls of their strangled wives and retainers. Scattered -between these tawdry urns, the shelves bore crudely-wrought clay -figures of men, women, serpents, owls, and eagles; and here and there -an offering of fruit, meat, or fish stood ready to satisfy the craving -of any uneasy ghost coming back dissatisfied with the cuisine of the -spirit-world. - -Grouped around the sacred fire, in which logs of oak and walnut -preserved a flame which the sun-god had vouchsafed to man in a remote -day of grace, the temple priests, whose dark faces bore evidence of -their internal agitation, stood listening and watching as Cabanacte -and Coheyogo faced each other at this crisis and discussed, in subdued -tones, a question of immediate significance. As the chosen discoverer -of Coyocop, the instrument employed by the great spirit for the -fulfilment of an ancient prophecy, Cabanacte occupied an influential -position in the eyes of the temple brotherhood. The inspiration from -on high, which had turned the giant’s feet toward a haunted shingle -upon which the spirit of the sun lay asleep, might at any moment stir -his tongue with words of divine origin. Since the night upon which -Cabanacte had brought Coyocop to the City of the Sun, he had always -been listened to with rapt attention by the jealous guardians of the -sacred fire. - -“He threatens me, you say?” muttered Coheyogo angrily, gazing up at -Cabanacte with flashing eyes. “And you have told the people that the -Great Sun dies because I do not worship this white-faced conjurer who -says the moon is his? Beware, oh Cabanacte, what you do! I’ll dare the -magic of his silver wand and prove to him the sun-god is omnipotent.” - -Drawing himself up to his full height, until he towered a full -half-foot above the stately sun-priest, Cabanacte exclaimed, in a low, -insistent voice: - -“Have you forgotten Coyocop? Did she not last night--old Noco tells the -tale--command you to do honor to this white face from the moon? ’Tis -you, Coheyogo, who should now take heed. ’Tis not moon-magic which you -would defy. ’Tis Coyocop herself, the spirit of the sun, our god.” - -The chief priest remained silent for a time, gazing thoughtfully at -the sacred fire, which seemed to roar and flash and snap and dance -before his restless black eyes as if it threatened him with tortures -for harboring a sacrilegious thought. Had not the spirit of the sun -itself, through Coyocop’s inspired tongue, commanded him to treat the -nation’s white-faced guest with all respect? The great power which -Coheyogo had wielded for a year seemed to be slipping from his grasp. -Its foundation-stone had been the word of Coyocop. Should he not heed -her late behest he’d pull the very underpinning from beneath his -tower of strength. Furthermore, the Great Sun, an easy-going monarch, -subservient to the chief priest’s stronger will, lay at death’s -door. His successor to the throne, his sister’s son, Manatte, was a -headstrong, stubborn youth, upon whom the influence of Coheyogo was but -slight. Should the chief priest lose at one stroke the countenance of -Coyocop and the good-will of the Great Sun, the supremacy of the temple -would be destroyed upon the instant, and Coheyogo would find himself -hurled from a pinnacle of power to a grovelling attitude among a people -chafing under the cruel tyranny of a bloodthirsty priesthood. Turning -fretfully from the threatening blaze to glance up again at the steady -eyes of Cabanacte, the chief priest said: - -“The words of Coyocop come straight from God.” Facing then the -expectant priests, he cried sternly: “Go forth, my brothers, and bid -the people to disperse at once. Tell them to go to their homes and -offer prayers that the Great Sun may be spared to us. Then come to me -here, for I have other work for you to do.” - -Left alone in the stilling room with Cabanacte, the chief priest went -on: - -“Direct the moon-man and old Noco to attend me here. If yonder white -face has no evil wish, it may be that his magic may save our king from -death.” - -Cabanacte smiled grimly. - -“I know not, Coheyogo,” he remarked, as he turned toward the exit to -the temple, “that the envoy from the moon will heed your curt command. -But this I do believe, that, if besought, he’d use his greatest power -to save our Sun alive. I will return to you at once.” - -With these words the dusky giant strode past the hideous, grinning -idols of baked clay, and the plaited coffins of the royal dead, and -made his way to the great square from which the white-robed priests -were driving an awe-struck, moaning people to their homes. - -Coheyogo, glancing furtively around the deserted hall in which the -spectres of the dead seemed ready to chase the flickering shadows -cast by the miraculous fire, bent down and threw a huge log into the -mocking flame, as if to quiet for a moment its spiteful, chiding voice. -Suddenly behind him he heard the stealthy footfall of a white-robed -underling. Turning quickly from the fire, Coheyogo’s piercing eyes -rested upon a priest whom he had recently despatched to the Great Sun’s -cabin. - -“What news?” cried the chief priest, eagerly. “He still lives?” - -“Magani! Listen, master! He lives, and, tossing on his bed, mutters -strange words beneath his breath. ’Tis a devil that is in him, for he -talks of things we cannot see.” - -“And his physician?” asked Coheyogo, impatiently. - -“He has done his best, but his eyes are wild and he shakes his head in -impotence.” - -“He’ll shake it in the noose should the Great Sun die,” muttered the -chief priest, with cruel emphasis. “What boots his boasted skill if he -fails us when we need him most? But, hark! Our brothers have returned.” - -Filing into the temple like a procession of white ghosts with charred -faces, the priests of the sun grouped themselves in a circle behind -their chief, and stood awaiting in silence the outcome of a crisis -which might, at its worst, satisfy their ever-present craving for -human sacrifices to offer to their god, the innocent and genial orb -of day. That the cruel and crafty Coheyogo dreaded the news of the -Great Sun’s death more keenly than they, in their love for an inhuman -custom, desired it, they had no means of knowing. But they were to -learn presently that there was a new force at work in their city with -which they had never before been called upon to deal. As they stood -there silent, eager-eyed, remorseless, longing for a continuance of -the thrilling sport for which the death of Chatémuc had but whetted -their appetites, the sound of light, dainty footsteps approaching the -entrance to the temple reached their quick ears. Turning toward the -doorway at the further end of the hall, Coheyogo and his motionless -and noiseless brood gazed upon an approaching figure which, in spite -of its lack of size, was most impressive at that fateful moment. De -Sancerre had donned a flowing garment of white mulberry bark, which -hid his gay velvets from view and fell in graceful lines from his neck -to his feet. His head was bare, and his hair, a picturesque mixture of -black and gray, emphasized the pleasing contour of his pale, clean-cut -face. - -With drawn rapier, the symbol of his dreaded moon-magic, the French -aristocrat, his eyes fixed upon the chief priest, strode solemnly -toward the sacred fire, followed at a distance by Noco and her -long-limbed grandson. As he came to a halt in front of Coheyogo, de -Sancerre raised the hilt of his sword to his chin and made a graceful, -sweeping salute with the weapon. Turning to Noco, who had now reached -his side, he said to her: - -“Say to the chief priest that I come to him in amity or in defiance, -as he may choose. Tell him that the Brother of the Moon makes no -idle boasts, but that ’tis safer for the City of the Sun to win his -friendship than to arouse his wrath.” - -[Illustration: “COOL, MOTIONLESS, WITH UNFLINCHING EYES, THE FRENCHMAN -STOOD WATCHING THE CHIEF PRIEST”] - -Coheyogo, with a face which none could read, listened attentively to -the old crone’s defiant words. His black eyes held the Frenchman’s -gaze to his. There was something in the latter’s glance that exercised -upon the sun-worshipper a potent fascination, an influence more -effective than the impression made upon him by Noco’s speech. The -lower type of man succumbed, in spite of his physical superiority, to -the will-power of a higher and more complicated intellect than his -own. Even had Coheyogo considered it expedient at that moment to wreak -summary vengeance upon his white-faced, smiling challenger, it is to be -doubted that his tongue could have uttered the words which would have -sent de Sancerre to his doom. Cool, motionless, with unflinching eyes -and a mouth which wore the outlines of a derisive smile, the undersized -Frenchman stood watching the chief priest, outwardly as self-confident -as if he had possessed, in reality, the destructive power of which he -boasted. Presently Coheyogo turned to Noco, whose wrinkled countenance -was twitching with excitement in the fitful glow of the sacred fire. - -“The Chief Priest of the Sun has no quarrel with the Brother of the -Moon,” said the old hag, addressing de Sancerre a moment later. “But -he says to him that the Great Sun, in health and strength at sunrise, -now lies tossing in peril of his life. Is it true, he asks, that you -have threatened to bring down the same strange sickness upon the temple -priests?” - -“Not if they do the bidding of Coyocop, the spirit of the sun,” -answered de Sancerre, curtly, closely scanning Coheyogo’s face as Noco -repeated his words. Then he turned to the interpreter and went on: - -“Let the chief priest understand that the spirit of the sun and the -spirit of the moon go hand in hand, to the greater glory of the God of -gods. Say to him that together Coyocop and I can make a nation great -or destroy it at a word. Disobedience to us is impiety to God. If he, -Coheyogo, would know this truth, he must be docile, patient, and abide -my time. If in his mind the shadow of a doubt remains that what I say -is true, let him recall the legends of his race, the promises and -prophecies which your fathers told their sons.” - -There reigned an ominous silence in the stifling, ill-smelling room -for a time, broken only by the malicious crackling of the sacred -fire or the impatient grunt of some overwrought priest. Coheyogo, -fearing to lose his power by accepting the proffered alliance, but too -superstitious to defy the unseen rulers of the universe by rejecting -it, stood, grim and self-absorbed, scanning a distressing problem from -many points of view. He dared not offend Coyocop, but he resented de -Sancerre’s claim to a share in the supernatural authority which the -sun-worshippers had attributed to her. After long reflection, the chief -priest looked down at the grinning Noco and said: - -“Say to the Brother of the Moon that if he has sufficient power to -bring down destruction upon this City of the Sun, or even to cast an -evil spell upon our king, he is wise enough to cure the latter of the -sickness which has laid him low. If he will lead the Great Sun back to -us from the very gates of death, he will find within this temple none -but servants glad to pay him homage and obey his words. But, if he -fails to raise our king, ’twill prove to us he either boasts too much -or bears us no good-will.” - -De Sancerre’s lips turned a shade lighter, but the mocking smile -did not desert them, as Noco translated Coheyogo’s ultimatum into -her clumsy Spanish. But even in that moment of supreme dismay, when -his life, so he reflected, had been staked against loaded dice, the -Frenchman could not refrain from casting a glance of admiration at the -crafty priest who had played his game so well. If de Sancerre should -undertake the restoration of the Great Sun’s health and should fail -to save his life, even Coyocop would be powerless to protect him from -the fate which had befallen Chatémuc. He had planned to visit the -sick-bed of the King, and to send for Julia de Aquilar to meet him -there, should he find that the Great Sun lay afflicted by no contagious -disease. But de Sancerre had not foreseen that his boastfulness--which -had served him well at times--would place him in his present plight, -making his very life dependent upon his skill as a physician. He dared -not hesitate, however, to accept the gauntlet thrown down by the -keen-witted schemer, whose black eyes were now fixed upon him with a -sardonic, defiant gleam. - -“It will give me great joy to restore my friend, the ruler of this -land, to health,” said de Sancerre calmly to Noco, his gaze still -meeting Coheyogo’s unwaveringly. “Will you request the chief priest to -accompany me to the royal bedside?” - -With these words, the Frenchman turned his back upon the sacred fire -and its jealous guardian, and strode haughtily toward the temple’s exit. - -“_Nom de Dieu_,” he muttered to himself, “I know more about the slaying -of my fellow-men than how to save them from the jaws of death! I would -I could recall the odds and ends of medicine I’ve gathered in my time! -But, even then, I fear my skill would not suffice. The Great Sun, if I -mistake not, has no more to gain from me than I from him. St. Maturin, -be kind to us!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -IN WHICH A WHITE ROBE FAILS TO PROTECT A BLACK HEART - - -Seated upon a low couch of plaited reeds, Julia de Aquilar, her white, -slender hands folded upon her lap, and her dark, eloquent eyes turned -upward as if they rested upon the Virgin Mother’s face, listened for -the footsteps of a worldling and a sceptic, whose irreverent tongue had -often in her hearing made sport of love itself. Her year in captivity -as a celestial guide and counsellor to a half-savage race had softened, -while preserving, the splendid coloring of her flawless complexion. -Paler than of old, her face had lost none of its marvellous symmetry, -and the warm hue of her curving lips bore witness to the triumph which -youth, in its abounding elasticity, had won over the allied forces of -loneliness and despair. The shadows beneath her expectant eyes had but -added to their glowing splendor. Long days and nights of revery and -introspection had changed the dominant expression of her face, somewhat -too haughty aforetime, and a gentle radiance seemed to emanate -from a countenance which had gained an added fascination from the -spiritualizing touches of a sorrow too deep for tears. - -The room in which Doña Julia sat at this moment, watching and praying -for a rescuer whose advent had been made possible only through a -miracle vouchsafed by Mary and the saints, testified to the homage -which was paid by the sun-worshippers to the spirit, Coyocop. Bunches -of early spring flowers, borne to her cabin by devotees who had never -looked upon her face, were scattered in profusion upon the earthen -floor and along the wooden shelves fitted into the gray walls. -Offerings of dried fruits, and more substantial edibles, indicated the -anxiety of an afflicted people to propitiate the unseen powers in this -day of peril to their prostrate chief. Fabrics woven with commendable -skill in various colors, and bits of pottery showing artistic -possibilities in the makers thereof, added to the polychromatic -ensemble of Coyocop’s sacred retreat. At that very instant Doña Julia -could hear the murmurs of a group of devout sun-worshippers, who had -come from the budding forest to pile before her door great heaps of -magnolia blossoms to bear witness to their reverence for the beneficent -spirit of the sun, and to their hope that she would save them from -their threatening doom. The skull-bedecked temple of the sun stood for -all that was most savage in a cult demanding human blood. The hut of -Coyocop, wellnigh hidden from the noonday by sacrificial flowers, gave -forth a fragrant incense which arose from an altar built of loving -hearts. - -It was the assurance, which had come to her in many ways, that she -possessed the reverential affection of thousands of men and women upon -whom she had never gazed that had lightened Doña Julia’s captivity, -and had vouchsafed to her lonely soul a source of inspiration without -which her faith in heaven might have lost its strength. Horrified to -find herself worshipped as a goddess, but fearful of the fate which -might befall her should she make denial of her divinity, she had -passed long months in silent misery, theoretically omnipotent, but -practically a helpless captive; used, for their own selfish purposes, -by a few schemers, and adored at a distance by priest-ridden thousands -who cherished, in their heart of hearts, the hope that Coyocop would -mitigate the cruel cult which stained their temple red. - -The Great Sun came in state to visit her at times, and, more often, -Manatte, his nephew and heir-apparent, presuming upon his royal -prerogatives, would enter her cabin to feast his black eyes upon the -beauty of a countenance which he was bound to look upon as sacred from -the touch of human lips. The tall, dusky youth, whose handsome, wilful -face Doña Julia had grown to loathe, had never dared to rebel against -the restraints which Coyocop’s divine origin forced upon him, but his -restless eyes told the girl what was in his protesting heart, and she -would watch his reluctant steps, as he stole from her hut, with mingled -relief and dread. Well she knew that fear of the Brother of the Sun -and of the chief priest alone prevented Manatte from defying the Great -Spirit and making her his own. - -The afternoon was growing old, and Doña Julia, with a bunch of white -flowers upon her bosom, relieving the black monotony of her sombre -garb, still awaited in loneliness the coming of Louis de Sancerre, -whose presence in that remote corner of the globe only the saints in -heaven could explain. That Coheyogo and Noco, who came to her daily -to play a solemn farce in which she had long ago lost all interest, -had not made their accustomed advent to her cabin filled her with -increasing alarm. The uproar in the city at noonday, the mournful -outcries of an agitated people, had aroused in Doña Julia’s soul a -dread foreboding which the subsequent silence which had fallen upon the -hysterical town had done nothing to relieve. - -Presently the overwrought girl, from whose lips the cup of hope seemed -to have been snatched just as she was about to drink deep of its -grateful draught, fell upon her knees beside her bed and breathed a -fervent prayer to the Mother of Christ for strength in this hour of -doubt and discouragement. Soothed by her devotions, she arose and, -standing erect, listened for the sound of a footstep which should -precede an answer to her supplication; but an ominous silence reigned -outside her hut. Readjusting the flowers upon her breast, and smoothing -her rebellious, raven hair with a trembling hand, Doña Julia, cold -with a sense of loneliness which had fallen upon her heart, moved -hesitatingly toward the hole which served as a clumsy entrance to -the room. Bending down, her hungry eyes eagerly scanned the deserted -square, upon which the sun was shining as if in search of its secreted -worshippers. To the overpowering sweetness of the spring blossoms, -lying in heaps outside the doorway, she gave no heed, as she sought in -vain for signs of life in a city upon which the blight of a great fear -had recently descended. Suddenly, as Doña Julia gazed in consternation -at this lonely centre of a populous town, a tall form issued from the -cabin of the Great Sun. Drawing himself up to his full height, the -man, glancing in all directions, as if to assure himself that he was -unobserved, made straight toward the hole in the sun-baked wall through -which the girl was peering. The white feathers in his hair bore witness -to his royal rank, and as he came into the full glare of the sunlight -just beyond her cabin Doña Julia saw that her approaching visitor was -Manatte. To rush forth into the square and arouse the city by her cries -was her first impulse, but before she could give way to it the youth -had cut off her escape. - -“Coyocop!” he exclaimed, as he stood erect, after he had crawled -through the entrance, driving her back in affright toward the centre of -the flower-bedecked room. “Coyocop!” - -There were in his voice passion, triumph, desperation; an appeal to the -woman and a defiance to the gods. The Great Sun lay dying. Even the -chief priest would hesitate to offend him--Manatte, who would soon be -king! - -“Coyocop!” he repeated more gently, holding forth to her a hand, like a -beggar asking alms, while his eyes rested upon the white flowers which -rose and fell upon her throbbing bosom. - -But, though her body trembled, there was no flinching in Doña Julia’s -glance. Hopeless, as she was, for she realized that sacrilege such as -this could spring only from an opportunity in which Manatte could find -no peril, her eyes gazed into his with a proud scorn which left no -need for words. With head thrown back, she strove to conquer the brute -nature of the youth by the mere force of her strong will and the purity -of her virgin soul. But she knew full well that the silent prayers -which she offered up to God would reach His throne too late. - -For a moment they stood thus confronting one another; Purity attired -in black, and License enrobed in spotless white. Never afterward could -Julia de Aquilar sense the sweet, haunting odor of magnolia blossoms -without a sinking of the heart which made her breath protest. No sound -broke the intense stillness save the twittering of birds which wooed -the flowers outside the hut and the stifled words which Manatte strove -to speak. Suddenly he sprang toward her and seized her wrists, while -his bronze face burned her cold, white cheeks. - -“Coyocop,” he muttered, in a tongue which she could not understand, -“you shall be mine, ’though every star the midnight sky reveals should -send a god to save you from my love!” - -A maiden’s despairing cry startled the silent town. - -“Mother of God, have mercy! Help! O Christ, save me!” - -A light, nervous footfall echoed from the square, and the entrance -to the hut was darkened for an instant. Rapier in hand, de Sancerre -sprang into the centre of the room. As Manatte, with an oath upon his -swollen lips, turned upon the intruder, the Frenchman drove his sword -straight through a snow-white robe into a black heart. Without a groan, -the evil scion of a royal race fell dead upon the ground. - -“Thank God, I came in time!” exclaimed de Sancerre, as he withdrew -his rapier from Manatte’s breast and turned toward Doña Julia, who, -faint and breathless, leaned against the wall facing him. “Doña Julia -de Aquilar,” he cried, tossing his dripping sword to the ground and -crossing the room at a stride, “I kiss your hand.” Falling upon one -knee the courtier pressed his lips to the cold, trembling fingers in -his grasp. - -“Mother of Mary, I thank thee for thy care,” murmured Doña Julia -raising her eyes to heaven from the smiling, upturned face of de -Sancerre. - -It was upon a tableau which might have suggested, to other eyes, a -worldling praying to a saint for pardon for the murder of a giant that -Coheyogo, followed by Noco and Cabanacte, gazed as he entered the hut -and attempted to read the story of the grim picture by which he was -confronted. De Sancerre, who had doffed his white robes in the Great -Sun’s cabin, still knelt at the feet of the pale and agitated girl. -Near the centre of the room lay the bleeding, motionless body of the -sacrilegious sun-worshipper. Thrown from a shelf by the recent tumult -in the room, a great bunch of magnolia blossoms lay scattered close to -Manatte’s head, a floral halo of which death itself still left him most -unworthy. - -Springing to his feet and pointing toward the youth he had slain, de -Sancerre said, calmly, to Noco: - -“Tell the chief priest this, that yonder scoundrel insulted the spirit -of the sun. For this he died. It was this sword,” he went on, picking -up his rapier and wiping the blood from the blade with a handful of -flowers, “which saved Coyocop from his polluting kiss. I know not who -he is, but were he ten thousand times a son of suns he well deserved -his death.” - -Coheyogo stood gazing down at the set face of Manatte as Noco repeated -to him the Frenchman’s words. - -“Stand at the entrance outside the hut,” said the chief priest, curtly, -to Cabanacte, “and bid no one enter upon pain of death. Of what has -happened here, breathe not a word. Go!” - -Crawling through the entrance, Cabanacte drew himself erect in the -sunlight, a sentry against whose behests none of the chattering -sun-worshippers, who had poured into the square to learn the meaning of -the cry which had echoed from Coyocop’s abode, dared protest. - -“Say to the Brother of the Moon that what he did was well done,” -went on Coheyogo to Noco. “If the draught which he made for the -Great Sun gives life as surely as his silver wand brings death, then -shall the shadow pass from our weeping race. Go, then, Noco, to the -temple quickly, and bid four priests to hasten to me here. Answer no -questions, but, as you go, inform the people that Coyocop has destroyed -with flowers, brought to her cabin by the faithful, the evil spirit -which strove to kill our king and bring destruction upon the City of -the Sun. Say to them further, if they should whisper the name of yonder -chief, that Manatte has gone to the foot-hills to offer prayers for the -Great Sun’s life. Go at once, for the day grows old and we have much to -do.” - -Turning toward de Sancerre, who had been whispering to Doña Julia words -of hope and cheer, Coheyogo pointed to the feet of the dead sun-prince, -and then strode to the head of the corpse. The Frenchman and the -chief priest raised the heavy body and placed it upon Doña Julia’s -reed-plaited bed. With armfuls of magnolia blossoms Coheyogo covered -Manatte’s face and shoulders, while de Sancerre, comprehending vaguely -the scheme which the chief priest had in mind, strewed flowers upon the -trunk of his sword’s gigantic prey. - -“May God defend us!” he muttered. “I fear the keenness of this crafty -priest! He has an agile mind. He turns a nightmare to a dream of spring -with most exquisite skill. And, for some reason which I cannot find, he -takes great pleasure in this gay youth’s death. I trust that Doña Julia -has learned to read his mind. I dread him either as an ally or a foe!” - -Before de Sancerre could find an opportunity for holding further -converse with the Spanish maiden, whose presence in the City of the Sun -had wellnigh restored his boyhood’s faith in miracles, Noco, followed -by four silent elders from the temple of the sacred fire, had entered -the hut. A few moments later the voiceless, expectant throng in the -great square gazed with awe and wonder upon a picturesque procession -which moved with slow and solemn tread from Coyocop’s abode to the -outskirts of the town, beyond which point a word from the temple -priests prevented the dusky crowd from following it. - -At the head of the cortège walked the chief priest, accompanied by de -Sancerre, whose drawn rapier gleamed like a sword of fire as the red -rays of the setting sun made a plaything of the blade. Behind them -came four white-robed bearers carrying a plaited bier, upon which lay -the body of a tall man concealed from view by a trembling shroud -of fragrant flowers. Following this strange funeral, upon which the -sun-worshippers gazed with awe-stricken eyes, as if they looked upon a -marvel wrought by spirits, hobbled the aged Noco, mumbling to herself -as she grinned at a people for whose blind superstition she had no -respect. Cabanacte had remained as sentry at Coyocop’s abode, to chafe -under the useless task consigned to him; for to him it seemed more -fitting that he should guard Katonah than stand as sentinel before a -cabin upon which high heaven smiled. - -When the cortège had reached the twilight shadows outside the city, the -chief priest gave a few simple directions to the bearers of the corpse -and, accompanied by de Sancerre and Noco, turned back toward the temple -of the sun. - -“Come with me, señora!” cried the Frenchman, when they had reached -the square, pointing toward the Great Sun’s cabin. “Say to the chief -priest, Doña Noco, that you and I must watch by the good King’s side -to-night.” - -“It is well,” answered Coheyogo, as he listened to the old crone’s -words. “May the great spirit grant you the skill to save his life. ’Tis -best for you that he should live.” - -With this significant hint, the chief priest strode through the dusk -toward the temple of the sacred fire. - -Before de Sancerre and Noco had reached the cabin in which the Brother -of the Sun lay tossing upon a feverish couch, the Frenchman, whose mind -was filled with the vision of a pale, dark-eyed woman, garbed in black, -with spring flowers upon her breast, recalled, for an instant, another -face which seemed to accuse him in the twilight there of strange -forgetfulness. - -“Wait, señora,” exclaimed de Sancerre, seizing Noco by the arm at the -very entrance to the royal hut. “Katonah! It is not well to leave her -all alone. Go to your home and bring her here at once. This town’s a -seething cesspool of dark-brown, white-robed treachery! _Peste!_ If -harm should come to her, I dare not look into the saintly Membré’s good -gray eyes again. Come back at once. The Great Sun needs your care.” - -With these words de Sancerre bent down to enter the royal cabin, while -Noco hurried away to rescue Katonah from a lonely night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE WIELDS HIS SWORD AGAIN - - -The royal cabin was the largest and most pretentious dwelling-house in -the City of the Sun. Its walls were made of mud, sand and moss, and, -hardened by time, had become both serviceable and sightly. The roof -was formed of grass and reeds, united in a close embrace which defied -the most penetrating rain or hail. Forty feet square, the main room of -the palace--to give it a grandiloquent name--was furnished in a style -befitting the exalted rank of its royal occupant. The Great Sun’s -throne was simple in construction, being nothing more than a wooden -stool four feet in height, but its inherent significance was indicated -by the devices with which it had been decorated by reverential and -cunning hands. Beneath the throne was stretched the rarest of the -King’s household furnishings, a carpet made of costly furs, which, so -tradition asserted, had aroused the cupidity of a Spaniard in a former -generation, and still bore the stain of the lifeblood which he had -vainly paid in his effort to rob the feet of royalty of their most -valued luxury. - -Audience-chamber, throne-room and sleeping-apartment, the main hall of -the Great Sun’s abode, as de Sancerre entered it, after despatching -old Noco to her cabin in search of Katonah, was a sight which might -have delighted the eye of an impressionable painter, but would have -aroused the temper of a conscientious housekeeper. The Great Sun’s -sudden illness had begotten a confusion in the royal ménage which -had transformed his abode from a picturesque cabin into a disordered -hospital. - -The stricken chieftain lay tossing from side to side upon a couch -covered with painted and embroidered deer-skins. As de Sancerre -approached his patient, a group of noisy women, the wives of the Great -Sun, fled toward the shadows at the further end of the room. Following -them, a white-robed, soft-footed sun-worshipper, casting a glance of -malice at the Frenchman, deserted the sick King’s side and stole away -into the darkness. The court physician, who, through the chief priest’s -influence, had been succeeded by de Sancerre, had been availing himself -of an opportunity to observe the effects of the Frenchman’s treatment -upon the fever-racked scion of the sun. - -Jealous of his prerogatives, but knowing that a cruel death awaited -him should the Great Sun die, the royal physician had been torn by -conflicting emotions as he gazed down upon the restless form of a -chieftain whose bodily welfare had been his care for many years. While -he longed, for the sake of his own safety, to see the King restored to -health, he harbored a professional protest against the introduction to -the royal cabin of this alien moon-magic, which, after all, seemed to -consist in nothing more than the administration to the patient of a few -drops of a liquid medicine at more or less regular intervals. - -De Sancerre was not, in fact, jeopardizing his life--more than ever of -value to him since he had solved the mystery of Coyocop--by risking the -recovery of the Great Sun upon an answer to prayer, nor upon the chance -that the royal sun-worshipper’s strong constitution might resist the -attack of a sudden indisposition. The Frenchman, upon his first visit -to the chieftain’s cabin, had quickly reached the conclusion that the -Great Sun had fallen a victim to over-excitement and over-eating. De -Sancerre’s experience in courts and camps had long ago familiarized him -with the effects which follow a nervous strain accompanied by excessive -indulgence in food and drink. - -The Frenchman’s observant eye, trained in many climes to harvest -large crops of details, had noted, as he approached the City of the -Sun through a semi-tropical forest, a tree whose resinous inner bark -vouchsafes to men a balsam of great curative powers. It was from this -tree--the copal--that, obeying de Sancerre’s directions, old Noco had -obtained the ingredients for a fever-quieting draught which had already -begun to exercise a beneficent influence upon the Frenchman’s royal -patient. - -As he now gazed down questioningly at the Great Sun, whose kingly -bearing had been replaced by that lack of dignity which an acute fever -begets even where royalty itself is concerned, de Sancerre was rejoiced -to discover that his simple febrifuge had already produced the effect -which he had foreseen. - -“Thanks be to St. Maturin!” he muttered, contentedly, glancing toward -the end of the room to which the King’s wives and the discomfited -court physician had withdrawn. “My surmise was correct. The Great -Sun was too hospitable to the wandering moon. I have known more -enlightened monarchs, in more highly civilized lands, to succumb to -their excessive zeal for good-fellowship. Quiet, care, and a few drops -of balsam are all that this old chief requires to make him a king again -from top to toe. _Nom de Dieu_, another day like this one, and I’ll -need medicine myself! The rôle of executioner is not so bad, but a -physician--_peste!_ May the devil fly away with that chief priest! I -fear me he’s a snake. I should dare to hope that I might rescue Doña -Julia from this bloodthirsty land if I could but trust that crafty -Coheyogo, who’s as keen as Richelieu and as slippery as Mazarin! I must -keep a sharp eye upon his reverence, or he will yet cast his sacred -cords around my neck!” - -To de Sancerre, thus standing in silent revery beside the Great Sun’s -couch, came Noco, hobbling from the entrance with hurried step. Her -appearance was greeted by a more insistent chorus from the gossiping -women at the end of the room, to whom the outcome of their royal -husband’s illness meant either life or death. - -“Katonah!” panted the old crone, as she reached the Frenchman’s side. -“She has disappeared.” - -“Impossible!” exclaimed de Sancerre. “You know her not, señora. She -would not leave your cabin without a word to me.” - -“I am not blind!” cried Noco, angrily. “My house is empty and the girl -is gone. And Cabanacte--” - -“What of him?” asked de Sancerre, impatiently, as Noco paused for -breath. - -“I told him of Katonah’s flight, and he has set out in search of her.” - -“The traitor!” muttered the Frenchman, peering down at the old hag who -had brought to him such unwelcome news. “Your grandson, Doña Noco, has -abandoned the spirit for the flesh--and left Coyocop without a guard! -Surely, Katonah is safer in the forest than is the spirit of the sun -in a city which pretends to worship her. I shall chide your grandson, -Doña Noco, if I ever look upon his giant form again. But stay you here, -señora. When this great Son of Suns awakens from his sleep give him -a drink of balsam--and he’ll sleep again. I go to Coyocop, and will -return anon.” - -The moon had not yet arisen, and darkness and silence combined to -cast a menacing spell upon the impressionable City of the Sun. De -Sancerre’s spirits were at a low ebb as he groped his way toward Doña -Julia’s unguarded cabin. The reaction from a day of excitement had come -upon him, and the gloom of the deserted square did not tend toward -the restoration of his former cheerfulness. It was true that he had -escaped death through a combination of circumstances which apparently -had won for him the good-will of the chief priest, but the outlook -for the immediate future was not promising. De la Salle could not -return from the South for several weeks, even if he and his followers -escaped the perils which might menace them as they approached the mouth -of the great river. Cabanacte, to whom de Sancerre had looked for -the aid which might make his escape with the Spanish girl possible, -had betrayed friendship at the instigation of a stronger passion. -His return from the forest might be long delayed. As he approached -the hut in which his grateful eyes had rested upon the pale, sweet -face of Julia de Aquilar, de Sancerre felt a sinking of the heart, a -sensation of utter hopelessness which was an unacceptable novelty to -the vivacious Frenchman, against whose sanguine temperament the shafts -of despair had heretofore been powerless. - -As he stationed himself, with rapier in hand, before the entrance -to Coyocop’s sacred cabin, there was nothing in his surroundings to -relight the flame of hope in de Sancerre’s soul. Clouds had begun to -darken the eastern sky, revoking its promise of a moonlit night. A -moaning wind, damp and chill, had stolen from its lair in the forest to -annoy a fickle city with its cold, moist kiss. The world seemed to be -made of sighs and shadows. The great square in front of him, dark and -deserted, strove to deceive the Frenchman with its tale of an abandoned -town. Now and then the voice of some devout sun-worshipper, raised in -hoarse prayer, would penetrate the walls of a hut and bear witness to -the city’s swarming life. - -After a time there came upon de Sancerre the impression that piercing -black eyes watched him as he strode up and down in front of the -silent, shadow-haunted hut in which the strange chances of life had -imprisoned the only woman who had ever aroused in his mocking soul the -precious passion of romantic love. He cut the darkness with his eager -glance, but suspicion was not replaced by certainty. Nevertheless, the -feeling grew strong within him that the night wind toyed with white -robes not far away, and that stealthy footsteps reached his ears on -either hand. - -By a strong effort of will, de Sancerre routed the sensation of mingled -consternation and impotence which the chill gloom and the presence of -prying spies had begotten, and, drawing close to the doorway of Doña -Julia’s cabin, hummed an ancient love-ballad born of the troubadours. -The song had died in the damp embrace of the roving wind when the -silence was broken by a voice which reached de Sancerre’s grateful ears -from the entrance to the hut. - -“Speak not in Spanish and in whispers only, Mademoiselle de Aquilar!” -exclaimed the Frenchman in a low voice, not changing his attitude of a -swordsman doing duty as a sentinel. “There are listening ears upon all -sides of me. If we converse in French, they’ll think we use the tongue -of sun or moon.” - -“I heard your voice, monsieur. Is there great danger if we talk a -while?” - -“I hardly know,” answered de Sancerre, striving again to read the -secrets of the night. “But listen, for when the chance may come to me -to speak to you again I do not know. Be ready at any moment, at a word -from me, to leave this hut. I’ll use old Noco for my messenger, when I -have made my plans. I dare not flee with you to-night, for, as I speak, -I see the ghostly menace of a skulking temple priest. There’d be no -safety for us beyond the town. Alas, we must abide our time!” - -“But, oh, my heart is light, monsieur,” whispered the girl, from whose -Spanish tongue the French words made rich music as they fell. “If this -be not a dream, it cannot be that you have come in vain. One night I -heard my father’s voice in Paradise. He spoke to me of you, and when -old Noco told me that by the river there were white-faced men, I heard -his voice again--and wrote my name upon the bark. It is a miracle, -monsieur!” - -“A miracle, indeed!” exclaimed de Sancerre, chafing under the tyranny -of his grim surroundings and distrustful of an overpowering inclination -to bend down and clasp the girl’s hand in his. “But the devil and the -sun-priests, mademoiselle, are in league against us. Pray to the saints -that we may foil them both! _Ma foi_, a half-done miracle is worse than -none! But this I promise you, that whether you and I be playthings of -a heartless Fate, or the favored wards of Mother Mary and her Son, I’ll -plot and scheme and fight until I save you from captivity, or pay the -price of death. And so, good-night! I dare not let you linger longer -where you are, for already these white-robed spies are growing restless -at our talk, and I hear them muttering in the darkness there, as if in -resentment of my converse with their deity.” - -A suppressed sob told de Sancerre how much his presence meant to the -lonely girl. - -“Can we not leave this awful place at once?” she moaned. “Forgive me, -monsieur, but it has been so long since I have seen a ray of hope in -this black hole that every moment since I knew that you were here has -seemed a year. May Mother Mary guard you through the night! ’Tis well I -love my prayers, monsieur! I will not sleep.” - -“Nay, mademoiselle, ’tis well to pray, but not to lose your sleep. -You’ll need the saints, anon--but also strength. Sleep, Doña Julia, for -the love of--God! And so, good-night! I’ll watch beside your door until -these slinking scoundrels have gone to feed their sacred fire.” - -No sound save the complaining of the restless wind broke the stillness -of the night, which had grown blacker as its age increased. Suddenly -de Sancerre, as agile as a cat, sprang forward, barely in time to -escape the clutch of remorseless arms. Turning, like a thunderbolt he -drove his sword through a white-robed night-prowler, who died at his -feet without a groan. So sudden and noiseless had been the attack and -its fatal defence that it had not recalled Doña Julia to the entrance -to the hut. On the instant, old Noco grasped de Sancerre by the arm, -and, turning in anger, the Frenchman found himself confronted by -Coheyogo. - -“I’ve killed another snake, señora!” exclaimed de Sancerre, grimly, -pointing to a white mass at his feet. “Will you say to the chief -priest, Doña Noco, that I should more highly prize his friendship if he -kept his temple priests from off my back?” - -Coheyogo muttered a few words to the aged interpreter. - -“The man you’ve slain has been rebellious and deserves his fate. He -disobeyed a strict command,” said Noco, repeating the chief priest’s -curt comment. “He’ll place a guard of trusty priests before the door of -Coyocop, that you and I may seek the Great Sun’s side.” - -“How kind he is!” muttered do Sancerre, petulantly. “A pretty plight -this is for a Count of Languedoc! I’m tired of this Coheyogo’s -domineering ways! But still, I dare not cross him now. Come, señora,” -he exclaimed in Spanish, turning toward the King’s cabin and groping -his way through the black night. “I trust my sword will find no more to -do to-night! It has had a busy day!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -IN WHICH THE CITY OF THE SUN ENJOYS A FÊTE - - -The moon of strawberries had been succeeded by the moon of old corn, -and there was joy in the land of the sun-worshippers. In other words, -the month of April had gone by and the month of May had found the Great -Sun’s grateful subjects making ready to celebrate his restoration to -health by national games and a thanksgiving feast. - -The laggard weeks had told many a flattering tale of hope to Count -Louis de Sancerre, but at the end of a month’s sojourn in the City -of the Sun he still found himself, in all essential particulars, a -helpless stranger in a fickle and jealous land, honored by the Great -Sun and the chief priest, and admired by the people, but closely -watched by sharp black eyes, from which flashed gleams of malice -and suspicion. Impatient and impetuous though he was, the Frenchman -dared not force the issue to a crisis. Easy of accomplishment as the -kidnapping of Coyocop seemed to be, de Sancerre realized that he -would rush to certain death if he took a false step and attempted a -rescue hampered by his ignorance of the surrounding country and of the -movements of Sieur de la Salle. Day succeeded day and no word came from -the river to the pale and haggard Frenchman, whose only joy in life -during those dreary weeks sprang from the voice of Julia de Aquilar, -which reached his grateful ears now and then as he prowled around -her cabin late at night. Even this source of delight he was obliged -to forego after a time, receiving from the chief priest a broad hint -regarding the dangers which menaced a stranger in the town after dark, -and learning from Noco that Coheyogo had discovered in the temple the -existence of a fanatical faction among the sun-priests which had sworn -to overcome de Sancerre’s moon-magic by physical force. - -But it was Cabanacte’s failure to return from his quest of Katonah -that had wound the strongest cord around the Frenchman’s hands. Could -he have had the giant’s assistance at this crisis, de Sancerre felt -confident that any one of a number of schemes which he had been obliged -to reject for lack of an ally could have been forced to the goal of -success. But Cabanacte had disappeared, had made no further sign, and -old Noco, to whom her grandson was as an open book, had said sadly to -de Sancerre that the youth would not return. - -The restless and wellnigh discouraged Frenchman had, through his -success as a physician, won the enthusiastic gratitude of the Great -Sun, who had insisted upon making his Brother of the Moon the honored -guest of the royal cabin, within which de Sancerre was compelled, much -against his will, to spend the major portion of the time, talking to -the convalescent king by the aid of Noco’s nimble tongue. - -It was the dawn of a cloudless day near the middle of the moon of old -corn when de Sancerre, opening his eyes after a night of dreamless, -restful sleep, enjoyed, for a moment, that sensation of physical -well-being which suggests the possibility that nature harbors no enmity -to man. Outside the royal cabin the morning vibrated with the melody of -birds and the distant rumors of a forest springing gladly into life. -There was movement and bustle inside the hut, and de Sancerre turned -lazily upon his gayly-bedecked couch to watch the Great Sun as he paid -homage to his risen god. With a spotless white robe flowing from his -royal shoulders, the King, still feeble from his recent illness, stood -in the centre of the room gravely lighting his calumet from a live -ember which one of his wives held out to him. Then striding toward the -dawn-beset exit to the cabin, which led straight to the rising sun, -the convalescent chief blew three puffs of tobacco-smoke toward the -deified orb of day. - -“_Pardieu_,” muttered de Sancerre, “if they would but sacrifice more -tobacco and less blood to their shining god, this city would not be so -repulsive to a man of tender heart.” The Frenchman had thrown his slim -legs over the side of the plaited bed and sat gazing at the Sun-Chief -with a quizzical smile upon his clean-cut, thin and colorless face. -Suddenly upon the air of morning arose the shouts of a joyful multitude -approaching the Great Sun’s cabin. As if born of the dawn, the noisy -throng poured into the square, carrying to the palace of their king -offerings of fruit, flowers, vegetables, meats and fish. Into the -cabin crowded the smiling, chattering sun-worshippers, their white -teeth gleaming and their black eyes flashing fire as they piled their -gifts around the Great Sun’s hand-painted throne, interfering with de -Sancerre’s toilet but treating him with the respect due to a son of -the full moon, in whose magic they had reason to rejoice. A noisy, -picturesque, light-hearted crowd, delighting in the escape of their -king from death, and in the postponement of the general slaughter of -men, women, and children which would have followed his demise, they -impressed the Frenchman as overgrown, frolicsome, unreliable children, -beneath whose gayety lurked the capacity for bloody mischief. - -Half-dressed and somewhat weary of the glad uproar, de Sancerre, having -withdrawn to a distant corner of the hut, stood watching a ceremony -which was destined to replenish the royal larder, when he felt a tug at -his arm, and, looking down, met the keen eyes of Noco. - -“’Tis from Coyocop,” she muttered, slipping into his hand a piece of -mulberry bark. The corner in which he stood was not well-lighted, but -de Sancerre was able, at length, to decipher the scrawl made by Julia -de Aquilar. Her words were few: - -“Eat no fish at to-day’s banquet,” ran the message. De Sancerre glanced -down at the old hag questioningly, but there was nothing in her face to -suggest that she understood the warning which had been scratched upon -the bark. The moment seemed to be ripe for putting into operation a -plan upon which de Sancerre’s mind had been at work for several days. - -“Tell me, señora,” he said, observing with satisfaction that no prying -eyes were fixed upon them at that moment, “would it please you to find -your grandson, Cabanacte, and lure him from the forest to his home?” - -There was a gleam in her small, black eyes as they met his which -assured de Sancerre that he had pressed a finger upon the beldame’s -dearest wish. - -“It cannot be done,” she croaked, turning her back to him as if about -to mingle with the laughing throng. De Sancerre seized her by the arm. - -“Listen, Noco,” he urged, bending down to whisper eager Spanish into -her old ears. “Coyocop and I, going to the forest side by side, could -find Cabanacte and the maiden from the north. Tell this to Coyocop, -that I will come to her when the banquet nears its end at dark. I leave -the rest to you, for you must lead us from the city to the woods. The -moon of old corn will give us light to-night to find your grandson in -the forest glades or where the river floweth toward the sea. Will you -take my word to her?” - -“_Si, señor_,” muttered Noco, gazing up at de Sancerre with eyes which -strove to read his very soul. “But if we fail--if Coyocop is missed--it -will be death for you and me.” - -“We cannot fail, señora, for the full moon is my god! We’ll find your -Cabanacte ere the night is old--and none will ever know. And now, -begone! Between the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon I’ll -come to you and Coyocop. Be true to me, señora, and by the magic of my -silver wand you’ll look upon your grandson’s face to-night.” - -In another moment Noco, eluding the Great Sun’s glance as she stole -between the tall sun-worshippers, had crept from the cabin into the -rosy light of day. - -The hours which followed her departure passed like long days to de -Sancerre. He watched the Great Sun’s wives as they became surfeited -with the petty tyranny which they exercised at the expense of a throng -of lesser women, upon whom rested the drudgery necessitated by the -approaching feast. Cares of state--an inventory of the tribute paid to -his divine right--occupied the attention of the King until noon had -long been passed and left de Sancerre to his own devices. Seated at the -entrance to the cabin, the Frenchman could observe what was passing in -the sunny square outside, while he still kept an eye upon the Great Sun -and his busy household. Half-naked boys and girls, gay with garlands of -flowers, were arranging long lines of wooden benches in front of the -royal dwelling under the direction of a master of ceremonies who had -escaped death with his king. - -The bench upon which the Great Sun, the chief priest, and de Sancerre, -the nation’s guest, were to sit stood just in front of the King’s -cabin, and had been covered with painted skins and surrounded by a -carpet of magnolia blossoms. - -As the hour for the banquet approached the nobly-born sun-worshippers -gathered in groups at the further end of the square, awaiting a signal -from royalty to seat themselves upon the benches, hot by this time from -the glare of a cloudless day. Gayety, suppressed but impatient, reigned -in the City of the Sun. Black eyes flashed above smiling lips, and now -and then a chorus of happy voices would raise a chant in praise of a -deity who had blessed the earth with fecund warmth. Even the stealthy, -silent, keen-eyed temple priests failed to cast a damper upon the -joyous children of the sun as they mingled with the throng or lurked in -the shadow of their skull-crowned palisade. - -The banquet had been under way for more than an hour before de -Sancerre, seated between the Great Sun and Coheyogo, had been able to -revive the hope which had sprung up in his breast earlier in the day. -His environment, as it met his eyes at the outset of the feast, seemed -to preclude all possibility of a successful issue to the plan which -he had impulsively put into operation. A group of plebeians, watching -the nobility as it made merry--apparently at the King’s expense, but, -in reality, at theirs--stood directly in front of Coyocop’s abode and -were laughingly driving de Sancerre’s heart into his pointed shoes. -Would the gaping throng disperse as the sun sank low in the sky, and -leave to the Frenchman one chance in a thousand for the triumph of his -daring scheme? The hours, as they passed, left de Sancerre less and -less self-confident, while they increased the joyous hilarity of the -feasters among whom he sat. The mud-made walls of the houses on either -side of him had begun to throw long shadows across the square before -de Sancerre was able to cull from his surroundings a bud of hope. It -sprang from the tongue of Noco, who, as she passed behind his back, -muttered in Spanish: - -“I will touch your arm at dark. Then follow me.” - -At that moment the women serving the royal table placed before the -Great Sun and his guests of honor bits of bark upon which rested fish -still hissing from the heat of a wood-fire. De Sancerre, who had turned -to nod to Noco, caught a gleam of excitement in the black eyes of the -serving-woman who had stretched her scrawny, brown arms between him and -the chief priest. As he faced the feast again the fish in front of him -recalled the written warning which he had received that morning from -Julia de Aquilar. - -“Touch no fish at to-day’s banquet,” repeated de Sancerre to himself. -“’Twas good advice, I think. I’ll let this schemer, Coheyogo, eat my -dish.” Acting upon the impulse of the moment, the Frenchman touched the -chief priest upon the arm, and, as Coheyogo’s black eyes met his, he -made a gesture toward the retreating form of Noco, as if he invoked -the aid of the temple to recall the interpreter to his side. The -spontaneity of de Sancerre’s action had its effect upon the sun-priest, -for he turned instantly and called aloud to the double-tongued -and two-faced hag. With a rapidity and deftness worthy of a -prestidigitateur, do Sancerre transposed the fragments of fish-laden -bark upon the bench, and, as Coheyogo resumed his former attitude, he -was confronted, unknowingly, with a dish with which a fanatical but -disobedient priest, hating moon-magic, had tampered. - -There is but short shrift given to the day when the sun deserts it in -southern climes. Twilight had already begun to cast a gloom upon the -feast, against which the forced gayety begotten of cinnamon-flavored -wine could not prevail, when de Sancerre again felt old Noco’s touch -upon his arm. Before he turned to her the Frenchman, whose heart was -beating wildly beneath his rusty velvets, cast a glance at the Great -Sun. To his great satisfaction he discovered that his royal patient -had wholly disregarded the warning vouchsafed by his recent illness -and had been indulging in the pleasures of the table to an extent -that had placed again in jeopardy the lives of those of his subjects -who were doomed to accompany him in state to the spirit-land. But -it was the condition of Coheyogo at that moment which gave to de -Sancerre the greater cause for joy. The chief priest sat blinking -down at a half-eaten fish, as if he struggled vainly to read the grim -secret which it held. Now and then his head would drop forward as if -he had been overcome by sleep. Then, by an effort of will, he would -straighten his spine and attempt to collect his thoughts. The Frenchman -watched him searchingly for a moment, and observed with delight that -the struggle which the chief priest was making against a slothful but -resistless foe would end in full defeat. - -“_Ma foi_,” muttered de Sancerre, as he crawled softly from between the -intoxicated State and the bedrugged Church into the shadow into which -Noco had stolen, “had I not learned a trick or two in camps, ’tis I -who would be nodding, not Coheyogo. I would I could remain to see the -outcome of this contest between a poison and a snake!” - -Noco had grasped him by the arm, and in another instant de Sancerre -found himself stealing toward Doña Julia’s cabin through the darkest -corner of the crowded square. Either the saints or the moon-god, or -senseless chance, granted the Frenchman favors at that crucial hour; -for, as he approached Coyocop’s sacred abode, wellnigh hidden from -sight beneath hillocks of cut flowers, a group of enthusiasts at the -feast, still unconquered by the fermented juice of the cassia-berry, -had mounted the food-stained benches and raised a maudlin, monotonous -chant, in which the onlooking plebeians accompanied them. At the same -moment a crowd of boys and girls at the further end of the square -had begun a weird, ungraceful, unseemly dance, in which, as time -passed, men and women joined with shouts of wild laughter. Presently -the kettle-drum added its barbaric clamor to the din which fretted -the darkness as it crept across the disordered square. Even the -sun-priests, heated by the epidemic of gayety which had seized the -town, had left their sacred fire to the care of a chosen few, and were -now mingling with the shouting, dancing, delirious multitude upon a -pretext of good-fellowship, which was not too well received. - -“Wait here, señor,” whispered Noco, in a guttural voice which shook -with excitement, pushing de Sancerre against the wall at the rear of -Doña Julia’s hut. “Don’t stir until I return. I fear some priest may -still be watching me.” - -The old crone disappeared around the corner of the cabin, and de -Sancerre stood, trying to swallow his insistent heart, as he listened -to the uproar in the square and, presently, to the voice of Julia de -Aquilar whispering to Noco almost at his very side. - -“Come,” hissed Noco, at his shoulder, seizing him by the wrist, and -dragging Doña Julia toward the black shelter of the forest by the other -hand. “No word! No rest! There will be no safety for us until we reach -the trees.” - -Followed through the gloom by the harsh discord of a mad town’s -revelry, Doña Julia de Aquilar, of Seville, and Count Louis de -Sancerre, of Languedoc, linked together by a wrinkled beldame, who -looked at that moment like a grinning witch escaping to the wilds with -the helpless victims of her spite, hurried, with hearts growing lighter -with every step, toward a pathless wilderness, in which a thousand -lurking perils would menace them at every turn. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE UNDERGOES MANY VARIED EMOTIONS - - -The full moon of May, the moon of old corn, shone down upon a virgin -forest bounding with the high pulse of a ripe spring-time. Its white -splendor tiptoed along the outskirts of impenetrable thickets, or -danced gayly down majestic glades, patrolled by oak and hickory, -sassafras, and poplar trees. Presently, shunning a menacing morass, the -silvery outriders of the moon’s array would file along a narrow bayou -or charge _en masse_ across the broad surface of a trembling lake. And -while the triumphant moonlight took possession of a splendid province, -the thousand voices of the forest murmured at midnight a welcome to the -conqueror. - -Panting for breath, and worn with the friction of their race for -freedom through swamps and woods, de Sancerre and his companions, after -long hours of hurried flight, paused to recover their strength, far -to the southward of the City of the Sun. The marvellous endurance of -Julia de Aquilar, whose urgency had granted to the enraged Noco no -chance to protest against the fervor of their mad career, had put even -the wiry, hardened frame of the lithe Frenchman to a stubborn test. -Hand in hand de Sancerre and the Spanish girl had sped onward, followed -by the grumbling crone, now breaking their way through vindictive -underbrush, anon wetting their feet in marshy vales, again making -progress beneath stately trees, avoiding the deep gloom of threatening -recesses and following a moon-track, like hounds upon a scent. Behind -them sat certain death; beyond them, a joyful promise lured them deeper -and ever deeper into the primeval wilds. - -Tottering and breathless, old Noco reached the crest of the -tree-crowned hillock upon which Doña Julia and de Sancerre, gasping, -speechless, but strong with renewed hope, stood awaiting her coming. -Throwing her old bones upon the damp grass, Noco lay moaning for a time -in senile misery. Youth, under the spurs of fear and hope, had led old -age a cruel race. Noco had come into the forest to solve by moon-magic -the secret of her grandson’s flight, and, lo! the wizard upon whom she -relied had become a will-o’-the-wisp, in tattered velvets, using his -diabolical power to kidnap Coyocop, the spirit of the sun. - -“Lean against the tree-trunk, señora,” said de Sancerre to Doña Julia, -his voice tripping over his breath as he spoke. “I fear old Noco has -found our pace too hot. But, even now, I dare not rest. We must go on!” - -Descending the hillock to the treacherous ooze which mirrored the -moon in a multitude of pools, the Frenchman filled his bedraggled -bonnet with cold water and returned quickly to Noco’s side. Bending -down, he forced the panting beldame to drink deep of the refreshing -draught. Then he poured a cold stream upon her drawn, dusky face and -through the white hair above her wrinkled brow. The old hag’s beady -eyes had watched his every movement. Had he not cast a spell upon the -moon-kissed water with which he laved her head? Surely this revival of -her strength, which raised her on the instant to her feet, was magical. -Cruel though he might have been to her, the Brother of the Moon was -making full reparation with his witchery for the suffering which she -had undergone. Old Noco was more superstitious at midnight than at -dawn, more a savage in the forest than in her city hut. The mocking -gleam which her eyes had known so well the moonlight could not find, as -she stood facing de Sancerre, gazing up at him with a question in her -glance. - -“Cabanacte?” she exclaimed, still short of breath. - -“We will seek him by the river,” answered de Sancerre, pointing to a -break in the forest which opened toward the east, as he drew the woman -toward the hollow gum-tree against which the Spanish girl was seated, -silently pouring out her soul in gratitude to Mother Mary and the -saints. - -“But there is no time,” complained the old woman. “They will miss -Coyocop, and if they find us in the woods--ugh!” The grunt of horror to -which Noco gave vent bore witness to how much cruelty her aged eyes had -gazed upon. - -“Listen, Doña Noco,” said de Sancerre sternly, as he extended his hand -to Julia de Aquilar and, indulging in a courtly flourish wholly out of -keeping with his environment, drew her to her feet, “we have set out -to find Katonah and your grandson. Be true to Cabanacte and put your -trust in Coyocop. Listen, señora,” and here de Sancerre bent down and -addressed the old crone with impressive emphasis, “as we hurry on, -ponder the words I speak; the City of the Sun is unworthy of the spirit -sent from God. It is accursed. Its temple runs with blood, and its vile -priests have sealed the city’s doom. Come; ’twas your grandson who -found Coyocop. ’Tis Coyocop who shall now find Cabanacte.” - -Onward through the moonlit forest the trio kept their course, tending -always toward a noble river that might bear them, could they build a -raft, to the vagrant camp of de la Salle, pitched somewhere further -south. Wasting no breath in futile words, de Sancerre maintained a -telling pace which carried them every moment further from a city of -murder toward a stream where hunger menaced them. - -For two long, heavy hours they struggled eastward across the -treacherous margin of a river grown erratic from its weary longing for -the sea. Now and then de Sancerre would turn to refresh his straining -eyes with a vision of beauty, done in black and white against the -moonlight, and, for all time, upon his heart. A word of encouragement -would escape from his dry lips at intervals, and a smile of hope and -gratitude would reward him for his prodigality of breath. - -The want and hardship which confronted them, the chances of capture -from savage tribes, of death from starvation, or swamp-begotten fever, -although clear to de Sancerre’s mind, could not, in that glad hour, -cast a shadow upon his buoyant spirits. “A half-done miracle is worse -than none,” he had said to Doña Julia. It gave him renewed confidence -in the future to feel that upon his own courage, pertinacity, and -foresight would depend the happy outcome of a strange adventure -which chance, at the outset, had made possible. It was pleasant to -de Sancerre to reflect that he could now relieve the saints of all -responsibility for the issue of events. - -Nevertheless, the Frenchman uttered a word of gratitude to St. Maturin, -who watches over fools, when, about two hours after midnight, he and -his companions shook the forest from their weary shoulders and stood -upon the curving shore of the River Colbert--known to later times as -the Mississippi. De Sancerre’s quick eye saw at once that at this point -Sieur de la Salle had, weeks before, made his camp for a night. By a -short cut through the woods, the Frenchman had reached a point upon -the river to gain which the canoes of the great explorer had labored -for a day upon the winding stream. That the litter left upon the bank -had not been abandoned by a party of roving Indians was proven beyond -peradventure to do Sancerre by a discovery which electrified his pulse -and renewed his admiration for the saint whom he had just invoked. As -he hurried down the slope which fell gently from the forest to the -stream, anxious to enter the deserted huts, made of reeds and leafy -branches by expert hands to serve as shelter for a single night, -de Sancerre’s torn shoes struck against an object which forced an -exclamation of astonishment and delight from his ready tongue. - -Gleaming in the moonlight at his feet, the long barrel of a flintlock -musket pointed straight at a powder-horn and a bag of bullets, as if -the weapon, lacking nourishment, prayed to be recharged. Bending down, -de Sancerre raised the clumsy gun and examined its mechanism with the -eagerness of a shipwrecked mariner toward whose raft the sea had tossed -a chest which might, when opened, gladden his eyes with food. - -Doña Julia and Noco stood behind the Frenchman watching his movements -with eyes in which curiosity had conquered the heaviness of dire -fatigue. - -“This, Mademoiselle de Aquilar,” explained de Sancerre, balancing the -heavy musket in his hand, “is the _fusil ordinaire_, or snaphance gun. -I have heard young hotspurs in the low countries--who knew little of -the rapier’s niceties--assert that, at close quarters, its butt-end is -more deadly than a sword. Of its merits in a _mêlée_ I am not ripe to -speak, but I learned, while yet I lingered with Count Frontenac, to -drive a bullet through a distant tree. The weapon has its use! You may -thank the saints, mademoiselle, for this gun and powder-horn. ’Twill -serve my turn if my captain’s careless redmen have left no eatables in -yonder huts.” - -“Ah, well I knew, monsieur, you had not come to me in vain!” exclaimed -Doña Julia, a glad smile gleaming in her eloquent eyes, beneath which -rested the dark shadows of physical exhaustion. “The saints have led -your steps to where the musket lay!” - -“_Mais, oui!_ But tell not Noco this. Her ears must harken to another -tale.” - -Turning to gaze down at the silent beldame, the fiery brightness of -whose busy eyes the strain of a forced march at midnight had not -dimmed, ’though her face twitched with fatigue and her scrawny hands -shook in the moonlight, de Sancerre said: - -“The Brother of the Moon is glad, señora, for my god has put into my -hands the thunder and the lightning--to call Cabanacte from the wilds -and to smite the sun-priests if they follow us. To-morrow I will make -the echoes of the forest lead your grandson to us here. But now we must -have rest, for Coyocop is weary, and the dawn must find us up.” - -St. Maturin, the friend of fools, still played de Sancerre’s game. -As the Frenchman, followed by the women, to whom each step they took -was now a hardship, entered the nearest hut, he saw at once that his -withdrawal from de la Salle’s expedition, and the loss of Chatémuc -and Katonah, had led the explorer to lighten his equipment by the -contents of one canoe, intending, doubtless, to retake the stores upon -his return should circumstances make them again of value to him. A -boat-load of corn-meal and gunpowder had been stored in the hut in -the hope that neither the weather nor roving savages would deprive the -returning explorers of its use. - -“_Nom de Dieu!_” cried the Frenchman, gayly, as he pointed to the -godsend which made his light heart lighter. “There lie food and -ammunition. ’Tis true, indeed, that Heaven has been kind to us! And so -I leave you, Mademoiselle de Aquilar, to your prayers and sleep. I must -make further search.” - -Old Noco, who had paid out the last link of her energy, had made a -shake-down of the meal-bags, and her labored breathing proved that her -aged bones were finding the rest they craved. De Sancerre held Doña -Julia’s cold, trembling hand in his and gazed upon her weary face for -a long moment, whose very silence was eloquent with words he could not -speak. - -“Good-night, monsieur,” faltered the girl, tears born of gratitude and -physical weariness dimming the dark beauty of her eyes. - -“Good-night,” he said, bending to touch her white hand with his lips. -Then he drew himself erect, trembling as if the damp breeze from the -river had chilled his overwrought frame. Suddenly he clasped the -weeping girl to his breast, and his lips met hers in a kiss which -crowned the miracle the saints had wrought for them. - -“My love! My love!” whispered de Sancerre; and when he reached the -moonlit night outside the hut again it seemed to him that the river and -the forest had changed their outlines to his eyes and that he stood -within the confines of a paradise. He seated himself upon the sloping -margin of the stream, vainly attempting to recall his soaring thoughts -to the homely exigencies of his grim environment. It was no paradise -by which he was surrounded. A lonely flood finding its way to a lonely -sea lay before his eyes, while at his back stood a pathless wilderness -through which, even at this moment, black-hearted fanatics, skilled in -woodcraft, might be following his trail. This dark thought, clouding -the splendor of a dream begotten by a kiss, led de Sancerre, almost -unconsciously, to take from the ground at his side the awkward musket -with which chance had armed him. He longed to test its prowess as an -ally, to prove to his troubled mind that dampness and neglect had not -robbed the flintlock of its heritage. With no intention of giving way -to the curiosity which assailed him, the Frenchman carefully loaded the -gun with powder and ball and raised it affectionately to his shoulder. -In that hour of peril and loneliness the musket seemed to be a friend -speaking to him of de la Salle’s loyalty and persistence and of the -certainty that his return from the gulf could not be long delayed. - -Suddenly an uncanny premonition crept over de Sancerre, whose nervous -energy had been exhausted by a day and night of strangely-contrasted -emotions and by a physical strain whose reaction was now taking its -revenge. Turning his back to the river, de Sancerre’s restless eyes -swept the black, threatening line of the forest, behind which the moon -was drooping. Presently his heart seemed to clutch his throat and the -long barrel of the musket trembled as his hand shook for an instant. -At the edge of the woods, two hundred yards beyond the camp, stood a -white, naked thing, resembling in outline a man, but as shadowy and -ghostly as a creature made of moonbeams. It stood erect for a moment -and then bent down as if it would crawl back into the forest upon all -fours. - -Impulsively, de Sancerre covered the apparition with his gun and -snapped the steel against the flint. A crash, echoing across the -startled flood, and hurled back in anger by the bushes and the trees, -made sudden war upon the silence of the stately night. When the smoke -from the friendly gun--in good case to serve the Frenchman’s ends--had -cleared away, de Sancerre saw no ghastly victim of his marksmanship -lying in white relief against the black outline of the woods. “Mayhap,” -he reflected, “my bullet passed through a shadow not of earth! Don -Joseph? Perhaps I drew him back from hell with that dear kiss I won! -But what mad thoughts are these? ’Twas but a gray wolf in the scrub, -or a vision raised by my own weariness. At all events, _ma petite_,” -he exclaimed, patting the smoking musket contentedly, “there’s now no -doubt that you and I agree.” - -A soft touch fell upon de Sancerre’s arm, and, turning, he looked into -the white, agitated face of Doña Julia. - -“Fear not, señora,” he exclaimed, earnestly. “Forgive me that I -disturbed your rest. But it seemed best to me to try the temper of this -clumsy gun. ’Tis always well to know how great may be the prowess of an -ally whom you have gained.” - -Her dark eyes were reading his face closely. - -“They have not found us?” she asked, eagerly. “You did not shoot at -men?” - -“Only at a target made by dreams,” he answered, reassuringly. “I shot -at the phantom of my hate, _ma chère_, and, lo! it brought my love to -me.” - -Her dark eyes fell until their long black lashes rested against her -white face. - -“You love me, señor?” she whispered, in a voice which filled his soul -with an ecstasy it had never known before. - -And once again the waters of the listening river bore a love-tale to -the distant gulf--a strange, sweet sequel to gossip which the waves had -heard before. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -IN WHICH SPIRITS, GOOD AND BAD, BESET A WILDERNESS - - -Cabanacte’s wooing of Katonah, an idyl of the forest, a love-poem lost -in the wilds, a spring song set to halting words, had filled two simple -lives with sadness through days of wandering and nights of melancholy -dreams. When the stalwart sun-worshipper had first overtaken the girl, -fleeing she knew not whither, and inspired by a motive which she could -not analyze, Cabanacte had been greeted by a faint, apathetic smile -which had aroused in his heart the hope that, as time went by, her eyes -might look into his with the light of a great happiness shining in -their depths. - -As the days and nights came and went and returned again, while a glad -world chanted the wedding-song of spring, and the forest whispered -the gossip of the mating-time, Cabanacte’s gentleness brought peace -without passion, affection without encouragement, into Katonah’s -gaze as it rested upon the dark, strong, kindly face of the dusky -youth. Reclining at her feet for hours at a time, the bronze giant -would attempt to tell the story of his love to the Mohican maiden in -broken Spanish, only a few words of which Katonah understood. But what -mattered the tongue in which he spoke? The moon of old corn was at -the full, and the universe grew eloquent with a language which every -living creature comprehended. The birds were singing in the trees from -a libretto which the squirrels and chipmunks knew by heart. The wild -flowers blushed at a romance buzzed by bees, and from the grass and the -waters and the forest glades arose a myriad of voices repeating the -ballad of that gayest of all troubadours, the spring-time of the South. - -Cabanacte’s wooing assumed many varying forms. As a huntsman he -would lay the trophies of his skill at Katonah’s feet. He would lure -a fish from a stream, and, making a fire by rubbing wood against a -stone, would serve to her a tempting dish upon a platter made of -bark. Wild plums, yellow or red, berries luscious with the essence of -the sunshine, and ripe, sweet figs served as seductive foils to the -burnt-offerings which he placed upon the altar of his love. - -Hand in hand they would wander aimlessly through the flower-scented -woods by day, silent for hours at a time and soothed into contentment -by a barbaric indifference to what the future might have in store -for them. At night Katonah would sleep beneath a sheltering tree, -while Cabanacte watched by her side until his eyes grew dim and his -head would wobble from the fillips of fatigue. Presently he would -shake slumber from his stooping shoulders and sit erect, to gaze down -lovingly upon the quiet face and the slender, graceful figure of the -melancholy maiden, whose beauty was more potent to his eyes than the -heavy hand of sleep. Why should Cabanacte give way to dreams while his -gaze could rest upon a vision of the night more grateful to his longing -soul than the fairest picture that his fancy had ever drawn? - -Now and again the dusky giant would gently touch the sleeping maiden’s -brow with trembling fingers, or bend down to press with reverent lips a -kiss upon her cool, smooth cheek. Half-awakened by his caress, Katonah -would stir restlessly in the arms of mother-earth, and Cabanacte, -alarmed and repentant, would draw himself erect again to continue his -conflict with the promptings of his love and the call to oblivion with -which sleep assailed him. - -Often in the heat of noonday his guard would be relieved, and he would -slumber beneath the trees while Katonah sat as sentry by his side. -Then would the flying and the climbing and the crawling creatures of -the forest come forth to sing and chatter and squeak in the effort to -lure the silent, sad-eyed maiden to tell to them the secret of her -heart. Of whom was she thinking as she reclined against a tree-trunk -and gazed, not at the stalwart, picturesque youth stretched in sleep -upon the greensward at her side, but up at the white-flecked, May-day -sky, a patch of dotted blue above the flowering trees? Why did the -tears creep into her dark, gentle eyes at such a time as this? Was she -not young and strong and beautiful? Was not all nature joyous with the -bounding pulse of spring? What craveth this brown-cheeked maiden which -the kindly earth has not bestowed? Surely, the sleeping stripling at -her feet is worthy of her maiden heart! Not often does the spring-time -lure into the forest, to meet the searching, knowing eyes of a thousand -living creatures, a nobler youth than he who, for days and nights, -has been her worshipper and slave. The forest is young to-day with -vernal ecstasy, but, oh, how old it is with the worldly wisdom of long -centuries! What means this futile wooing of a sun-burnt demigod and the -cold indifference of a stubborn maiden, who sighs and weeps when all -the joys of this glad earth are hers? - -The forest holds a mystery, a problem strange and new. The breeze -at sunset tells the story to the blushing waters of the lakes, and -spreads the gossip through the swamps and glades. The moonbeams steal -abroad and verify the tale that the twilight breeze had voiced. A youth -and maiden, young and beautiful, so runs the chatter of the woods and -streams, wander in sadness along a zigzag trail, and, while he sighs, -the maiden weeps and moans. There is no precedent, in all the forest -lore, for this strange, futile quest of misery, this daily search for -some new cause for tears where all the world is singing hymns of joy -and praise. - -And all the questions which the forest asked had found an echo in -Cabanacte’s soul. Why should Katonah gaze into his loving eyes with a -glance which spoke of sorrow at her heart? What was there in all this -wondrous paradise of earth which he, a youth of mighty prowess, could -not lay at her dear feet? He would take her to the City of the Sun and -teach her how to smile in gladness, how to make his home a joy. Did she -fear the slavish drudgery of the women of her race and his? Oh, Sun -in Heaven, could he but make her understand the broken Spanish of his -clumsy tongue, he’d swear an oath to toil for her from year to year, to -keep her slender hands at rest and hold her higher than the wives whose -fate she feared! - -Often would Cabanacte take Katonah’s hand in his, and, smiling up -at her as she leaned against a tree, strive to make his scraps of -Spanish aid the noble purpose of his heart. Now and then the knowledge -which the girl had gained of French would serve Cabanacte’s turn, and -she would smile in comprehension of some word which he had voiced. -After a time she found herself amused and interested by his earnest -efforts to put her into touch with the ardent, uncomplicated longings -of his simple soul. One day she had attempted to make answer to his -question--clarified by the eloquence of primitive gestures--whether she -would return with him to the City of the Sun. They had laughed aloud at -the strange linguistic jumble which had ensued, and the spying gossips -of the forest had sent forth the stirring rumor that the coy maiden had -dried her tears and was at last worthy of the blessings of the spring. -But hardly had the forest learned the story of Katonah’s laughter, when -the tears gleamed in her eyes and her whispered negative drove the -smile from Cabanacte’s face. - -From this beginning, however, the youth and maiden had developed, -through the long, aimless hours of their sylvan wanderings, a curious, -amorphous _patois_, made up of a few words culled from the French and -Spanish tongues and forced by Cabanacte to tell an ancient tale in a -language new to man. It brought renewed hope to the youth’s sinking -heart to find words which could drive, if only for a moment, the -mournful gleam from Katonah’s sad eyes, or, when fate was very kind, -tempt a fleeting smile to her trembling lips. - -But even after they had garnered a few useful words from Latin roots, -there remained a heavy shadow upon the hearts of Katonah and her -swain. Between them stood an elusive, intangible, but persistent and -domineering, something, which restrained Cabanacte with its cruel grip, -and often turned Katonah deaf to her lover’s passionate words and blind -to the adoring splendor which shone in his burning eyes. A savage -maiden’s foolish dream, a cherished memory which haunted her by day and -crept into her sleep at night decreed that Cabanacte should woo her -heart in vain and in a forest musical with love should grow sick with -longing for the word that she would not speak. With gentle wiles and -all the art his simple nature knew he laid before Katonah the treasures -of devotion, and, ’though she smiled, and gazed into his eyes with -tender gratitude, she waved them all aside and sat in silence in the -moonlit night, recalling a pale, clear-cut face upon which she never -hoped to look again. - -[Illustration: “A WHITE-FACED MAN PRESSING TO HIS BREAST A DARK-HAIRED -MAIDEN”] - -It was long past midnight, and Cabanacte, weary of his vigil, and -worn with the melancholy thoughts which oppressed him, leaned against -a tree and dozed for a time while the maiden, reclining at his side, -listened in her dreams to a mocking voice which had aforetime been -music to her heart. The murmurs of the night had died away to silence -as the moon fell toward the west, and the forest had settled itself -for a nap before the dawn should hail the noisy day, when Katonah and -Cabanacte were hurled to their feet by a crackling crash, which echoed -through the protesting woods with a threatening insistence that stopped -for an instant the beating of their hearts. Seizing the girl’s cold -hand, Cabanacte, glancing around him upon all sides with affrighted -eyes, rushed wildly away from the oak-tree beneath which they had found -rest, and strove, with a giant’s strength, to win his way to the great -river as a refuge from a wilderness in which evil spirits menaced them -with ugly cries. Suddenly the stalwart youth paused in his mad career -and drew the panting maiden close to his side. Far away between the -trees a ghastly creature, a spectral man or monkey, crept and ran and -bounded toward the shadow-haunted depths of the forest from which they -fled. Knowing all the secrets of the woods, Cabanacte turned cold at -the fleeting vision which had checked his wild flight, for never had -he seen beneath the moon so weird a sight. Almost before he could -regain his breath it had come and gone, and the night was once again -his lonely, silent friend. - -Trembling from the cumulative horrors which had so suddenly beset their -ears and eyes, Cabanacte and Katonah stole through the forest toward -the river, which glimmered now and then between the trees. The giant’s -arm was thrown around Katonah’s slender waist, and Cabanacte could feel -the hurried beating of her aching heart as he pressed her to his side, -as if to defend her from some new peril lurking in these treacherous -wilds. - -Suddenly, as they crept apprehensively toward the outskirts of the -trees, the broad expanse of the Mississippi broke upon their sight, -and, between their coigne of vantage and the river, they saw a tableau -which emphasized their growing conviction that some strange enchantment -was working wonders on the earth at night, to bind them together by -ties woven in the land of ghosts. - -Before their startled gaze stood a slender, white-faced man pressing -to his breast a dark-haired maiden clad in black, and as they crouched -beneath the underbrush they saw the brother of the moon bend down and -kiss the spirit of the sun. - -“’Tis Coyocop!” muttered Cabanacte, in a voice of wonder and adoration. -“She has come to the forest to drive away the evil demons of the night!” - -“Come!” whispered Katonah, urging her lover by the hand toward the -woods from which they had just escaped--“come, Cabanacte! I love you! -Do you understand my words? I love you, Cabanacte! Come!” - -As the dusky giant, a willing captive led back to a joyous prison, -followed Katonah toward the haunted glades, he knew that Coyocop had -wrought a miracle and had banished from the forest the demons who had -warred against his love. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE WEEPS AND FIGHTS - - -“I have searched in all directions,” remarked de Sancerre to Doña -Julia, standing upon the river-bank and watching the early sunbeams as -they greeted the rippling flood, “and I fear my captain’s people did -not abandon the canoe whose contents they left here as a gift from the -good St. Maturin. But we are in good case! ’Tis a kindly stream, and -its bosom will bear us gently to my friends. The walls of these frail -huts will serve us well to form a raft.” - -The Spanish maiden watched the golden glory of the dawn, as it made a -mirror of the stately stream, with eyes which glowed with happiness and -peace. The dread of many perils which beset de Sancerre’s mind found no -reflection in the devout soul of Julia de Aquilar. Had not the saints -wrought miracles to lead her from captivity? Weak, indeed, would be her -faith if she doubted the kind persistence of their aid. - -“’Tis but repaying what I owe, señora, if I should make you safe at -last,” continued de Sancerre, musingly, taking Doña Julia’s hand in -his. “You saved my life. You have not told me how you knew they’d -dressed my fish with poison from the woods.” - -“Ah, monsieur,” sighed the girl, regretting that he had recalled the -sorrows and dangers of the past, which seemed to her at this glad -hour like the unreal horrors of a nightmare forever ended. “You must -remember that I’ve spent a long, sad year in that City of the Sun. -I’m quick to learn an alien tongue, and, without effort, I came to -understand the language of the priests. The saints be praised, I’ll -know no more of it! And so I heard them plotting in the night outside -my door to give you poison in the fish you ate. I prayed to Mother Mary -to find a way--and, lo! my prayer was answered, for Noco came to me!” - -“_Ma foi_, how much we owe to Noco!” exclaimed de Sancerre, scanning -the river and the forest with searching eyes, as he turned to lead Doña -Julia to the hut in which, through the aid of their aged companion, -they were to break their fast. By means of the flintlock on his gun de -Sancerre had kindled a fire, at which Noco had been cooking cakes of -corn-meal, the odor from which now mingled with the bracing fragrance -of the cool May morning. - -As they entered the hut the girl uttered a cry of dismay, and de -Sancerre strode quickly to the prostrate form of their faithful -counsellor and guide. Stretched before a snapping fire of twigs, with -her last earthly task undone, lay Noco, dead, the grin and wrinkles -smoothed from her old, brown face by the kindly hand of eternal sleep. -The strain of the night’s wild race had been too great for her brave -heart, and, when called upon by the labor of the day, it had ceased to -beat. - -Doña Julia threw herself upon her knees beside the only friend she had -known in her long captivity, and, with sobs and prayers, gave vent to -the sorrow in her heart. - -“_Nom de Dieu!_ I think I loved that queer old hag!” murmured de -Sancerre to himself, brushing a tear from his pale cheek, as he turned -toward the wood-fire to resume the work from which Noco had been called -by death. “I thought there was no limit to the vigor in her frame! Alas -for her, I set the pace too hot!” - -But there was no time for sighs and vain regrets. De Sancerre knew the -woods too well to let his fire long toss the smoke between the fissures -of the hut. Removing the corn-cakes from the blaze, he extinguished the -flames at once, and urged Doña Julia to eat freely of a simple meal. - -“Remember, señora,” pleaded de Sancerre, earnestly, seeing that the -sudden taking-off of their aged comrade had robbed the sorrowing girl -of all desire for food--“remember that the larder of our raft will be a -crude affair. I know not when the luxury of corn-cakes will tempt our -teeth again.” - -Doña Julia smiled sadly and renewed her efforts to do justice to a -repast for which she had no heart. - -“Think not, señor,” she said, in Spanish, gazing at de Sancerre with -eyes bright with pride and fortitude, “that I have learned no lessons -from a year of peril and dismay. You knew me in the luxury of courts. -Methinks you’ll find me changed in many ways. I mourn old Noco. She -saved me from despair. She hated Spaniards, but she worshipped me. Ah, -señor, she had a loyal heart. May the saints be kind to her!” - -“Amen!” exclaimed de Sancerre, fervently. “And now, señora, we have no -time to lose! Untie the meal-bags in the corner there and bring the -cords to me. I’ll pull a hut to pieces and make a raft of logs upon the -shore. For every mile the river puts between this spot and us, I’ll vow -a candle to St. Maturin.” - -Fastening a powder-horn and a bullet-pouch to his waist, to the deep -resentment of his patrician rapier, de Sancerre, with gun in hand, -hurried to the river-bank and chose a convenient spot from which to -launch his treacherous craft upon a kindly current flowing toward -the camp of friends. As the hours passed by and his raft grew in size -and strength, the depression which the death of Noco had cast upon de -Sancerre’s spirits stole away, and there were hope and cheer in the -smiles with which he greeted Doña Julia when she came to him now and -again from the hut with stout cords with which he spliced together -the clumsy, stubborn logs of his rude boat. At short intervals he -would abandon his task as a raft-builder to scan, with straining eyes, -the broad expanse of river upon his left, or to listen breathlessly -for sounds of menacing import in the forest at his back. But the sun -had reached the zenith, his raft was nearly built, and de Sancerre -could discover, neither upon flood nor land, aught to suggest that -man-hunting man was stirring at high noon. - -“_Courage_, mademoiselle,” he cried, gayly, in his native tongue, as -Doña Julia, pale and silent, approached him from the hut. “Another hour -will find us voyageurs at last. We’ll name our gallant little ship _La -Coyocop_!” - -“The saints forefend!” exclaimed the girl, smiling at his fancy. -“’Twould bring disaster with it! ’Tis a heathen name! We’ll christen -our good raft in honor of the Virgin or the saints. They have been kind -to us!” - -“_Ma foi_, you speak the truth, _ma chère_! My patron saint, the -kindly Maturin, has saved me from all blunders for a day. If ever I -should see a godly land again, I’ll raise an altar to his memory.” - -The mocking undertone in de Sancerre’s light, laughing voice recalled -to Doña Julia the old days at Versailles when this same man, who, by -a marvel wrought in Paradise, now stood beside her in a wilderness, -had touched upon many things which she had held in high regard with -the irreverent wit of a flippant tongue. But, on the instant, she felt -that she had been unjust to de Sancerre in taking, even for a moment, -the path along which memory led. The earnest, courageous, resourceful -man at her side was not the debonair, satirical cavalier whom she had -known at court. She had said to him that he would find a change in her, -wrought by a year of danger and despair. She realized, through the -quick intuitions of a loving heart, that during that same lapse of time -the wild, stirring life which he had led had touched the nobler chords -in the soul of de Sancerre, and had brought to view a manly earnestness -and force which had stamped his mobile face with an imprint grateful -to her eyes. At Versailles the courtier had fascinated her against her -will. In the wilderness the man had won the unforced homage of her -admiration. If, now and then, his tongue, by habit, used flippant -words to speak of mighty mysteries, the saints in heaven would forgive -him this, for he had grown to be a man well worthy of their tender care. - -The truth of this came to Doña Julia with renewed insistence as she and -de Sancerre, having made the final preparations for their embarkation, -knelt beside old Noco’s corpse and, hand clasping hand, voiced a prayer -for the repose of their faithful ally’s soul. - -“I dare not wait to give her burial,” said de Sancerre, regretfully, -as he and the girl left the hut, carrying to their raft what little -corn-meal and gunpowder their frail craft allowed to them as cargo. -“But well I know the saints will treat her well. Her claim upon them is -the same as mine.” - -Doña Julia glanced up at de Sancerre, questioningly. He looked into her -dark, earnest eyes with his heart in his, and answered her in Spanish: - -“Old Noco worshipped you, señora--as I do! _Caramba!_ What is that?” - -The Frenchman stood motionless for a moment watching an object which -broke the monotony of the river’s broad expanse on their left. -Presently he placed the keg of gunpowder, which he had been carrying, -upon the shore, and, seizing the long, clumsy musket at his feet, -examined the pan and hammer. - -“What is it, señor?” asked the girl, calmly, glancing up the river at -a bobbing, white speck far to the northward, and then looking into de -Sancerre’s pale, set face with eyes in which no terror gleamed. - -“I hardly know, señora!” exclaimed the Frenchman. “But I fancy ’tis a -thing which has no hold upon the saints!” - -“You think it is--” - -“I fear it is a war-canoe of white-robed devils, whose only claim to -mercy is that they knew you were from God. But listen, _ma chère_. They -must not see you here! There is no safety for us within the woods, for -they would find my raft and track us quickly to the trees. The weird -moon-magic of this snaphance gun must turn them from their course. Go -back into the hut, and let their black eyes search for you in vain. -With good St. Maturin’s most timely gift I’ll show them that a bullet -is harder than their hearts.” - -“Ah, no--I cannot leave you now!” exclaimed the girl, shuddering at the -prospect of a lonely vigil in the room where Noco lay. - -“This is no place for you, señora,” said de Sancerre, grimly, -glancing again at the river, down which a large canoe, manned by ten -stalwart sun-worshippers, which rose and fell upon the favoring tide, -was approaching them with its menace of death for de Sancerre and -captivity for the girl. “Go to the hut at once! I shall not keep you -waiting long. If the magic of my musket should not avail, we’ll test -the friendliness of yonder trees. But, still, I think my merry gun will -drive the cowards back.” - -A moment later de Sancerre, humming snatches of the love-song which he -had sung before the cabin of the goddess Coyocop, fingered his musket -with impatience as he waited for the war-canoe to swing within easy -range of a weapon with which he had had no long experience. - -“_Nom de Dieu!_” he muttered, as he raised the gun to his shoulder and -then lowered it again to await a more favorable opportunity for his -initial shot. “They make a gallant show! Their sun-baked brawn and -muscle form a target which would rejoice the heart of a _coureur de -bois_.” - -At that instant a cry of mingled rage and triumph arose from the -paddlers as they discovered the picturesque figure, standing erect -upon the bank in tattered velvets and toying with a curiously-shaped -implement which had no terrors for their unsophisticated eyes. - -“_Ma foi_, I think the time is ripe to do my little trick!” exclaimed -de Sancerre, gayly, a smile of derision playing across his thin lips -as the echo of his pursuers’ shout of delight and anger came back to -him from the wall of forest trees. “My hand is steady, and my heart is -light! You black-haired devil, drop that paddle!” - -The mimic lightning made by flint and steel changed powder into noise, -and as the river and the trees tossed back and forth the echoes of -the musket’s roar, a dusky athlete, dropping his paddle with a moan, -toppled over dead into the shimmer of the sun-kissed waves. - -“_Bien, ma petite!_” cried de Sancerre, patting his smoking gun with -grateful hand. “The magic of the moon is working well to-day.” - -For a moment the horrified sun-worshippers lost control of their canoe, -and it drifted jerkily toward the centre of the stream. Presently, -recovering their wits, they plunged their paddles into the flood and -held their responsive, graceful boat steadfast on the waves, seemingly -in doubt as to the course they should pursue. - -“Confound them!” muttered the Frenchman, who had leisurely recharged -his musket. “’Tis strange how slow these bright-eyed devils are to -learn! Do they want ten miracles, when one should well suffice? They -seem to crave another message from the moon. If I could hit a moving -boat-load, I’ll have no trouble now! They’re steadying my target--to -the greater glory of my magic gun! Adieu--once more!” - -Again the peaceful day protested loudly against de Sancerre’s noisy -tricks, and the waters gained another victim from the worshippers of -fire. There was no further hesitation aboard the great canoe. With -paddles wielded by hands cold with fear, and arms bursting with the -struggle to drive their boat beyond the fatal circle of a demon’s -witchery, the sun-worshippers frantically urged their primitive -war-ship upward against the current of this treacherous river of -death. Laying his faithful gun upon the bank, de Sancerre watched his -retreating foes for a happy moment. Removing his torn bonnet with a -flourish from his throbbing head, he made a stately bow, unheeded by -the terrified canoemen, and cried gayly: - -“_Adieu, messieurs!_ They’ll hear of you in France anon! And then -beware! Adieu!” - -With a light heart and feet which seemed to spurn the sloping bank, de -Sancerre rushed toward the hut in which the woman of his love had been -listening in terror to the scolding of his gun. - -“Behold me, mademoiselle,” he cried, jubilantly, as he drew the -trembling girl to his breast, “a musketeer who wastes no powder upon -his foes! I kiss your lips, my life and love! The prayers you sent to -Heaven, I well know, have saved our lives again! Another kiss--and so -we will embark.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -IN WHICH DOÑA JULIA IS REMINDED OF THE PAST - - -It was night; black, oppressively damp, with thunder in the air and -fitful lightning zigzagging across the sulky sky. With deep sighs, the -forest prepared for the chastisement of the threatening storm. A sound -like the sobbing of great trees followed the distant grumbling of dark, -menacing clouds. The flying, climbing, crawling creatures of the woods -and swamps and river-banks had heeded the warnings of the hour and had -stolen to shelter from the wrath of the fickle spring-time. - -The majestic Mississippi, swollen with the pride of power, flowed -downward in silence through the gloom to throw its mighty arms around -the islands near the gulf. Now and again its broad expanse would -reflect for an instant the lightning’s glare and then grow blacker than -before, as if it repented of its recognition of the storm. Presently -great drops of water pelted the bosom of the stream, and far to the -westward the forest cried out against the sudden impact of the -resounding rain. - -For many hours de Sancerre had been guiding his raft with an improvised -paddle, the blade of which he had made from the wood of a powderkeg, -and the long afternoon, when it had run its course, had left the -adventurers nearer to the gulf by many weary miles than they had been -at embarkation. Worthy of the trust which the dauntless Frenchman had -placed in it, the hospitable stream had gently carried de Sancerre’s -raft down the watery pathway along which Sieur de la Salle had found -the road to disaster and immortality. - -An hour before sunset, however, misfortune, in defiance of the saintly -name which Doña Julia had bestowed upon their primitive vessel, -had overtaken the fugitives. Several logs, disaffected through the -treachery of rotten cord, had broken away from the sides. Fearing -the complete disintegration of his raft, de Sancerre had, with some -difficulty, succeeded in making a landing and in removing his precious -gun and stores to the shelter of the underbrush. He had hardly -completed his task, and drawn his unreliable craft up to a safe mooring -upon the shore, when the unwelcome storm had begun to fulfil its -threats. - -“I fear,” exclaimed de Sancerre, drawing Doña Julia close to his -side, as they strove to shelter themselves from the rain beneath the -overhanging bushes on the river-bank--“I fear our supper will be cold -and wet to-night. I now begin to understand just why those white-robed -children of the sun should worship fire. You tremble, _ma chère_. Tell -me, are you cold?” - -“No, no!” exclaimed Doña Julia, her face close to his to defeat the -uproar of the rain. “The storm will pass. Ah, señor, what cause we have -for gratitude!” - -Somewhere in the forest at their backs the lightning struck a tree and -their eyes rested for an instant upon a river made of flames, which a -crash of angry thunder extinguished at their birth. - -“Mother Mary, save us!” exclaimed the girl, while the hand which de -Sancerre held trembled for an instant in his grasp. - -“The worst has passed, sweetheart,” he murmured, reassuringly, bending -down until his lips touched hers. “Listen! The rain falls lighter upon -the leaves above us now. These sudden storms in southern lands are like -the--” - -“Si, señor?” - -“Like the anger of a Spaniard, I had said,” confessed de Sancerre. - -“Mayhap,” murmured the girl, her eyes meeting his despite the blackness -of the gloom. “And think you, sir, they’re like a Spaniard’s love?” - -“_Ma foi_, how can I tell?” he cried, laughingly. “You, señora, must -guide me to the truth. But listen!” he went on, his voice growing -earnest, as, forgetful for the moment of the storm and perils of the -night, he gazed down upon the upturned face of a maiden who had shown -to him the unsuspected depths of his own heart, “if your love for me is -but a passing fancy, born of solitude and taught to speak by chance, I -beg of you to pray the saints that I may die to-night. To live to lose -your love-- I’d choose a thousand deaths instead!” - -In the girl’s dark eyes de Sancerre could see a protest growing as he -spoke. - -“Nay, señor,” she murmured, turning her gaze from his to watch the -distant lightning as it flashed across the waters from the black clouds -which covered the storm’s retreat. “My life has been so strange I fear -I may not speak as other maidens would. But why should I not confess -the truth? My love for you is not a forest growth. The saints forgive -me, I loved you at Versailles! If in this awful wilderness you’re -dearer to my heart than when, at court, you hurt my pride and showed my -heart itself, ’tis not my fickleness which is at fault. I’ve loved none -other, señor, in my life.” - -“You were betrothed!” exclaimed de Sancerre, impulsively, a man rather -than a courtier at the moment. - -“’Tis a story for another hour than this,” said Doña Julia, softly. -“Don Josef! Mother Mary be good to him! I always hated him, -señor--although my hand was his. But look how the moon breaks through -above those clouds! The storm is over, and the night grows clear. Shall -we launch our raft again? I fear the forest, señor, more than yonder -stream.” - -“Nay, I dare not float at night, _ma chère_” answered de Sancerre, -smoothing the raven hair from her white forehead as her head rested -upon his shoulder, and they watched the fickle night change its garb -of black, fringed with fire, for the silvery costume vouchsafed by the -full moon. “I fear I might steal past my captain in the dark.” - -Suddenly he pressed her face, splendid in its beauty as the moon -caressed it, to his breast, while he gazed across his shoulder at the -dripping forest with eyes large with sudden fear. - -“God in heaven! There it comes again!” - -Against his will, the words forced themselves from de Sancerre’s -parched lips. - -“What is it, señor?” whispered Doña Julia, trembling at the horror in -his voice. - -“A white, misshapen thing,” he muttered, hoarsely. “I’ve seen it once -before. It lies upon the ground beneath a tree.” - -They neither moved nor spoke for a long moment. De Sancerre strove in -vain to rouse the mocking sceptic in his mind. Son of a superstitious -age, he could not conquer the idea that he was haunted in the wilds -by the lover of this girl, whom he had slain. Presently, as he still -watched the white blotch beneath the weeping tree, his will regained -its strength and he exclaimed: - -“Sit here, señora. I’ll go to it!” - -He sprang to his feet, and, on the instant, Doña Julia stood by his -side, while her gaze followed his toward the spectral outlines of an -out-stretched man, motionless and ghastly beneath the moon. - -“The saints protect us! You shall not go alone!” exclaimed the girl, -putting an icy hand into de Sancerre’s grasp and taking a firm step -toward the mystery which tested the courage of her soul. - -“You must not come with me, señora,” cried de Sancerre, budging not an -inch. “From where you stand your eyes can follow me. I shall return at -once.” - -Releasing her hand, the Frenchman sprang forward, and in another moment -stood gazing down at the almost naked body of a man whose soul at that -very instant had passed from this world to the next. In death the -thin, drawn face regained the lines of youth, but on the head the hair -was white, and on his chin a tuft of beard gleamed like silver in the -moonlight. There was no flesh upon his bones. The night wind stirred -the rags still clinging to his frame and tossed an oil-skin bag, -fastened by a string around his neck, across his chest. A crucifix in -miniature rested at that instant just above his heart. - -“_Nom de Dieu_, it is a Spaniard--but not the ghost of him I slew!” -exclaimed de Sancerre, breaking away from the horrid spectacle to -return to Doña Julia. He had no need to go, for the girl was at his -side, gazing down at the corpse with horror-stricken eyes. - -“’Tis Juan Rodriquez!” she exclaimed, in a tone which voiced a conflict -of emotions. “He goes to God with black, foul crimes upon his soul!” - -“Who was this man, señora?” asked de Sancerre in amazement, drawing the -girl to one side out of the insistent glare from the shrivelled corpse. - -“An evil, treacherous creature, señor, who served my father as a -scribe. I thought that he had perished with the others in the ship. I -spoke his name to-day, when I told you the story of my father’s awful -fate. From the moment of my father’s fall, until I found myself within -the City of the Sun, my memory is dumb. That was a year ago and more. -The man who’s lying there has suffered torments, señor, before his time -was ripe.” - -“He’d lost his reason and become a beast,” exclaimed de Sancerre, -shortly. “But still he was from Europe, and has a claim upon us! I’ll -get my paddle and scratch a hole to hide him from the wolves. And then -I’ll say a prayer, and let him rest in peace.” - -“He was a murderer!” gasped the girl, trembling with cold as the rising -breeze forced her damp garments against her weary limbs. - -“_Ma foi_, if that is so, our prayers are little worth. But come, -_chérie_, there is less wind beneath this hill. I will return and throw -some earth above those bones. If that white fragment of a wicked man -had murdered all my kin, I would not leave him there uncovered for all -time. He came from lands we know--and so I’ll treat him well! God, how -I shall welcome the sight of de la Salle!” - -With quick sympathy the girl put her hand upon de Sancerre’s arm as -they turned their faces toward the glimmering flood. - -“A woman is so useless, señor!” she exclaimed, “I can do naught but -pray! But show me how I best may aid you now. I will try so hard!” - -“You know not what you say, señora!” cried de Sancerre in Spanish, -clasping the cold hand resting upon his arm as he led her toward the -river. “Useless, quotha? Is a woman useless who teaches a wayward, -rebellious, mocking heart the peace and glory of true love? I say to -you, my Julia, that as Mother Mary is greater than the saints, so is a -good woman better than the best of men.” - -Then he added, smiling gayly as his happy eyes met her earnest gaze, -and changing his tongue to French: “Not, _chérie_, that I am the best -of men!” - -“You are to me! Is not that enough?” she murmured, in a tone which made -sweet music to his ears. - -A half an hour had passed and de Sancerre had returned to the girl from -his grewsome task as a grave-digger. The awful fate of the murderer -to whom he had given hasty burial depressed his spirits, for the dead -man had borne upon his emaciated frame the marks of his long year of -misery, a year during which he had wandered through the wilds in a -great circle, until hunger and exposure had made him a mad, crawling -animal, too long despised by death itself. - -“There were papers in this oil-skin bag,” remarked de Sancerre, -throwing himself wearily upon the bank beside Doña Julia. “As he was -secretary to your father, I thought it best to examine what he had -kept so safe upon his breast. It was not wrong, _ma chère_?” - -The girl’s face was even paler than its wont was, as she met her -lover’s questioning eyes. Her lips trembled slightly as she said: - -“He boasted once, upon our vessel’s deck, that he’d be master when -we reached New Spain. Our king had granted lands and silver mines in -Mexico to my dear father, rewarding him for his success in France. ’Tis -possible--” - -An exclamation uttered by de Sancerre interrupted Doña Julia’s surmise. -The Frenchman had been examining two imposing parchments by the clear -light of the full moon. - -“Your father’s scribe, señora, was a man of fertile mind. King Charles -of Spain has made two grants covering the same ground, one to his -‘dear, beloved son in Christ, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar,’ and the other -to his ‘dear, beloved son in Christ, Don Juan Rodriquez.’ ’Tis clear -enough that one of these is forged, but, for my life, I could not pick -the honest parchment from the false. Why yonder villain kept them both, -I do not understand.” - -“I think I know,” mused the girl, in a weary voice. “He thought less -of robbery than how to make me his. He would have torn this skilful -counterfeit into a thousand bits had I been kind to him.” - -“_Nom de Dieu!_ He dared to--” - -Doña Julia glanced chidingly at the impetuous Frenchman. - -“You spoke not harshly of him when I told you of his awful crimes,” she -said, while her hand crept shyly into de Sancerre’s. “Is he less worthy -of your leniency because he schemed to win the hand you hold?” - -“’Tis selfishness, I know,” said de Sancerre, thoughtfully, gazing -contentedly into the dark eyes which met his. “I cared but little that -he’d killed some man I never knew, but if he loved you, señora, I’m -glad he died the death!” Seizing the forged parchment upon his lap, -the Frenchman tore it to pieces and scattered the fragments upon the -ground. Then he replaced the genuine grant in the oil-skin bag and -fastened it to his sword-belt. - -“I must repair my raft, _ma chère_,” he said to the girl a moment -later, bending down to kiss her cheek, cold and smooth and white. “You -will forgive me, sweetheart, for loving you so well?” - -Not far away the moonlight, falling in soft radiance between the trees, -had thrown upon a rough grave, newly-made, the shadow of a cross. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -IN WHICH ST. EUSTACE IS KIND TO DE SANCERRE - - -Overlooking the waters of the great river, as they met and mingled with -the waves of a lonely sea, stood a wooden column beside a wooden cross. -Almost hidden by the shadow of the pompous pillar, the cross, unmarked -by hand of man, made no open claim to power, but awaited patiently the -outcome of the years. Upon the column had been inscribed the words: - - Louis le Grand, Roy de France et de Navarre, règne; le Neuvième - Avril, 1682. - -Now and then the King’s Column would appear to hold converse with the -Cross of Christ, for it was a weary vigil which they kept, and the -lofty pillar, haughtily displaying the arms of France, was forced, from -very loneliness, to recognize the humble emblem at its base. - -Through long, sunny days and soft, moonlit nights the salt breeze -from the sea heard the royal column boasting to the lowly cross. By -virtue of the legend upon its breast, said the King’s Pillar, a great -monarch had gained a vast domain. Savannas, forests, prairies, deserts, -rivers, lakes, and mountains, forming a gigantic province, had become, -through a word uttered by a great explorer, the property of him whose -name the wooden column bore. Through all the oncoming ages, the King’s -Pillar asserted, Louis le Grand, Roy de France et de Navarre, and his -posterity, would own the fair lands through which a mighty river and -its tributaries flowed. It was not to be wondered at that the stately -column grew vain with the grandeur of its mission upon earth, and even -garrulous at times, as it described to the insignificant cross the -splendor of the dreams which a glowing future vouchsafed to it. - -The Cross of Christ would listen in silence to the mouthing of the -Royal Claimant, gazing further into the future, with a clearer vision -than the proud pillar, whose words were those of men blinded by the -intoxication of transient power. The unpretentious cross could well -afford to indulge in the luxury of silence. Since it had first become a -symbol of the power which is begotten by the teachings of humility and -love, it had heard, a thousand times, the boastful words of monarchs -swollen with the glory of ephemeral success. It had seen emperors and -kings seizing lands and peoples to hold them in subjection until time -should be no more. But the centuries had come and gone, and the banners -of earthly kings, rising and falling, had pressed onward and been -driven back. Only the cross, emblem of peace on earth and good will to -men, had, through those same ages, steadily enlarged the dominion over -which its gentle rule prevailed. Carried forward often by fanatics and -made to serve the ends of cruel hearts, it was, in spite of all the -errors of its followers, slowly but surely receiving the earth for its -heritage and mankind as the reward of its benignity. - -One afternoon, late in the month of May, a man, pale, dejected, moving -with the heavy step of one who had undergone great bodily fatigue, led -a maiden, upon whose white face lay the shadow of a weariness against -which youth could not prevail, toward the King’s Column. Removing his -bonnet from a head grown gray from recent hardships, the man, releasing -the girl’s hand, bent a knee before the proud emblem of his sovereign. -At the same moment the maiden knelt down before the cross, and, weeping -softly, breathed a prayer to a Mother whose Son had died for men. - -Presently the girl arose and, followed by him who had paid his tribute -to the fleeting power of kings, skirted the royal column, and seated -herself upon a mound of sand from which she could sweep, with her -dark, mournful eyes, the expanse of a gulf new to the keel of ships. -Stretching before her as if it knew no bounds lay a great water, an -awful waste of sun-kissed, dancing waves, whose glittering splendor -brought no solace to her heavy heart. - -“It is a mystery which I cannot fathom,” said de Sancerre, mournfully, -throwing himself down by Doña Julia’s side and gazing up at her sad, -sweet face with eyes heavy from a disappointment which had crushed, for -the time being, the fond hopes which had inspired him through long days -of labor and nights of wakeful vigilance. “The good faith of the stern, -upright de la Salle I cannot doubt. He would jeopardize his life, and -all his mighty projects, to rescue a comrade to whom his word was -pledged. We must have passed him somewhere in the twilight of the dawn -or when I used the sunset’s glow too long.” - -“What seemeth best to do, señor?” asked the girl, turning her gaze from -the cruel sea to look into the face of a man upon whose courage and -resourcefulness she had good reason to rely. - -“_Ma foi_, I hardly know,” muttered the Frenchman, looking about him -upon the scattered remnants of de la Salle’s encampment. “My captain -may return--but ’twill be a weary while ere he comes back. A year, at -least, must pass before he reaches here again. We stand in no great -danger from starvation, but ’tis a lonely shore. I thought to lead you -from captivity, and, lo! I’ve merely changed your cabin-prison to a -sandy jail! I fear St. Maturin has turned his face from me!” - -“Be not cast down, señor,” whispered Doña Julia, in her native tongue. -“It cannot be that Mother Mary, who has been most kind to us, will -leave us here to die.” - -“’Twould be unreasonable,” exclaimed de Sancerre, almost petulantly. -Then he went on, making an effort at cheerfulness. “But, for the -present, we have no cause to lose all hope. This desert shore seems -safe from savage men. My musket there will gain us meat enough, and in -the forest there are fruits and berries fit for royal boards. In sooth, -‘le Roy de France et de Navarre’ has won a kingdom rich in all good -things.” - -“We’re safe from savage men, you say, señor,” remarked Doña Julia, -musingly, casting a meaning glance behind her at the silent woods. “I -fear you do not understand the nation which we have defied.” She smiled -sadly as she went on: “You have abducted Coyocop, a goddess sent from -heaven to make their people great. Although your musket filled them -with dismay, they’ll follow us.” - -The lines of care upon de Sancerre’s drawn face grew deeper as he -listened thoughtfully to the girl’s words. - -“We’ve left no trail,” he mused, gazing longingly at the horizon where -the sea-line met the sky. “They’re keen as woodsmen, but the river -tells no tales. But, mayhap, you are right! You’ve known them long and -heard the sun-priests talk. And if the worst should come, _ma chère_, -I’d die for you with sword and gun in hand beneath the blazoned arms of -France. ’Twould be a fitting ending for a count of Languedoc.” - -“Speak not so sadly, señor,” exclaimed Doña Julia, placing a gentle -hand upon his shoulder and looking into his face with courageous, -hopeful eyes. “I sought not to dishearten you, but ’tis well for you to -know the truth. To linger where we are is far from safe.” - -“That may be so,” admitted de Sancerre, reflectively, as he examined -the lock of his musket and then stood erect to cast a searching -glance across sea and land. The restless billows of the gulf, the -marshy coast, the islands at the river’s mouth, and the grim forest -overlooking the waters, formed a picture which human gaze had seldom -swept. At this moment the outlook held no menace to the eyes or ears -of de Sancerre. “To linger where we are, señora, may not be safe,” he -remarked, as he reseated himself and took her hand in his, “but where -’tis best to go I hardly know. Our raft will not float up-stream, and -we cannot put to sea. We have not much to choose! Between this hillock -and the next there can be no great difference in the perils which -surround us. And, somehow, señora, I feel nearer to my captain with the -arms of France above my head.” - -Doña Julia pressed de Sancerre’s hand and her quick sympathy shone in -her dark eyes. - -“Your captain, señor--you loved him?” - -“De la Salle? I know not that I loved him. But I would have followed -him to hell! There is a grandeur in my captain’s soul which draws to -him the little men and makes them great. Aye, señora, by all succeeding -ages the name of him who raised this wooden column, against which we -lean, in honor must be held! The deeds of de la Salle shall live, when -the feats of countless noisy boasters are forgotten. But, that I loved -this mighty leader I cannot say. I’ve served in Europe under lesser men -than de la Salle, who led me by the heart; while he, methinks, appeals -but to my head. He rules us not with velvet, but with steel, this -dauntless captain, upon whose martial figure I would that I might gaze. -And that is best, in such a land as this! Followed by redmen and wild -border outlaws, he could not hold them should he smile and scrape. -And, at the best, he cannot trust his men. They grumble at their -captain, because he has no weakness in their eyes.” - -De Sancerre’s long speech, to which Doña Julia had listened with forced -attention, had changed the melancholy current of his thoughts and -restored the lines of firmness to his mouth, the light of courage to -his eyes. The memory of the bold adventurer under whom he had served -for many months, and the inspiring legend which he had read and reread -upon the column at his back, had revived the martial spirit in his -impressionable soul, and his face and voice no longer bore evidence of -the bitter disappointment which had driven him to the verge of despair -when he had made the discovery that Sieur de la Salle had abandoned his -camp at the Mississippi’s mouth. With gun in hand, the Frenchman stood -erect. - -“Listen, _ma chère_, for I crave your counsel and advice,” he said, -gazing down at Doña Julia. “We may be here for months before we find a -means of rescue, either by land or sea. We’re worn with sleeplessness -and toil, but, more than this, our bodies crave strong food. We’ve -eaten meal and berries until I dream of Vatel when I doze--great -Condé’s cook, who killed himself because a dish was spoiled. My gun -could add a fat wild turkey to our larder; but the point is this: the -musket’s noise might lead our dusky enemies to seek us here. I feared -not their persistence ’til you spoke of it. This column and the arms it -bears would make no great impression upon our foes.” - -“Our only hope must lie in yonder cross,” murmured Doña Julia, -devoutly. Then she gazed upward at the thin, white face of a man who -might well call himself at this moment “a splinter from a moonbeam,” -so thin and white he looked. The horror of her situation, should her -brave protector fall sick from lack of nourishing food, forced itself -impressively upon her mind. - -“’Twill do no harm, señor,” she went on, “for you to snap your gun. In -any case, our enemies, if they are still upon our track, would find us -here, and if they hear your musket’s loud report, ’twill check them for -a time. They’ll think the woods are haunted with demons threatening -them.” - -“_Ma foi_, they would be, had I the magic which I claim!” exclaimed de -Sancerre, examining carefully the priming of his gun. “I think, señora, -that what you say is true. If those brown devils are now upon our -trail, our silence cannot save us. St. Eustace be my guide! We’ll break -our fast at sunset, sweetheart, upon a bit of meat. I’ll not go out of -sight. I’ve wasted too much time, for we must choose a lodging for the -night before the dark has come.” - -Reinvigorated in mind and body, de Sancerre descended the hillock from -which the King’s Column and the Cross of Christ looked down upon an -empire over which the reign of the proud pillar was not destined to -endure. With eyes raised to heaven, Doña Julia knelt before the humble -emblem of her faith, and besought the saints to guard her champion from -the perils which might at this moment beset his steps. Then she arose, -and, leaning against the wooden monument, watched, with ever-growing -interest, the versatile Frenchman’s efforts to satisfy his craving for -a more nourishing diet than his labors as a raftsman had permitted him -to gain. - -“_Peste!_” muttered de Sancerre, as he made his way through the long -grass toward the forest trees, “this musket is heavier by many pounds -than when the good St. Maturin turned my footsteps toward it. Unless -your bullet, _ma petite_, should find its way to yonder sleek, but most -unsuspicious, banquet, I fear you’ll grow too weighty for my hands. -_Laude et jubilate!_ The bird is mine!” - -De Sancerre turned and waved his ragged bonnet toward Doña Julia, -who had witnessed the success of his shot, and then, leisurely -reloading his musket, made his way toward the precious trophy of his -marksmanship. Suddenly he stood stock-still, his head thrown back, -and his eyes staring at the forest in amazement. As if in answer to -his gun’s report, there came from the distant trees the echo of a -musket-shot, which thrilled the soul of the startled Frenchman with -mingled hope and fear. - -“St. Maturin help me!” he exclaimed, in a voice suggesting a parched -throat. “Is it friend or foe? I thought, _ma petite_, that you had no -kinsman within the radius of many miles.” - -Striving by gestures to urge Doña Julia to conceal herself behind the -King’s Column, de Sancerre, with his musket at his shoulder, stretched -himself at full length upon the grass, and, while his heart beat with -suffocating rapidity, watched with straining eyes a grove of leafy -trees from which the ominous reply to his gun had been made. Suddenly -in front of him, almost within a stone’s-throw, stood a tall, slender -man, clad in the unseasonable costume of a Canadian _courier de bois_. -He carried a smoking musket in his hand. At his belt dangled a hatchet, -a bullet-pouch, and a bag of tobacco. In a leather case at his neck -hung his only permanent friend, his pipe. - -“St. Maturin be praised!” cried de Sancerre, springing to his feet -and raising his musket to arm’s-length above his head. “’Tis that -rebellious rascal, Jacques Barbier! _Bienvenue_, Jacques! In the name -of all the saints at once, how came you here?” - -“Gar!” exclaimed the lawless runner-of-the-woods, throwing himself at -full length upon the grass, and gazing up at de Sancerre with a smile, -hard to analyze, upon his sun-burned, handsome, self-willed face. “It -is Monsieur le Comte! My eyes are quick, monsieur. I do not wonder that -you stayed behind.” - -Displaying his white teeth mischievously, the _coureur de bois_, a -deserter from de la Salle’s band of Indians and outcasts, waved a brown -hand toward the King’s Column. - -Hot with anger at the insolence of the outlaw though he was, de -Sancerre controlled his temper and said calmly, but in a tone of voice -which had a restraining effect upon the bushranger: - -“’Tis a long story, Jacques! I found a Spanish princess in a city built -by devils. You’ve come to me in time to take a hand in a merry little -war between the sun and moon. No, Jacques! You’re wrong. I can read -your mind at once. You think the wilderness has robbed me of my wits. -But come! There is much to do, and I must question you about my captain -and why I find you here alone. Bring that nut-fattened turkey up the -hill, and we will work and talk and make what plans we may.” - -The outlaw, whose life had been one long protest against the authority -of other men, arose from the ground, with lazy nonchalance, and gazed -down at the wild-fowl which de Sancerre had shot. The Frenchman had -turned away and was breaking his path through the long, dry grass -toward the crest of the hill, from which Doña Julia had been watching a -rencontre the outcome of which she had no way of predicting. - -Jacques Barbier gazed alternately upward at the retreating figure of -de Sancerre and downward at the wild turkey at his feet. Then, with a -protesting smile upon his symmetrical, but half-savage, face, he bent -down and raised the fat fowl to his shoulder and followed Monsieur -le Comte toward the King’s Column. De Sancerre had gained for a -time--short or long, as the case might be--an ally whose woodcraft was -as brilliant as his lawlessness was incorrigible. - -“_Jubilate, señora_,” cried the count, as he approached Doña Julia. -“The saints have been more than kind! They have filled our larder, -doubled our fighting force, and made me younger by ten years. But, -señora, ’tis not a pious friend whom I have found! This same Jacques -Barbier’s a devil, in his way. Wear this, my dagger, at your waist, _ma -chère_! I know that you dare use it, should the need arise.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -IN WHICH DE SANCERRE’S ISLAND IS BESIEGED - - -“_Pardieu, Monsieur le Comte_, I’ll ne’er forget the scene!” remarked -Jacques Barbier, puffing his pipe and lazily watching the smoke as the -evening breeze tore it into shreds. Nearly a month had passed since -the _coureur de bois_, with a wild turkey, had helped to make a single -shot from de Sancerre’s musket worth its expenditure of powder and -ball. During that period, Jacques Barbier, obedient, docile, knowing -every secret of the woods and waters, had been a source of never-ending -comfort to the French count. With a tactfulness which he would have -been incompetent to employ a year before this crisis, de Sancerre -had attached the Canadian youth to his fortunes without arousing the -restless, reckless spirit of revolt which made a _coureur de bois_, in -those wild times, an unreliable ally and a mutinous subordinate. - -There were, however, other things besides de Sancerre’s diplomacy -which had tended to keep Jacques Barbier contented with his lot for -the time being. The necessity for obtaining food without betraying -their hiding-place to savage men, hot upon their trail, had taxed the -Canadian’s ingenuity and had aroused his pride as a woodsman. He had -listened with close attention to de Sancerre’s tale, and had agreed -with Doña Julia that the sun-worshippers would not abandon the quest of -their goddess as long as their resources for her pursuit held out. By -Barbier’s advice and assistance, de Sancerre had erected two small huts -upon an insignificant island in the western branch of the great river’s -mouth, and here they had passed several weeks in peace and plenty, -weeks which had restored brilliancy to Doña Julia’s eyes and color to -her cheeks and lips, while they had revived her champion’s spirits and -had brought back mincing lightness to his step and gayety to his ready -smile. - -Their retreat had not been invaded by the degenerate savages along the -river-banks. Now and then they would catch a glimpse upon the river of -a distant canoe in which copper-colored sportsmen were attempting to -lure the ugly catfish from the muddy waters of the turgid stream, and -once, far to the northward, they observed a war-canoe putting out from -the eastern shore and urged up-stream by paddles which glistened in the -sunlight. - -Once in awhile, Jacques Barbier would return from the forest, laden -with game-birds, to tell a highly-colored story of redmen whose keen -eyes he had avoided through the potency of his marvellous woodcraft. -But the month of June, known to the sun-worshippers as the moon of -watermelons, had reached a ripe age, and the island’s refugees found -themselves well-housed, well-fed, and free, as far as they could -observe, from the machinations of cruel foes. Sanguine by temperament -and easily influenced by his environment, de Sancerre had put himself -into opposition to the belief, held by Doña Julia and Jacques Barbier, -that the sun-priests and their tools would descend to the gulf, by land -or water, in search of Coyocop. He had eliminated from his mind the -thought of peril at his back and had turned his face toward the sea, -thinking only of succor from a passing ship. - -It was with the hope that European sailors would come to them from the -gulf that de Sancerre had fastened a piece of white canvas, which he -had found among the _débris_ of de la Salle’s encampment, to the top of -the King’s Column. From where he sat at twilight in front of the rude -hut occupied by Jacques Barbier and himself, de Sancerre could look -across the narrow streak of water between his island and the main-land -and see his signal of distress flapping lazily in the evening breeze. -Now and then the bright, restless eyes of the _coureur de bois_ would -rest protestingly upon the white flag. To his mind, the rag was more -likely to bring upon them enemies from the woods than friends from the -lonely sea. Jacques Barbier hated the ocean with an intensity only -equalled by the fervor of his love for the forest wilds. - -On the evening to which reference is now made, the _coureur de bois_ -had grown unwontedly loquacious, as he smoked his evening pipe, and -glanced alternately at Doña Julia and de Sancerre, as, hand clasped in -hand, they listened to the usually taciturn Canadian’s account of the -ceremonies attending the erection of the King’s Column and the Cross of -Christ. - -“_Pardieu_, Monsieur le Comte, I’ll ne’er forget the scene! We, that -is your countrymen and mine, were mustered under arms, while behind us -stood the Mohicans and Abenakis, with the squaws and pappooses whom -they had brought with them to make trouble for us all. Père Membré, in -full canonicals, looking like a saint just come to earth from Paradise, -intoned a Latin chant. Then we all raised our voices and sang a hymn: - - “‘The banners of Heaven’s King advance, - The mystery of the Cross shines forth.’ - -The Mohicans and Abenakis grunted with excitement and the pappooses -yelled. ‘_Vive le Roi!_’ we shouted, to drown their clatter, and then -your captain--may the devil fly away with his surly tongue!--raised -his voice and claimed for the King of France and Navarre possession of -‘this country of Louisiana’--with the right to put a tax upon every -peltry which we poor trappers take. Gar, it is no wonder, Monsieur le -Comte, that we who risk our lives within the woods should feel small -reverence for a king so far away, whose harsh enactments have made us -outlaws in the land where we were born. Mayhap, monsieur, you have good -cause to love the King of France! In that, you differ from Jacques -Barbier.” - -Doña Julia felt de Sancerre’s hand grow cold in hers and heard him -mutter something beneath his breath, the burden of which she did not -catch. The truth was that the random shot of the _coureur du bois_ -had touched the French count in a sensitive spot. What better reason -had he for loyalty to the Tyrant of Versailles than this vagabond -of the woods, who, even in the most remote corners of a trackless -wilderness, still felt the sinister influence of a selfish despotism -exercising a wide-spread cruelty begotten of egotism and bigotry? Had -not de Sancerre known the fickleness of royal smiles and frowns, the -ingratitude of a monarch who, at the instigation of a priesthood, could -sacrifice a brave and loyal subject without granting him a chance to -speak a word in his own defense? - -“In good sooth,” murmured de Sancerre to himself, “his tongue has cut -me deep! What cause have I to love the King of France? I knelt in -homage at his column there, but methinks my knee and not my heart paid -tribute to _le Grand Monarque_! Somehow, this mighty wilderness makes -rebels of us all! _Ma foi_, Jacques Barbier,” he cried aloud, “what is -it that you see?” - -The _coureur de bois_ had sprung to his feet and was sweeping the shore -of the main-land with a quick, piercing glance which cut through the -darkness which the moon, soon to show itself in the east, had not yet -overcome. - -“Request the Princess”--the title by which Jacques Barbier designated -Doña Julia de Aquilar--“request the Princess, Monsieur le Comte, to -retire to her hut for the night! There are men stirring upon the -further bank who are neither Quinipissas nor Tangibaos. I fear, -monsieur, that you have underrated the persistence of your foes who -make the sun their god. Unless I never knew the woods, there are -stalwart strangers in the bushes over there. Go you, monsieur, and -watch the river, while I keep an eye upon this bank. Gar, ’twill be a -pretty fight, Monsieur le Comte! Your hand is steady? _Bien!_ The moon -will soon be up. Keep close to earth when you have reached the river!” - -“_Ma foi_, Jacques Barbier, I like the way you talk!” whispered de -Sancerre. “But, tell me, we’re short of bullets, are we not?” - -“Humph!” grunted the Canadian, gruffly. “We’ve none to waste upon the -waters or the trees, Monsieur le Comte! Bear that in mind.” - -“Tell me, señor,” exclaimed Doña Julia, to whom Jacques Barbier’s -French _patois_ was an unmeaning jumble of more or less unrecognizable -words when he spoke rapidly: “Tell me, señor, has he seen the -sun-priests on yonder shore?” Her hand was like a piece of ice in his -clasp, as de Sancerre led the girl toward the hut. - -“I hardly know, _ma chère_,” answered her lover, frankly. “There are -men stirring upon the bank, but I cannot believe that they are from the -City of the Sun. But if they are, my sweetheart, there are those among -them who will never look upon their mud-baked homes again! ’Tis strange -how a fat larder restores the fighting spirit to a man. A month ago my -stomach loathed a battle. At that time, all that it wanted was a bird. -To-night, if you were far away, señora, I’d take rare pleasure in doing -moon-tricks when the moon is full. And so adieu, my sweetheart,” he -whispered, pressing his lips to hers ere she bent down to enter her -rude cabin. “When you hear my musket speak, you’ll know an enemy of -yours has need of prayer.” - -It was not long after this that de Sancerre made good his boast, -although Jacques Barbier began the battle of the night. The French -count had dragged his musket and his crouching body through the long -grass toward the eastern shore of the small island, and had taken one -sweeping glance at the river, over which at that instant the risen moon -had thrown a flood of silvery light, when behind him he heard the roar -of the Canadian’s deadly gun. But de Sancerre had no time to think of -his faithful ally at that critical moment. Almost upon a line with the -island, and coming straight toward it, two heavily manned war-canoes -of the sun-worshipers rose and fell upon the moon-kissed flood. The -imminence of his peril acted upon de Sancerre like a draught of rich, -old wine. - -“What reckless fools these be!” he exclaimed, taking careful aim at -the nearest canoe, now within a hundred yards of his grass-grown -shooting-box. “Be faithful, _ma petite_! The time has come again!” - -The thunder of de Sancerre’s gun chased the echoes from the musket of -the _coureur de bois_ across the glimmering flood. - -“_Ma foi!_” muttered de Sancerre. “Saint Maturin is wide awake -to-night! That bullet did its work.” - -Reloading his musket with all possible speed, the Frenchman, with a -grim smile upon his face, drew a bead upon the second canoe, which -had now forged ahead of the boat-load upon which de Sancerre’s fatal -shot had exercised a demoralizing effect. Meanwhile, Jacques Barbier’s -gun had spoken twice, for he had learned to reload his weapon with a -celerity only acquired after years of practice. - -“Steady, now, _ma petite_,” muttered de Sancerre. “You have a record to -maintain. _Adieu, monsieur!_” - -A paddle and its dusky wielder fell into the black-and-white flood, and -a moment later the two canoes had retreated to mid-stream. - -“Gar, you shoot well, Monsieur le Comte!” exclaimed Jacques Barbier, -creeping to de Sancerre’s side. “If our bullets could have children, we -could hold this island for a year! There is no danger from the forest -for a time; and, I think, those boats will not come near us for an hour -at least. These be the demons from your City of the Sun?” - -“There is no doubt about it!” exclaimed de Sancerre. “It must amaze -them to meet so much moon-magic, although the moon is full. What think -you, Jacques, will be their next attempt?” - -“They’ll hold aloof, Monsieur le Comte, until their courage rises or -a cloud obstructs the moon. ’Tis best, I think, that we patrol our -fort. You pace the island to the right. I’ll meet you half-way round, -and then return. Unless our bullets fly away too fast there is no -danger--for this night at least.” - -“Think you, Jacques Barbier, they saw the maiden--Coyocop?” - -“Gar, ’tis certain, is it not? Their bold attack by boat and shore was -not the outcome of a clumsy chance. They knew that she was here, and -thought that you could not defend the island on both sides. But this is -not the time for talk, monsieur. _Marchons!_” - -An hour passed by, and the island’s sentinels could find neither -upon land nor stream sure proof that the sun-worshipers meditated an -immediate renewal of their attack. - -“Tell me, señora,” cried de Sancerre, abandoning his patrol for a time -to have speech with Doña Julia--“tell me what it means! They found two -guns awaiting them instead of one. But they have come in force by wood -and stream. They have no skill in war, if this is all their fight.” - -“Be patient, señor, they will come again,” remarked the Spanish -maiden, unconsciously suggesting by her words the influence which de -Sancerre’s mind held over hers. “They have concealed themselves, to -talk of many things which worry them.” - -“_Par exemple?_” exclaimed de Sancerre, thrusting his hand through the -opening to her hut, to clasp hers. - -“They know that I am here.” - -“You feel sure of that?” - -“Yes. But they will not return to-night--for all night long the moon -will shine.” - -“_Pardieu_, I do not follow you, señora.” - -“’Tis clear to me,” said the girl, firmly. “Somehow, I seem to read -their minds, as if the saints were speaking to my soul. They fear that -your white witchery, when the moon is full, is more fatal than they had -dreamed. They will await the rising of their god, the sun, before they -try to capture me again. Be convinced of this: they will attack you, -señor, just at dawn. I know their hearts and habits well enough to feel -assured that what I say is true. They are not cowards, but they dread -the magic of your deadly guns.” - -“But listen, señora. I fought them in the sunlight once before. They -know that _ma petite_ can kill by day,” argued de Sancerre, hoping -against hope that, for the sake of their scanty store of bullets, the -girl was right. - -“Believe me, señor, that I read their evil minds. They think their -god, the sun, more powerful at dawn than later in the day. The Great -Spirit, so the sun-priests say, is not unlike a man, and takes a long -_siesta_ at high noon. They have attacked you now at noon and in the -night. They will not tempt your wizard gun again until their shining -god is wide awake.” - -“_Ma foi, ma chère_, your woman’s wit has wrought a miracle, I think!” -exclaimed de Sancerre. “I owe an altar somewhere far from hence, if -what you say is true. And so I’ll leave you, sweetheart, for a time. I -must have speech with Barbier.” - -“Welcome, monsieur,” cried the _coureur de bois_, as the Count -approached him from behind. “I’ve watched the shore until my eyes are -hot, and cannot see a sign of living thing. The river and the woods -suggest that we were scared by ghosts.” - -“Nay, Jacques, you’ll find our foes were made of flesh and blood! They -will return in force at dawn!” exclaimed de Sancerre, throwing himself -upon the long grass at Barbier’s side. - -The _coureur de bois_ glanced at the ragged, white-faced patrician at -his side with a satirical gleam in his restless eyes. - -“You’ve learned your woodcraft with great celerity, Monsieur le Comte,” -he exclaimed, sarcastically. “Mayhap the saints have told you what -would come to us.” - -De Sancerre smiled coldly. “’Tis neither woodcraft nor the saints to -whom I owe my thanks, Jacques Barbier,” he remarked, quietly. “I am a -seer and prophet through the goddess Coyocop. And now, young man, I’ll -let you watch awhile, and get a wink of sleep. I’ll need a steady hand -at dawn. Arouse me in an hour, and I will take my turn at watching -peaceful scenes. Good-night, Jacques Barbier. Bear this in mind. We’ll -have to fight an army when the sun comes up.” - -A moment later de Sancerre lay out-stretched beneath the moon in -dreamless sleep, while the _coureur de bois_, pacing restlessly the -little island, nursed his wounded pride, and wondered if the morning -would teach him something new. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -IN WHICH THE GREAT SPIRIT COMES FROM THE SEA TO RECLAIM COYOCOP - - -Coyocop’s prediction was fulfilled at dawn. The year which Doña Julia -de Aquilar had passed in the City of the Sun had enabled her to read -aright the minds of the sun-worshippers after their moonlit attack upon -de Sancerre’s island had been repulsed. They had awaited the coming of -their gleaming god, and had been rewarded by a sunrise whose splendor -should have filled their childish souls with love and peace. But the -mounting orb of day was greeted by its idolaters not with gentle hymns -of praise, but with wild, warlike shouts, that echoed from the woods -and across the flood with a grim, menacing persistence that sent a -chill through the hearts of a maiden and her lover, and caused a -dare-devil from the northern woods to look with care to the priming of -his gun. - -For the first time since Jacques Barbier, in a fit of temper caused -by some fancied slight put upon him by the haughty de la Salle, had -deserted the great explorer’s party, trusting confidently to his own -skill as a woodsman to carry him safely back to Canada, the _coureur de -bois_ had regretted, momentarily, his reckless self-confidence. Had he -remained with his captain, he might have been, at this time, half-way -up the river toward the forests which he knew and loved; and here he -was, at the dawn of a day made to give joy to a runner-of-the-woods, -surrounded by gigantic, fierce-eyed warriors, already raising hoarse -shouts of triumph for the easy victory which seemed to lie within their -reach. - -“Gar!” exclaimed Barbier, as he raised his gun to his shoulder. -“Service with de la Salle was hard, but ’twas easier than death. But, -then, ’tis time for me to die. When a wandering outcast from the Court -of France comes here to tell me what will happen in the woods--and, -_pardieu_, he told me true--there’s nothing left in life for poor -Jacques Barbier!” - -A few moments before the _coureur de bois_ had elevated his musket, -to begin a battle against overwhelming odds, de Sancerre had said -farewell to a heavy-eyed, pale-lipped maiden, who had spent the night -in prayer, fearful of the peril which the dawn would bring to a brave -knight-errant who had grown dearer to her loving heart with every day -that had passed. Well Doña Julia knew that captivity, not death, would -be her lot should the sun-worshippers reach the island, but that they -would grant mercy to de Sancerre she had no hope. The thought of life -without the man whose love had come to her as the rarest gift which -Heaven could bestow was a horror which drove the color from her face -and robbed her voice of everything save sobs. - -“Remember, sweetheart, if the worst should come to me,” said de -Sancerre, with forced calmness, bending down to press his cold lips -to her trembling hand, “that your brave, earnest heart has taught me -how to live and how to die. Pray to the Virgin, who holds you in her -care, to keep me always worthy of your love, ’though death should come -between us for a time. Adieu, _ma chère_! God grant ’tis _au revoir_!” - -The girl clung to his hand, wet with her tears, and strove in vain to -speak, to put into halting words the love and despair which filled her -soul. For an instant her white face looked up at him from the entrance -to the hut, and de Sancerre bent forward and kissed her hot, dry lips. - -A moment later he had crawled through the tall grass toward the eastern -shore of the island and lay watching, once again, the two war-canoes of -the black-haired, black-eyed, black-hearted savages who had turned from -their adoration of the sun to begin anew their devil’s work. Suddenly -a shower of feathered, reed-made arrows whizzed above the gleaming -waves, deadly from the speed with which long acacia bows endowed them. - -“_Ma foi_, the sun-wasps begin to sting!” exclaimed de Sancerre. -At that instant he heard Jacques Barbier’s gun, warning the -sun-worshippers’ land-force not to launch a canoe from the shore -nearest to the island. - -The Count and the Canadian, an hour before sunrise, had divided the -store of bullets which remained to them, and had found that only a -dozen shots from each musket stood between them and certain death. - -“I know how a miser feels as he counts his gold,” soliloquized de -Sancerre, as he aimed his gun at the canoe, from which a broadside of -arrows had been launched at his coigne of vantage. “Here goes number -one, _ma petite_! There are only eleven more to defend a Count of -Languedoc from the life to come! _Bon matin, monsieur!_” - -To de Sancerre’s chagrin and dismay, the brawny, brown paddler at whom -he had aimed his musket had defied moon-magic at the dawn of day. The -Count’s precious bullet had done no harm to the oncoming canoe, nor -to the war-party which it held. Cold with the horrid possibilities -opened up by his indifferent marksmanship, de Sancerre, with hands -which trembled annoyingly, attempted to reload his gun in time to -prevent the imminent landing of the howling bowmen. That his shot would -have come too late the speed of the canoe made evident, when a crash, -almost at his very ear, nearly deafened the astonished Frenchman for -a time. Jacques Barbier, having checked momentarily by his marvellous -skill with his musket the attack from the main-land, had come to de -Sancerre’s defense in the nick of time. But the _coureur de bois_ paid -dearly for the support that he had given to the unnerved Frenchman. -An arrow, shot by a dusky warrior more daring than his companions, -had made answer to Jacques Barbier’s fatal bullet and had entered the -Canadian’s breast just below his dangling tobacco-pipe. - -“Mother Mary, that is enough!” groaned the _coureur de bois_, writhing -upon the tousled grass by his horrified comrade’s side. “_Courage, -Monsieur le Comte!_ Let them have your charge! I have just life enough -left to load my gun again. Wait! Your hand trembles! _Bien!_ Fire!” - -De Sancerre’s musket roared once again and his bullet found its way to -the heart of a foe. - -“Take my gun, monsieur,” gasped Barbier. “I made shift to load it--but, -gar, this is death! Ugh!” - -A hero at the end of his short, wild life, the _coureur de bois_ lay -dead upon the shore. - -At that instant the waters of the gulf and the river’s mouth vibrated -with the thunder of an explosion which, to the ears of the startled -sun-worshippers upon the main-land and in the crowded war-boats, -sounded like moon-magic gone mad with victory. - -“_Nom de Dieu_, it is the cannon of a ship or my ears are haunted by -Jacques Barbier’s gun!” exclaimed de Sancerre, eyeing the retreating -canoes as he stealthily raised his head above the underbrush and then -cast a searching glance toward the sun-kissed sea. To his amazement -and joy, his gaze rested upon a clumsy carack, loaded deep, coming to -anchor not half a mile below the island upon which he stood. A puff of -smoke arose from the great ship’s bow at that moment, and again the -astonished woods and waters reverberated with an uproar new to the -ears of a hundred terrified warriors, who had come forth to recover a -goddess and had been met with the awful chiding of the Great Spirit, -who had sent a mighty vessel, larger than their wildest dreams had -known, to carry Coyocop back again to God. - -With his heart throbbing with many varied emotions, de Sancerre had -reluctantly turned his grateful eyes from the sea, no longer a lonely, -cruel waste of tossing waves, toward the forest to the westward, -into which the land-forces of the disorganized sun-worshippers were -scurrying in mad fear of an avenging deity, when he felt a light hand -upon his arm, and, turning quickly, gazed down into the dark, glowing -eyes of a maiden whose trust in the saints had not been betrayed. - -“In the hut I knelt in prayer,” whispered Doña Julia, from whose face -shone the light of a soul that had known deep sorrow and great joy, -“when I heard my father’s voice, telling me that help was near. Oh, -señor, the wonder of it all!” - -“It looks to me a miracle, indeed!” exclaimed de Sancerre. “There -seemed to be no hope when Barbier was hit! He died, señora, the death -of a true man.” - -Hand in hand, they stood for a time gazing down at the brave, -liberty-loving runner of the woods, whose clean-cut, handsome face had -kept its firm, symmetrical outlines through the agony of sudden death. - -“Give me back again my dagger, sweetheart,” said de Sancerre, turning -sadly away from a grim picture of manly vigor cut down in its youthful -prime. “I did Jacques Barbier a cruel wrong! He was too brave a man to -do a coward’s deed!” - -[Illustration: “HE FELT A LIGHT HAND UPON HIS ARM, AND GAZED DOWN INTO -THE DARK EYES OF THE MAIDEN”] - -“They’re manning a boat to come to us!” exclaimed the Frenchman a -moment later, as he and Doña Julia turned again to gaze at the great -carack, rising and falling upon the early morning tide. “It is a -Spanish vessel, sweetheart!” - -“_Si_, señor. There is no doubt of that! I cannot read the flag she -flies, but ’tis some Spanish merchant-man bound west for Mexico.” - -De Sancerre slipped an arm, covered with velvet rags, around the -slender waist of the girl, whose sweet face had gained new beauty from -the mighty miracle which the saints had wrought in her behalf. - -“They heard our guns at dawn across the sea, and saw my canvas flapping -in the breeze,” he said, musingly. “At last, by chance, the King of -France has done me a good turn! He owed me one, señora. My sword has -served him well, but when it made a slip, which love itself forgave, he -turned his face away, and left me, sweetheart, with no land to call my -own!” - -Doña Julia looked up at her lover with a bright smile upon her curving -lips, and her eloquent eyes told of a joyful heart, as she said: - -“If so my countrymen in yonder boat are kind enough to take us, señor, -to the West, we’ll find a province which belongs to me. If you will -deign to make my realm the land of your adoption, I pledge my word to -be a gracious queen.” - -Falling to one knee, with the airy grace of a courtier who had never -known the manners of the woods and wilds, de Sancerre pressed the -girl’s hand to his smiling lips. - -“Here, within sight of a column bearing the arms of France and -Navarre,” he cried, gayly, “I forswear all allegiance to other kings -than Love, and hereby pledge my life and heart and sword to the service -of my queen, whose hand I kiss!” - -The salt breeze from the playful sea, smiling beneath the bright June -sun, brought to their ears at that moment the sound of a small boat -scraping upon the beach, and the rumble of oars clattering against dry -wood. - - * * * * * - -The sun was sinking toward the West, and the King’s Column, after a -long interval of silence, spake complaining words to the Cross of -Christ. “’Twill be more lonely for us now than heretofore,” grumbled -the tall pillar, above which a shred of soiled canvas hung, heavy -and limp, flapping lazily now and again against the wooden sides of -the royal herald. “In yonder ship, whose sails resemble golden wings -against the background of the deep, a man and maiden, seemingly most -worthy of the blessings of this realm of mine, have taken flight and -treated me with strange ingratitude. I marvel that they should in such -wise spurn my royal master and the haughty arms of France.” - -The Cross of Christ said nothing to soothe the wounded pride of the -pompous pillar, towering above the humble emblem of an all-conquering -faith in the crimson light of the waning day. Mayhap the Cross had no -time, at that sad moment, to give to happy lovers, sailing through the -glowing twilight toward a land of peace and joy. At its base lay a -newly-made grave, within which slept the body of a youth who had loved -God’s world and hated the tyranny of men. - - -THE END - - - - -BY H. G. WELLS - - - WHEN THE SLEEPER WAKES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, - $1 50. - - “This romance of the twenty-second century,” as the London _Daily - Telegraph_ says, “will prove absolutely enthralling. 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