CHAPTER XIV.
SAMUEL AND JOSHUA
After leaving George Clinton, Samuel Dickson went at once to the residence of his brother Joshua.
The sun was still high in the heavens when he reached the settlement; his brother was in sight, galloping towards him.
"Come along," he cried, shaking hands; "I was so impatient to see you, I really could not wait any longer."
"I hope there is nothing wrong, brother," said Samuel.
"Nothing at all. Everything is going for the best."
"I am glad to hear it. I was rather uneasy."
"I am sorry to hear that. But why are you so late?"
"I had to go on a small journey. There was no hurry."
"You are wrong, Sam. But here you are, and all is well. But had you come sooner it would have been better."
"Well, here I am, so out with the news."
"I have to speak of important things, and I have to ask your advice, who are wisdom itself."
"Awfully wise," cried Samuel, laughing, "when in the end I only carry out all your insane ideas."
"True! But still you were generally right. The fact is, if you speak words of wisdom, and then act a little the other way, it is simply out of love for me. I know it, my brother. I am not ungrateful, and love you dearly."
"I don't doubt your affection. But you alarm me."
"Why?" said Joshua, laughing.
"Whenever you talk like this, I smell a rat, in the shape of some awful scheme, some diabolical plot."
"I see you are not to be easily deceived," said Joshua; "but come in, let us eat, and then talk. The matter of which I wish to speak is of general interest."
"As you will; but still I am monstrously afraid."
"I know you are a great coward," cried Joshua.
At this moment they reached the house, alighted, and, giving the horses to the servants, entered the parlour, escorted by Dardar, who had come to meet them.
The two ladies received Samuel cordially.
"Here he is at last, Susan," said her husband.
"He has been anxious about you all day," cried Susan.
"Then he has some mad scheme. But we shall see presently. Good evening, Diana, my dear. You look well."
"A truce to compliments," cried Joshua; "to supper."
They now entered the dining room, where the whole household was collected, men, women, and children. Of course, enormous quantities of meat, bread, and vegetables adorned the board. The repast was truly Homeric.
After dinner the servants retired, and the ladies would have done the same, but Joshua detained them.
The ladies seated themselves with a rather uneasy glance. He poured out a stiff glass for himself and brother and drank his off.
"Thank heaven!" he began, "We are now solidly established in our new dwelling, and it is time to speak of business."
"Hilloa! Talk business now? It is late. Why can we not put off our business arrangements until tomorrow?"
"You forget, my brother, I sent for you on purpose – "
"I remember – well, go on, I am at your orders."
"Harry, have you obeyed my orders?" asked Joshua.
"Yes, father," replied the young man.
"All right," continued the squatter, refilling his glass. "Your health, all of you. In an hour, I'm off."
"Off!" cried the ladies, in great alarm.
"Hem!" said Samuel; "If you are not satisfied here, I am."
"I don't want to drag you into my affairs," replied Joshua, coolly. "But I shall not be long away. It is only a journey."
"I thought," exclaimed Samuel, "he was as mad as ever; will you explain the object of this journey or exploration?"
"One which you will highly approve, my brother," he went on. "I desire to open up commercial relations."
"Very good idea. But what is your precise motive?"
"I have said enough. I think my object serious."
"Well, if you have no more to say, stop at home."
"Will you tell me why?" asked Joshua.
"Because your voyage is utterly useless. All the information you can desire to obtain I can give you in ten minutes."
"You!" cried Joshua, wildly.
"Certainly!" said Samuel, modestly; "I can, and will do so, if you will be good enough to listen to me."
"I shall only be too happy. Still I don't understand!"
"That is unnecessary. You must know that I have obtained my information from hunters and redskins."
"Hunters! Redskins!" cried Joshua.
"Don't you know they swarm about here? I never go out without meeting some of them. So I say stop at home."
"Explain yourself, brother," said Joshua, sulkily.
"Well, you think yourself very far from all white folk. You are very much mistaken. Learn, then, that though we are in the centre of the most warlike tribes of Indians, you have new forts not very far off, including a fur station."
"Can it be possible?" exclaimed Joshua.
"And my friend and brother, are you aware what magnificent river runs at your own door? The Missouri!"
Joshua bowed his head on his chest and was silent, while Samuel rubbed his hands and smiled slyly.
"What do you think of the information?" he said at last.
"If you are certain of what you say, it is excellent."
"Then you give up the idea of your journey?"
"Certainly not. Admitting that all you tell me be true, it is of the highest importance for me to visit the fur station and all other settlements above and below us on the river, in order to become friendly, and prevent rivalry."
"What rivalry?" half screamed Samuel.
"Any that might arise. Of course they will soon know all about me and might interrupt my commercial speculations."
"A fool will have his own way," cried his brother.
"Abuse is not argument, my brother," said Joshua.
"I apologise; but you are determined to go. I see you are; then heaven protect all in your absence."
"Will you take no advice?" ventured Susan.
"I have made up my mind," he replied; "I never alter."
"But, father," cried Diana, "what are we to do during your absence? You leave us wholly undefended."
"Silence, daughter," said the squatter, smiling; "don't be so tragical. I do not leave you undefended, as you say. Your uncle will watch over you. Your brother Henry commands in my absence. You have a fort. What more is wanted?"
"How do you mean to travel?" asked Susan.
"In the boat I launched today, with Sam, Jack, and two servants. I do not take away many defenders."
"But you are not here to lead."
"That is enough," he cried; "I have decided. Besides, it would be absurd not to visit my new neighbourhood."
No more was said. The squatter was escorted by all to the riverside. He bade them all adieu, kissed his wife and daughter, shook hands with his brother, gave his son Henry some last directions, entered the boat, and was off in a very few minutes, whistling "Yankee Doodle," perhaps in reality to hide his strong emotion from his two sons.
CHAPTER XV.
NEW CHARACTERS
We now visit a beautiful gold-sanded strand on the right banks of the Missouri, about fifty miles from the new settlement in Moose Deer Valley, and about equidistant from the strong fort already established by the fur company.
This strand, which was only reached by a narrow defile between two perpendicular mountains, was exactly opposite an island of which it was impossible to make out the dimensions, which, however, were very considerable.
Lights shone like will-o'-the-wisps in a fog; the island, which was thickly wooded, communicated with the mainland by means of a dangerous ford, full of holes and whirlpools. It was too dangerous to be adventured in by any but those who knew it. The island, moreover, was guarded by two eminences overlooking the ford, and which commanded the approach against any enemy if well defended. On the other side the island was inaccessible.
This island was the refuge, the fortress of the terrible outlaws of the Missouri, with whom we have made acquaintance.
Originally it had been selected by the Government as an outpost, but the partisans had first taken it and made it impregnable.
As the outlaws rarely interfered with citizens of the United States, generally very poor in those regions, the Government, well aware of its impotence to dislodge the pirates, pretended to look upon them as irregular troops doing service.
But the outlaws knew that if the authorities only had the chance they would be exterminated.
But that part of America was little peopled, and few except trappers and wanderers knew anything of its capacities. The outlaws, therefore, to a certain extent, were pretty certain of impunity for all their actions for the time.
A hundred horsemen were camped on the strand of which we have spoken; their horses were picketed near their fodder, around the campfires numerous groups were talking or sleeping, while on every hand walked sentinels.
In a hut composed of whittled boughs and mud, a man sat on a buffalo's head, consulting papers from a large pocketbook. Another man stood respectfully by him, awaiting his orders. The first man was Captain Tom Mitchell, the other was Camotte.
A sentinel kept guard in front of the cabin.
It was about four o'clock in the morning. The stars were beginning to pale in the sky, the sky was covered by fleecy white clouds. Day was at hand; a fog rose from the river, and covered the camp as with a funeral pall. It was cold.
"I say," cried Tom, "I am frozen. Are you asleep, Camotte?"
"No, my lord."
"Then shove some wood on the fire, it's nearly out."
Camotte threw on some dry wood, which flared up.
"Something like," said Mitchell; "and now let us talk, Camotte. By the way, I may as well ask you, are you very tired?"
"I am never too tired to serve you, Excellency," said the other.
"I knew you would say that," cried Mitchell; "true, I saved your life twice, but we have been quits long ago."
"And yet I want to ask a favour."
"Anything, except leave me," replied Tom Mitchell.
"Never; it is something else. It is simply this; don't, your lordship, give me such another mission. Whatever you may think, my master," cried Camotte, warmly, "it is not pleasant to play the part of a traitor and scoundrel."
"I think you did it very cleverly," laughed Tom; "there, you are an old fool. Whom else could I trust? Having settled that very important fact, any news on the island?"
"Evening Dew frets. You should send her home – all the more that it makes some people talk," he added.
"Who has dared?" said Tom Mitchell, frowning.
"Stewart. But don't worry; I settled him by blowing his brains out, and no one else has since made an observation."
"All right. What about the river?"
"Five men went down in a canoe yesterday. It was the squatter of the valley, his two sons, and black servants."
"Where on earth could he be going to?" mused Tom.
"Well, we can find out by stopping him on his return."
"I'll see about it. Anything else?"
"Hum! You have had Major Ardenwood's letter asking an interview today? Oh, yes! There are some Frenchmen at the fort, at all events, one of them. Still I am aware that three strangers will accompany the major."
"Whom did you send out to inquire?"
"Tête de Plume. I could not send Versenca; in the first place, because he was drunk; secondly, because I don't like him."
Then, after a pause, Tom whispered to Camotte, who listened with deep and almost religious attention.
"And now," said Tom, "that you understand me, away."
Camotte went out. The worthy Mexican was the devoted friend, the alter ego, and moreover the lieutenant of Tom Mitchell, who wholly confided in him. Despite of events we have described before, Camotte was worthy of his trust.
The chief of the outlaws quietly made some alterations in his toilette, which was a little out of order from his long journey. He had just come off a distant expedition. The booty had been at once transferred to the island.
Having done this he drew the curtain that served as a door.
The camp no longer looked the same. The fire was out. The two eminences were guarded by sharpshooters. A detachment of twenty men guarded the entrance to the defile. The rest of the troop were ready to mount at a sign.
Tom Mitchell looked about him with an air of satisfaction. Camotte had executed all his orders faithfully.
At this moment the sun rose. It was like a theatrical scene. Light fell suddenly upon everything.
"Oh!" cried the captain as a bugle sounded in the distance from the defile, "I was just in time."
He stood erect in front of his hut, leaning on his cavalry sword, and waited with sublime tranquillity.
After some few words had passed, four strangers, one in the uniform of a major of the American army, came out from the defile, led by Camotte, who walked respectfully in front of them, and made their way in the direction of the captain.
"Good day, Captain Mitchell," said the major.
"You did me the honour to write," observed Mitchell.
"Well, I have some important business to talk about; but first allow me to present to you these two gentlemen. They are French, and consequently I cannot pronounce their names. Oh, I assure you they are worthy gentlemen."
And the fat major laughed heartily.
The captain bowed to the two Frenchmen without speaking. One was a man of about fifty, still young, and with apparently polished manners and rather haughty mien; the other, much younger, was bronzed by the sun, strong, and rather rough.
"This gentleman," continued the major, "is our own countryman, Mr. Stoneweld, of Boston city."
"I think you know me," observed the apoplectic speaker.
"Who does not know Master Stoneweld, of the house of Stoneweld, Errard, and Co., the richest shipowner in all Boston?"
The stout man smiled with an air of satisfaction.
"It seems you know one another," cried the major. "I am glad of it, because everything will go smoothly."
"How so?" cried Tom Mitchell.
"My dear captain, these gentlemen want you; they came to me for that purpose. Certainly their business must indeed be of an important character," he added, "to induce them to make such an awful journey, lasting over a month."
"It must be serious business," said the captain.
"The two French gentlemen bring letters from the Home Secretary."
"Indeed!"
"And Master Stoneweld one from General Jackson," added the major, "So now I expect you will do the best you can."
"Have no fear."
"Of course not, though I know you are rather hot at times. As for myself, I am choked with fog and hoarseness," he added.
"I am at the orders of these gentlemen," replied the captain. "I shall be happy to do all in my power for them."
"Spoken like a man," said the major in a fidgety way. "But this seems hardly the place for a serious conversation."
"I am sorry for it," replied Tom Mitchell coldly. "I was not told until the last minute, and you must take me in the rough."
"Why not go over to the island?" suggested the major. "I dare say we should be more at our ease – eh, captain?"
"I am sorry, major, but it would take too much time. Besides, I have already provided refreshments here, if you will accept."
"With the greatest of pleasure," cried the major, coughing behind his hand; "and yet these gentlemen have important matters to discuss, very important matters," he added, complacently.
"What matter, major? Breakfast first, business afterwards."
"As you will," said the major, following him into the hut.
By the orders of Camotte, during this conversation a very copious breakfast had been prepared. It was almost wholly composed of venison; but flanking the solids were a number of long-necked bottles that at once showed their Bordeaux and Burgundian origin, to say nothing of some brands of Champagne so dear to Americans.
The major was so delighted that he said "Hum!" no less than three times, and then spoke to the outlaw chief.
"Let them say what they like," he cried, "you are a man."
"I am proud to hear it," cried Tom. "Let us be seated."
The Frenchmen had hitherto said nothing. The elder now spoke. As the captain invited them to commence breakfast, he said:
"Above all, sir, allow me to observe that before commencing business you offer us bread and salt."
"You are my guests, gentlemen," said the captain, gravely; "you are under the safeguard of my honour, that is enough."
"The major has indicated that we each wish to see you alone."
"Which means?" asked the outlaw.
"That I desire, as these conversations may probably be of very long duration, to see you quite alone," he added.
"Sit down and eat," replied the outlaw. "After the repast you and your companions will follow me to the island. Once more, are you not satisfied?"
"Of course," cried the major; "if not, I go bail for you."
"Thank you, major; and now eat, drink, and be merry."
CHAPTER XVI.
TOM MITCHELL AS REDRESSER OF WRONGS
The ice once broken, through the instrumentality of the Burgundy, Bordeaux, and Champagne, all went on swimmingly.
Major Ardenwood, who, perhaps, alone of all those present had nothing to conceal, and who was naturally a bon vivant, did all in his power to make himself the convivial leader of this improvised party, composed of so many various elements. He was warmly supported by the captain, who showed all the best qualities of a true amphitrion, and treated his guests with a generosity and courtesy which quite charmed them.
Of course not a word was said of the object for which they had met. In fact, the subject was carefully avoided.
The major was the first to rise.
"The best of friends," he said, "must part. I am wanted at the fort, and with your permission will retire."
"I thought," observed the captain of the outlaws, "your intention was to wait for these gentlemen here."
"No; on reflection," replied the major, laughing, "I should only be in their way. I will wait at the fort."
"I will escort them myself," said Tom Mitchell.
"That will be the better plan," continued the major. "Thanks for your hospitality. The wines were excellent."
"I will send you a few baskets, major."
"Many thanks," cried the American, shaking hands, and then departing under the guidance of Camotte.
"We can now go to the island," said the captain.
"On foot, on horseback, or do we swim?" said the young Frenchman.
"You will see. Follow me, gentlemen," replied Tom.
They did so, and found a boat ready for their reception. On the invitation of the captain they all seated themselves.
"Now, gentlemen," said Tom Mitchell, with a smile, "you must pardon me, but I must blindfold you. Fear nothing," he added, as he saw them start. "It is the custom. No stranger has ever entered the island in any other way. Besides, you are not obliged; only if you refuse you must return."
"Do as you like," cried the elder Frenchman.
Some men who held pocket handkerchiefs now approached, and deftly bound their eyes. The boat then started. In a few minutes they felt the boat strike against another shore, and received a slight shock as it did so.
"Don't touch your bands," cried the captain; "wait a while."
They were then lifted up with every precaution by several men, who soon put them down, removing the bandages.
Looking round, they found themselves in a vast chamber, furnished with every regard to comfort and elegance.
The captain was alone, the men having left.
"Welcome, gentlemen," he said. "I hope the frank and cordial hospitality I shall offer you will make you excuse this precaution."
The strangers merely bowed.
"I need not remind you, gentlemen," continued Tom Mitchell, "that you are at home; but, in order not to detain you any longer than is absolutely necessary, let us to business. Will you follow me, sir, first?"
This was said to the younger Frenchman. As he spoke he opened a door and the two passed out together.
The two other strangers remained alone. The Frenchman, with a frown, began to walk up and down whistling; the American sat down.
As soon as Tom Mitchell had the other alone, he cried —
"Sir, tell me at once if I am mistaken."
"I see you have a good memory," replied the other, "and yet it is a very long time ago since we met."
"Then I am not mistaken?" cried Tom Mitchell.
"Monsieur Maillard, my name is Pierre Durand."
"Who saved the life of myself and father," said Tom, shaking him by the hand, "even though you knew – "
"I knew that your father an hour before had sat as president of the grim tribunal of the Abbaye," replied the young Frenchman. "I knew the intense hatred which was felt towards you; still, I drew you more dead than alive from the river."
"You did more – you hid us and helped us to escape."
"It was tit for tat; your father once saved my life."
"But you paid your debt with usury. When I parted from you at New York – I was sixteen then – I said, 'Whatever happens, my life, my fortune, my honour is at your disposal.' I am ready to fulfil my promise, so speak."
"I knew you would do all in your power," said Pierre Durand; "therefore I have come. How is your father?"
"He has become an Indian, and wholly broken with everything in the shape of civilisation," said Tom.
"Is he happy?" asked Durand.
"Yes. He was a man of conviction. His faults – his crimes if you like – during the Reign of Terror were caused by his extreme sincerity. In that time of awful and terrible commotion," continued Tom, "he acted wholly conscientiously."
"I believe it, and therefore do not presume to be his judge. I am but a weak and ordinary man," cried Durand; "when the time comes God will judge these Titans of the revolution according to their merits and convictions."
"Doubtless. I shall let him know of your coming; but why?"
"A question of life and death in connection with my best friend, a man I love as a brother," cried Durand.
"Say no more. An express shall start at once."
"Have you received any letters signed '
An old friend
'?"
"Many! I presume, then, that you are that friend; but why not avow yourself?"
"I could not."
"If all you tell me in those letters be true, it is an odious and infamous action," cried Tom Mitchell.
"I know it is, and I have counted on you and your father to see that justice be done," continued Durand.
"Count on me," said Tom. "I have seen your friend, and though he does not like me, he won my heart at once."
"He will change his mind."
"But what can my father do in the matter?"
"Everything. You must now understand, my friend, that if I have abandoned my ship in New York to the care of my mate, if I, who hate dry land, have started on a journey through the desert, it must be for powerful reasons."
"Doubtless. May I ask what they are?"
"Because, my friend, here in there is his most implacable, most ruthless foe," cried Durand.
"Here!" exclaimed Tom.
"Yes – here, in this island, in that room," replied Pierre Durand, pointing to the one they had left.
"Are you sure of his identity?" asked Mitchell.
"I have watched him for five years, followed in his track, known every movement he has made," said Durand.
"And he does not know you?" cried Tom.
"He knows me very well. He came over in my ship; we are the best of friends; he tried to buy me over."
"This is incredible," observed the outlaw.
"Yet true. I am his confidante, his devoted servant; I enter into all his views, and he counts on me as a slave."
Both young men burst out laughing.
"Then you have come from New York together?"
"Not at all. We met at the fort two days ago, and as I am no longer disguised," said Pierre Durand, "despite all his cunning, he knew me not."
"Well, the matter is settled," said Tom Mitchell, in a whisper; "we have our man here; he shall never leave."
"My friend," said Pierre Durand, gravely, "that is not the game we have to play. He is as slippery as an eel."
"I don't think, if I made up my mind," said the outlaw chief, with a sinister smile, "he would ever escape me."
"Well, there is a time for everything. In the first place, learn his projects, so that we may unmask him. This will be all the more easy," said the sea captain, "in that we know who he is, while he is ignorant of our designs."
"There is one thing worth mentioning," said the outlaw; "I, too, know him well. He will be rather surprised presently."
"Be careful. One word might put him on his guard."
"Is not my whole life passed," continued the outlaw, sadly, "in outdoing others in cunning and diplomacy?"
"True. I leave, then, everything to you."
"And now learn, my friend, that you are free as air, and absolute master of my domains," he added, laughing. Then he picked three flowers, and placing them in his buttonhole, said, "This will give you free passage everywhere you like. Now for your two travelling companions. But follow me."
He opened a door opposite that by which they had entered, and, crossing several apartments, at last came to a room which overlooked a charming and elegant garden.
"Here you are at home," he said; "come, go, do just as you like. At the end of the garden you will find a door opening on the woods. We shall dine at six. Be back by that time, and you will find the table laid here. We can then explain all."
With these words the outlaw left his friend.
As soon as he had returned to his private room, Tom Mitchell, or Maillard, son of the terrible judge of the Reign of Terror, sat down before a table, wrote a few lines, sealed the letter carefully, and then struck a gong.
At once Camotte appeared and took the letter.
"Send this letter to my father by express," he said; "let him kill his horse, but let me have the answer."
"He shall be gone in five minutes."
"And now," continued Tom Mitchell, with a sarcastic smile, "send that fat American in here."
Camotte bowed and retired. Next moment the great American shipowner came in puffing and blowing.
"Sit down, sir," said Tom Mitchell.
The fat man obeyed with a grunt.
"I think it rather hard that a man like me – "
"Pardon me," said the captain, coldly; "allow me to remark, before you go any further, that I have no need of you, and did not send for you. You it is who, in the company of several other gentlemen, have come to me. All of you have, I dare say, serious reasons for taking this extraordinary step. I have in no way solicited the honour. All I can do is to listen to each in his turn. I have seen one and settled with him; if you have anything to say to me, speak."
This speech, pronounced in a clear, bold tone, not unmixed with sarcasm, at once, as if by enchantment, calmed the irritation of the fat man. At all events, it compelled him to dissimulate it. After, therefore, mopping his head and face several times with a pocket handkerchief, and coughing once or twice behind his hand, he spoke —
"I was angry, sir," he said, "and own it freely."
"Be pleased, sir, to come at once to business," continued Tom Mitchell; "another person waits."
"You are, I believe, well acquainted with me?"
"I