The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

The blood beat hard in her pulses and her lips curled in scorn. Then her unspeakable contempt melted to pity, as she saw how the man was suffering. Like an avenging angel she stood before him, confronting him mutely with his sin.

Captain Franklin came into the Fort. As the Lieutenant saw him safe and sound, he groaned deeply, like one whose suspense is ended. Then he raised his eyes to the face of his wife.

"I thank you, Katherine," he said, gravely; "you have saved me from myself."

CHAPTER XX

RECONCILIATION

That night, while the sentries kept guard, Lieutenant Howard paced to and fro, as sleepless and as vigilant as they. Now and then parties of soldiers came through the gates with ammunition or liquor from the Agency, and piled it in front of the storehouse to await the Captain's orders. Throughout the night the contraband goods were transported, as quietly as possible, in order that the suspicions of the Indians might not be aroused.

The Second in Command was in the midst of that battle with self which every man fights at least once in his life. The events of the past few days and his own part in them confronted him with persistent accusation. The prairie beyond the Fort and the figure of the Captain were etched upon his mental vision with the acid of relentless memory.

The scales fell from his eyes at last, and he saw himself clearly – mutinous, insubordinate, unworthy of his office; distrusting his wife and alienating his friends. Conscience, too long asleep, awoke to demand such reparation as lay in his power to make.

Ten minutes more and it would have been too late. Ten minutes more and the deadly tomahawk of an unseen foe would have been buried in the Captain's brain. That little space of time was all that stood between him and the command of Fort Dearborn – a command which he had planned to use in open rebellion against the orders of his superior officer.

Cold sweat stood out upon his forehead, and his clenched hands trembled. Ten minutes more and he would have been a murderer in deed as well as in thought, though his hands would not have been stained and there would have been no proof of his guilt. The pine knots blazed fitfully in the crevices of the stockade, turning to a ghastly glare as daylight came on. "A murderer!" he said to himself over and over again; "a murderer!" He was like one who wakes from some horrible nightmare with the spell of it still upon him, and wondering yet if it is not true.

Behind it all was a new emotion, – a new feeling for Katherine. Her hand had saved him. She had drawn him back from the brink of the abyss even as the ground was crumbling beneath his feet – Katherine, his wife, whom he had sworn to love and to cherish, and whom he had made miserable instead. To-morrow, or at most the day after, would see the end of it all. Two days remained in which to make atonement – two days, snatched from the past, to fulfil the promise of the future that once had seemed so fair.

"All in, sir," said a soldier. "Not a box nor a barrel is left at the Agency. It's all there." He pointed to a pyramid in front of the storehouse, which was almost as high as the building itself.

"No one saw you?" queried the Lieutenant.

"No, sir; no one saw. One of the pickets has just come in, and he says, sir, that every blamed Injun is up in the north woods. There's been a dance going on all night."

"Very well," answered the Lieutenant, carelessly; but his heart sank within him.

"Mad Margaret was there, too, sir – she was havin' one of her spells."

"Well," said the Lieutenant, sharply, "what of it?"

"Nothing, sir – excuse me, sir." The soldier saluted and went away.

The night wind died down and the sun rose in a fury of heat. No clouds softened the hard, metallic sky – it was like a concave mirror on which the sun beat pitilessly.

The guard was changed, and presently Doctor Norton came out on the parade-ground. When he saw who was there, he turned to go back, then waited, for the Lieutenant was coming swiftly toward him.

They faced each other for a moment, like adversaries measuring the opposing strength, then Norton smiled. "Well?" he asked calmly.

"I have not come to you," said the Lieutenant, thickly, "as you have doubtless expected me to. We have no time to cherish any sort of a grudge when, in two days at least, we start for Fort Wayne. You know what awaits us on the way, and if worst comes to worst, and I can no longer protect her, I ask you to make Mrs. Howard your especial care."

Schooled as he was in self-control, the Doctor started, and the expression of his face changed as he looked keenly at the Lieutenant.

"What!" cried the other, scornfully, "are you not willing to do that much for her?"

"Lieutenant Howard, as you say, it is no time to cherish a grudge. What you have asked of me would be an honour at any time, but I will not accept the trust until you know from me how I stand. I love your wife with all my heart and soul."

"Have you told her so?" asked Howard, quickly.

"In words, no – but I think she understands – in fact, I hope and believe that she understands."

The silence was tense, and Lieutenant Howard gnawed his mustache nervously. His hand went to his belt instinctively, then dropped to his side.

"I fear you have misjudged her," the Doctor continued. "A purer, truer woman never drew the breath of life. In word or act or thought she has never been disloyal to you. I said a moment ago that I loved her, but it is more than that – it is the worship that a man gives to a woman as far above him as the stars."

"In that case," said Howard, in a hoarse whisper, "you are well fitted to protect her."

"You still offer me that trust?" asked the other, eagerly.

The answer was scarcely audible. "I do."

Their eyes met in a long look of keen scrutiny on one side, and of fearless honesty upon the other. Then Norton extended his hand. The Lieutenant grasped it, caught his breath quickly, then turned away, for once the master of himself.

Beatrice came out of the Captain's house and smiled at him as he stood there with his head bowed. "You're – you're out early," he said, with an effort.

"I couldn't sleep. It was hot, and – Cousin Ralph, you must tell me. I am not a child, to be kept in the dark. What is this horrible thing that seems to be hovering over us? Uncle John does not speak to any one; twice yesterday I found Aunt Eleanor crying; Cousin Rob and Mr. Ronald are not in the least like themselves; Kit and Mrs. Franklin are as pale as ghosts, and you – I saw you walking here all night. What does it mean? Tell me!"

"We fear attack," he answered sharply.

"Indians or British?"

"Indians – under British orders."

For a moment the girl stared at him as if she did not believe what he said. "Would they – would they – " she gasped, "turn those fiends upon us?"

"Yes," he cried, "they would! They have done so in times past and they will do so again! They – I beg your pardon – I have forgotten myself – I – I – "

"Cousin Ralph, you are not well. You have walked all night, and you need rest. I understand your anxiety, your fears for us, but you need not be alarmed. We are women, but we are weak only in body – at heart we are soldiers like you, and, like you, we will obey orders. Cousin Ralph! You are ill! Come!"

He staggered, but did not fall. Beatrice put her arm around him and helped him home. "Don't be frightened, Kit," she said, when the door was opened; "he's just tired. He's been up all night and sleep will bring him to himself again."

"Can I help?" asked Forsyth, anxiously. He had come to ask Beatrice if she would not breakfast at home.

"Yes, please," said Mrs. Howard, quietly. "Help me get him into bed. He has been under a great nervous strain."

Beatrice sat on the piazza and waited. She had said she was not weak, but she was suffering keenly, none the less. After a little Robert came back. "He went to sleep immediately," he said; "but Mrs. Howard prefers to stay with him."

"Then we'll go home," she sighed. Together they went out of the stockade into the merciless heat that already had set shimmering waves to vibrating in the air. She drooped like a broken lily – her strength was gone.

Robert's heart went out to her in pity, and something more. When they reached the piazza he put his hand upon her arm. "Beatrice, dear," he said, softly, "lean on me. I cannot bear to see you so – my darling, let me help you!"

His voice shook, but she did not seem to hear. "I'm tired," she answered dully; "I – I didn't sleep." She put him away from her very gently. "I – I'm so tired," she repeated, with an hysterical laugh that sounded like a sob. "I don't want any breakfast – I just want to lie down and rest. Don't let Aunt Eleanor worry."

She went down the passage unsteadily, and he watched her until she was safely within her own room. He quieted Mrs. Mackenzie's fears as best he could, and managed to eat a part of his breakfast, though it was as dust and ashes in his mouth.

"Rob," said the trader, "can you help me to-day?"