Louisiana Lou. A Western Story

“I have read it.” De Launay’s voice was like his face, and in both appeared a trace of contempt.

“What have you to say before I kill you?”

“That you would have shot before now had you been able to do it,” answered De Launay, and now the note of contempt was deeper. He turned his back to her and leaned forward over the fire, one outstretched hand upon the stone slab that formed the rude mantel.

The girl stood there immobile. The hand that held the pistol was not raised nor lowered. The thumb did not draw back the hammer. But over her face came, gradually, a change; a desperate sorrow, an abandonment of hope. Even the light in her hair that had made it a flaming wheel seemed in some mysterious way to die down. The terrible fire in her eyes went out as though drowned in rising tears.

A sob burst from her lips and her breast heaved. De Launay gazed down upon the fire, and his face was bitter as though he tasted death.

Solange slowly reached behind her again and dropped the heavy weapon upon the log. Then, in a choked voice she struggled to call out:

“Monsieur Wallace! Will you come?”

In the next room there was a stirring of hasty movements. Sucatash raised a cheery and incongruous voice.

“Just a minute, mad’mo’selle! I’m comin’ a-runnin’.”

He stamped into his boots and flung the door open, disheveled, shirt open at the neck. Astonished, he took in the strange attitudes of the others.

“What’s the answer?” he asked. “What was it you wanted, ma’am?”

Solange turned to him, her grief-ridden face stony in its hopelessness.

“Monsieur, you are my friend?”

“For mayhem, manslaughter or murder,” he answered at once. “What’s wanted?”

“Then – will you take this pistol, and kill that man for me?”

Sucatash’s eyes narrowed and his mottled hair seemed to bristle. He turned on De Launay.

“What’s he done?” he asked, with cold fury.

De Launay did not move. Solange answered dully.

“He is the man who – married me – when he was the man who had murdered my father!”

But Sucatash made no move toward the pistol. He merely gaped at her and at De Launay. His expression had changed from anger to stupidity and dazed incomprehension.

“What’s that? He murdered your father?”

“He is Louisiana!”

“He? Louisiana! I allowed he was an old-timer. Well, all I can say is – heaven’s delights!”

Solange put out her hand to the edge of the bunk as though she could not support herself longer unaided. Her eyes were half closed now.

“Will you kill him, monsieur? If you do, you may have – of me – anything – that you ask!”

The words were faltered out in utter weariness. For one instant De Launay’s eyes flickered toward her, but Sucatash had already sprung to her side and was easing her to a seat on the edge of the bunk. Her head drooped forward.

“Ma’am,” said Sucatash, earnestly, “you got me wrong. I can’t kill him – not for that.”

“Not for that?” she repeated, wonderingly.

“Never in the world! I thought he’d insulted you, and if he had I’d a taken a fall out of him if he was twenty Louisianas. But this here notion you got that he beefed your father – that’s all wrong! You can’t go to downin’ a man on no such notions as that!”

“Why not?” asked Solange, in a stifled voice.

“Because he never done it – that’s whatever. You’d never get over it, mad’mo’selle, if you done that and then found you was wrong! And you are wrong.”

Slowly, Solange dragged herself upright. She was listless, the lightness had gone out of her step. Without a word, she reached out and lifted her leather coat from the nail on which it hung. Then she dragged her leaden feet to the door. Sucatash silently followed her.

In the other room she spoke once.

“Will you saddle my horse for me, monsieur?”

“There ain’t no place for you to go, ma’am.”

“Nevertheless, I shall go. If you please – ”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

She followed him to the door, putting on her coat. Outside, she sat down on a log and remained stonily oblivious as Sucatash hastily caught up several horses and dragged saddles and alforjas into position. The westering sun was getting low along the rim of the crater and he worked fast with the knowledge that night would soon be upon them. Inside the cabin he heard De Launay moving about. A moment later as he entered to gather Solange’s equipment, he saw the soldier seated at the rough table busy with paper and fountain pen.

As Sucatash went past him, carrying an armload of blankets and a tarpaulin, De Launay held out a yellow paper.

“She will want this,” he said, and then bent over his writing.

Again, when Sucatash came in for more stuff, De Launay stopped him. He held out the pen, indicating the sheet of paper spread upon the table.

“This needs two witnesses, I think, but one will have to serve. She is my wife, after all – but it will make it more certain. Will you sign it?”

Sucatash glanced hastily at the document, reading the opening words: “I, Louis Bienville de Launay, colonel and late general of division of the army of France, being of sound and disposing mind, do make, declare, and publish this my Last Will and Testament – ”

His eye caught only one other phrase: “I give, bequeath, and devise to my dearly beloved wife, Solange – ”

With an oath, Sucatash savagely dashed his signature where De Launay indicated, and then rushed out of the room. The soldier took another piece of paper and resumed his writing. When he had finished he folded the two sheets into an envelope and sealed it. Outside, Sucatash was heaving the lashings taut on the last packs.

De Launay came to the door and stood watching the final preparations. Solange still sat desolately on the log.

Finally Sucatash came to her and assisted her to rise. He led her to her horse and held the stirrup for her as she swung to the saddle. He was about to mount himself when De Launay caught his eye. Instead, he stepped to the soldier’s side.

“Take this,” said De Launay, holding out the envelope. “Give it to her to-morrow. And – she needn’t worry about the mine – or Banker.”

“She’s not even thinkin’ about them!” growled Sucatash.

He turned and strode to his horse. In another moment they were riding rapidly toward the rim of the crater.