The Red Ranger E-Book

H. A. Cody

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The main character from the very beginning meets with difficulty. The storm does not allow you to continue your journey through the sea. He lands on an unknown shore. Where is the difficulty to overcome, and find out the difficult situation. The air seemed suffocating, and dark memories made his brain wince. He called himself a fool for coming here, and he decided never to visit this place again.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER I

The Man Who Didn’t Hang

The tide was against him, so he was forced to go ashore. He did not wish to remain here but to keep steadily on his way up through the reversible falls. The current, however, was running like a mill-sluice, and the water was churned into mad breakers as it leaped over the lip of the rock which extended from the island to the western shore. Pierre LeNoir was annoyed. He should have made more haste and arrived sooner. Lucille would be expecting him and she would be anxious at his delay. A softer expression came into his eyes, and his stern face relaxed a little as he thought of her.

As Pierre drew his canoe up on the shore, he looked at the frowning walls of the old fort on the bank above. He could not keep his eyes off those battered logs, with the rotting bastions lifting their sinister heads against their setting of tall dark pines. So fearfully did they seem to leer at him, that he longed to get them out of his sight. They fascinated him, and drew him irresistibly forward.

Slowly he climbed the hill up which Charnisay had led his sea dogs on that fateful Easter morning years before. He stood at the door where the brave Lady LaTour, with sword in hand, had encouraged her gallant men. He entered the fortand beheld on all sides masses of rubbish, ruin and decay. From room to room he moved, evading at first one on the right towards which he cast several furtive glances. But at length he was drawn hither for just one look. This large room had served as the dining-hall and general place of meeting. Now it was empty, damp and desolate. It was here he had often sat at the table with his comrades, taken part in the flow of talk, and joined in the songs. But there was no song in his heart now. He raised his eyes to the ceiling until they rested upon one great beam. To his heated brain there came once more that terrible scene of old. He saw the dangling rope with the curling noose at the end. He lived over again the terror and despair that had filled his soul, when to save his own life he had turned against his comrades in arms. He beheld their proud defiant looks, and the scorn in their eyes as he placed the noose around each neck. He could not blot out that spectacle. Neither could he forget the expression of reproach and misery in the eyes of the noble woman standing near with a rope around her own neck.

Pierre had more than enough of this room. The air seemed stifling, and the dark memories made his brain reel. He called himself a fool for coming here, and he determined never to visit the place again.

As he made his way towards the big open door, he caught sight of the rickety stairway leading to the loft above. A desire seized him to see the large room where he and his companions had slept. He wondered what it looked like now. Ascending the broken and rotten steps, he soon found himself on the upper floor. At once a scene of desolation met his eyes. In places the roof had fallen in, and on all sides there was a litter of dirt and rubbish. The sight repelled him and he was glad to pass through the opening on the left which led to the bastion on the south side of the fort. The cooling air from the water was refreshing after the closeness inside. He breathed more freely, and that haunting fear in his heart gradually subsided. He looked out over the Bay and recalled the day he had stood here watching Charnisay’s ships of war standing up towards the harbor. He remembered the intense excitement in the fort, and saw, too, Lady LaTour standing by his side, anxiously watching. That was long ago, but the scene was as vivid now as then.

And as he looked, he presently gave a great start, for on the opposite side of the island at the entrance to the harbor he beheld three tapering top-masts. At first he believed that he had been mistaken, that what he saw was a delusion of his brain owing to his mental vision of Charnisay’s ships. But as he looked more keenly he knew that he had not been deceived. There certainly was a vessel anchored on the southern side of the island, and she must be a large one to carry masts tall enough to lift their heads above the tops of the trees. It must be an enemy, and at once a fear smote his heart. He was in danger, and his only safety lay in a speedy retreat. He decided to cross the harbor and carry his canoe above the falls by way of the Indian carrying-place. This would be a difficult undertaking for one man, buthe would do it rather than fall into the hands of an unknown enemy.

Quickly descending, he hurried out into the open. He had taken but a few steps along the tangled path, when three men leaped upon him from the thick brushes close by. With a startled gasp, he recoiled and reached for his pistol at his side. But ere his hand could touch the weapon he was overpowered, hurled to the ground, while the pistol and his sheath knife were taken from him. Then one of his assailants gave him a vigorous kick, accompanied by several words in a foreign tongue which he could not understand. But he did know the meaning of that kick, so scrambling to his feet, he faced his captors. They were rough fierce-looking men, bearded and heavily armed. They were sailors, judging by their appearance, and belonged, no doubt, to the ship at the island. Suddenly he realised that they were Dutchmen. He had heard of them and their daring deeds along the coast. But why had they come here? And what did they intend to do with him?

All this passed rapidly through his mind as he stood cowering there. The thought of being made a prisoner at this old fort was not comforting. He glanced up at the wall and it seemed to his disordered brain as if the spirits of his dead comrades were jeering down upon him. He believed he could hear their mocking laughter. But it was only the voices of his captors who were greatly amused at his terror-stricken face. They were speaking to him, although he did not know what they were saying. But when the leader pointed down the path and headed him in that direction, he understood.

As he stumbled forward, he tried to conceive some way of escape. But none came. His canoe was where he had left it, and nearby was a ship’s boat. His companions ordered him into the boat, and when they had pushed off, the canoe was taken in tow. Then down the harbor they moved. Two of the men rowed, while the third, with pistol in hand, guarded the prisoner.

The breeze drifting in from the sea cooled Pierre’s heated brow. His fear, caused by his visit to the fort and his sudden capture, changed to anger. What right had these men to lay hands upon him? he asked himself. But, then, he well knew that in a wilderness land might is the only right recognized, and the question of justice is seldom considered. That watchful man seated before him with pistol in hand was a symbol of the only law that prevailed in Acadia.

In a short time it was possible for Pierre to see the ship. She looked very big and menacing as she rode at anchor with her sails furled. Many men were crowding her rails watching the small boat coming down the harbor. Fear again came upon Pierre as he peered anxiously forward. Was he to be carried away to sea? Were more men needed on the ship? And what would become of Lucille? She would be left alone with only old Noel and his wife to protect her. His cup of despair was now full to overflowing as he thought of all this.

When the ship was at length reached, he climbed on board and at once became the centre of curiosity as if he were some wild creature from the forest. Men crowded around to look at him,talking and laughing in the most animated manner. He recognized the captain by his appearance. He was a big, tall, swarthy man, with a hawk-like nose and sharp piercing eyes. Pierre watched him as he talked to the three men who had made the capture. But what they were saying he did not know. Ere long he was surprised by hearing his own French tongue. He glanced around and saw a man looking keenly at him and smiling.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am only Pierre LeNoir, a poor trader.”

“What were you doing here?”

“I was on the lookout for a supply ship, but she didn’t come.”

“And she never will. We met her, and have the supplies on board.”

“Who are you?” Pierre was plucking up courage, for this man seemed friendly.

“We are Dutch raiders, and this frigate is the Flying Horse, with Jurriaen Aernouts in command, and his associate John Rhoade.”

“Aernouts!” Pierre merely gasped the word. He had heard of the noted Dutch pirate and his terrible deeds.

“Ah, you have heard of him,” and the man smiled at LeNoir’s consternation. “Yes, he is well known, and all on this river will soon know him better, especially de Soulanges at Fort Jemseg, and other traders.”

“But you are a Frenchman,” Pierre replied. “You speak the language.”

“Oh, it doesn’t make any difference what a man is in this land. I’m a Frenchman to-day, an Englishman to-morrow, and a Dutchman the nextday. I have joined this ship for I want to see the place where my father died.”

“Your father died here?”

“Yes, in that old fort over yonder. A traitor put him to death, and that traitor was once his best friend. But to save his own life he hung his comrades, and my father with the rest. I hope to meet him some day if he is still alive.”

Pierre felt his knees suddenly weaken beneath him. Terror clutched at his heart, and his face became ghastly. This the other noticed, and smiled again.

“Oh, you needn’t fear, my friend. I am not blaming you for what happened years ago.”

These words relieved Pierre. This man did not know him.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Basil LeRoi. My father was Jean LeRoi, who served with LaTour, and he was over in that fort when it was captured by Charnisay.”

“And who was the traitor?” Pierre asked as calmly as possible.

“Gervais Reynard, so my mother told me. I was very young when she received word of my father’s death. But I remember her great grief and how I said that I would find the traitor some day and kill him.”

“And you have been searching for him?”

“I have. It is my great purpose in life, but so far he has escaped me. No one knows anything about him. You have not heard of him, I suppose?”

“No, he is not known here. Most of the people along this river have come in recent years."

“Very likely. But I thought the story of Reynard’s terrible deed might be known to the Indians.”

“Oh, they do talk about the capture of the fort, and how white people fought with one another, but they never mention Reynard. Maybe they never heard of what he did.”

“Perhaps not,” LeRoi sadly replied as he gazed thoughtfully shoreward. “He may have hung himself out of remorse like Judas did when he betrayed his Master.”

The two were alone now, for the other men having satisfied their curiosity had scattered to various parts of the ship. Even the captain was no where in sight. He had gone into the cabin, knowing that LeRoi could deal with the prisoner and tell him what was expected of him. He was not interested in a cringing Frenchman, as he had more important things to think about.

“How long have you been in this country?” LeRoi asked.

“Only a few years,” Pierre lied. “I came from Quebec.”

“You know this river, then?”

“Fairly well.”

“And you know Fort Jemseg?”

“I have been there.”

“Then, we want you to guide us to that place. We have been waiting here two days to get some one who knows the river. Several Indians came down, but they got away before we could capture them.”

“How did you know about me?”

“Three of our men were watching behind thatlittle island below the falls, and when they saw you go ashore they followed you. You will not be harmed if you pilot us up the river.”

“But why do you wish to go to Fort Jemseg?”

“To capture it, of course. Are there any other trading-posts between here and there?”

“No. Sieur de Soulanges is lord of the river to the Jemseg.”

“Well, he won’t be ruler much longer.”

“Why do you wish to destroy the posts along the river?”

“I don’t want to destroy them. But these Dutchmen do, that they might get control of this country. They don’t understand French, so I have come along as interpreter. They do all the fighting while I look on. They’re not a bad lot, though, when you come to know them, except when they get their eyes on a pretty girl. I guess we’re all like that, for good-looking girls are scarce in this land.”

Pierre made no reply, for he was thinking of Lucille. What would be her fate should these raiders come upon her? If he could only warn her. But, alas! that was impossible.

“When can we get through the falls?” LeRoi asked.

“Not until the tide turns, which will be late in the afternoon.”

“That’s good, for it will give me time to have a look at that old fort where my father died. And, now, let me give you a word of warning, my friend. You will have to pilot this ship but don’t do any crooked work. These Dutchmen will treat you kindly if you do as they say. But they are verydevils when crossed. They’ll shoot you at the least sign of trickery. As you are one of my race, I want to help you all I can. So, remember what I have told you. And don’t try to escape, for you will be watched every minute you are on board this ship. You are too valuable just now for the Dutchmen to run any risk of losing you.”

CHAPTER II

The Flaming Heavens

No one interfered with LeNoir as he wandered aimlessly about the ship. The sailors were friendly and watched him with considerable curiosity. And, in fact, he was a strange specimen of humanity. His black hair, streaked with gray, falling to his shoulders, and his long unkempt beard gave him a savage appearance. His rough buckskin jacket and trousers were ragged, and his moccasins were almost worn out, especially at the toes. He moved with a noiseless gliding motion as one accustomed to the forest trails, and ever on the alert for some unseen enemy. As a sailor is known by his walk, so is a man who has spent years in the woods betrayed by his movements. Never before had these sailors beheld such a queer creature in human form, and they discussed him with much animation. And they were odd-looking beings themselves, with their strange costumes, rings in their ears, and long black moustaches, with pistols and cutlasses at their sides. But they did not consider their own appearance at all strange so accustomed were they to it. But this new arrival was out of the ordinary, and that was enough to make them wonder and speculate.

Pierre, however, was not interested in these Dutchmen. He had eyes only for the frigate, and nothing escaped him. On every side he beheld tell-tale marks of fights in which the frigate had been engaged. There were scars on masts and spars where the wood had been splintered by cannon balls, and the deck-rails showed unmistakable signs where axes and cutlasses had bitten deep. He saw, too, the big guns, blunderbusses, powder-horns, boarding gear and other accoutrements of warfare. And well aft he saw his own canoe near several ship’s boats. He pretended not to notice it, for he was well aware that he was being watched, and that any attempt to escape just then would be fatal. But how he did long to throw that canoe overboard and leap after it. With the craft righted and paddle in hand, he felt that he could outstrip any boat that might follow.

He was given a good dinner, the best he had eaten for some time. Then supplied with pipe and tobacco his spirits revived. But for the thought of Lucille’s danger and LeRoi’s son so near he would have been quite happy among these friendly Dutchmen. More than once he had longed for such a life as these men lived, moving from place to place, ever beholding new scenes. Often around his fire at night when the stark loneliness of the wilderness was almost maddening he had dreamed of a life at sea, and regretted that he had not become a sailor instead of a fur-trader. But it was too late now, for he was past sixty, and too old to learn the ways of the sea.

It was well on in the afternoon before he beheld LeRoi again. Of the captain he had seen nothing since morning. He had remained in his cabin, asleep, no doubt, in preparation for the strenuous work ahead. Pierre was standing at the bow,looking up towards the falls when he saw a boat suddenly appear around the eastern side of the island. Several men were on board, and among them he noticed LeRoi. He needed no words to tell him that the Frenchman had paid a visit to the place where his father had died. He stared at the boat as it drew near. What were LeRoi’s thoughts as he stood within the old fort? he wondered. Suppose those rotten logs could speak, what a tale they could unfold.

He was aroused by a voice at his side.

“Watching for the tide to turn?”

It was LeRoi. Pierre shook his head.

“The tide will not turn for some time yet.”

“It will be dark, then, before we get far on our way.”

“Oh, no. But it will ere we reach Fort Jemseg. But that will not matter.”

“You know the river as well by night as by day, eh?”

“Yes. Night or day is all the same to me.”

LeRoi made no immediate reply, but stood staring straight before him. There was a serious expression in his eyes, and his usually cheerful manner had vanished.

“My, what a desolate place this is!” he at length exclaimed as a slight shiver shook his body. “That old fort sent the chills up and down my spine. Those rotten logs and the smell of decay on all sides were most depressing. I cannot shake off the feeling. And to think that my father died there at the hands of his traitor friend! Oh, if I could only find him!”

Pierre shrank away a little, but LeRoi did notnotice his movement. Neither did he look at his companion. His thoughts were elsewhere.

“A strange feeling came over me as I stood in that fort,” he continued. “My father’s spirit seemed to be present there, and once I really believed I saw his form.”

“It was only imagination,” Pierre murmured, his body trembling.

“Most likely it was, my friend. But it was very real, nevertheless. And so was the depression that settled upon me. It seemed as if something terrible is about to happen to me as it did to my father.”

“Ah that was due to the closeness and dampness of the fort. It’s an uncanny place.”

“It is and I never want to go there again. I feel better now, though, but it is hard to shake off that strange mood I had while there. I wonder if it means anything.”

“Nothing, nothing I assure you. I had a queer feeling myself when I visited that fort. You will get over your depression in a short time.”

The sun had set as the Flying Horse plowed her way up the river. She had come through the falls on the flood tide, up between those high rugged rocks at which the sailors had stared in wonder. Then she moved out into the expansive water above and up through the Long Vue driven by a favoring west wind. The first island, Isle au Garce, was straight ahead, and LeNoir, standing well at the bow, was peering forward with strained anxious eyes. The darkness was deepening, and he planned to keep as far as possible to the western shore that his post on the island mightnot be discovered. He had delayed sailing as long as he could. But the commander had become impatient, and had ordered the sails set as soon as the tide served, so Pierre could do nothing. Another half hour would have made a great difference to him. His only hope now was that no one would be seen on the island, for then the Dutchmen would consider it uninhabited and pass by without stopping.

Jurriaen Aernouts, with John Rhoade at his side, was standing a short distance away, and near him was LeRoi. There was an eager look in the commander’s eyes, for new conquests were ahead of him. He was flushed with victory, and the Flying Horse bore rich trophies from Penobscot and other places he had successfully raided. He was a man of indomitable courage and determination. He had to be so, for no coward or weakling could handle a crew of rough sea pirates, one hundred and ten in all, in uncharted waters, and with enemies on every side ready to beat him down. The sea was the only life he knew and he revelled in it. His one great ambition was to win for Holland the whole of Acadia, to drive out the French and make it a Dutch colony. He would be another Van Tromp and sweep the seas of his enemies. And so far he had met with considerable success aided by the “accomplished adventurer and pirate” John Rhoade, whom he had procured at Boston, and who knew the weak condition of the French posts in Acadia.

His was an imperious spirit and while he tolerated such men as Rhoade and LeRoi for the use he could make of them, he considered them like hissailors as mere tools for the carrying out of his designs. And for the captive Pierre he never gave him a second thought. Such a creature was beneath contempt, a miserable Frenchman, an outcast in this great wilderness. He would not deign to approach such an unkempt being. One glance at his appearance had been sufficient to fill his soul with disgust. Rhoade and LeRoi could attend to him, while he gave his mind to more important things.

The sight of this arrogant commander enraged Pierre. He had not seen much of him until the vessel had left the island for her run up river. Aernouts had remained in his cabin most of the time, leaving the management of the crew to Rhoade. Now, however, as he stood not far away Pierre was able to study him closely. He saw a man sturdy and strong, every inch a leader. He was unmistakeably Dutch from his neatly-trimmed pointed beard and mustachio, to the wide-leaved, loosely-shaped cock-hat of dark felt, with a cord around the top. His neck was encircled with a ruff. Over a tawny leather doublet was a loose surcoat of gray frieze, with breeches to match. Long boots came almost to the hips, and at his side hung a sword. This completed his costume. Pierre’s eyes narrowed as he watched him, and his anger increased. So this was the man who was to drive out the French! He thought of Lucille and his own humble unprotected post. He glanced around the vessel and despair filled his heart. Fate, irresistible and terrible, seemed to abide here, ready to sweep down and destroy all he deemed most precious.

A sudden excitement among the sailors attracted his attention. They were looking and pointing away to the north where a wonderful spectacle was presented to view. The whole sky was illumined as if by great unseen fires. Blood-red streamers flashed forth in quivering waves. They met, spread out and retreated, only to sweep up again more terrible than ever. So brilliant was the light that its reflection caused the river to glow like a stream of blood. Forked tongues shot out, and the startled watchers imagined they could hear hissing sounds. It was an awe-inspiring scene and Pierre’s heart was filled with fear. It was a sign of disaster. The Indians had told him that whenever that spectacle appeared it meant danger of a most frightful nature. Instinctively he crossed himself as if to ward off some impending doom. And so did LeRoi. But to the sailors it had no such meaning and when the fiery splendor began to subside they discussed it in the most animated manner.

Pierre, however, paid no attention to them, for his eyes were centred upon a wisp of smoke circling above the tops of the trees on the western side of the island. The commander saw it too, and he turned to LeRoi.

“Ask the guide the meaning of that smoke,” he ordered. “There are people on that island, and we must investigate.”

Pierre knew that the critical moment had now arrived. He surmised what Aernouts was saying, and a dull despair settled upon him. And to add to his misery, several forms could be seen moving along the shore. The fate of his post was sealed,and he was helpless. He heard LeRoi speaking to him, but so confused was his brain that he hardly knew what he said in reply. He was only aware that the vessel swerved suddenly to the left and headed for the western channel. This would bring them in sight of his post, and then what would become of Lucille?

At the entrance to the narrow channel on the western side of the island the Flying Horse was brought up to the wind and the anchor run out. Notwithstanding Pierre’s statement that it was merely a small and unprotected trading post, Aernouts determined to take no risk. The guide might be deceiving him so he ordered the guns to be made ready, and everything prepared for a bombardment. He peered keenly forward through the deepening twilight, and saw a portion of a palisade. It looked to him as if guns were mounted upon that rude structure, ready to pour forth their messages of death. It was necessary to be most cautious. He turned to LeRoi.

“Tell that miserable guide that if he has deceived us in the strength of that post, he will go up to the yard-arm this very night.”

When this had been communicated to Pierre he shrank back, lifted his hands and swore that he had spoken the truth.

“The post is undefended, Monsieur,” he declared. “I have not lied. There are no guns, and only two or three people live there. Tell the commander so.”

But still Aernouts was not satisfied. He was suspicious of everything, even of his own men, so he felt that he could not place much reliance uponthe word of a contemptible guide. And LeRoi might be in league with him. He didn’t have much use for Frenchmen, anyway. He believed they could not be trusted.

“Very well. We shall soon see,” was all he said, as he turned and walked away.

It was growing dark now, and as Pierre waited in apprehension for what might happen under cover of night, the roar of a cannon startled him. The bombardment had begun. Then another and another shot was fired and he could hear the crash of timbers where the bullets fell. But no reply came from the island. Pierre thought of Lucille. His only hope was that she had made good her escape with Noel and Marie. They had a canoe, so it would not be difficult for them to get away.

After the bombardment, boats were lowered and men crowded on board. All were anxious to be first in the attack and win whatever booty was to be had. Pierre watched them as they rowed away from the frigate. He was well aware what havoc such men would make of his humble abode, and how they would carry off all his belongings except one treasure, and he was sure they would not find that. He would have something left, anyway, and if only Lucille should not fall into the hands of the pirates he would not mind so much. He would rebuild again as soon as he had his liberty and the Dutchmen had left the river.

The thought of escape had been ever in his mind since his capture. Perhaps this was his opportunity. In their excitement over attacking the post, the raiders had forgotten all about their guide. He looked cautiously around, but no onewas watching him. He could see the dim forms of several men on the side of the ship nearest the island, but otherwise the frigate was deserted. The mainland was near, and he was a strong swimmer.

He waited a while, however, for the darkness to deepen. Then moving swiftly along the deck, he climbed up over the high rail and lowered himself over the starboard side. Almost noiselessly he slipped into the water and with strong steady strokes made for the shore. No one had heard him, and from the clamor that reached his ears he could tell that the raiders had forgotten all about him. He swam easily, and when at length his feet touched bottom, he waded ashore, shook himself like a spaniel and looked over at the island. All was confusion there, while the yells, shouts and smashing of boards and timbers told of the destruction that was taking place. Lifting his clenched fist he shook it fiercely at the ship and then at the raiders on the island. Not a sound did he make. His rage was beyond words.

For a while he stood there, watching and listening. He knew that the enemy could not catch him, but he was too near the Flying Horse to feel comfortable. He would go to the hill straight across from the island, and once there he knew that the Dutchmen could never find him. He almost wished that they would pursue him, for the forest was his home, and there among the intricate ways of the great trees he could easily confound the raiders and settle his score, perhaps, with some of them.

It did not take him long to follow the shore around the cove above, and reach the high hilloverlooking the island. At once a bright light across the water startled him. He knew its meaning. The raiders were burning his post! He saw the flames shooting up like fiery tongues into the night, and the forms of men watching their work of destruction, shouting, yelling and singing in wildest glee.

CHAPTER III

The Island Maiden

“It must mean war!”

The girl was looking at the northern sky, her eyes filled with wonder and awe. The light of departing day touched with a soft and gentle radiance her fair animated face, and glinted upon the neatly-arranged coils of her jet-black hair. Her strong lithe body was tense with interest as she watched the magnificent and unusual scene.

“Yes, it must mean war!” she repeated as she intuitively crossed herself.

She watched the strange display until it gradually faded, and at last disappeared reluctantly, so it seemed, in obedience to some unseen command. She then sighed as she withdrew her eyes from the sky, and looked down upon the water at her feet.

“I wonder if Noel and Marie have seen it,” she mused. “The Indians say there were terrible signs in the sky years ago when old Biencourt came to this island and made trouble with the traders here. Perhaps it will be the same now. I do hope something will happen for I am tired of this lonely place.”

She remained lost in thought, dipping her bare feet in the water which touched the large stone upon which she was sitting. She was about seventeen years of age, of medium height, andwell-formed. Her face was exceedingly attractive, and her slightly-dark features were in harmony with her hair and sparkling eyes. The traders who visited the place always vied with one another for her favor, and the memory of her sunny smile and animated face lingered long in their minds as they wandered through the great trackless forest depths. They talked about her around their camp fires, and all were eager to see again the beautiful maiden of the “Isle au Garce”, the name they had given the island for her sake.

Lucille LeNoir was well aware of her attractiveness to the traders, and it pleased her. But they came only at rare intervals, and there were so many long weeks when she had only her father, Noel and Marie as companions. Indians sometimes halted on their way up and down the river. But they did not appeal to her, for their stolid impassive faces never showed any signs of admiration. She needed men of her own race to appreciate her beauty and strive for her attention. Of them she dreamed, especially of one who had come several times to the post. To her he seemed a very superior person, and in imagination she surrounded him with a bright halo of romance in which she herself played a very important part.

Lucille had plenty of time for such dreams, and they were a great comfort to her in her lonely life. So as she sat on the stone she allowed herself to be carried away on the wings of fancy. No longer was she an unknown and poorly-clad girl at a small trading post in the wilderness. She was a finely-dressed lady living at Quebec, leading a gay life, surrounded by men of courtly bearing, and therecipient of attention on all sides. And Jean LeJeune was her husband occupying a high position, and next in rank to the great Count Frontenac himself. It was a wonderful vision, as the glow in her eyes and the flush upon her cheeks plainly revealed.

A raucous sound nearby disturbed her meditation. A smile of amusement overspread her face and her eyes twinkled as she looked to the right and saw a big black crow walking jauntily towards her along the shore. She held out her hand.

“What do you want Minuit? Are you lonesome, too?”

The bird came close and looked up at the girl as if expecting something.

“Hungry are you? Oh, you rascal, you only come to me when you want food. Well, take this.”

She dropped upon the ground several pieces of dried meat which she had hidden in a pocket of her dress. The bird quickly devoured the morsels and looked up for more.

“Not satisfied, Minuit? You never know when you have enough. But you will have to wait until we go back to the house.”

She gave a chirp, and the bird hopped up on her lap. Lucille stroked him fondly.

“Pretty fellow,” she murmured. “You do love me, I know. But what will you do when I go to Quebec? Will you miss me? I would like to take you with me but what would the grand people there think if I had a tame crow always following me around? I am sure they would make fun of me. You will have to stay here, I guess."

Lucille was in the right frame of mind for more pleasant dreams. She looked out upon the river with a far-away expression in her eyes. As she did so, she gave a start and sprang to her feet, her body tense with excitement. The crow thus rudely disturbed, fluttered away with a coarse caw, surprised and angry at such rude treatment. But Lucille was not thinking of him, for her attention was centred upon a large vessel coming up the Long Vue. The sails were full set and they gleamed like polished silver. It was a larger ship than any that usually came up the river, and the sight of it caused the girl to tremble with fear. She had sighed for something to happen, and when it seemed as if her wish was about to be granted she was afraid.

For a few minutes she stood staring at the oncoming vessel. It fascinated her, not only because of its beautiful appearance, but what it might mean. Then she stooped, and thrust her feet into a pair of rough shoes lying nearby. Quickly tying them with their rawhide laces, she left the stone and sped swiftly along the shore.

Noel was seated on a rude bench at the open gate of the palisade which surrounded the log house. He was smoking and watching a small brush fire a short distance away. He had been clearing up around the place that afternoon to make it more presentable when the traders arrived, and also as a pleasant surprise to his master when he returned. He was wondering what had detained Pierre as he should have arrived several days ago. Perhaps something had happened to him. He may have been caught in the falls orswamped in the Bay, for Pierre was very reckless. And if he did not return, Lucille would own the post. And she would need him and Marie more than ever for she knew nothing about trading. He could then manage things as he liked with no rough master to threaten him with dismissal. Yes, it would be much more pleasant if his master did not come back, and he could have more rum to drink.

Lucille’s abrupt appearance and her excited manner startled him.

“A ship! a ship!” she cried. “A big one!”

Noel was on his feet in an instant, and the pipe fell from his mouth.

“Where?”

“Down the Long Vue, sailing fast. Come quick. Where is Marie?”

“Never mind her. She’s over at the house.”

Noel followed Lucille, his heart filled with a nameless fear. It must be an English ship sent to capture and destroy the French trading posts along the river, so he believed. He was well aware that the traders of Massachusetts desired this, as they were forced to pay a license for fishing and trading privileges in Acadia. This ship, then, must be the outcome of the bitterness which rankled in their hearts at what they considered an injustice. Yes, it must be an English ship, he decided.

This opinion was fully confirmed when he at length reached the lower end of the island and beheld the vessel. Lucille had been right. It was a big ship, and English, so it first appeared to him. But as it drew nearer and he saw the red,white, and blue streaks on her flag he knew that she was a Dutch man of war. This gave him no comfort, for news had drifted to the river that summer of the daring deeds along the coast of Jurriaen Aernouts and John Rhoade. Yes, it must be their ship, the _Flying Horse_, which was now approaching to destroy the posts along the river.

The vessel was out in mid-channel now, and for a while Noel hoped that the Dutchmen were ignorant of the little settlement on the island and would sail by. But soon he was doomed to disappointment, for ere long the ship swung to the left and headed towards the narrow channel on the western side of the island. Then Noel knew there was a pilot on board who was well acquainted with the river. He turned to Lucille.

“Come, let us go back and get ready to receive our visitors. Oh, for men and a few big guns!”

The girl made no reply as she followed Noel back to the house. They made their way among the great beech, birch, oak and walnut trees which grew in abundance on the island. Darkness was now deepening, and the quiet sombre gloom of the forest caused Lucille to tremble with fear. These noble trees which had always seemed so friendly might soon be concealing cruel men skulking through their dark depths. She drew closer to her companion and caught him by the arm.

“Don’t be afraid,” he assured her. “The Dutchmen will not harm us.”