Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 174, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 July 1914 — The MAID of the FOREST [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The MAID of the FOREST

by PANDALL PARRISH

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SYNOPSIS. JHwk HftjwaH. ui iinelen It) th* Mud KMm tin;, on hla way to Fort Bh.mmr, Simon Girty, a renefa.Se Who** name has bo«n connected with all manner of atrocities, also headed for Fort Harmar, with a message from the *rtt*»h general, Hamilton. Hayward guide* him to the fort. At General Harmar's headqnarterg Hayward meets Rene D’Auvray, Who professes to recognise him. although be has no recollection of ever having seen her before. Hayward volunteers to* carry a message for Harmar to Sandusky, where Hamilton is stationed. The northwest Indian tribes are ready Mr war and are only held back by the MfUeal of the friendly Wyandots to Join. The latter are demanding the return of Wa-pa-tee-tah, a religions teacher, whom they believe to be a prisoner. Hayward’s mission Is to assure the Wyandots that the man I* not held by the soidienj. • ■ ■ 5 _______ (i o~v *■ CHAPTER ,IH— Continued. "Then them 1® but one answer —the . witoh overheard our conversation. I spoke loud, not knowing she was in toe room, and her quick ears caught tfco Want. Tis like her to make instant use of what she learned to thus arouse your interest. She is full of such tricks. No doubt that will be the 'explanation. Mid no mystery to it—only the device of a clever woman.” I passed put Into the sunshine of the afternoon, and crossed the deserted parade to my quarters. In spile of the seriousness of this adventure upon which I was entering my thought lingered with the French girl,, How softly musical her voice was; how clear her laughter; how enchantingly the dimples appeared in either oheek, and with what eloquence the dark eyes conveyed their message. "Rene D’Auvray,” the name repeated on my lips, lingered, and was whispered again. I wandered if it really was her name, yet cast the doubt aside indignantly. Somehow it seemed to belong to her, to typify personality, to revive memory. “Rene D'Auvray”—would I ever see her again T Would God be good? 1 glanced back at toe high window; the sun glared on It, reflecting the ,-ays into my dazzled eyes. My heart sank. I must depart at dusk, and long ere I could hope to return she would have disappeared info the unknown wilderness. Harmar would know nothing acre than he did now; there would remain no trail I could hope to follow; I would never see her again. All this was years ago, long years, and yet I recall still how I occupied those hours with preparation, striving manfully to banish her from mind by ceaseless labor. Little by little I grasped the seriousness of this mission on which 1 was embarked. In a measure 1 was frontier born and bred, and had ranged the woods since I became strong enough to bear a gun. There were few secrets of the wilderness I did not know, yet now for the first time I was to penetrate 1 those dark northern forests, through untracked leagues, and front the red savages at their council fire with a message of defiance. The full extent of peril Involved occurred to me suddenly, almost with a shock—the raiding pintles of young warriors, scouring the woods, unrestrained in their savagery, toe uncertainty of our reception by the Wyandots, the possibility that Hamilton might not be there to protect from violence, the haunting doubt whether our mission would save us from torture and death at the hands of those red demons bent madly on war! It was no pleasant picture painted on the canvas of imagination, and toe perspiration beaded my temples, as frontier tales of Indian atrocity flashed to memory. But mine was then the spirit of youth, of daring; I had volunteered for this duty, and, under God, would not fall. I recall changing my clothes, putting on my rough hunting suit, ahd packing my uniform in a bag. Then I sought out Brady, finding him alone outside toe stockade, lying on the bluff summit, gazing out at ttys broad river below. As I drew near he looked up at me, good humor in his gray eyes, but making no effort to change his posture. v* , “Well, my young cockerel,” he said carelessly, “they tell me you and I are to be comrades on the long trail.” “Who told you? General Harmar?” “No less; maybe an hour ago. 'Tis not likely to prove a pleasant task, as I understand the nature of the message. What said toe old man to you?” He eat up as I repeated word by word our conversation. He listened Intently until I finished, his eyes on ths dark woods bordering the settlement. "About as I had it," he commented gravely, “only a bit more of detail. ' No pleasant job, friend, sut the ’old man’ Is right—there 4s no other way to deal with redskins. What was the name of that Wyandot medicine nlan?” “Wa-pa-tee-tah.” "I’ve heard the name before, but don’t remember where. I never met up Afalffgt-toe Wyandots, save a- few at Vincennes; their range is too far nprto. By any chance do you know that country?” "Not beyond the forks. Here are some maps,” and I spread my rude drawings on the. grass, "and some notes on the lay of toe land." He studied these a moment, and then giisneni ip mi me~winr ' r ~?pitme*r smile. ‘ Never could make mugfrrpnter map 4r*win',” he ~ acknowledged slowly.

“Just looks like hen tracks ter me, an’ as to ther want HO schools along Stump crick wher I was raised. Howsumever you needn’t worry none about that, Master Hayward, for I kin read the woods sen’ Bator’s the best guide. We’ll find Sandusky.” We talked together for some time, although I did the most of it, for he was content to reply in monosyllables, his eyes on the river. As the sun sank, its last rays turning the waters crimson, we went back into the stockade, and ate heartily together in the barracks’ kitchen, Then, as dusk drew near, we separated, lie going silently down the bluff to the boat, while I reported to General Harmar. It was almost dark, with a clear, star-studded sky overhead, when I came forth again, the letter to Hamilton in my pocket, and the general’s warning, Instructions fresh In mind. I had caught no further glimpse of the girl, nor had any reference been made to her. In truth, for the moment the memory of her presence had been banished from mind. Then, all at once, she came to me, a slender shadow stepping forth from the gloom of the stockade, into the- star gleam. I saw the face-uplifted, whlte tn the silvery glow, and the dark uncovered hair. "Monsieur Hayward;’” she •Bald' softly, “you will speak to me?”

CHAPTER IV. I Face a Request. I came to a sudden halt, my heart throbbing wildly. “Most certainly, mademoiselle,” I stammered in surprise, “although I have little time to spare."—..... . “I know,” she returned; “you voyage into the north —you, and the great hunter.” “You know that? How?” She smiled, yet with eyes on mine in frank confidence. “Have I not ears, monsieur?” she asked swiftly. “Did you think me old and deaf when we met before? Perhaps the light was poor, and you saw 111; if so look at me again, now, monsieur.” “You mean you overheard?" and I stepped back, tantalized by her witchery.

“How could I help? It was but a word now and then, but that Americain general he talk eo loud, like he speak to an army. I did not catch your voice, monsieur, not one word. Yet I knew well what eet was you say: I know from my own heart, how eet beat; an’ from your face, so strong, so like the face of a man. You would go back to the north, back to my .people.” “To your people!” I echoed Incredulously. "Good God! Are you Indian?” “Does monsieur oare what I am?” she questioned more gravely. “And does he not already know? We are alone here in the night," her eyes de-serting-rrrhretosweep a swift- glance about her oyer the bare level of parade. “Need there longer be deceit between us? Why you not trust me?” “I do trust you,” I returned impetuously, intoxicated by her presence, by the pressure of her lingers on my arm. “In of all that is strange I cannot pretend otherwise. But I do not know you, as you would pretend.” She stared into my face, her dark eyes wide open. Then she laughed softly. “You think to fool me! All right; I laugh, an’ I pretend, but I never believe what you tell. Have I not eyes to see your face? ears to hear your voice? ’Tis not long ago, only six moons since then. Why all this I not understand, maybe; why you English officer today an’ Americaine officer tomorrow. You not tell; I not ask any more. We be friends just the same? Ees that so?" “With all my heart,” I replied, relieved at the sudden change in her manner, and grasping the hand held out. "But you are wrong in thinking I assume two characters." “Yes; well, did I not say I laugh an’ pretend? Voila! eet was to me nothing. Yet there is danger, monsieur danger. Indian never forgive, nevalre forget. You go as hunter, a!s scout?” "No, as an officer; my uniform Is in this bag." "To the Miamis?” I shook my head, wondering at her swift questioning. “The Wyandots.” "Ah! That then is not so bad. The chiefs will not know; they will believe. But ’tis most odd why you will do all this—this, what you call masquerade?” “No more odd surely than your own, mademoiselle.” “Why is eet you say that? You ask the general! about me?” : "Of course.” •“You care enough then? You interest enough to ask heem who I Was? Where I come? You try learn all about me? Ah, bien; an’ what he say, monsieur?” “That you werfe from the Illinois countrj'— - ara^;rWa^irr“w!Tb-Vigo,Tromlown' to town.” She laughed again, her hands makiag an eloquent gesture. rr

"The poor man! Eet was quite sad, monsieur. I know not I tol’ eet so well. Non, non, eet not I who told heem; eet was the voyageurs with whom I came. I tell nothing. Eet was hard to tell nothin’, monsieur, when he want to know so much; when he ask question, an* roar in hees loud voice. But eet was fun, too; I laugh, an’ talk about ozzer things, an’ he get so mad, ze Americain generail. He put me in ze guardhouse, only I was a girl. You are angry?” “No. But I am a soldier on duty; under orders so the north.” "To my people.” ‘‘So you said before. What does It mean? You are not Indian?” “I am of quarter blood; my father was officer of France who died in battle. I was born in an Indian tepee.” “But not brought up an Indian? You possess education; you have known civilized life.” “I have been at Montreal and Quebec, monsieur. I was three years at the convent of the Urßulines.” “But came back into the wilderness?” “I returned—to my own people; the great woods called me. lam a Wyandot,” "—“And here at Fort Harmai. under a false name, pretending to be from the TYeffetr -settlements?"- ——7 ——- touched my hands, where they gripped the rifle barrel, and her whole manner changed.—— - s “I am not here under a false name, monsieur, nor for anypurpose of evil,”she exclaimed eagerly. “You must not think that of me; I will not permit. ’Tis my name, Rene D’Auvray, and I came to this fort from the French settlements. I cannot tell you why, but

there is no barm done. All I seek now is the opportunity to return to my own land. That 16 why I came here to meet you; why I waylaid you, and told you the truth. I heard enough of what was said by the Americain generail to know that you were going north thro’ the forests to my county, to hold council with the Wyandots. That is so, is eet not?" “Yes.” “Then, monsieur, take me with you! No, listen; you must; you Bhall not refuse. I know the way, the woods, and all their secrets. I can guide you, and travel faster than your Kentucky hunter. Let me go, monsieur.” I hesitated'just a moment, actually tempted by this opportunity to have her with me, to learn more of who and what she really was. Yet the knowledge that Harmar would never approve of such an arrangement, and that he would surely t learn of the matter if I smuggled her into the boat, decided me. She read the decision in my face. “Yon wm not* YOP"WttlTea«e imr behind?" “I cannot take you, mademoiselle; There are reasons In plenty, but r l cannot stand here and discuss them. You will let me pass now?” She drew back, but with eyes still on -nj.y_fac£— She mush have read there that no pleading would change me, for Bhe only said regretfully: "I have angered you? You do not trust me, because I am Indian?” “I do trust you,” I burst forth. "I hardly know but I do. It is hard

for me to eay no, but I must. I wish to remain your friend mademoiselle, |p —to meet you again somewhere.” Her face, white in the star-shine, smiled. “You shall, monsieur,” confidently, and she pointed with one hand into the north, “yonder in the villages, of the Wyandots.' "You mead you will go there alone? All those leagues alone?” “Perhaps’ there would honouring to fear. I have, traveled as long a wilderness trail before. Yet I need not go alone; there is another here who must return to Sandusky.” —“Simon Glrtyl - Good Cod I—Wouldyou dream of companioning with that foul renegade? Do you know what he : r:/* *

“Yes, monsieur," quietly, "and he knows what I am. He is not reckless enough to offer me insult; did he do so he would be torn limb from limb. You do not know my people, but Simon Girty does. I do not fear him, yet I would rather go with you.” “I cannot consent; it would cost me my commission to take you. I must say good-by.” She held out her hand. “Good-by, monsieur.” I left her standing there, a slender, dark shadow in the starlight, feeling yet the firm grip of her fingers, and seeing vet in memory the upturned face. That she really meant what she said so confidently I did hot truly believe. Her threat of traveling in company with Girty, or even alone, was merely uttered in the vague hope that it might influence me. She could not be In earnest. In spite of her assertion I was not altogether convinced that she was an Indian, a Wyandot. She was scr young, so girlish, so —soft of

voice and civilized of speech, I could not associate her with savages, or those dark haunted woods. I even laughed grimly to myself, as I went down the bluff, at the thought. The boat was in the dark shadows of- tfre hank, a wizahla mnne. three la--dians—friendly Delawares—grasping ton paddles and Kneeling, in the bet tom, and two men holding It steady against the current. One of these, tall and straight, would be Brady, but the other, a mere shadow in the dark, was unrecognizable; "You go with us?" I asked. He straightened up, with the motion of a salute. “Yah, der captain he says so, don’t,, id?” the words strongly Dutch. "Oh, yes, my man; you are the cook. Is there an extra paddle in' there, boys ?” An Indian voice grunted a response, holding it up. “All right; take It, and get In. What Is your name?” "Johann Schultz.” ' I remembered him, a private In Brown’s company, ae poor-a choice as could have been made for such an expedition, but it was too late now for an exchange. "In with you, Schultz,” I ordered sharply, "behirid the last Indian, and bend your back; this is to be nq pleasure trip after wild flowers. All ready, Brady?”

■He stepped into the bow of the craft, without answering, and crouched down, his long rifle showing above his shoulder. I pushed off, and found room at the stern. There was a flash of paddles in the dark water, and, almost noiselessly, we swept out into tne stream. For the space of a mile, perhaps; we .skirted toe clearing, the river a stream e of silver under the stars, toe land on either side, disfigured by blackened tree stumps,, making a isolate picture. Then the canoe slipped silently into the forest waterway, toe dense woods on either bank obscuring the stars, and plunging us Into darkness. Brady bent over the sharp bow, his eyes watchful for any obstacle, for any swirl of the current, and I could faintly distinguish his voice in lowspoken warning to the Indian paddlers. We were hemmed in by wilderness, the narrow stream bordered by great forest trees, with branches over-hang-ing the current, and huge roots projecting from the mossy banks.

There was little or no underbrush; Indeed, as the light grew stronger, the vista stretched far away between the gnarled trunks of oak and hickory to where the land rose in sow bluff. It was a eomber scene of gray and green coloring, save that here and there were clusters of wild flowers yielding a brighter hue of blue and yellow to toe dull background. The silence was jjrofound, the river noiseless, except as the waters occasionally foamed over some obstacle in their path, or murmured softly about the sharp prow of the canoe. High up above the eafly morning air fluttered the leaves, yet so gently that no sound of rustling reached me. The woods themselves were desolate, apparently uninhabited, without even a fleeting wild animal to break their loneliness.

1 sat up, rubbing my cramped limbs, and stared about down the forest aisles, impressed by the somberness of our surroundings, yet with every faculty aroused. The Dutchman’s languid movements; and the perspiration streaming down his face, told of a hard night’s wort. (TO BE CONTINUED. i

“Just Looks Like Hen Tracks ter Me. "