text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/21

 taverns and punch houses and many little shops where blankets and beads and steel knives and hatchets were displayed.

The black uniformed driver on the gilded box in front pulled his horses to a halt. Captain Lance Falcon, plumed hat in hand, his fingers barely touching the tips of hers, helped Jolie alight in front of Edward Stanwicke's town house, with its walled garden, two black attendants standing beside the tall cypress door.

Later, when she was alone in her room over-looking that garden where strange things were to happen, she wondered a little at the coldness with which she had thanked him for his courtesy. But her thoughts dwelt only momentarily upon Captain Falcon. There was a queer, hushed, expectant happiness in her because the quest that had brought her to the wild, new land of America was fairly launched at last.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/21


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/22

T WAS three months later and winter had given I place to spring when Lachlan McDonald returned to Charles Town from the little settlement of Willtown, some thirty miles distant, where for a time he had been idling.

A message had reached him there; and now he had come back to Charles Town, which had been his home for seven years, to bid certain friends good-bye before setting out on a long journey.

The thought of those farewells displeased him. His old life was ending, a new life was about to begin. Eager and yet depressed, he postponed the business; and on the second day after his arrival, having nothing better to do, he rode out alone along the main road leading northward, and was an hour's ride beyond the northern boundary when sounds ahead of him roused him from his reverie.

A pack train was coming—a trader's caravan from the inner country, from some remote trading post in the vast wilderness that stretched to the Blue Mountains and beyond. At the bend of the road the head of the column was in sight, two bearded buckskin-clad hunters riding in front, their long rifles held aloft like lances. Other riders followed, eagle feathers toss-

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/22


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/23

 ing on their heads; Indian braves tricked out in full panoply of plumes and paint for their entry into the white man's town. Behind these straggled a long line of laden ponies, urged on by a dozen drivers who rode beside the train, cracking long whips, shouting short, harsh commands.

The caravan filled the road, a road closely walled in by dense thickets of myrtle and the trunks of great oaks, whose branches, curtained with Spanish moss, met and mingled overhead. Lachlan McDonald touched the flank of his chestnut mare with his heel. A little ahead of him the road widened somewhat. He let the mare canter till he had reached this wider space, then pulled her up and wheeled her to the right against a hedge of holly.

There he awaited the pack train's coming; and while he waited, lounging easily in his saddle—a lean, black-haired, slightly aquiline young man, almost as swarthy as an Indian—he threw a curious glance behind him.

From that quarter three horsemen were approaching. Lachlan smiled as he watched them; smiled at their sprawling booted legs, their flapping elbows, their loose-hung cutlasses which belaboured their horses' ribs.

"Seamen out for a holiday," he muttered. "Men from Lance Falcon's ship." In a moment he had forgotten them, for now the pack train was abreast of him.

The two hunters riding in the van nodded but

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/23


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/24

 passed on without a word—thin, leathery men, bushy-bearded, wearing raccoon caps, high leggins of deerskin, and long, fringed hunting shirts of the same material held in at the waist by broad leather belts. Their weapons were the long rifle, the tomahawk and the hunting knife; and their horses were of the Chicasaw breed, one a claybank and the other a piebald, small and wiry, but still revealing in their shapely heads and clean limbs their blooded Andalusian ancestry. Next came a squat, powerfully built Indian on a fine iron-gray stallion; a Choctaw war captain, Lachlan judged him from his paint and his silver ornaments, his mantle decked with fox-tails and the strange flatness of his forehead. He looked neither to right nor left; and Lachlan, too, gazed past him with a face grown suddenly stern, for he had no love for the Choctaws. Behind this stone-faced chief rode three other Indians of the same tribe, all well mounted, all painted and feathered, two armed with stout, polished bows and quivers of spotted fawn-skin, the third carrying a musket of French make. Followed, then, the first of the pack ponies, plodding onward under their great bundles of skins—deer skins, bear skins, even a few shaggy skins of buffalo; and riding beside the burden-bearers came the packhorse drivers, some of them Indians of the meaner sort hired with rum for this arduous service, most of them white men who seemed more Indian than white because of their fantastic Indian finery.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/24


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/25

 Dust and the shouts of the pack-horse tenders filled the air. Close behind Lachlan a driver's whip cracked like a pistol shot, and at once the chestnut mare stood on her hind legs, capering madly. For an instant it seemed that she must bolt straight into the midst of the pack train; but the thin-lipped, slender young man on her back whirled her sideways, curbed her, gentled her, kept her dancing in the small open space between the road and the holly hedge, and after a minute she was calm again.

"Middlin' good, boy!" a mud-stained pack driver shouted. "Ye're a rider! How far to Charles Town?"

"Fight miles," Lachlan answered, and said no more. He knew these traders' caravans of old. The trader himself, if he rode with his train, was often decent enough, and the hunters, who supplied meat and took charge in case of trouble on the road, were generally steady men. But the drivers were a hard lot, perhaps the worst in the New World. With them it was best to have no dealing, no talk; and especially was this true when a pack train drew near to civilization once more after a journey of perhaps four hundred miles over the lonely wilderness trails.

Lachlan knew this and held his tongue, regardless of considerable rough bantering, meanwhile keeping a tight rein on his mare. There were others who knew it not so well. Suddenly from the head of the column burst forth a tumult of oaths, while at the same moment the caravan stopped, thrown into confusion by the unexpected halt.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/25


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/26

 The last of the pack ponies had just passed Lachlan. He wheeled his mare into the middle of the road and, standing in his stirrups, grinned at what he saw.

"Sailors and packhorse men," he said softly. "Lucifer and Beelzebub."

The three seamen from Lance Falcon's ship sat their horses squarely in the middle of the road, completely blocking it. Whether they were drunk and therefore rashly belligerent, or whether they were unable to control their mounts, confused by the shouts and the cracking whips, mattered little. In an instant they were beset by a mob of pack drivers, cursing, flourishing long whips, ugly knives and tomahawks; and in another instant the three had their cutlasses out, swinging them like flails.

Sober or drunk, they handled themselves well. Their horses—nags hired in Charles Town—reared and pawed the air; but, bad horsemen though they were, they hung on somehow, as sailors will, and not only kept their seats but plied their weapons so vigorously that the pack drivers fell back before the flashing arcs of steel.

The lull gave the two hunters in charge of the caravan their opportunity. They jumped their horses between the combatants, and while one of them faced the seamen, the other wheeled his mount, held his rifle high over his head, and shouted, "Clear the road!"

There were mutterings, curses, but, as the hunter rode forward, a path opened through the throng of

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/26


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/27

 the pack train drivers, and along this path behind the man in buckskin rode the three seamen, scowling and defiant, the other hunter bringing up the rear. Oaths were flung at them a-plenty, but no driver struck at them with his whip or hurled tomahawk or knife. In two minutes they were past the last of the pack ponies, and the two hunters, wheeling their horses without a word, set themselves to the task of getting the pack train in motion again.

The thing had been neatly done. In a twinkling, by quick, cool work, a riot which threatened bloodshed had been nipped in the bud. Lachlan's black eyes followed curiously the two quiet men who had dealt with the emergency. They interested him, however, as individuals, not as types. If there was romance in these fringed and beaded hunters with their long rifles, in the half-naked plumed and painted Indian warriors who rode with them, in the train of pack ponies that had come with their burden of skins perhaps a hundred leagues out of the heart of the wilderness, he was not aware of it. These were the common things of life, the things that he had known all his life long. It was not of them that he dreamed when the hours lagged in Charles Town, and he beguiled them with idle imaginings.

The pack train was moving off, with a mighty cracking of whips. Lachlan spoke to his mare and rode on slowly in the opposite direction. Ahead of him at a brisker pace jogged the three seamen, bare elbows flapping awkwardly, earrings flashing, the

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/27


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/28

 gaudy red scarves on their heads glowing in the sun. He held his mare to a slow walk so that they might draw well ahead, but his eyes followed them until they disappeared around a bend of the road. They were rather ridiculous figures on their trotting nags, these equestrian mariners, but to Lachlan they brought visions of far seas, golden cities of the Indies, the glittering lights of London. From them his thoughts roamed to their leader, that Lance Falcon, half soldier of fortune, half sea captain, of whose exploits on many seas and in many lands strange tales were told in the waterfront taverns. And from Lance Falcon they passed to another figure scarcely less glamorous—a slim, dandified exquisite from London, befrilled and periwigged, dressed in the extreme of the English fashion, whom he had seen that morning mincing along the street towards the Governor's Mansion.

His thoughts played with these men. Here was Romance! Here were mind-pictures of far-off wonderful seaports of the fabulous East; of fleets and armies and treasure ships and Old-World castles and tall towers; of courts and kings and high-born silken ladies whose eyes outshone their jewels.

It was April, the flood tide of spring, the season of dreams. For a while Lachlan McDonald dreamed. He turned his mare presently and rode slowly back to his lodging in town. That evening he dined alone. Having paid his score, he sat for a time in Marshall's

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/28


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/29

 inn, turning over in his mind the matters to be dealt with during his last two days in Charles Town, for he had fixed his departure now for the third day.

These matters were chiefly personal. He must say good-bye to James Almayne, the hunter, his father's old friend; to Mr. Francis O'Sullivan, his former teacher; to several influential gentlemen of the Colony to whom he was indebted for courtesies and favours; to three or four young ladies and to certain young men. These farewells spoken, there would be little else to engage him.

He rose presently and, with a nod to Jem Marshall, went out into the street. From the wide thoroughfare along the waterfront, thronged with seamen from the ships in harbour, he turned into a dark cross-street and thence into a narrow lane under a garden wall; and suddenly, as he walked briskly along this deserted lane, he was aware of two songs floating over the wall on the soft, sweet-scented April air—the song of a bird and the song of a woman.

Something in the sound stopped him. Head back, lips parted, he stood listening; and for as much as a minute the song of the woman went unheeded, and he heard only the song of the bird.

It was the first sanguilla of the spring, and in an instant its music caught him up and whirled him far. For a little while his thoughts lingered in a green country where he had first heard the sanguillas sing. Then the woman's voice, richer and sweeter even than that of the black and russet bird, brought him re-

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/29


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/30

 luctantly back to the dim lane where he stood beside a high-walled garden.

Slowly that voice won its way into his consciousness. He had listened to the Muskogee girls, daughters of the Wind and of the White Deer, singing in the moonlight beside the clear rippling waters of Tallasee, but they had not sung as this woman was singing. He was aware suddenly that there was a kinship between the woman's song and that of the sanguilla, that somehow this singing woman had caught the very spirit of the singing bird; yet he was aware, too, that while the bird's song was wholly joyous, in the woman's there was a note of yearning and of sadness.

The rich tones stirred him strangely. He stood entranced, enthralled, scarcely breathing, his lips parted, his black eyes aglow. It was dim dusk now, and the air was heavy with the breath of wild blossoms. There must have been some strange prophetic magic in that moment. Somehow Lachlan McDonald knew that he stood at the threshold of a rare adventure.

This knowledge came to him suddenly, mysteriously as he listened bemused and fascinated; and it cleared his brain instantly, so that at once he grew alert and eager and fiercely joyful, all his senses keyed to the utmost. His eyes shone with an intenser light; his lean, dark face relaxed in a smile.

"Lady of the divine voice," he murmured, "the Lady Sanguilla, till I know your name: I think"

A new sound startled him into silence. The song

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/30


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/31

 ceased in a little frightened cry. Lachlan heard a man's voice spit forth an oath, then in a moment heard the rasp of swords. Almost at once a deeper voice flung out an exclamation of triumph. There came another cry from the woman, a short, loud cry of terror; and Lachlan, crouching an instant like a poised panther, leaped upward with outstretched hands, and, putting all his wiry strength into the effort, drew his spare, supple body to the top of the wall.

What he saw sent the blood leaping in his veins. It seemed to him that this shadowy garden was a stage set for the fulfilment of his dreams. Before him were the two men about whom his dreams had lately centred—the slim, periwigged exquisite from London whom he had seen that morning mincing towards the Governor's Mansion; and the tall, mysterious sea-wanderer, Captain Lance Falcon, whose brig, the Good Fortune, lay in the lower harbour and who, if the tavern gossips were to be believed, had cruised in the Red Sea and plundered the treasure ships of the Great Mogul. There was one other also,—a woman, slim, graceful, richly dressed in filmy white.

At a glance, while he crouched on the top of the wall behind a magnolia bough that screened him from view, Lachlan's black eyes took in these three figures in the garden, and at a glance he knew the essentials of what had happened. The gallant from London lay upon his face in the grass, and near him, its hilt almost touching his outstretched hand, lay his slender sword. Ten paces from him, erect, aloof, insolent even

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/31


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/32

 in its stillness and silence, loomed Falcon's powerful form. The dandy's light dress sword had been no match for his opponent's long, straight rapier. Plainly the foppish Londoner had gone down at the first onset; yet Lachlan could detect no trace of blood on Falcon's blade.

For a fraction of a second Lachlan's eyes scanned the steel for a tell-tale sign; then the slight figure of the girl, moving forward slowly as though in a daze, fixed his attention. He saw her stoop beside the prostrate man and bend low above him; and as she bowed her head, Lachlan dropped lightly to the ground within the garden.

A low hedge of evergreen cassena skirted the wall, forming an admirable screen. His footfalls made no sound as he ran swiftly parallel with the wall, bending forward to keep his head below the level of the young cassenas. Only a man trained in the woods could have stolen so silently through the dense clump of stiff-leafed canes close behind Captain Lance Falcon. When Lachlan leaped from the cover of the canes, he leaped upon an antagonist to whose ears no faintest warning had come.

Yet almost at once Lachlan knew that all the skill of his approach had not assured him the victory. His onset all but hurled Falcon to the ground; his long, sinewy arms pinioned those of his opponent. But the surge and heave of that wide-shouldered, longmuscled frame brought instant revelation of such strength as Lachlan had never before encountered.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/32


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/33

 Lachlan was strong as the catamount is strong, but the tall man with whom he grappled—older, bulkier, heavier—seemed as strong as a mountain bear. The struggle was short. Presently Lachlan was reeling backward towards the cane thicket, hurled thither by a mighty heave of his foeman's arms as Falcon tore himself free.

Panting, dishevelled, bleeding from a scratch on his forehead, Lachlan steadied himself at the thicket's edge and stood there half-dazed, awaiting the onslaught that must come. Falcon, his sun-tanned face a flaming red, his white teeth gleaming under his thick moustache, ran to the spot where his sword had fallen. Snatching up the weapon, he started furiously forward. But the woman, rising quickly from beside the fallen man, gripped his arm.

He halted and stood breathing hard, while she spoke rapidly, pleadingly, peremptorily, in tones so low that Lachlan could distinguish only a few disconnected words. At last Falcon nodded and answered her briefly in a deep voice that had in it the rumble of thunder or the surf. Deliberately he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, despite her effort to draw it away. Then, without another glance at Lachlan, he strode off along a winding pathway of the garden.

Lachlan watched him go, then turned to face a worse ordeal than his struggle with Lance Falcon. He knew that, acting upon a sudden inexplicable impulse, he had done an amazingly foolish thing. He

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/33


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/34

 had hoped—he did not know why—to play the hero before this girl; but now he stood before her, beaten, outdone, humbled. He saw, or thought he saw, scorn and anger in her eyes as she began to speak. Yet chance gave him a brief respite. The man lying on the grass behind her moaned, stirred, and almost instantly sat upright, looking about him with blinking, uncomprehending eyes. She paused to address him.

"You are not hurt, Richard," she said, and it seemed to Lachlan that her tone was not only faintly contemptuous but that there was in it also a strange despairing bitterness. "You have a bruised eyebrow, that is all, but it will spoil your beauty for some days."

She turned to Lachlan where he stood against the canebrake, still panting a little but clear brained now and ready for what would come. It came—without delay.

"And you, sir," she said coldly, her head high, her large eyes narrowed, "perhaps you will be so good as to make known to me who you are, and why you take it upon yourself to assault my—my friend (she hesitated a little at the word) here in my garden."

Mr. Francis O'Sullivan, the expatriate Irishman, who had schooled Lachlan McDonald in manners and in fencing (both verbal and with the rapier), to say nothing of history and the arts, would have been proud of his pupil at that moment. There was a deep purpose in Lachlan's answer, and that purpose his answer was most skilfully designed to achieve.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/34


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/35

 He bowed courteously, yet with a certain stiffness.

"Mam'selle," he said, "with pleasure I do your bidding. My name is Lachlan McDonald, and I am a Scotsman, a Frenchman, and an Indian, a Prince of the Muskogee Nation, a Chief of the Family of the Wind. I entered your garden thinking to be of service, because I heard a clash of swords and saw you bending over a fallen man. I regret that my interference was untimely, and I bid you good evening."

He bowed again and, stepping swiftly backward, was lost in the gloom of the canes.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/35


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/36

HE shadowy garden, more shadowy than ever now as the dusk deepened, lay around him like the impalpable landscape of a dream. At the outer edge of the little cane thicket, through which he had passed as soundlessly as a lynx, Lachlan paused and stood motionless, listening. In front, under tall magnolias and slim-stemmed sycamores, he saw clumps of myrtle and small-leafed cassena and arbours of wild jessamine and Indian rose. The air was drowsy with the scent of blossoms, and behind him the long, slim cane leaves shivered with faint, mysterious rustlings. Over all, in the dim late light, hung a translucent silver haze; and it seemed to him suddenly that not only this shadowy garden, but all that had happened in it, was as ephemeral as moonlit mist.

He stood for a few moments at the edge of the cane thicket, drinking in the perfumes of the garden, considering his next move. His decision was reached quickly. After a swift glance around him, he passed noiselessly amid the myrtles towards the high wall looming beyond. Leaping upward, he clutched the lowest branch of a young sycamore and swung himself to the top of the wall.

The narrow, unlighted lane outside was empty, and

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/36


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/37

 the foliage of the sycamore made a screen between him and the garden. Lachlan perched comfortably on the wall, his knees drawn up under his chin, his lean brown hands clasped about his ankles. He sat silent and motionless for many minutes, his eyes narrowed, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. At last his thin lips moved.

"Now here," he said to himself, "is Mystery."

He shifted his position slightly and looked up at the moon just rising above the trees. Yet, though he seemed to study the face of the moon, he did not see it, for his thoughts dwelt upon another face, one that perplexed and troubled him. For some moments he puzzled over the mystery of that face—a face which, beneath the scorn and anger that it had assumed, had revealed also unmistakable fear and a poignant, pitiful distress. Then his brow relaxed and he smiled—a smile of boyish, reckless abandon which obliterated in an instant the accustomed gravity of his lean, sharply chiselled face.

"I fought badly," he muttered, "but i'faith, I think I talked well. It is not every night that a Prince and a Chief of the Family of the Wind drops from high heaven into My Lady's garden."

A murmur of voices checked him. He sat bolt upright on the wall, listening; and in a moment he made sure that the voices were those of the lady and the young gallant whom she had called Richard.

The two came on slowly. Tall hawthorns hid them from him so that only once could he catch a gleam of

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/37


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/38

 her white shawl in the moonlight; but presently they were so near that he could hear every word. It was the girl who was speaking, and Lachlan's eyes brightened as he listened.

"A Prince of the Muskogee Nation," she said, "and a Chief of the Family of the Wind. Lord! Lord! Here is the very soul and essence of romance. A handsome boy, too, and a fearless one. He fought a better fight than you did, Richard, against that ruffian."

Again there was that mocking, faintly contemptuous note in her voice; and Lachlan marked it well. If this young London gallant was her lover, so far he had wooed in vain.

"Odds my soul, Jolie!" Richard answered, "I was blind with rage, I think. I had told the scoundrel that if he came again when I was with you I would run him through; and when, in the midst of your song, I looked up and saw him standing there with his supercilious sneering smile, I rushed him instantly. Alas, my little bodkin was not meant to parry a bravo's rapier."

She laughed, and once more there was mockery in her tone. But in the middle the laugh broke, became almost a sob.

"O God! God! Richard!" she cried, "I am in terror—terror of the shame that may come. Falcon grows importunate. And I am losing hope of finding Gilbert . . ."

They had passed around a bend of the path. Lachlan, keen of hearing though he was, could hear

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/38


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/39

 only an indeterminate murmur which in a moment died into silence. For some minutes he kept his seat on the wall, hoping that the pair would make another circuit of the garden paths before entering the house. He heard the voices no more, however, and presently a door slammed shut beyond the shrubbery. Lachlan jumped lightly down into the street and set off eastward at a brisk pace.

His course took him towards the waterfront of the town. The narrow lane beside the garden wall was deserted, but when he reached the wide thoroughfare fronting the wharves, he found it even more crowded and more lively than usual. Two ships from Barbados had come into harbour that day, he recalled, while in the late afternoon another pack train had arrived from the mountain country of the Cherokees. Sailors and pack-horse drivers, relieved at last from the long tedium of the empty sea and the weary miles of forest path, would own the town that night, or at least that quarter of it where the tavern lights twinkled in the dark. Those of the townsfolk who disliked brawls would keep to the quieter streets or retire discreetly within doors; and there would be work for the men of the watch before morning—work and perhaps some broken heads.

Ordinarily Lachlan would have considered this prospect with a little thrill of joyful excitement. But on this evening other matters engaged his thoughts, and he walked on swiftly, careless of the strange faces that he saw on every hand.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/39


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/40

 They were, most of them, the faces of sailors and pack-horse men, with now and then the stern, impassive face of an Indian and the lean, weather-beaten face of some buckskin-clad hunter. A few of the latter Lachlan knew; and twice, as he passed an Indian, an almost imperceptible signal of recognition and of greeting flashed between him and the red man. But he stopped to talk with no one amid the groups that he passed strolling along the street or loitering about lighted doorways; and a frown of annoyance clouded his brow when suddenly his way was barred by a stream of men issuing pell-mell from a tavern in front of him, crowding and jostling one another and crying out as though in terror of something behind them.

As they poured out of the doorway, they blocked the path along the street, and Lachlan halted perforce. They were pack-horse men, he noted at a glance, wearing the fantastic half-Indian livery of their profession. He saw, too, that some of them had been roughly handled in the house which they had just vacated in such haste; that the jackets of one or two of them were torn, and that one—a hulking, scowling youth in a yellow jerkin—nursed an ugly cut on his forehead.

This one, as soon as he had gained the open street, seemed smitten with new courage. He yelled to his comrades to stop; and they, no longer hemmed in by four walls, rallied round him, muttering, cursing, and flourishing their fists, some few of which held evil-looking knives, at the house in front of them.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/40


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/41

 Lachlan had stepped back a pace or two to avoid being caught in the turmoil. Yet he stood nearer the door than any of the others, and he heard before they did the sound of footfalls just beyond the threshold. At once he jumped back into the dark shadows under the wall of the house; and next moment he saw a tall man standing in the doorway, a man whose face and form he was likely to remember. His lips tightened as he recognized Captain Lance Falcon.

For a moment Falcon stood motionless in the doorway. His handsome, full-blooded face was flushed, his thick, red-brown hair was dishevelled, his buff jacket was twisted awry under its showy blue sash. No sooner had his eyes grown accustomed to the dim light without than he clapped his hand to his hilt and half drew the blade. Yet the next moment he thrust the weapon back with a clang and stepped down into the street bare-handed.

"So!" he shouted, "you're waiting for me, are you? You want some more o' the same physic? Aye, aye, you scum, you shall have it!"

The big pack-horse driver in the yellow jerkin—he with the bloody forehead—had a knife. He held his ground, but his comrades, less angry and less earnest than their leader, fell back. The street was in a hubbub now. From all sides men rushed to the scene, and at any moment the watch might come, summoned by the disturbance. In a deserted street Falcon might have fared badly, but as it was he faced only one enemy. And that one he disposed of quickly.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/41


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/42

 The man with the knife, confused perhaps by the clamour of the swelling crowd behind him, waited too long to strike. His wrist was caught in an iron grip and the knife was wrenched from him. Next moment Falcon had him by the collar, shaking him. The crowd roared and laughed its approval; and, after a little, Falcon thrust the man from him, turned his back, walked slowly across the street, reëntered the house and slammed the door after him.

Lachlan, still standing in the shadows apart from the throng, heard a quiet chuckle close to his ear. He turned to face a tall, thin man, white-haired and white-moustached, brown as old leather, and wearing the fringed buckskin shirt, high leggins and raccoon cap of a hunter. Lachlan's eyes lit with pleasure.

"Almayne!" he exclaimed. "The very man! I've been looking for you."

"You'd have found me sooner, boy," the other replied, "if you had not been in so huge a hurry. I've trailed you the length of the street. What think you of our gamecock yonder?" and he jerked his head towards the doorway where Falcon had just disappeared.

Lachlan hooked his arm through the tall hunter's elbow.

"I would talk with you, Almayne," he said, "about that same gamecock and about certain other more peaceable birds—to wit, a singing sanguilla and a bright-plumaged popinjay from London. Come, let's be going. Jem Marshall's inn is a quiet place, and you like his ale."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/42


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/43

F THE three," said Almayne, when his second mug of ale was half gone and Lachlan had told as much—and as little—as was necessary in order to gain the information that he sought. "I take it that the sanguilla is of first importance. The gamecock and the popinjay are interesting only because they happened to be in the sanguilla's garden?"

Lachlan nodded, smiling.

Almayne eyed him sharply, then frowned.

"And why do you come to me for knowledge of these matters?" he asked. "I am a man of the woods, a follower of the wilderness trails. I know the savannahs of the Santee and the peaks of the Blue Mountains better than your Charles Town streets."

Lachlan smiled again, more broadly.

"So you like to pretend, old war horse," he said, "but I know you as well as you know those blue Overhills of the Cherokee. The gossip of Charles Town is not beneath your notice; and for three months you've been idling here with nothing to do but use your ears. I'll warrant you've used them well."

"While you," grumbled Almayne, "have been idling in Willtown."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/43


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/44

 Lachlan laughed.

"Behold the proof of my statement," he cried. "Your ears have even caught gossip about my humble self. Now this girl of the garden—this Lady Sanguilla, as I have named her. Who is she? Whence came she? Who is this Gilbert that she is seeking? What is she doing in old Stanwicke's garden where a petticoat was never seen before?"

"She is Lord Stanwicke's daughter," said Almayne quietly.

"His daughter! I did not know that he had a daughter."

"That is not strange," the hunter muttered, and buried his face in his cup.

"Your tongue's lazy, Almayne," said Lachlan impatiently. "I'll liven it if it takes a hogshead of Marshall's ale!" He gave an order to the black boy in attendance. "Now what of this mysterious daughter of old Stanwicke, who calls himself a lord? Has he kept her hidden all these years in some dungeon of Stanwicke Hall?"

"He has kept her in England," Almayne answered slowly, "with her mother's kinsfolk there. It is her first taste of this raw New World. She arrived on the ship Queen Bess in custody of Mistress Wilkinson just two days after you rode to Willtown. On the same ship came Mr. Richard Barradell, of Hampshire and London, whom you miscall a popinjay. He is not the lady's lover and he returns to England on the Sea Swallow to-morrow, so you can dismiss him from

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/44


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/45

 your mind. So far she has remained in Stanwicke's town house, and all Charles Town is agog with her beauty. But she goes to Stanwicke Hall shortly."

"That's better," said Lachlan. "We are getting the story now and I perceive you know all that's worth knowing. And your pardon, old friend, for my jest about the ale. You will tell me of this lady for friendship's sake and because of the days we've spent together."

Momentarily the hunter's gray-blue eyes, deep-set under shaggy white brows, twinkled humorously. Yet his countenance was grave.

"It might be better if I told you nothing," he muttered under his breath.

He fell silent a moment; then continued more briskly:

"Listen, lad. Take my word for it, you will not like this girl, this Jolie Stanwicke. She is proud and overbearing and short-tempered. She has been much in London, and holds herself a great lady, and all that she has seen in Charles Town she laughs to scorn."

"She did not laugh to scorn," Lachlan said thoughtfully, "a Prince of the Muskogee Nation and a Chief of the Family of the Wind. Nay, the titles seemed to please her. And though she saw him defeated, she was gracious enough to call him—behind his back—a handsome youth and a fearless one, and to praise him for the fight he had made."

Almayne seemed struck by a sudden thought.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/45


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/46

 "When do you go to Tallasee?" he asked hopefully. "Your warriors have arrived. I have seen them in the streets."

The young man smiled.

"I had intended leaving on the third day from this, but the journey may be postponed. My father bids me come to him, but not in haste. As for my braves, they can rest here for a while, and await my pleasure."

Almayne drummed restlessly on the table, pursed his lips, then raised his eyes suddenly to meet the other's gaze.

"Lachlan," he said earnestly, "it is time you started for Tallasee. Your father awaits you there, your mother is eager for your coming. In all the Muskogee towns the Red War Club has been set up. The Bloody Stick and the Chips of Wood have been sent to twenty chiefs. There is war in the wind—war with both Choctaws and Chicasaws and perhaps with a great tribe from the West. Your father has sent for you, and you must go."

Lachlan met the other's gaze gravely.

"It is strange, Almayne," he said. "I never before have known you show such eagerness to be rid of me."

The hunter's face took on a troubled look.

"Lachlan," he said slowly, "I will tell you again what you already know because the telling of it now may serve a good purpose. When your father came here from Scotland in his youth, many years ago, I

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/46


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/47

 fell in with him and a great friendship grew between us. We followed the wilderness trails together as hunters and as scouts against the Yamasees and the Spaniards at St. Augustine. When your father became a trader and the owner of a pack train, I was his partner; and I went with him when he established his post at Tallasee, in the country of the Muskogee.

"I was with him when he met Sehoy Tourville, the daughter of the French Captain, Louis Tourville, and a Muskogee princess of the Family of the Wind. I was present when he married Sehoy, and I know that he married her for her loveliness and goodness, and not, as some say, in order to gain the power that afterwards came to him. I was with him when the Muskogee chiefs made him High Chief of all the tribes. I know what he has done since then for the people whom he has ruled. And I know that he has always looked to you to carry on that work when he is gone."

The hunter was silent for a moment, as though his thoughts ranged far. Presently he continued:

"On only one point we differed. Your father thought that in order to fit you for that work you must be sent here to school in Charles Town. I held the opposite opinion. I said that you must remain in Tallasee; that you must grow up there; that if you were to rule the Muskogee nation as its High Chief or King, you must grow up a Muskogee brave and not a young English gentleman.

"In the end we compromised. Until you were eigh-

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/47


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/48

 teen Tallasee was your home. Your father was your teacher and he taught you all that an English school could have taught; yet you were an Indian and your friends were Indians. But at eighteen your father sent you here to Charles Town to Francis O'Sullivan, whose pupil you have been for seven years, and from him you have had an education such as few other men in this New World can boast."

Almayne dug into his pouch for his clay pipe.

"Now," he said, "all that is over. The time of your training is ended. The time of your work draws near—the time when you must take up the task for which your father relies on you. He has spent half his fortune on you so that you might be fitted for that work. And now, with war threatening his people, he says to you 'Come,' and sends his warriors to escort you home like the Chief that you are."

Once more Almayne paused, his keen eyes suddenly alight. He leaned forward and struck his fist upon the table.

"What are you, boy?" he demanded fiercely. "Are you Lachlan McDonald of Tallasee, War Chief of the Muskogee Confederacy? Or are you Lachlan McDonald, Gentleman, of Charles Town, with time to waste on every pretty girl who crosses your path?"

A long silence followed. It was the younger man who broke it.

"Thank you, Almayne," he said slowly. "You were always my friend, and you have said to me what needed to be said."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/48


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/49

 He paused as if to choose his words with even greater care. Then, a faint smile on his dark, finely chiselled face, he continued:

"I will answer your question. I am Lachlan McDonald, War Chief of the Muskogee. And I am also Lachlan McDonald, Gentleman. Because I am the former I shall go home to my people. Because I am the latter, I hope to perform before I go a certain duty which chance has laid upon me here."

His black eyes searched the other's face. He leaned forward across the table.

"There is a lady in Charles Town who is in trouble," he said slowly, "the loveliest lady that I have ever seen, the lady Jolie Stanwicke. With or without your help, Almayne, I shall see what may be done for her."

The hunter's answer came quickly.

"You'll get no help from me!" he cried angrily. "The matter is no concern of yours. And for your own good"

He stopped short, perhaps realizing that he had said what he had not meant to say; and Lachlan was quick to take advantage.

"Ah!" he cried, "the secret's out now. It's for my own good, is it, that you would hurry me off to Tallasee? The mystery deepens. Is Mistress Jolie Stanwicke so dangerous a person that I must flee from her into the wilds? Come, man, you've whetted my curiosity now and you must tell me all."

"I'll tell you nothing," Almayne growled.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/49


text:
Page:The Harvard Classics Vol. 01.djvu/397

Title of this Treatise shows, there was a former of the same Nature; and the Author hopes he runs no Hazard in recommending both to his Reader's Perusal. He is well aware of the low Reckoning the Labors of indifferent Authors are under, at a Time when hardly any Thing passes for current, that is not calculated to flatter the Sharpness of contending Parties. He is also sensible, that Books grow a very Drug, where they cannot raise and support their Credit, by their own Usefulness; and how far this will be able to do it, he knows not; yet he thinks himself tollerably safe in making it publick, in three Respects.

First, That the Purchase is small, and the Time but little, that is requisite to read it.

Next, Though some Men should not find it relish'd high enough for their finer Wits, or warmer Pallats, it will not perhaps be useless to those of lower Flights, and who are less engaged in publick Heats.

Lastly, The Author honestly aims at as general a Benefit as the Thing will bear; to Youth especially, whether he hits the Mark or not: And that without the least Ostentation, or any private Regards.

Let not Envy misinterpret his Intention, and he will be account-able for all other Faults.

1em


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/50

 "All the more credit to me when I have solved the mystery unaided," cried Lachlan lightly. He called the black boy to him, paid his score, pushed back his chair and arose.

"Good-night to you, Almayne," he said.

"Where now?" the hunter asked gruffly.

"The night's young," answered Lachlan. "There's time to make a beginning in this affair of Mam'selle Jolie Stanwicke, whom I still prefer to call the Lady Sanguilla. I think I shall pay a visit to a certain Captain Lance Falcon in his room at Ramage's tavern. Perhaps I can learn from him what I have failed to learn from you."

Almayne's eyes narrowed. "He'll twist your neck," the hunter said briefly.

"It's a tough neck and will endure considerable twisting," Lachlan answered. He turned and moved towards the door.

Almayne spread his hands in a gesture of resignation.

"Sit down, Lachlan McDonald, Gentleman," he said gloomily, "I am in charge of the affair of Mistress Jolie Stanwicke, and Captain Lance Falcon is her enemy and mine. Since you are bound to meddle in what does not concern you, there are certain things that you had better know."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/50


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/51

LMAYNE rapped on the table, ordered more ale and drained the cup to the dregs. He sat silent, glaring at Lachlan, his eyes gleaming under their shaggy brows. The younger man laughed in his face.

"Almayne," he said, "I can read you like a book. This Mam'selle Jolie is beautiful and you would keep me from her because you are afraid that I shall lose my heart. Is it not so, old friend?"

Almayne nodded. "I am thinking of your father," he grumbled, "and what he expects of you."

Lachlan's lips tightened.

"I have told you, Almayne," he said gravely, "that I am going home to Tallasee—to my people. No English girl will make me forget that trust. Now will you tell me of this very lovely lady about whom you seem to know so much?"

"Yes, boy, since you will have it so," the hunter answered slowly, and plunged into his tale.

Mistress Jolie Stanwicke, "he said, had come from England to Charles Town in search of a young gentle man of Hampshire whom she was to marry—one, Gilbert Barradell, who had come to Carolina a year and a half before to seek his fortune in the peltry

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/51


text: Page:The Harvard Classics Vol. 01.djvu/398


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/52

 trade and had disappeared in the interior some months after his arrival. With Jolie had come Richard Barradell, Gilbert's brother, and Richard had engaged Almayne to assist in the search for Gilbert. All this had happened while Lachlan was in Willtown. Now, after three months spent in following false clues, Richard Barradell, convinced that his brother had perished in the wilderness, had decided to return to London immediately, leaving Almayne to continue the search in Jolie's behalf.

So much Lachlan learned quickly. He learned, too, as the old hunter warmed to his theme, that within the past week Almayne had hit upon a clue to which he was inclined to attach some importance—that an Englishman, agreeing in some respects with the description of Gilbert Barradell, had been seen some eleven months before in the country of Concha, chief of the Appalaches, a friend of the Spaniards of St. Augustine and an enemy of the Charles Town English. Almayne had traced the wanderings of this Englishman to within a day's journey of Concha's town, and there he seemed to have vanished.

Two other facts also Lachlan gathered as the hunter talked, and some instinct told him that these were perhaps the most important facts of all: first, that Jolie's father, Edward Stanwicke of Stanwicke Hall, and Captain Lance Falcon, who was constantly at Stanwicke's side and seemed to have much influence over him, had opposed from the beginning the search for Gilbert Barradell, declaring him undoubt-

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/52


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/53

 edly dead; and, second, that Almayne had conceived a deep distrust of Falcon and believed (although he seemed to have nothing definite upon which to base this belief) that Falcon knew more than he was willing to tell.

"You have it all now," Almayne concluded gruffly. "This man who may have been Gilbert Barradell wandered into Chief Concha's country about eleven months ago, and as like as not they killed him. It would be foolish to go there after him unless we can learn something more. And I can learn nothing. There's something back of it, boy, and I believe it's Falcon."

Lachlan nodded slowly. He was thinking of that moment in the Stanwicke garden when Falcon had kissed Jolie's hand and she had tried to draw it away; and he was thinking, too, of the fear that he had seen in Jolie's face and of certain words of hers which he had overheard as he perched on the garden wall.

"Did Mistress Jolie Stanwicke know Captain Falcon?" he asked, "before her arrival in Charles Town?"

"She had never seen him until she came here," Almayne answered quickly.

Lachlan pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Well, after all," he muttered, "that proves nothing. She has been here in Stanwicke's town house for three months now and Falcon has seen much of her in that time. He wants her and wants her badly, and that's motive enough."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/53


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/54

 He frowned as a new thought came to him.

"But Gilbert Barradell disappeared," he said, "before Falcon had met the lady. Falcon had no reason then"

"Aye," Almayne interrupted, "but since then he has met her. If Barradell is alive and Falcon knows where he is, d'ye think he would be likely to tell us? Not for all the gold in Carolina!"

Lachlan shrugged his shoulders.

"You are getting off the path, Almayne," he answered dryly. "You have nothing to show that Falcon knows where Gilbert Barradell is. Probably Barradell is dead. Probably he was dead months before Jolie Stanwicke came to Charles Town—before Falcon ever saw her. As for the Englishman who disappeared in Concha's country, he might have been Barradell or he might have been someone else, but in any case the chances are that Concha's braves have his scalp."

He pushed back his chair.

"I am sleepy, old friend," he said. "My brain is getting weary. When I asked you to tell me about this Jolie, this Lady Sanguilla, I did not foresee such a puzzle as this. We will meet here to-morrow and go further into the matter. Good-bye till then."

If he was sleepy, the cool night air outside in the empty street quickly dispelled his drowsiness. He wanted to think and he could think more clearly alone. He was not as contemptuous as he had seemed

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/54


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/55

 regarding Almayne's suspicions of Falcon—he knew the old hunter too well to dismiss lightly any idea of his.

Yet, studying this one carefully, Lachlan could find no tangible foundation for it in the facts that Almayne had made known to him. Plainly Falcon was in love with Jolie—Lachlan had divined this much in the Stanwicke garden when he had seen Falcon kiss the girl's hand. But he could see no reason for believing that Falcon knew anything about Gilbert Barradell's disappearance or present whereabouts, if he were still alive; and it seemed unlikely, on the whole, that the Englishman who had been seen nearly a year before in Concha's country was Gilbert Barradell. Lachlan's thoughts had strayed to other aspects of the problem—aspects concerned chiefly with Jolie Stanwicke herself—when, on his way to his lodgings, he passed by Ramage's tavern where, earlier in the evening, he had seen Falcon rout the pack-horse drivers.

Falcon lodged there when he slept in town instead of on his brig; and as Lachlan walked slowly along the deserted street, he watched curiously a lighted window of an upper room, thinking possibly to catch a glimpse of a man with whom he had already had a somewhat memorable passage and who might become even better known to him in the future.

The man interested him keenly. None seemed to know certainly who Lance Falcon was or whence he

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/55


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/56

 came. He had appeared in Charles Town not more than four months before, and Lachlan, having spent most of the intervening time in Willtown, had seen him on only a few occasions and knew him chiefly by repute.

This last was of a mixed quality. Falcon had dined at the Governor's Mansion and was in high favour with His Excellency, and he had made many friends in the town. Yet it was well known that his brig, the Good Fortune, was in reality a ship of war, well armed, well manned, with a crew of cutthroats rather more desperate and decidedly better disciplined than the crews of most ordinary privateersmen. Charles Town had known many ships that were not what they seemed and had found it profitable not to inquire too closely, for such ships were often valuable customers. But some who remembered the pirate wars whispered that Charles Town might find one day another Stede Bonnet on her hands and prophesied a time when Captain Falcon and his men would dance on air at Execution Dock where Bonnet and his crew had danced so grimly.

Lachlan had passed by now some yards beyond Ramage's tavern so that he could see over his shoulder not only the east window fronting the street but also another window in the south wall of the house, facing a small courtyard. Suddenly this second window, which also opened upon the corner room occupied by Falcon, fixed his attention. In the bright moonlight, as he glanced over his shoulder, Lachlan

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/56


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/57

 saw a small white object like a little ball shoot upward from the courtyard towards this south window, strike against the wall of the house just below the window sill and drop back into the yard.

Lachlan halted, instantly alert. A high fence separated the courtyard from the street; but his ears were the ears of an Indian hunter, and presently he heard faintly, yet so distinctly that there could be no mistake, the sound of someone moving in the courtyard. He knew then what was coming moments before it happened.

This man, whoever he was, who lurked in the darkness of the inn yard, was searching in the grass that grew there for the little white ball which he had tried to throw into Falcon's window. Presently he would find it; and when he found it, he would throw it a second time.

Some minutes passed. Then upward into the moonlight soared the little white ball again. This time the thrower had evidently stationed himself directly below the window; and this time his aim was better. The white ball soared a little above the window sill, then dropped upon it and rolled inward.

Lachlan, from his watching place in the street, could see what the thrower of that mysterious missile could not see. To the latter, peering straight up at the window above him, it must have appeared that the white ball had dropped from the sill into the room; but Lachlan knew that it had not fallen into the room—that it still rested on the sill some inches

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/57


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/58

 from the edge. He could see, moreover, that it quivered slightly in the light breeze as it rested there; and at once a faint hope stirred in him.

His eyes remained fixed on the window, while his hearing groped for each stealthy sound that came from the courtyard beyond the fence. He heard the man who had thrown the little white ball make his way out of the courtyard through a gate that opened on an alley behind the inn. Each moment he expected to see Falcon appear at the window; but the small square of light remained empty, and presently Lachlan knew that fortune favoured him so far—that if the occupant of the room was in it at the time, he remained unaware of the white ball that had been tossed upward out of the darkness and that now rested precariously on the sill of his open window.

Lachlan realized that he could only play a waiting game. He chose to wait, however, in the now empty courtyard instead of in the street where some belated passer-by might interrupt his vigil. Scaling the fence, he dropped to the ground on the other side, and finding a seat behind a holly bush, he remained in that leafy ambush, hoping that some lucky chance might solve his problem for him.

For a long while thunder had been muttering in the distance, and Lachlan knew that sooner or later a squall would break. In this squall, he judged from the direction of the thunder, the wind would blow from the east; and it was for this that he waited,

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/58


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/59

 faintly hoping yet not venturing to expect that out of this circumstance he might gain his ends.

At last the squall burst—with a sudden glare of white lightning and a thunderclap like a frigate's broadside; and it was from the eastward that the wind came, a mighty gust too violent to last. Lachlan, peering upward from the shadowy courtyard, saw that the curtains of the lighted window above him were blowing outward in the breeze that swept through the other window into the room. From his post in the courtyard he had not been able to see the little white ball on the sill; but he knew that it was there no longer. He had seen it quiver in the light airs before the squall came. Beyond a doubt that first gust blowing through the room from the east had blown it outward from the window sill.

The next task was to find it, and in the blackness that the squall clouds made this was no easy matter. Yet he figured accurately that it would have dropped almost straight downward, and just as the first volley of rain began to fall he lit upon it in the grass. Stealthily, yet swiftly, he made his way out of the black courtyard through the gate opening on the rear alley and hurried homeward through the rain to examine his prize.

It was far better than he had dared hope for. The white ball was a bit of white cloth tightly rolled and bound with a light cord. Within the ball was a closely folded square of paper. Eagerly he spread this

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/59


text: Index:Joshua Tree National Park Visitor Study - Spring 2004.pdf


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/60

 out upon the table in his room and read by the light of his candle the following, in Spanish:

The letter was signed "J. M."—plainly the initials of Don Joachim de Montiano, the Spanish commandant at St. Augustine. Lachlan noticed that the "12" and the words "display two lights" were underscored.

He read the letter twice, whistled softly and smiled, his black eyes shining.

"So," he murmured, "Captain Falcon is on good terms with the Spaniards and will receive a distinguished visitor from St. Augustine to-morrow night."

He pondered briefly, with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

"And he is much interested in someone whom Chief Concha holds as a prisoner? A strange coincidence, that, and one that would interest Almayne."

For a while he sat frowning, putting two and two together, going over in his mind the facts that Almayne had made known to him. Suddenly the frown vanished. For some minutes he studied a plan

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/60


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/61

 that had leaped full-formed into his brain. Then he went swiftly to work.

Carefully, with a knife-point, he erased the 2 in the numeral 12, then with his quill and ink inserted in its place a cipher, so that the 12 became 10. This accomplished to his satisfaction, he refolded the paper, replaced it in the cloth, rolled the latter again into a ball and bound it with the cord. He then blew out his candle and went down once more into the street.

The squall had passed but the moon had not yet emerged from the clouds. A few minutes' walk along unfrequented ways brought him to the alley behind Ramage's tavern. He entered the courtyard through the small gateway and saw at a glance that the light still shone in Falcon's window. If the latter had closed it against the shower, he had subsequently opened it again.

Lachlan smiled, interpreting this as possibly meaning that Falcon expected a message. With greater skill than the first messenger had shown he threw his little cloth ball and saw it pass through the window; and watching from the cover of a cassena bush, had the added satisfaction of seeing Falcon appear at the window for a moment and wave his hand.

Lachlan, invisible in the blackness below, bowed with mock courtesy.

"Good-night, Captain Lance Falcon," he whispered. "Good-night and good luck until we meet at the Sign of the Two Lights at 10 to-morrow evening."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/61


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/62

ACHLAN slept late the next morning. When he had arisen and had breakfasted, he turned his back on the April sunshine which made Charles Town as fair as Eden, climbed once more to his room, and sat down at his table with quill, ink and paper before him.

For some minutes he sat idle, gazing out of the open window where a willow-oak limb swayed slightly in the breeze. Below, a negro gardener chanted a barbaric hymn as he hoed his weeds. Faint and far, from the direction of the harbour, sounded the song of sailors toiling at the halliards of the ship Sea Swallow, whose sails were set for London. These human voices supplied the undertones, but they could scarcely be heard for the music of the birds. The whole bright April air, rich with the scent of innumerable blossoms, was a-ripple with bird music—music of mockingbirds cardinals and wrens, and gorgeous blue and green and crimson nonpareils.

Lachlan heard and yet did not hear, for his thoughts were busy. But when of a sudden a black and russet oriole of that slim, graceful species which was called sanguilla in Carolina, burst into spirited song in the oak just outside the window, he seemed to waken

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/62


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/63

 from his dreams. A quick smile lit his face. Bending his head, he began to write.

Thus far Lachlan had written smoothly, rapidly, without pause. Now he hesitated, puzzled for a moment. Something within him urged him to say more; at the least, the custom of the time called for a flowery concluding phrase. But something more potent impelled him to make an end; and suddenly he grasped his pen again, signed his name "Lachlan McDonald,"

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/63


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/64

 and affixed the date; then, when the ink had dried, folded the paper, addressed and sealed it.

He sat, then, for a while considering what he had done.

Why had he written this letter? And why, he asked himself, was he about to venture his life for this girl whose loveliness was not for him because it was already pledged to another?

He was fully cognizant of the risk he would run. He was not unacquainted with danger. At Tallasee in the country of the Muskogees his training in wilderness warfare had begun early. Nor had his student life in Charles Town been wholly studious. There had been occasions when his skill with a gentleman's weapons had stood him in good stead—a tavern brawl or two; a bloodless but thoroughly business-like affair of honour with an officer from one of His Majesty's sloops of war; a meeting, by no means bloodless, with a bullying soldier of fortune from New York, which had ended only when he had run his man through the shoulder.

He was aware, without conceit, of his own coolness, his quickness of wit. But in the game of wits that he planned to play that night the odds would be heavily against him. If his deception were discovered, what chance would he have alone on Falcon's brig, with that crew of cutthroats? He believed himself—thanks to Mr. O'Sullivan, his Irish teacher—to be one of the best swordsmen in the New World. But one rapier could not withstand forty cutlasses.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/64


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/65

 Yet he was going. He was going, in the guise of Don Ruy Ortiz, to meet Falcon on his ship and learn from him, if he could, whether that prisoner of Chief Concha, mentioned in Montiano's letter, was Gilbert Barradell, Jolie Stanwicke's lover.

He believed that the letter afforded a definite lead towards solution of the Barradell mystery. Putting together all the facts that Almayne had made known to him and linking with these the hunter's conviction that Falcon had knowledge of Gilbert Barradell, it seemed possible—more than possible—that Montiano's letter supplied a clue. There was only one way to explore this clue, and he, Lachlan, alone was capable of the task.

So much was clear. Yet the question that he asked himself remained unanswered: the question why he, who had nothing to gain, was willing to risk so much to promote this girl's happiness.

Curiously, his thoughts turned to Almayne, to the unwillingness that the hunter had shown at the outset to tell him anything about Jolie Stanwicke or her affairs. He understood Almayne's attitude perfectly, for he had noted the same thing before this. Almayne, the elder McDonald's bosom friend, was obsessed by the fear that Lachlan would fall in love with some English girl, and the hunter saw this possibility as a threat to his old friend's hope that Lachlan would succeed him as head of the great Indian Confederacy which composed the Muskogee Empire and over which he ruled as High Chief or King.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/65


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/66

 Lachlan smiled. Almayne was one in a thousand, the best wilderness hunter in the Province, and, unlike most wilderness hunters, a man of good birth and education; but concerning women and all that had to do with women his ignorance was profound. He distrusted them all—except Sehoy McDonald, Lachlan's mother—and the greater their charm, the greater his distrust.

Lachlan's smile became a trifle rueful. Even the fact that Jolie Stanwicke was pledged to another had failed to render her harmless in Almayne's eyes. Because she was more beautiful than most, Lachlan reflected, Almayne saw her as a particularly deadly menace to his old friend's son.

Was she so beautiful—this Lady Sanguilla, as he had named her? In the dim garden, where he had seen her for the first and only time, Lachlan had not been able to distinguish her features clearly. Her hair, he had thought, was red or bronze-gold; he had been thrilled by the richness of her voice; she had moved with indescribable grace, and she was slender and of more than middle height, and there had been something about the way in which she carried her head. But as for beauty—well, Almayne, who had described her grudgingly as a miracle of loveliness, might not be a trustworthy judge. Yet, even in that dim garden

He mused for a long while at his writing table, curiously considering these and other matters. At last he arose, slipped under his belt the sealed letter ad-

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/66


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/67

 dressed to "Mistress Jolie Stanwicke," and went out to find Almayne.

He spent some hours with the hunter, for there was much to be argued and discussed, and there were certain things to be done in preparation for his enterprise. He talked also with two tall young Indians, Muskogee warriors from Tallasee, who had arrived in Charles Town two days before to accompany him on the long and dangerous wilderness journey to the Muskogee capital. In the late afternoon, after dining sparingly at Marshall's inn, he returned to his room, and for a while was very busy there.

It was at ten o'clock that he was to meet Falcon on the latter's brig. Having concluded all his preparations, Lachlan wrote a short letter to his mother, to be delivered to her in case anything happened to him. Three quarters of an hour before ten o'clock, he went very softly down the stairs and into the street.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/67


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/68

HE moon and Lachlan McDonald were good friends. He had upon various occasions celebrated her pale beauty in highly decorated verse to which Mr. Francis O'Sullivan, perhaps a partial critic, had given unstinted praise. Yet he was glad to note that on this night she hid her face.

Had she peeped out from behind the gray clouds drifting slowly from the east she might not have recognized at once the young fashioner of rhymes to whom she owed those lyrics. Never before had she seen Lachlan McDonald as he was now—a swaggering young soldier of fortune. A red feather nodded in his broad-brimmed hat; a scarlet sash was wound about his buff jacket; a serviceable rapier swung at his side. Withal, there was something foreign about his gear or about the way in which he wore it—something that smacked not at all of Charles Town or the English folk who dwelt there.

That foreign touch was the result of more than a little thought on Lachlan's part, assisted by certain suggestions from Almayne, who knew something of Spanish styles and tricks of dress as manifested in St. Augustine. What manner of man was Don Ruy Ortiz of Barcelona Lachlan did not know. But since

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/68


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/69

 Montiano had stated in his letter that Don Ruy had only recently arrived from Spain, it was fairly certain that Lance Falcon had never seen him; and all that was needed, therefore, was to simulate a type—the type of young Spanish gallant seeking profit and adventure in Spain's great New World. Swarthy as the swarthiest Spaniard, lean, lithe and straight as a sapling pine, Lachlan McDonald on this night might well have been Don Ruy Ortiz to any man to whom the latter was unknown.

There was one disagreeable possibility that might spoil everything at the start—the possibility that Falcon might recognize this false Ortiz as the man with whom he had wrestled in the Stanwicke garden. Determinedly Lachlan put this thought from him; and logic seemed, in a measure at least, to be on his side. He had leaped upon Falcon from behind. The latter had not see his assailant's face until after some minutes of desperate struggle, and by then that face was grimed and bloody. He had seen it, moreover, only in the half-light of dusk. He would hardly recognize it, Lachlan told himself, when he saw it again.

There was no time to lose. At 12 o'clock the real Ruy Ortiz would board Captain Falcon's brig at her anchorage in midstream off the old Cypress wharf; and before that hour arrived the false Ortiz must have concluded his business and bidden his host good-bye. Two hours, supposing that all went well, should allow ample margin; but all might not go well.

Lachlan walked swiftly, therefore, by the most

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/69


text: Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/23

title: Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/23


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/70

 direct course, towards the place for which he was heading, passing presently beyond the old city wall and out upon the meadows and commons to the west of it where as yet only a few houses had been built. A creek made in here; and at a small-boat landing on the shore of this creek a tall figure loomed suddenly in the darkness and held out a hand in greeting.

It was Almayne—no longer clad in hunter's garb, however, but looking a nondescript seaman in soiled, open-necked shirt and loose trousers, a blue handkerchief about his head, a cutlass strapped to his belt. A few words passed between them; then they dropped from the end of the landing into a long cypress pirogue that waited there. Amidship sat two figures almost indistinguishable in the gloom, the two Muskogee warriors of Tallasee. To these Lachlan whispered a grave greeting in their own tongue.

"Striking Hawk—Little Mink, my brothers," he said, "you have come, as you promised. It is well."

He stood before them a moment, looking from one to the other.

"My brothers," he continued, "we are Muskogee warriors of the Family of the Wind, but this night we must seem to be what we are not. I, Lachlan, am become a Spaniard of St. Augustine, and you, my brothers, are Appalache warriors, the Spaniards' friends. And we came here in a Spanish sloop that lies in the River of Stono, beyond the Wappoo marshes, so that she may not be seen from the town."

The two Indians nodded gravely. Lachlan passed

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/70


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/71

 on and took his seat in the stern. Almayne loosed the rope which held the pirogue to the landing, pushed the boat clear, and seated himself on the forward thwart. In a moment the long paddles wielded by the two Indians were driving the canoe swiftly and noiselessly down the winding creek towards the river.

Across the broad Ashley opened the mouth of Wappoo Creek, connecting the Ashley and the Stono. So that they might seem to have come from the direc tion of Wappoo they headed well out into the river. Then they swung to the left and dropped straight down the Ashley toward two lights, one just above the other, that glimmered faintly far out in the stream.

Suddenly the brig loomed black before them, not ten yards distant. Lachlan had expected a hail, but it appeared that in the darkness their approach had not been observed. In a whisper Almayne suggested that they hail the brig; but Lachlan shook his head. Silently they ran under the vessel's stern, then eased the pirogue along to the ship's waist where her rail was nearest the water-line.

No sound came from her. Lachlan rose, placed his foot in Little Mink's cupped hands, reached upward and grasped the bulwark. Next moment he stood on the brig's deck.

He stood silent, watchful, his back to the bulwark, his hand on his sword-hilt, his eyes searching the gloom. He saw nothing, heard nothing. The dim deck lay empty before him; ahead and to his right he could barely discern the foremast towering upward like a

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/71


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/72

 pine. If there were any living thing on Lance Falcon's ship, it kept itself hidden and it made no sound. Yet somehow Lachlan knew suddenly, with a queer tingling of his spine, that unseen eyes were fixed upon him.

The knowledge startled yet steadied him. His left hand left his sword-hilt and, sweeping off his hat, he bowed low.

"By our Lady, Captain Falcon," he said in Spanish, "yours is a merry ship! For a moment I thought I had stepped into a tomb."

There followed several seconds of silence. Then a tall form detached itself from the shadows, and a deep voice spoke out of the darkness.

"Welcome, Don Ruy Ortiz," it said. "I have been waiting for you. It is generally the custom of my visitors to ask my permission before they tread my deck."

Lachlan laughed easily.

"A thousand pardons," he replied, "if I have transgressed a rule of the sea. I know little of such matters."

His tone changed suddenly, became stern and hard as steel.

"As for your permission, Captain Falcon, I came not here to seek favours. If you like not the manner of my coming, there are those who, perhaps, can alter your tastes."

It was a bold stroke. For a tense moment Lachlan awaited its effect, his hand once more on his sword

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/72


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/73

 hilt, his face close to that of the tall man who confronted him. He could hear the latter's quick, hard breathing, could almost see his lips frame an oath. But it was a short-lived crisis. Almost instantly the oath became a laugh.

"My faith, Señor, I had not meant to ruffle your feelings!" exclaimed Falcon, "but only to give you friendly counsel. He who boards a ship unannounced in the night may find his head split by a cutlass before he can speak his name."

Lachlan bowed gravely.

"I shall treasure your advice, Captain Falcon," he replied. "And now to business. The sooner it is despatched the better. My paddlers will await me in their canoe."

Hehad hoped that that business might be conducted in the darkness of the brig's deck; but Falcon led the way aft, and Lachlan followed perforce. Falcon entered the cabin ahead of him, lit lamps, poured red wine from a handsome silver vessel, and motioning him to a chair beside the table, seated himself opposite.

"I have sent my men ashore, Sefor," he said, "except three or four who are asleep below deck. My crew will return in an hour, and till then we shall not be disturbed. . . . By my faith, Don Ruy Ortiz, I think I have somewhere seen you before."

Lachlan looked his host coolly in the eye.

"It is not likely, Captain Falcon," he replied, "unless you have travelled in Catalonia or Valencia or

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/73


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/74

 have visited the Sicilian coast where I served in Gonsalvo's command. I came only last month to St. Augustine, and I have yet to pay my respects to the English in Charles Town."

For a long moment he endured the ordeal calmly, while Falcon stared at him frowning; then the latter smiled and made a gesture with his hands as though to dismiss the matter.

Tis some trick of the memory," he said lightly, "some whimsy of the mind. And now, sir, to our affair. You have certain tidings to give me, I believe."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/74


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/75

ACHLAN played with his glass, lowering his eyes lest his elation might be visible. So far, mat ters had progressed better than he had dared hope. He had expected to invade a nest of enemies, and, instead, the ship was almost empty. He had feared that Falcon might recognize him at once, and now that danger was past. There remained a contest of wits in which he would have need of all his shrewdness; but he began that contest with a light heart. It was with easy confidence that he improvised his answer to the other's question.

"I hope, Captain Falcon," he said, "that my news is more valuable to you than it appears. It is brief enough. My colonel, Don Joachim de Montiano, bade me tell you that Chief Concha, the Appalache, still holds his prisoner and that the latter's health is good."

Lance Falcon nodded slowly, twisting the end of his stiff moustache.

"And what of the affair of Chief Concha's daughter?" he asked eagerly.

Lachlan reached beneath his sash for a kerchief, pretending to rub a spot on his sleeve. He was in deep water at the very start.

He knew nothing save what he had learned or sur-

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/75


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/76

 mised from the letter that had been tossed into Falcon's window at Ramage's tavern. There had been no mention of Concha's daughter in that letter, and though in the brief half-second while he fumbled with his kerchief, he searched his brain for a clue, he could not conceive what Falcon meant by this query. There was nothing for it but to strike out boldly.

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug and spread his hands in a gesture which might have meant anything.

"As to that, Captain Falcon," he said, "I am given to understand that it progresses very slowly."

It was a blind stroke delivered with a silent prayer that it might not be a blunder. Its effect was startlingly dramatic.

In an instant Falcon's face was convulsed with rage. His thick brows drew together in a black scowl and his closed hand struck the table with a crash. Lachlan's muscles tightened and he pushed his chair back a little that he might more quickly leap to his feet if the need arose; but in a moment the man opposite him seemed in a measure to regain his self control.

"I knew it," Falcon growled. "I knew that nothing would come of it. I was a fool to listen to Montiano. Henceforth I do what my own judgment tells me."

Again Lachlan plunged blindly.

"You are too hasty, Captain Falcon," he remarked quietly. "I did not say that the affair was at a standstill. I said that it progressed slowly. Is not that something gained?"

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/76


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/77

 The question seemed in some measure to renew Falcon's anger.

"Upon my life, Señor Ruy Ortiz," he cried irritably, "I do not know, and I am not likely to know so long as I trust to your commandant, Montiano, in this matter. Why he should be so tender towards this Gilbert Barradell I cannot guess. But this I will tell you—that I am done with dallying and paltering. The matter is my private affair. It is no part of my bargain with Montiano that I should follow his wishes in this business. I shall defer to him no longer. Within the week I shall set sail for the southward, and when I reach Concha's town I shall deal with Barradell as I think best."

At the first mention of Barradell, Lachlan's heart had given a mighty leap. It was true, then. Chief Concha's prisoner was indeed Jolie Stanwicke's lost lover! What had been hitherto mere conjecture was now a certainty; and even if nothing else were learned from Falcon, priceless information had been gained. That there was much more to be learned was obvious; but it was obvious, too, that an effort to learn more would be desperately dangerous and might undo all that had been won.

All this Lachlan realized in a flash; yet, yielding to impulse, he ventured greatly.

"So be it, Captain," he answered suavely. "It is not for me to dissuade you."

He lifted his wine to his lips.

"To your success!" he murmured, and drained the

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/77


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/78

 glass. Idly he played with it for a moment. Then, with a quizzical smile, he said softly:

"There is a proverb in my country which affirms that when you have dealt with My Lady's lover, you have still to deal with My Lady. Will that be easy, Captain?"

He did not know what storm this rash impertinence might provoke. He had scarcely spoken the words before he regretted them. Yet, to his amazement, Falcon smiled. Perhaps in some subtle way the query appealed to his vanity and thus pleased him.

"I perceive," he said, "that Don Joachim de Montiano has told his lieutenant much but not all. There will be no trouble about the lady, Señor."

He paused, as though reflecting, and Lachlan saw his gray eyes harden while the blood mounted slowly to his cheeks. He held out his left hand palm upward and tapped the palm with the forefinger of the other hand.

"I hold her father there," he said slowly. "I can crush him when I choose."

He broke off suddenly. The hard light faded from his eyes, the tight lips relaxed in a smile. He reached for the wine and refilled his glass.

"But enough of this matter, Señor," he said. "I see that you have nothing more to tell me regarding it, and that Montiano's object in sending you here was to prevent me from acting upon it in my own way. In that object he has failed. As I told you, I shall sail southward within the week."

He raised his finger as Lachlan started to speak.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/78


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/79

 "Spare me your remonstrances, Señor," he exclaimed. "My mind is made up and I shall come. If Don Joachim values my services to him here, he will not seek to thwart me."

"Your services have indeed been valuable, Captain Falcon," Lachlan murmured. "I make no doubt they will be suitably rewarded."

"As to that," replied Falcon briskly, "I ask but little—though I might ask much, not only for what I have done for the King of Spain in Charles Town, but also for what I have refrained from doing to him upon the seas. I carry letters of marque, as you doubtless know. But since my bargain with Montiano I have touched no Spanish ship; and some that I might have taken were well worth the taking."

Lachlan smiled. Here was a new lead, worth following.

"And your work in Charles Town?" he asked not too eagerly. "You were mistaken in your surmise as to my commandant's object in sending me on this voyage. His real object was to learn from you how our interests prosper here."

"The time is not yet ripe," Falcon answered. "It is not ripe, but it is ripening. The defences of Charles Town are weak and they are not being strengthened. The Cherokees grow more and more angry. They will rise when Spain gives the word. The aid you have promised them at Fort Prince George" He paused and seemed to ponder for a moment.

"But let that wait, Sefor Ruy," he said at last. "I

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/79


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/80

 shall visit your commandant within the fortnight and shall tell him many things. He can wait until then for the information that he desires."

"As you will, Captain Falcon," said Lachlan easily. "So short a delay can be of little moment—though, if you have nothing to tell me, I might have been spared this journey."

He pushed back his chair and arose.

"I think, then," he continued, "that I shall bring my visit to an end. My sloop lies in the River of Stono, and it took my paddlers an hour of steady work to bring me here. With the tide ebbing, 'twill take them longer to return."

"Aye," said Falcon, "and 'twill be well if you get to sea before daylight. Your Spanish sloops, no matter how disguised, still look like Spaniards."

He rose, put on his hat and took a step forward, as though to pass around the table to the door; but midway he halted suddenly. A murmur of voices came from the deck without. Lachlan heard them also, heard them with a sudden thrill which set his heart beating faster.

"My men from below deck," growled Falcon irritably. "They are faithful scoundrels, but I prefer that they shall not see you."

He stood, his head cocked on one side, listening. Next moment a hail rang out from the deck and was answered from the river.

"Strange," muttered Falcon. "The time has passed more quickly than I thought."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/80


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/81

 He turned to Lachlan.

"We will wait here a little, Señor Ruy," he said. "Apparently my crew are returning from the town, and when they have come aboard, perhaps I can get you off unobserved into your canoe."

Lachlan nodded slightly and for some moments they waited in silence. His keen ears told him when the approaching boat ran alongside the brig, but he listened in vain for the loud jests and laughter that he thought would mark the return of Falcon's crew. At last came the sound of footsteps, the footsteps of three or four men. They came straight to the cabin door and halted just outside; then, after a moment, a loud knock sounded on the panel.

Falcon, frowning, muttered an oath.

"Come," he growled.

The door swung open. Without stood three of Falcon's crew, evidently the men who had been sleeping below deck; while in front of them, framed in the doorway, stood a short squat Spaniard, bearded and swarthy, one hand raised to his plumed hat, the other resting lightly on his rapier hilt.

He lifted his hat and bowed to Falcon. He did not see Lachlan because the latter was hidden from him by the door, which opened inward.

"I am an hour before the appointed time, Captain Falcon," he said smoothly, "but my paddlers made a swift journey from the River Stono. I am Don Ruy Ortiz of St. Augustine."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/81


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/82

OR a long moment silence reigned. Falcon stood beside the table, swaying slightly, as though he had been dealt a blow. Lachlan leaned against the wall, aware only of the pounding of blood in his temples and a sudden weakness in his limbs. Yet, perhaps because his need was greatest, he was the first to recover his faculties.

He leaped toward the table and seized the empty wine pitcher which stood there. In the same instant he poised it and hurled it straight at Falcon's head. It was a deadly missile at that close range. But for his thick felt hat, Captain Lance Falcon might have closed his eyes at that moment for the last time. As it was, he dropped like a felled ox.

Lachlan had not waited to see the effect of that first swift blow. Lithe as a panther, he wheeled, whipped out his rapier and, with its point aimed at the Spaniard's throat, sprang towards the door.

He dealt, however, with a cool man and a quick one. The Spaniard sprang backward in a long leap, landing lightly as a cat; and he had scarcely landed before his sword was out. The moon had broken through the clouds and the deck was bathed in light. For the moment Lachlan faced only one enemy, since the three men of Falcon's company were as yet weap-

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/82


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/83

 onless. They stood gaping, bewildered at the sudden apparition of an armed man leaping from the doorway of Falcon's cabin; and Lachlan, turning his back on them, drove for the Spaniard with a shout.

With a clash the swords crossed. The Spaniard gave ground, fighting carefully, devoting himself wholly to defence. He, too, was bewildered—not only bewildered but alarmed; and in an instant Lachlan read the man's mind, understood that he believed himself in a trap.

It was no time for hair-splitting niceties. Lachlan knew that he must win his way quickly to the brig's stern, where he had told Almayne to hold the canoe in readiness, for in a few minutes at most Falcon's seamen would join the fight. Between thrusts, he taunted the Spaniard in his own tongue: "Spanish spy," he said, "we have you now and you'll hang for it." Then in a louder voice, as though addressing men behind the Spaniard, "Close in, lads! Take him alive." And all the while he drove fiercely forward, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, forcing his opponent backward step by step towards the brig's stern.

Yet Don Ruy Ortiz fought well. Convinced that he had stepped into an ambush and that he was assailed by many enemies, he did the one thing that he could do, dealt with the only enemy that he saw. He fought awary battle, giving ground freely, taking no chances. At Lachlan's shout, "Close in, lads!" he leaped sideways, placing his back against the cabin, so that he might not be taken in the rear by new foes; but when

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/83


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/84

 no new foes appeared, a light seemed to break upon his understanding.

He smiled—a slow, crafty smile. He was an old soldier and he saw through Lachlan's stratagem; perhaps he himself at one time or another had employed the same trick. Plainly this swordsman who had leaped from the cabin doorway was alone; plainly, too, he was not happy just now, otherwise he would not pretend to have allies when he had none. The Spaniard's quick mind darted here and there, nimble as his nimble sword. He could not know all that had happened; but he knew now that it was not he who was in a trap.

He shifted suddenly from defence to offence. For six paces he gained ground before a prick in the shoulder halted him. After a minute of quick hot work, he realized that his skill was overmatched, and again he fell back slowly, on the defensive once more.

Suddenly Lachlan sprang backward, jumped across a hatchway, darted around the cabin and raced towards the brig's stern. From the direction of the forecastle the three men of Falcon's crew were coming armed with cutlasses, and behind them ran three other men who had clambered up to the brig's deck from the Spaniard's canoe.

In Lachlan's canoe, also, under the brig's stern, the sound of the swords had been heard. Almayne and the two Muskogees had gained the deck, and now they came running to meet Lachlan. He waved them back and the four dashed aft together.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/84


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/85

 "Into the canoe," Lachlan panted. "I'll hold them. . . . Quick, man!" he shouted. But the hunter shook his head.

There was no time for talk. The Spaniard and the three cutlass men were at hand. Yet before they closed Almayne spoke a guttural word, and the two Indians dropy ed over the stern.

Out of the corner of his eye Lachlan saw that Almayne carried not the cutlass with which he had equipped himself, but one of the long paddles of the canoe. Next moment, as the Spaniard and one of Falcon's seamen rushed, the tall hunter smote with this weapon as though it were a flail.

Don Ruy Ortiz, catching the blow squarely on his shoulder, was hurled sideways and fell sprawling. He fell, as luck would have it, directly in front of the foremost of Falcon's seamen, and the latter, stumbling over him, reeled sideways, staggering drunkenly as he tried to regain his balance.

Almayne gripped Lachlan's arm, nearly dragging him off his feet.

"Now, lad," he shouted. "Overboard!"

Next moment he stood on the brig's bulwark, Lachlan beside him; and in another instant both plunged into the river.

Almayne sat hunched in the canoe's bow, as angry as the proverbial wet hen. In truth, no hen was ever wetter. He had plunged, it seemed to him, almost to the bottom of the river, and, being but an indifferent

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/85


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/86

 swimmer, he had not enjoyed the experience. His head had hardly bobbed above the surface when one of the Indians laid hold of him, and a moment later he was safe in the canoe, into which the other Muskogee had already hauled Lachlan.

There had ensued a few minutes of some anxiety, during which the Spaniard and one of Falcon's men had peppered the water round about with musket balls. The shots had done no damage, however, and by now the two Indians had driven the canoe out of range.

The danger was over. In the stern Lachlan McDonald, as wet as Almayne, laughed softly to himself and whistled the first bars of a song. But the tall hunter saw nothing to whistle about and grumbled his discontent in a monologue curiously punctuated with English, French, and Spanish oaths. Lachlan he ignored, addressing his remarks to Little Mink, who sat nearest him.

"A fool's errand," he growled, "a crazy, crackbrained, chuckle-headed venture! Damn near stabbed and damn near drowned, and damn near shot, and 'twould have served us right. And nothing gained except a belly full of salt water. Listen, Little Mink, my brother. From this time forward, Almayne follows his own judgment and not that of any mad boy whose tongue bewitches his wits. I give you that pledge, Little Mink, and if I break it, my best knife's yours."

Lachlan grinned.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/86


text: Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/24

title: Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/24


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/87

 "Mark the pledge well, Little Mink, my brother," he said; "Mark the pledge well. And choose the silver-hafted knife that he won from the Frenchman at Fort Prince George."

Again he fell to whistling, and for some minutes, for the joy of it, he let Almayne grumble and snort. Then, having had enough of foolery, he said in a tone of mock reproach:

"Old friend, if you had taken the trouble to inquire what happened in Lance Falcon's cabin, perhaps you would see some sunshine in this sad world."

Almayne grunted and was silent for a moment. Then: "What happened?" he asked grudgingly.

"Two things," Lachlan answered. "Captain Falcon got a knock on the head that put him into a sound sleep from which I think he has not yet awakened. But before he was put to sleep he told me something."

There was that in his tone which aroused Almayne's suspicions.

"What did he tell you?" the hunter asked with an eagerness which he could not conceal.

"That Gilbert Barradell is alive," Lachlan answered, "and that he is a prisoner in Chief Concha's town."

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/87


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/88

HE next morning—a Sunday—dawned clear and warm. Lachlan had crawled into bed not more than two hours before sunrise; yet before the sun was an hour high he opened his eyes and was instantly wide awake. For a while he lay thinking—thinking chiefly of two things. He had learned that Gilbert Barradell was alive, had learned where he was. That much of the problem was solved. But that was only the beginning. There remained the task of bringing him back to Charles Town where Jolie Stanwicke awaited him.

Yet it was not with that task that Lachlan's thoughts chiefly concerned themselves. His interview with Lance Falcon had disposed of one mystery, but it had revealed two other mysteries. What was the power that Falcon possessed over Edward Stanwicke of Stanwicke Hall, Jolie's father? And what was that mysterious "affair of Chief Concha's daughter," concerning which Falcon had so eagerly sought news?

For many minutes Lachlan studied these two problems to little purpose. Then he rose, dressed quickly and walked to the inn where he usually breakfasted. A half-hour later he knocked on Almayne's door, at the house where the hunter lodged.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/88


text:
Page:Moni the goat boy (IA monigoatboy00spyr 1).pdf/50

 greatest surprise. “Is it a cross with sparkling stones?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“What have you done with it, Moni? Give it to me. Did you find it?”

“No, Jörgli from Küblis found it.”

Then Paula wanted to know who he was and where he lived, and to send some one to Küblis at once to get the cross.

“I will go as fast as I can, and if he still has it I will bring it to you,” said Moni.

“If he still has it?” said Paula. “Why shouldn’t he still have it? And how do you know all about it, Moni? When did he find it, and how did you hear about it?”

Moni looked on the ground. He didn’t dare say how it had all come about, and how he had helped to conceal the discovery until he could no longer bear it.

But Paula was very kind to Moni. She took him aside, sat down on the trunk of a tree beside him, and said with the greatest friendliness:

“Come, tell me all about how it happened, Moni, for I want so much to know everything from you.”

Then Moni gained confidence and began to relate the whole story, and told her every word of his struggle about Mäggerli and how he had lost all happiness and dared no longer look up to the dear


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/89

 A gruff voice bade him "Come" and, finding the door unbolted, he entered.

"Plague on you!" growled the hunter from under his sheet. "I had thought to sleep till noon to make up for last night's frolic and you wake me at cockcrow. What want you?"

"My letter," said Lachlan briskly. "The letter that you were to deliver to Mistress Jolie Stanwicke in case I came to harm on Falcon's ship."

Almayne jerked his head towards a rough closet built into a corner of the room. Lachlan crossed the floor, found the letter and thrust it beneath his coat.

"That's finished," he said. "Fortunately I'll not need your services as letter-carrier. I can make my report to the lady in person."

Almayne chewed the end of his white moustache.

"You mean?" he asked, "that you will call on Mistress Jolie Stanwicke?"

Lachlan nodded. Almayne, sitting up in bed, seemed to consider.

"That's fair enough," he said presently. "It was you that discovered Barradell's whereabouts. It's only right that you should give her the news. Wait till I've eaten and I'll take you to her."

"Thanks," replied Lachlan dryly, "but I'll not trouble you. Much as I enjoy your company, I prefer to see the lady alone."

He moved towards the door, but paused on the threshold.

"Almayne," he said thoughtfully, "I shall return

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/89


text:
Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/90

 here later and we can plan what's to be done next. We must move swiftly."

For some minutes after the door had closed Almayne sat motionless in the bed, frowning and chewing his moustache. Slowly the frown faded.

"By Zooks!" he muttered, swinging his long legs out of the bed, "the young cock partridge is in fine feather now! He's taken command, and Almayne's a private in the ranks."

Lachlan McDonald had not the honour to be included among the friends of Edward Stanwicke of Stanwicke Hall. Hitherto he had not counted this a misfortune. Old Stanwicke—Lord Stanwicke, as he was often called—was a power in the Prevince, a great landholder, the bearer of a title in that strange system of Colonial nobility established by the Lords Proprietors of Carolina and not yet wholly obsolete. Yet, because of his evil temper and his avarice, which were notorious in the Colony, few sought his favour or his company. Lachlan was not of those few, and now for the first time he half regretted it.

He wished to see Jolie Stanwicke, to talk with her at some length, to tell her of what he had learned and of what he now planned to do in the matter of Gilbert Barradell. Because he wished to see her alone, he had declined Almayne's offer to accompany him to Stanwicke's town house. He was turning over in his mind the problem of how to gain entrance there when something plucked lightly at his sleeve.

title: Page:War Drums (1928).pdf/90