Annette - The Metis Spy

She pulled her rein, but her eye flashed and she grasped the butt of

her pistol.

"Who dares call upon me to stop? Have I not the right of way on

these prairies?"

"I call you to stop," replied the horseman, riding up close to the

girl, and pushing back his hat. "I do. Look and see if you know me?"

Full well she knew who the interceptor was. The first sound of his voice

had gone with a shiver to her heart. "Ah, you know the Metis chief?"

"But I wish to pass on, monsieur. Even you, le grand Chef, have no

right to stop me without cause; and I now ask you again to let me

pass."

"I will not because I have reason."

"What is it, monsieur?"

"You are a spy. You are an enemy to the cause."

"Even to you, monsieur, I say it is a lie. I will pass;" and she

struck her heels into her horse's flank. The animal bounded forward,

but the rebel chief seized the bridle, as he cried: "You are an enemy to the cause; and you go now to the enemy. I know

you, mademoiselle Annette." And a terrible light blazed in his eyes,

as he looked the disguised maiden in the face.

"Ay, monsieur! you are quick at penetrating disguises. I am

Mademoiselle Annette; and I go to the enemy. Nor can monsieur hinder

me." As she spoke these words she suddenly drew a pistol, and cocking

it placed the cold, glittering barrel within a foot of the leader's

face.

"Unhand my bridle or by our Holy Lady I fire." The coward hand

quivered, the fingers relaxed, and the bridle was free.

"Now I advise monsieur to meddle with me no more this night. I will

not suffer any bar to my project; I have sworn it." So saying her

horse sprang forward, and she disappeared down the slope, leaving the

baulked chief sitting upon his horse still as a stone. Away, away out

over the soft grassy plain she sped, swiftly and as lightly as a bird

might fly. Three minutes brought her in sight of Hickory Bush, a

grove of trees straggling up from the flat in the moonlight, and

resembling a congregation of witches with draggled hair, suffering

torture. Beyond the trees shone a cluster of white camps; and the

girl's heart gave a great bound as she saw by the order prevailing

there, that the inmates had been so far unmolested. She sprang into

the midst of the camps and shouted, "Awaken! Arise! Quick! The Crees are bound hither to make you

captives. Allons! Allons!"

A tall supple figure sprang from one of the tents. How readily she

recognised his manly step, his proud head, his bright eye, his

musical voice.