Annette - The Metis Spy

"Now is our time to strike," said the Indian with the fiendish face,

and the wolf-like eyes.

Therefore, the 2nd day of April was fixed for the holding of a

conference between the Indians and the white settlers. The malignant

chief had settled the plan.

"When the white faces come to our lodge, they will expect no harm.

Ugh! Then the red man will have his vengeance." So every Indian was

instructed to have his rifle at hand in the lodge. The white folk

wondered why the Indians had arranged for a conference.

"We can do nothing to help their case," they said. "It will only

waste time to go." Many of them, therefore, remained at home,

occupying themselves with their various duties, while the rest,

merely for the sake of agreeableness, and of showing the Indians that

they were interested in their affairs, proceeded to the place

appointed for the pow-wow.

"We hope to smoke our pipes before our white brothers go away from

us," was what the treacherous chief, with wolfish eyes, had said, in

order to put the settlers off their guard.

The morning of the fateful day opened gloomily, as if it could not

look cheerily down upon the bloody events planned in this distant

wilderness. Low, indigo clouds pressed down upon the hills, but there

was not a stir in all the air. No living thing was seen stirring,

save troops of blue-jays which went scolding from tree to tree before

the settlers as they proceeded to the conference. Here and there,

also, was a half-famished, yellow, or black and yellow dog, with

small head and long scraggy hair, skulking about the fields and among

the wigwams of the Indians in search for food.

The lodge where the parley was to be held stood in a hollow. Behind

was a tall hill, crowned with timber; round about it grew poplar,

white oak, and firs; while in front rolled by a swift dark stream.

Unsuspecting harm, two priests of the settlement, Oblat Fathers,

named Fafard and Marchand, were the first at the spot.

"What a gloomy day," Pere Fafard said, "and this lodge set here in

this desolate spot seems to make it more gloomy still. What, I

wonder, is the nature of the business?" Then they knocked, and the

chief was heard to say, "Entrez." Opening the door, the two good priests walked in, and

turned to look for seats. Ah! What was the sight presented! Eyes like

those of wild beasts, aflame with hate and ferocity, gleamed from the

gloom of the back portion of the room. The priests were amazed. They

knew not what all this meant. Then a wild shriek was given, and the

chief cried, "Enemies to the red man, you have come to your doom." Then raising

his rifle, he fired at Father Marchand. The levelling of his rifle

was the general signal. A dozen other muzzles were pointed, and in

briefer space than it takes to relate the two priests lay weltering

in their blood, pierced each by half a dozen bullets.