Annette - The Metis Spy

"Is Julie very tired?"

"Pas beaucoup, mademoiselle. If you want not to pitch tent now, I

should be well able to ride for a couple of hours yet."

"I want to hear what tidings there may be of Captain Stephens,

Julie," and her voice trembled a little. "I do not think that the

braves who go in and out of the village can all be hostile. Those who

are up to mischief have their paint on."

Turning their horses towards the village, they perceived two braves

riding towards them.

"I think I know one of these, Julie. Is not the taller one he who

brought us the proclamation of le grand chef?"

"Oh, yes; the very one. How quick ma maitresse is in remembering

persons." The Indian rode rapidly towards the two little scouts, and

as he drew near he raised his hand.

"It is not safe down here," he said, in Cree, "for the scouts. A

runner from the Stonies saw you both, and Little Poplar with you,

this morning, and swiftly carried the news. It is likely that le

grand chef knows of it before this. Little Poplar, who is now

disguised as a medicine man, is yonder in the valley, and he charged

me to come and warn the two scouts, his friends, to follow out the

instructions that he gave them without any delay. He has got some

tidings, too, about Stephens, le capitaine. Not good tidings, I

think; a brave saw several of le chef's men steal after him down the

Valley of the Snakes."

A short cry escaped from Annette's lips, and the blood shrunk

chilled to her heart.

"Are there any tidings of a capture?"

"No; perhaps le capitaine escaped. Upon clear ground the white men's

horses could easily outdistance the braves, who, it is said, were not

mounted."

Unsatisfactory as this intelligence was, it left room to hope. But

the beauty of the silvery lake, with its fringe of berried bushes;

the scolding of the kingfisher as he gadded from one riven tree to

another; the goblin laughter [Footnote: I borrow this most expressive

phrase from my friend, Prof. Roberts, as vividly descriptive of the

cry of the loon. John Burroughs applies the epithet "whinny," which

is good; but it misses the sense of supernatural terror with which,

to me, the cry of this bird in the moonlight is always associated.]

of the stately loon, as he held his way across the wide stretch of

shining, richly tinted water, might all as well have never been; for

Annette saw them not. Julie was busy trying to cheer her.

"Be not down at heart, sweet my mistress. These territories are now

invested by numerous soldiers from the East, and tidings of this

capture, if such there has been, would speedily reach them. Throw

away your care, and rest to-night. With the sun we shall rise to-morrow,

ourselves restored, our horses fresh, and ascertain the facts.

Inspector Dicken will know; and him we can reach in a two hours'

ride."