Colonel Clark had already cleared the outskirts of the town, and was alone in the wild prairie, a swell of land hiding him from view. He rode slowly along, buried in painful and bitter thoughts. He began to see that he had been hasty in his first explosion of anger against the adjutant. Had it been possible to have recalled it, he would have done so; but now that mutiny had boldly established itself, he felt that he must be firm, right or wrong. His resignation of authority, though it seemed as if wrung from him in desperation, was in reality nothing but a return of his old tact and management.
That the movement had taken his men by surprise he felt sure from the dead silence which followed his words. He fully expected that a message would come after him, but he expected it from his officers, at whom he felt very angry for not having given him their support.
He had resolved to coquette with them before he yielded, as he had all along determined, and resumed the command. He was resolved to make them realize his full value. When he heard the clatter of horsehoofs behind him, therefore, he kept steadily on. The fact that only a single person was following him somewhat surprised him, but he did not deign to turn his head.
Then some one dashed past him at full speed, and Ruby Roland, in all her splendor of beauty, wheeled around in front of his horse and halted, extending the sheathed sword with an imperious gesture.
Clark was for a moment taken aback. The next he colored angrily and waved her aside, saying:
“Mademoiselle, it is too late. You have your victory. See if you can make as good use of it as I have. Permit me to pass.”
“I will not,” said Ruby, firmly. “You must resume your command, sir. There are too many lives depending on you to be lost for a foolish quarrel about a girl.”
“Did you think of that, mademoiselle,” he asked, bitterly, “when you undertook to excite my men to mutiny, to protect an insolent boy, who called you—. No, I will not say what. No, mademoiselle, but I will say this, that it is a hard thing to find that when I did a thing to avenge your name from insult, you should be the first person to protect my enemy, and steal away my men’s hearts from the leader they trusted till you came between us.”
Ruby listened to his indignant words in silence. The girl was very pale now, and her eyes had a strange light in them, as of triumph and revenge, which struck the colonel as singular, when he met them.
“So the little girl you despised last year, and packed off to her tribe, is not so powerless, after all, monsieur?” she said, in a low tone. “She has stirred your proud heart at last.”
“If it is any consolation to you to know it,” said Clark, bitterly, “you know my heart as well as I do. Perhaps you and your boy lover have laughed over my endeavors to save your name from light speaking.”
“Who asked you to save my name from any thing?” said she, haughtily. “You take on yourself an impertinence to do it. Did I ask you to fire up like a fool before those rude fellows, and show your heart so plainly that the boys in the streets sing lampoons about us? Who is to blame for that, sir, but you? My name, indeed! Much you have cared for it to permit it to be dragged through the mud of Kaskaskia, because you have a temper that you can not control. I am a fool to come here to entreat you to come back. Would I had never seen you! Let the sword lie where you have dashed my name, since you are no longer fit to wear it.”
And the excited girl indignantly dashed the sword on the ground, and wheeled her horse to ride away. Then it was that Clark put spurs to his own horse and darted forward, laying his hand on her bridle with iron grasp.
“Not so fast, mademoiselle,” he said, sternly. “You have cast an imputation on my honor that I can not visit on you, but, by heavens, I will visit it on him. Do you understand? I see it all now. You love this boy; and now I warn you that you shall never be his, nor any other man’s but mine. Do you hear? I will resume command of my troops, and my first act shall be to release your lover from arrest. For what will follow, you alone are responsible. I have done.”
He let go the bridle, quietly dismounted from his horse, and picked up his sword, then mounted and turned toward the town at the same slow pace at which he had come.
Ruby sat gazing at him for a moment with a strange smile; it almost seemed tender and compassionate, and yet it was decidedly triumphant.
“I have him safe,” she said, to herself.
Then she dashed away past him at the utmost speed of her mustang, swept through the streets like a whirlwind, and drew up in front of the camp, where every one was still clustered in groups. Ruby rode straight up to the officers.
“What are you doing, gentlemen?” she cried. “You have allowed the greatest General in this country to be insulted by his own troops, whom he has led to victory; and when he resigns in disgust, not one of you is fit to step into his shoes; and yet you have left it to a woman to entreat him to come back. For shame, old women that you are! Do one thing or another. Choose another chief, or welcome back your old one. Beat the drums; fall in the men! Send a deputation to request him to resume command. Act like soldiers, not like boys!”
Her fiery eloquence seemed to go like a shock through the crowd. As if by magic the drummer struck up “To the Colors;” the men rushed to their places; Bowman and Harrod mounted and rode off up the street to salute the returning commander.
The parade of Clark’s Rangers had never been formed before with one-half the celerity that was manifested on this occasion; and when Clark, soon after, rode up to the center of the line, the order was perfect, and every one in his place.
As for Ruby, she was nowhere to be seen. As soon as the parade was formed, she rode straight up the steps of the arsenal, received by her dusky escort with the same impassive silence that they had manifested all through the proceedings.
The great gray building was now closed up, silent and grim as ever, and to all appearance untenanted.
When the commander appeared, there was a dead silence. He had not greeted either Bowman or Harrod, except by stiffly answering their salute, and now the two officers repaired to their places in the line of battle.
Then the acting-adjutant gave the order “present arms!” and turned over the parade to his commander in due form. Clark drew his sword once more, and rode forward to near the center of the line. His face was particularly grim at the moment, and the silence was breathless.
“The acting-adjutant will take a sergeant and twelve men,” said Clark, in a clear, hard tone, “from the right of the regiment. He will enter that building, and bring forth Adjutant John Frank, now under arrest, under guard, and report to me, here.”
In dead silence the order was obeyed.
The little adjutant himself, in full uniform, with a snowy peruke covering his black locks, trim and dainty, in a laced suit of blue and silver, made his appearance in the doorway, bowed politely to the officer, and advanced into the middle of his guards, as if by a previous understanding.
Then he was marched up to the colonel, who dismissed guard and acting-adjutant alike to their places, with a sign, when colonel and adjutant stood looking at each other. The little officer was quiet, dignified, and serious, without a particle of the old sauciness. He looked his commander full in the face without blenching, and Clark said, in a very distinct tone:
“Sir, you are relieved from arrest. Take your post at parade.”
The silence that had so far been maintained was broken by a rapturous cheer, which the rough frontiersmen could not suppress.
Its tones were by no means offensive to Clark. They spoke of gratitude to him, not of triumph over him.
The adjutant drew his sword and retired to his post behind his commanding officer, while the latter executed a few simple movements and then returned his sword. The adjutant resumed his regular duties, took the reports of the sergeants in due form, announced the dismissal of parade, and came up with the officers in the stiff military form that has descended to the present day.
At such a time, it is usual for the colonel to say a few words to his officers, and after such a scene as had recently taken place, all expected a severe lecture from Clark.
But he merely returned their silent salute, and said:
“Officers will meet at my quarters an hour after sunset, to discuss matters of importance. Good-evening, gentlemen.”
He turned coldly away, and the parade broke up in silence, a wet blanket being thrown over all parties by the distant demeanor of their commander.
The little adjutant alone seemed to be quite happy over his release. When Clark was not twenty feet off, and the officers were still gloomily looking at each other, the boy spoke in a jesting tone to Harrod, saying:
“Well, Captain Bill, you see we pulled through in spite of our love-sick chief. What fools some men are!”
Harrod cast a curious glance at the boy, an apprehensive one at Clark. The colonel heard every word, and—halted.
Frank stood, with a derisive smile on a very pale face, watching his commander’s back.
But Clark did not deign to turn his head. He stood there, for nearly a minute, like a statue, the officers watching him in silence. Then he slowly nodded his head, and pursued his way to his quarters.
Then the officers broke up and departed, leaving the boy adjutant standing alone. His face grew sad and thoughtful, for not one of the men who had lately fought such a battle to save him, remained near him. Even from the ranks they had witnessed the flippant gesture with which he had pointed at his commander; and every one seemed to be somewhat disgusted with him for the nonce.
With slow steps and hanging head the young officer went to his quarters in the arsenal once more.
In the spacious drawing-room of the government house sat Clark, in a new uniform, surrounded by his officers, all renovated in their personal appearance. A number of wax candles lit up the apartment, and the center-table was littered with papers. Father Gibault sat among the rest of the officers as if he had been a chaplain all his life, and the conversation was general but desultory, as if in expectation of the arrival of some one before opening business.
At last the commander spoke:
“We are all here but the adjutant, gentlemen. Doubtless he feels a delicacy about being present. Orderly, take my compliments to the adjutant, and say that we await his presence.”
The soldier disappeared, and all sat in grim silence until, fifteen minutes after, the door opened, and the little adjutant tripped into the room with his old saucy air, but without speaking, and, after saluting the colonel, dropped into a vacant chair:
Clark returned the salute with grave courtesy, and said:
“Now, gentlemen, we are ready for business. I must inform you, first, that I have at last concluded a full and satisfactory treaty with all the Indians on the Wabash, through their chiefs, and that, from the Detroit to the Ohio we have no foes among the red-men. We have taken possession of all the British posts between here and the Wabash, and Illinois is ours. Gentlemen, one post remains to be taken. St. Vincent’s, town and fort, is still in the enemy’s hands. It must be taken.”
A murmur of assent ran through the audience, and Clark was silent. Then, to the surprise of all, father Gibault arose:
“Gentlemen,” said the curé, “I have told Colonel Clark, and now I tell you, that you need not trouble yourselves about St. Vincent’s. If you will trust it to me, I will undertake to start to-morrow, and within three weeks deliver St. Vincent’s into your hands, fort and all, without spilling one drop of blood. I am priest or missionary of both parishes, and if I tell the people of St. Vincent’s how you have treated us here, I answer for it that they will come under American rule without firing a gun.”
“Gentlemen, how say you?” said Clark. “Will you accept Monsieur Gibault’s proposition, or shall we march to St. Vincent’s? All in favor of acceptance will say ‘Ay.’”
Not an officer hesitated to respond to the call in the affirmative.
“Now, messieurs,” said Gibault, briskly, “I start to-morrow, with four or five friends, and I wish the colonel to give me one officer to receive the surrender and act as American Governor till you can visit the post in force.”
“Captain Leonard Helm and Sergeant Henry will accompany you, father,” said the border chief, “and Adjutant Frank shall go with the captain as second in command.”
This order surprised no one, for it was evident that colonel and adjutant would never agree together again. Indeed, Clark’s intention was of the kindest nature. But as the council broke up, the young officer observed, in a loud tone:
“I shall not go. So the colonel need not trouble himself.”
At this last exhibition of insubordination, every one fancied that the commander’s temper would once more break out. But, to the surprise of all, Clark remained quite calm, and took no notice of it. He ushered his other officers to the door with his usual courtesy, and attended them to the head of the stairs, whence he watched them go out with father Gibault.
Then he turned to the sentry at the door, and said:
“Move your post to the head of the stairs, and let no one up. If you hear any noise in my room, however loud, take no notice. Let no one pass in or out without my orders.”
The backwoods soldier nodded his comprehension, and the colonel re-entered his room, where, as he had expected, he found Adjutant Frank, still in his chair, which he had drawn to the table, on which rested his small feet with all the coolness in the world.
The little adjutant wore a hunting-shirt of fine blue cloth, with gold fringes to replace the usual buck-skin ornaments; his leggins were of white doe-skin, fringed with gold; and the white moccasin, that fitted his little foot like a glove, was sewed with gold thread. Altogether, a very natty little officer of rangers was Adjutant Frank, as he sat playing with a little blue velvet cap with a gold tassel, and whistling “Malbrook.”
Clark stood at the door, looking at him for several minutes. The lad’s back was turned to him, and the white peruke, which he generally wore, was now off, allowing the curls of a wonderful mass of long black hair to escape over his shoulders.
Clark looked at him long and earnestly, and as he looked, he gave an involuntary sigh. The boy was of a wonderful beauty and grace, he could not help admitting, even with all the fierce jealousy and anger that was gnawing at his heart. But the iron colonel had taken a resolution, and he was not to be turned from it by pity.
Slowly, and without any precautions against noise, he locked the door with a loud snap, and put the key in his pocket. Frank stopped whistling, but he did not look round. He only gave a little hitch to his sword-belt, and brought the hilt of his light rapier to the front. Then he resumed his whistle and gradually broke into a low song:
“Le Colonel Clark est brave,
Mais il n’est qu’ un esclave,
Sous la main, si douce et suave,
De Mademoiselle Rubie Roland.”
Clark heard the mocking words and wondered at the lad’s temerity, even while his anger rose to white heat. Frank looked so little and slender, so utterly unable to cope with the powerful and incensed colonel, that such a taunt as his conduct implied made it seem as if he must be crazy.
For the first time the words of Simon Kenton, as to the boy having been sun-struck, recurred to his mind, and for the moment a thrill of pity came to Clark. But as he looked at the boy and noted the quiet bravado of his manner, the supposition became untenable.
“There is too much method for madness, there,” thought the border leader.
And, as he came to this conclusion, a stern frown settled on his brow, and he went to the windows. He carefully closed the shutters and locked the French casements so that no one could see in. Then, looking into an inner room, he ascertained that there were no more openings to be guarded.
He closed and locked the door of communication with equal deliberation, then advanced to the table at which Frank sat, and laid his hand heavily on his shoulder.
“Now, sir,” said Clark, between his shut teeth, “what is the meaning of this?”
The lad looked up at him with an eye as fierce as his own.
“It means—take your hands off!”
For all answer Clark shook him fiercely, for it seemed as if the threat imbued him with ten-fold rage.
But, to his surprise, after the first fierce look, the boy did not either writhe or struggle, although the nervous grip of the powerful borderer must have caused intense pain, as the fingers sunk into his shoulder.
Feeling almost ashamed of himself, Clark released his hold, for the first feeling of the soft, delicate shoulder he had griped had convinced him that Frank was a mere child in his hands. He struck down the boy’s feet off the table with his open hand, and then released him, casting himself down in an opposite chair.
“Now, sir,” he said, sternly, “since you have learned your manners, tell me what is the meaning of all this?”
The little adjutant was quite silent, but he was breathing hard, and had changed his position. His face was now turned away from Clark and hidden by the tangled mass of curls. He made no answer.
After a while Clark repeated the question.
“Well, sir, what does this mean? Why have you, whom I have treated like my own son, suddenly found that nothing will do for you but insulting your colonel and exciting mutiny among my troops?”
There was no answer. Still the averted figure looked sullenly away.
“I see you can not answer,” said Clark, sternly; “and I honor the shame that leads you to remain silent. It shows me that Governor Henry’s nephew has not lost all the instincts of a gentleman. It renders my task less repulsive, for I warn you, John Frank, that the time has come when you must atone for your conduct with your heart’s blood—ay, and in this room. Had you shown fear, I should have strangled you ere this, but I can not take advantage of superior strength over a stripling like you. But die you must, and by my hand. Therefore, choose your weapons, and do your best. You shall have every chance.”
The boy still kept his head averted, and murmured:
“Why should I die? What have I done?”
“I will tell you, John Frank,” said the colonel, in a low, stern voice, with terrible distinctness. “I will tell you, and you at least shall know all before I kill you. A year ago, I met Ruby Roland in Kentucky, and from the moment I saw her I resolved she should be my wife. You may start. I would sooner die than tell her, the proud beauty in her scornful charms, that George Rogers Clark was a slave to her a year since. I would not tell it to you if I had not resolved to kill you, before I leave this room. Well, sir, since you came here—curse your pretty baby-face—I have met her, and I have found that she loves you; she, the pearl of all beauty and nobility, is fool enough to cast away the treasures of a love, which I would die to possess, on an insolent youngster like you, who values it not, and makes a jest of her name. For these things I am going to kill you, boy, and just so I shall kill every man that comes near Ruby Roland. She may never love me, but, by the eternal heavens, I swear she shall never love another. She may repel my love, but I will conquer hers. I have sworn to make her adore me. Enough. On this table are two swords and two pistols. Choose which you will, and take first shot.”
The averted figure trembled perceptibly.
“I do not want to kill you, colonel,” said a low voice.
“Nor can you,” said Clark, scornfully. “I was not born to be killed by a boy. Take your shot, and aim well, for if you miss I kill you.”
The little adjutant trembled still more.
“I can not fight you, Clark,” he whispered.
“But you must,” cried the borderer, fiercely. “Do you wish to compel me to murder you? You must die.”
The other rose from the chair and sprung behind the table. As he did so, he motioned Clark away, with face averted, as if in great horror.
“Clark, Clark,” he panted out, “you know not what you say. I can not fight you. If you kill me, you will never see Ruby Roland again.”
“I will chance that,” said Clark, grimly. “She may grieve for you a while, but bah! she’ll not care for a boy like you, when a man loves her. And mark me, boy, she loves me now, although she does not think it. Come, take up the swords. I thought you had more courage, Frank. I see you are only a coward, after all.”
The boy dropped his head on his hands so that his long black hair fell all over his face and hid it from view. Then he sunk down on his knees and burst out into a tempest of sobs, while he murmured, brokenly:
“Kill me, then—blind, blind, that will not see the truth. Would I had died long ago!”
For the first time Clark was utterly astounded. He looked at the kneeling figure, shaken with sobs such as no boy ever gave, and as he looked a sudden light broke over his face. He looked at the other with a keen intensity of gaze that, for the first time since he had known his boy adjutant, took in every peculiarity of the slight, feminine grace of that tiny figure. Then, with a sudden exclamation of joy, wonder and doubt together, Colonel Clark rushed forward and clutched eagerly at the form of Ruby Roland.
Ay, the moment he felt the soft, yielding flesh under his hands this time, he wondered that he had never found it out before. His little adjutant, with the pert tongue, and Ruby Roland whom he adored, were one and the same, a warm, living woman, who hid her face under her dark hair in his bosom, and refused to lift it, even for a glimpse of her face, until he forced her up from her knees, with gentle violence.
Then she suddenly flung away from him with all her old impetuosity and caprice, threw back her long black hair with a defiant toss, facing him with glowing face and flaming eyes, and caught up a sword from the table.
“Now, sir, kill me if you dare,” she cried. “You were bold enough with Frank. Let me see you face Ruby. Go away. I hate you now!”
Clark laughed carelessly as he advanced.
“You must explain away your masquerade, and a hundred other little things I mind me of, lady-bird, ere you can make me believe that. If you do not love me, what do you here with me, alone, at midnight?”
In a moment she was pale and beseeching.
“Let me go, Clark, and I’ll never tease you again.”
“Not till you have promised to marry me to-morrow, ere father Gibault departs.”
“I promise,” she whispered, and he unlocked the door.
The month of July had passed and gone, and yet Ruby had not yet kept her promise to Clark. The reason partly was that father Gibault had already gone before the American commandant could inform him of the nature of his discovery, and of the need of his services, partly because Ruby herself begged off with unwonted humility, till father Gibault returned from St. Vincent’s.
In the meantime the awakened lovers passed many a pleasant hour together, and explained away many a mystery of the past. Then first Ruby learned that the apparent coldness with which Clark had treated her at Harrodsburg was put on only to hide the real interest he had felt in her from the first. Then, too, the colonel learned how Ruby’s mother was a niece of one of the Henry family, and how she had first obtained the letter which had introduced her under the name of John Frank. He learned also how the interest between them had been mutual, but hightened by pique on the part of Ruby at his supposed indifference. He learned how she had followed him to Kaskaskia, keeping in constant communication with her father’s warriors all the way, resolved to succor him if need should be. When she saw what an impression she had produced on him with her beauty in full dress, then it was that for the first time she resolved to try and see if he really loved her. Assisted by her Indian confederates, she had paraded about a dummy figure dressed in the adjutant’s uniform, so as to disarm any suspicion that might arise that Ruby and the little officer were one and the same person; and then, after exhibiting herself on several occasions at full speed, along with the dummy figure, on horseback, she dropped the pretense and boldly enacted either character at will.
At last August came in, and with it father Gibault. The old priest had been completely successful in his mission to St. Vincent’s. The French inhabitants, heartily sick of their English rulers, no sooner heard the priest’s news than they met in a body at their church, took the oath of allegiance to America in the most solemn manner, hoisted the American flag in their empty fort, and elected Helm their commandant. Thus was the last fruit of harvest saved without plucking, and the conquest of Illinois finished.
It was not many days after that Adjutant Frank disappeared to be seen no more. His chief said he had returned to Kentucky, but the men were all sorry to miss him. On the same day Captain Joseph Montgomery took Governor Rocheblave a prisoner to Richmond, and all the bells of Kaskaskia rung a joyful peal to celebrate the union of the border leader with his beautiful bride, Ruby Roland.
THE END.