War Drums (Sass)/Chapter 4
OF 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."
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 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.
"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 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 eighteen 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."
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.
"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."