CHAPTER VIII.

SHOWING HIS COLORS.

Next morning Ben was on his feet early, and mounting the white horse, he went away alone, leaving Millicent in the care of the Dutchman and Jules. He whispered in the ear of the young girl that he would either bring her lover back to her, or leave his bones upon the prairie. She had the utmost confidence in him, and felt a certain elation at heart as she saw that the brave old man was determined on the enterprise. Jan, who was fast learning to trust in him, wished to go too, but the old trapper would not allow it, and resolutely ordered the Dutchman to return, which he did, with several Dutch expletives, not proper to enter in this book.

Left with these rough men in camp, Millicent had not the slightest fear. She knew that the Dutchman, in his rude way, was her knight, ready to defend her from insult of any kind.

“I am afraid that father Ben will get into danger on my account,” she said.

“Oh, Penn ish not afrait,” said Jan, looking at her with a broad smile, as she sat down upon a stump near him. “Penn so prave ash nefer vas.”

At this moment Jules, who had been leaning against the doorpost of the cabin, apparently in deep thought, came up and whispered in her ear.

“What do you want?” she said, without turning her head.

“I wish to speak to you for a moment,” he replied, in the same tone.

She rose and followed him to the river side, where she sat down on a fallen log and he took a position a few feet away, regarding her earnestly.

“You wonder what I can have to say to you,” he said. “In the first place, give me your promise not to reveal it to a living soul. It applies to this Bentley Morris.”

Without thought, never dreaming that the purport of what he had to say could in any way apply to her, she gave the required promise.

“You must know that I am a man whom the bad fortune of life has pressed to the earth. Time was when my family stood high in rank and wealth. That time has gone by, and step by step I have been forced down, until I own not a foot of land in all the world. What of that? I am Jules Damand yet, and will carve out a way to fortune with my own right arm.”

“I am sorry for you,” she said. “Is this what you have to say? I hope you may succeed.”

“It is the prelude only,” he answered. “I wish to make you understand that, though you find me a poor voyageur and trapper, I am still equal in rank to yourself.”

She was silent now. A woman of quick wit, she saw at once toward what he tended, and knew no way to stop him. She was not astonished when he went on:

“I love you, and wish to make you my wife.”

She was on her guard immediately.

“You do me too much honor, Mr. Damand. It seems to me that the few days we have been acquainted are hardly sufficient to warrant you in taking this step. You will excuse me.”

“Not without an answer.”

“It seems to me there is but one answer. I must decline your proposal,” she answered, firmly.

“I supposed as much. That is nothing. I am prepared for any thing. What if I tell you I have a way of compelling you to accede to my demand?”

“If you were to tell me so, I think I should say you told a falsehood.”

“Then I should feel called upon to prove my words true. In the first place, then, you have a sort of feeling for the young person known as Bentley Morris. What if I were to tell you that his fate depends in a great measure upon you?”

“How can that be? He is in the hands of the Blackfeet.”

“I am aware of it. Yet I am ready to attest upon oath that I have the power of freeing him from captivity, or at least of saving him from death. I am rather inclined to the opinion that they will roast him. I should be sorry to have that done, really, as I have nothing against the young gentleman, except the penchant you have for him, which is not _his_ fault, poor fellow. Be merciful. Save him from this dreadful fate.”

“You are a wretch. I suspected you all along, and now I am sure of it. You are in league with the Indians.”

“Ah; you have great penetration.”

“When father Ben returns I will inform him of this.”

“You forget. You are pledged not to say a word. Remember that.”

“You entrapped me into a promise which I ought to break,” she answered.

“Yet you dare not. I tell you that the fate of your lover hangs upon my life. I am not likely to give you up readily. I repeat that I love you. A Frenchman loves in a moment, and forever. Beware what you do, and above all, keep silent.”

She knew that she was in his power. He laughed lightly, and laid his hand upon her shoulder. All the passion in her nature was aroused, and she struck him in the face with the flat of her hand. He stepped back a pace and put his hand to a knife instinctively. A flush of blood rushed into his face. Jan, from where he was sitting, saw the action, and rushing forward, thrust his heavy body between them to shake his ponderous fist under the nose of Jules, who recoiled at the sight.

“She struck me,” he cried, angrily. “I will make you repent that blow so bitterly that you will wish you had never been born, rather than have raised your hand against me.”

“You drove me to do it,” she answered.

“Vat you say mit her, Shules Tamant?” demanded Jan, his fist vibrating to and fro in front of the Roman nose of Damand. “Yoost you shpeaks now, vile I dalks mit you. I vants to know yoost all apout it. Off you say a vord mit her vat ish not goot, I vill preak you in so many ash vorty t’ousand bieces.”

“I will make daylight shine through your body in a moment if you do not take care,” said Damand. “Get out of my way.”

“I von’t! I shtays here yoost so long ash I haf a mind to. Now yoost you look here. You’s a vool, you is. I nefer sees such a vool in all mine life. Auver a man knows any t’ing he know petter ash to talk mit a vooman, unt put a hant to a knife.”

“Stand aside,” roared Jules, whipping out his knife. “It will be better for you.”

Jan instantly knocked him down in spite of his knife, and tied his hands and feet. When he recovered from the blow Jan had conveyed him into the cabin and shut the door. He writhed about in his bonds.

“Jan!” he bawled. No answer. “Jan Schneider!”

A silence like the grave. After he had roared himself hoarse Jan thrust his head in at the door and said quietly:

“Vas you callin’ _me_?”

“Of course I was.”

“Berhaps you ton’t know I’ve got a hantle to mine name, Mister Shules Tamant? Beeples call me _Mynheer_ Jan Schneider.”

“Come here. I want you to untie these straps.”

“Hein?” cried Jan, in astonishment.

“I want you to let me go.”

“Geh zum tuyfel! Ven I lets you co, I vas a very pig vool. Yon t’ink you coom rount here unt haf eferyt’ing your own vay? I dells you goot ash you can nix do nottings like dat. Ven Penn coomes pack, mebbe ve t’row you in der vasser.”

“Oh, but this is more than a joke, Jan. Untie me. This has gone far enough. I did not intend to use the knife.”

“No more den I intent to use mine vist. Unt I did intent to use him _goot_. How your ear veel pout dis dime of ter day, Shule?”

“Will you, or will you not, release me from these bonds?”

“I vill not, unless you bromise to peg der bardon auver der young lady.”

“I’ll never do that.”

“All right. Den shtay vere you pe until Penn coomes pack.”

“I’ll beg her pardon.”

“Vell. Den you must yoost peg _my_ bardon,” said Jan.

“Yours. _Sacré!_ I will never do that, at any rate,” roared Jules.

“Goot! Den shtay vere you pe. I don’t vant to let you co.”

“I’ll do any thing you ask.”

Jan went away and was gone for a few moments. Then he came back and set the Frenchman at liberty. He at once hurried to the place where he had left his arms. They were nowhere to be found, and Jan, a perfect arsenal of pistols and knives, was pacing up and down near by, talking with Millicent.

“Where are my arms?” roared Jules.

“Arms? Vy, dere dey pe, py your sides, hanging vrom your shoulters. Vere else vould dey pe?”

“Where is my rifle, you scoundrel?”

“Your rifle. Oh, vy didn’t you ask vor it? I pees ’vraid he gets preak, so I puts him avay.”

“You have my pistols and knife in your belt; give them up directly.”

“Mr. Damand,” said Millicent, advancing, “we have decided to retain your arms until the return of Ben.”

“In other words, you mean to keep me sort of prisoner in this place?”

“Precisely.”

“I will not endure it.”

“You must; there is no other course open to you. Jan will not hesitate to shoot you if you attempt to go away. I am satisfied that you would throw obstacles in the way of Ben’s rescue of Bentley. You must be quiet.”

“I must, eh? The time will come when you shall repent this. I loved you dearly; I wanted to make you my wife. You scorned my love; you shall feel my hate.”

“I fear you not.”

“Look here, Shule: vas you vool enough to dalk love mit der young lady? I vill preak you all in bieces. You’s der vust vool I efer sees in all mine life. I dells you as I dinks yoost so. Oh, mein cracious, vat a vool you must pe!”

The Frenchman looked as if he would like to commit murder if he had the weapons in his hands. But, fate was against him.

“You have every thing your own way now,” he said; “let it pass; I will remain a prisoner.”

“We are going this afternoon to the top of the hill to see if father Ben is in sight.”

“I will remain here.”

“No, you will accompany us; we do not propose that you shall have an opportunity to look for your arms, and turn the tables on us.”

Jules ground his teeth, but there was nothing for him but obedience. Shaking his head, he went back into the cabin, while Jan looked after the traps which were near at hand, and took out the beaver which he found there. He did not go far away, however. Late in the afternoon they mounted the hill to look out upon the prairie. Jan forced his prisoner to go in front, and they reached the summit, whence Millicent cast a sweeping glance over the broad plain. As she did so, she saw Bentley, mounted on the white horse of the trapper, pushing him forward at his best speed toward the little stream which ran through the prairie. The horse rose to the leap with all his might and landed safely on the other side. Not far behind him came Ben Miffin, at full speed, with two Indians close at his heels.