Chapter 2

Presently he said: "You asked me if I had heard anything of your wife. Listen, and be patient while you listen.... Three weeks ago I was camping on the Sundust Plains, over against the Young Sky River. In the morning, as I was lighting a fire outside my tent, my young Cree Indian with me, I saw coming over the crest of a landwave, from the very lips of the sunrise, as it were, a band of Indians. I could not quite make them out. I hoisted my little flag on the tent, and they hurried on to me. I did not know the tribe--they had come from near Hudson's Bay. They spoke Chinook, and I could understand them. Well, as they came near, I saw that they had a woman with them."

Bagot leaned forward, his body strained, every muscle tense. "A woman!" he said, as if breathing gave him sorrow--"my wife?"

"Your wife."

"Quick! Quick! Go on--oh, go on, m'sieu'--good father."

"She fell at my feet, begging me to save her.... I waved her off."

The sweat dropped from Bagot's forehead, a low growl broke from him, and he made such a motion as a lion might make at its prey.

"You wouldn't--wouldn't save her--you coward!" He ground the words out.

The priest raised his palm against the other's violence. "Hush!... She drew away, saying that God and man had deserted her.... We had breakfast, the chief and I. Afterwards, when the chief had eaten much and was in good humor, I asked him where he had got the woman. He said that he had found her on the plains--she had lost her way. I told him then that I wanted to buy her. He said to me. 'What does a priest want of a woman?' I said that I wished to give her back to her husband. He said that he had found her, and she was his, and that he would marry her when they reached the great camp of the tribe. I was patient. It would not do to make him angry. I wrote down on a piece of bark the things that I would give him for her: an order on the Company at Fort o' Sin for shot, blankets and beads. He said no."

The priest paused. Bagot's face was all swimming with sweat, his body was rigid, but the veins of his neck knotted and twisted.

"For the love of God go on!" he said hoarsely.

"Yes, for the love of God. I have no money, I am poor, but the Company will always honor my orders, for I pay sometimes by the help of _le bon Jésu_. Well, I added some things to the list: a saddle, a rifle, and some flannel. But no, he would not. Once more I put many things down. It was a big bill--it would keep me poor for five years. To save your wife, John Bagot, you who drove her from your door, blaspheming and railing at such as I.... I offered the things, and told him that was all I could give. After a little he shook his head, and said that he must have the woman for his wife. I did not know what to add. I said, 'She is white, and the white people will never rest till they have killed you all, if you do this thing. The Company will track you down.' Then he said, 'The whites must catch me and fight me before they kill me.'... What was there to do?"

Bagot came near to the priest, bending over him savagely:

"You let her stay with them--you, with hands like a man!"

"Hush," was the calm, reproving answer. "I was one man, they were twenty."

"Where was your God to help you, then?"

"Her God and mine was with me."

Bagot's eyes blazed. "Why didn't you offer rum--rum? They'd have done it for that--one--five--ten kegs of rum!"

He swayed to and fro in his excitement, yet their voices hardly rose above a hoarse whisper all the time.

"You forget," answered the priest, "that it is against the law, and that as a priest of my order I am vowed to give no rum to an Indian."

"A vow! A vow! Son of God! what is a vow beside a woman--my wife?"

His misery and his rage were pitiful to see.

"Perjure my soul! Offer rum! Break my vow in the face of the enemies of God's Church! What have you done for me that I should do this for you, John Bagot?"

"Coward!" was the man's despairing cry, with a sudden threatening movement. "Christ himself would have broke a vow to save her."

The grave, kind eyes of the priest met the other's fierce gaze, and quieted the wild storm that was about to break.

"Who am I that I should teach my Master?" he said, solemnly. "What would you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you?"

The man shook with grief, and tears rushed from his eyes, so suddenly and fully had a new emotion passed through him.

"Give--give!" he cried, "I would give twenty years of my life!"

The figure of the priest stretched up with gentle grandeur. Holding out the iron crucifix, he said: "On your knees and swear it, John Bagot!"

There was something inspiring, commanding, in the voice and manner, and Bagot, with a new hope rushing through his veins, knelt and repeated his words.

The priest turned to the door, and called, "Madame Lucette!"

The boy, hearing, waked, and sat up in bed suddenly.

"Mother! mother!" he cried, as the door flew open.

The mother came to her husband's arms, laughing and weeping, and an instant afterwards was pouring out her love and anxiety over her child.

Father Corraine now faced the man, and with a soft exaltation of voice and manner said:

"John Bagot, in the name of Christ, I demand twenty years of your life--of love and obedience of God. I broke my vow; I perjured my soul; I bought your wife with ten kegs of rum."

The tall hunter dropped again to his knees, and caught the priest's hand to kiss it.

"No, no--this!" the priest said, and laid his iron crucifix against the other's lips.

VII

Dominique's voice came clearly through the room:

"Mother, I saw the white swan fly away through the door when you came in."

"My dear, my dear," she said, "there was no white swan." But she clasped the boy to her breast protectingly, and whispered an _ave_.

"Peace be to this house," said the voice of the priest.

And there was peace--for the child lived, and the man has loved, and has kept his vow, even unto this day.

For the visions of the boy, who can know the divers ways in which God speaks to the children of men!

THE END

NOVELS BY SIR GILBERT PARKER

The Going of the White Swan The Seats of the Mighty The Trail of the Sword The Trespasser The Translation of a Savage Mrs. Falchion

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK

End of Project Gutenberg's The Going of the White Swan, by Gilbert Parker