"I am," a bit proudly, "but most of the lads yonder belong with De Baugis. Now we fight a common foe, and forget our own quarrel. Did you say Rene de Artigny was in the fighting yonder?"

"Yes; he and a soldier named Barbeau."

The fellow stood silent, shifting his feet.

"'Twas told us he was dead," he said finally, with effort. "Some more of La Barre's men arrived three days ago by boat, under a popinjay they call Cassion to recruit De Baugis' forces. De la Durantaye was with him from the portage, so that now they outnumber us three to one.

You know this Cassion, Madame?"

"Ay, I traveled with his party from Montreal."

"Ah, then you will know the truth no doubt. De Tonty and Cassion were at swords points over a charge the latter made against Rene de Artigny--that he had murdered one of the party at St. Ignace."

"Hugo Chevet, the fur trader."

"Ay, that was the name. We of La Salle's company know it to be a lie.

_Sacre_! I have served with that lad two years, and 'tis not in his nature to knife any man in the back. And so De Tonty said, and he gave Cassion the lie straight in his teeth. I heard their words, and but for De Baugis and De la Durantaye, Francois Cassion would have paid well for his false tongue. Now you can tell him the truth."

"I shall do that, but even my word, I fear, will not clear De Artigny of the charge. I believe the man to be innocent; in my heart there is no doubt, yet there is so little to be proven."

"Cassion speaks bitterly; he is an enemy."

"Monsieur Cassion is my husband," I said regretfully.

"Your pardon, Madame. Ah, I understand it all now. You were supposed to have been drowned in the great lake, but were saved by De Artigny.

'Twill be a surprise for Monsieur, but in this land, we witness strange things. _Mon Dieu_! see, they come yonder; 'tis Boisrondet and his men."

They approached in silence, mere shadowy figures, whose numbers I could not count, but those in advance bore a helpless body in their arms, and my heart seemed to stop its beating, until I heard De Artigny's voice in cheerful greeting.

"What, still here, Madame, and the gate beyond open," he took my hand, and lifted it to his lips. "My congratulations; your work was well done, and our lives thank you. Madame Cassion, this is my comrade, Francois Boisrondet, whose voice I was never more glad to hear than this night. I commend him to your mercy."

Boisrondet, a mere shadow in the night, swept the earth with his hat.

"I mind me the time," he said courteously, "when Rene did me equal service."

"The savages have fled?"

"'Twas short, and sweet, Madame, and those who failed to fly are lying yonder."

"Yet some among you are hurt?"

"Barbeau hath an ugly wound--ay, bear him along, lads, and have the cut looked to--but as for the rest of us, there is no serious harm done."

I was gazing at De Artigny, and marked how he held one hand to his side.

"And you, Monsieur; you are unscathed?"

"Except for a small wound here, and a head which rings yet from savage blows--no more than a night's rest will remedy. Come, Madame 'tis time we were within, and the gates closed."

"Is there still danger then? Surely now that we are under protection there will be no attack?"

"Not from those we have passed, but 'tis told me there are more than a thousand Iroquois warriors in the valley, and the garrison has less than fifty men all told. It was luck we got through so easily. Ay, Boisrondet, we are ready."

That was my first glimpse of the interior of a frontier fort, and, although I saw only the little open space lighted by a few waving torches, the memory abides with distinctness. A body of men met us at the gate, dim, indistinct figures, a few among them evidently soldiers from their dress, but the majority clothed in the ordinary garb of the wilderness. Save for one Indian squaw, not a woman was visible, nor did I recognize a familiar face, as the fellows, each man bearing a rifle, surged about us in noisy welcome, eagerly questioning those who had gone forth to our rescue. Yet we were scarcely within, and the gates closed, when a man pressed his way forward through the throng, in voice of authority bidding them stand aside. A blazing torch cast its red light over him, revealing a slender figure attired in frontier garb, a dark face, made alive by a pair of dense brown eyes, which met mine in a stare of surprise.

"Back safe, Boisrondet," he exclaimed sharply, "and have brought in a woman. 'Tis a strange sight in this land. Were any of our lads hurt?"

"None worth reporting, Monsieur. The man they carried was a soldier of M. de la Durantaye. He was struck down before we reached the party.

There is an old comrade here."

"An old comrade! Lift the torch, Jacques. Faith, there are so few left I would not miss the sight of such a face."

He stared about at us, for an instant uncertain; then took a quick step forward, his hand outstretched.

"Rene de Artigny!" he cried, his joy finding expression in his face.

"Ay, an old comrade, indeed, and only less welcome here than M. de la Salle himself. 'Twas a bold trick you played tonight, but not unlike many another I have seen you venture. You bring me message from Monsieur?"

"Only that he has sailed safely for France to have audience with Louis. I saw him aboard ship, and was bidden to tell you to bide here in patience, and seek no quarrel with De Baugis."

"Easy enough to say; but in all truth I need not seek quarrel--it comes my way without seeking. De Baugis was not so bad--a bit high strung, perhaps, and boastful of his rank, yet not so ill a comrade--but there is a newcomer here, a popinjay named Cassion, with whom I cannot abide. Ah, but you know the beast, for you journeyed west in his company. _Sacre_! the man charged you with murder, and I gave him the lie to his teeth. Not two hours ago we had our swords out, but now you can answer for yourself."

De Artigny hesitated, his eyes meeting mine.

"I fear, Monsieur de Tonty," he said finally, "the answer may not be so easily made. If it were point of sword now, I could laugh at the man, but he possesses some ugly facts difficult to explain."

"Yet 'twas not your hand which did the deed?"

"I pledge you my word to that. Yet this is no time to talk of the matter. I have wounds to be looked to, and would learn first how Barbeau fares. You know not the lady; but of course not, or your tongue would never have spoken so freely--Monsieur de Tonty, Madame Cassion."

He straightened up, his eyes on my face. For an instant he stood motionless; then swept the hat from his head, and bent low.

"Your pardon, Madame; we of the wilderness become rough of speech. I should have known, for a rumor reached me of your accident. You owe life, no doubt, to Sieur de Artigny."

"Yes, Monsieur; he has been my kind friend."

"He would not be the one I love else. We know men on this frontier, Madame, and this lad hath seen years of service by my side." His hand rested on De Artigny's shoulder. "'Twas only natural then that I should resent M. Cassion's charge of murder."

"I share your faith in the innocence of M. de Artigny," I answered firmly enough, "but beyond this assertion I can say nothing."

"Naturally not, Madame. Yet we must move along. You can walk, Rene?"

"Ay, my hurts are mostly bruises."

The torches led the way, the dancing flames lighting up the scene.

There was hard, packed earth under our feet, nor did I realize yet that this Fort St. Louis occupied the summit of a great rock, protected on three sides by precipices, towering high above the river.

Sharpened palisades of logs surrounded us on every side, with low log houses built against them, on the roofs of which riflemen could stand in safety to guard the valley below.

The central space was open except for two small buildings, one from its shape a chapel, and the other, as I learned later, the guardhouse.

A fire blazed at the farther end of the enclosure, with a number of men lounging about it, and illumined the front of a more pretentious building, which apparently extended across that entire end. This building, having the appearance of a barrack, exhibited numerous doors and windows, with a narrow porch in front, on which I perceived a group of men.