CHAPTER XXXVI

THE CLEARING OF MYSTERY

The point of his sword was at De Artigny's breast, but the younger man stood motionless, his lips smiling, his eyes on the other's face.

"Perchance, Monsieur," he said quietly, "it might be best for you first to speak with this friend of mine."

"What friend? _Sacre!_ What is the fellow to me? Who is he? another one of La Salle's spawn?"

La Forest, still bareheaded, his forehead bleeding, pressed down the swordblade.

"The company is a good one," he said bluntly enough, "and just now well worth belonging to. I am Francois de la Forest, Monsieur, one time commandant at Detroit; at present messenger from the King of France."

"King's messenger--you! _Mon Dieu!_ you look it. Come, man, what mummery is this?"

"No mummery, Monsieur. I left France two months since, bearing the King's own word to M. la Barre. 'Tis with his endorsement I journeyed hither to restore Henri de Tonty to his rightful command of Fort St.

Louis."

"You lie!" Cassion cried hotly, eyes blazing hatred and anger, "'tis some hellish trick."

"Monsieur, never before did man say that to me, and live. Were you not felon, and thief I would strike you where you stand. Ay, I mean the words--now listen; lift that sword point and I shoot you dead.

Monsieur de Tonty, show the man the papers."

Cassion took them as though in a daze, his hand trembling, his eyes burning with malignant rage. I doubt if he ever saw clearly the printed and written words of the document, but he seemed to grasp vaguely the fact of La Barre's signature.

"A forgery," he gasped. "Ah, De Baugis, see here; these damned curs of La Salle would play trick on me. Look at the paper."

The dragoon took it, and smoothed it out in his hands. His face was grave, as his eyes searched the printed lines.

"'Tis the great seal of France," he said soberly, looking about at the faces surrounding him, "and the signature of the governor. How came it here?"

"By my hand," returned La Forest proudly. "You know me--Monsieur Francois la Forest."

"Ay, I know you, ever a follower of La Salle, and friend of Frontenac.

'Twas through his influence you got this. 'Tis little use for us to quarrel, M. Cassion--the order is genuine."

"_Mon Dieu_, I care not for such an order; it does not supersede my commission; I outrank this De Tonty."

"Hush, do not play the fool."

"Better the fool than the coward."

"Wait," said La Forest sharply, "the matter is not ended. You are Francois Cassion, of Quebec?"

"Major of Infantry, Commissaire of the Governor La Barre."

"So the titles read in this document. I arrest you by King's order for treason to France, and mutilation of official records. Here is the warrant, M. de Baugis, and your orders to convey the prisoner to Quebec for trial."

Cassion's face went white, and he struggled madly for breath. De Baugis grasped the paper, so startled at this new development as to be incapable of comprehension.

"Under arrest? for what, Monsieur? Treason, and mutilation of official records? What does it mean?"

"This--the man knows, and will not deny the charge. False testimony sworn to, and signed by this Francois Cassion, charged Captain la Chesnayne with cowardice and treason. In consequence the latter was broken of his command, and his estates forfeited to the Crown. Later, through the efforts of Frontenac, the King was convinced of injustice, and the estates were restored by royal order. This order reached Quebec, but was never recorded. This Cassion was then private secretary to the governor, and the paper came into his hands. Later, to hush up the scandal, he married Captain la Chesnayne's daughter against her will. The day this was accomplished the lost order was placed on file."

"You saw it?"

"Yes, I had the files searched secretly. The order was dispatched from France five years ago, but was stamped as received the day Cassion departed from Quebec."

My eyes were upon the speaker and I failed to note how the accused man met this damning charge. It was his voice which drew my attention--high pitched, harsh, unnatural.

"_Mon Dieu!_ 'twas not I--'twas La Barre!"

"Tell that in Quebec; though little good 'twill do you. M. de Baugis, in the King's name I order this man's arrest."

I saw De Baugis step forward, his hand outstretched; then all was confusion and struggle. With the hoarse snarl of a beast, Cassion leaped forward, struck La Forest with his shoulder, and drove sword point into De Artigny. De Tonty gripped him, but was hurled aside by insane strength, reeling back so that the weight of his body struck me to my knees. The next instant, his sword-point dripping blood, the runner was beyond reach, speeding for the open gate. What followed I know from word of others, and no view I had of it.

De Artigny had fallen, huddled in a heap on the grass, and I dragged myself across to him on my knees. I heard oaths, a shuffling of feet, a rush of bodies, a voice I did not recognize shouting some order--then the sharp crack of a rifle, and silence. I cared not what had occurred; I had De Artigny's head in my arms, and his eyes opened and smiled up at me full of courage.

"You are badly hurt?"

"No, I think not; the thrust was too high. Lift me, and I breathe better. The man must have been mad."

"Surely yes, Monsieur; think you he had hope of escape?"

"'Tis likely he thought only of revenge. Ah, you are here also, De Tonty."

"Yes, lad; there is small use for me yonder. You are not seriously struck?"

"I bleed freely, but the thrust was in the shoulder. I could stand, I think, with your aid."

On his feet he leaned heavily on us both, yet would not be led away, until La Forest joined us. He held in his hand some papers, yet neither of us questioned him.

"Monsieur de Tonty," he said, "I would have private word with you."

"When I help De Artigny to his bed, and have look at his wound. Yet is it not matter of interest to these as well?"

"I take it so."

"Then speak your message--M. Cassion is dead?"

"The sentry's bullet found his heart, Monsieur."

"I saw him fall. Those papers were upon him--are they of value?"

"That I know not; they possess no meaning to me, but they were addressed to the man killed at St. Ignace."

"Hugo Chevet?" I exclaimed. "My uncle; may I not see them, Monsieur?"