Indians of North America -- Wars -- 1812-1815 -- Fiction; United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction
Williams glowered at the pair in evil joy. Then he stooped and picked
the letter from the floor, to which it had fluttered from Jack’s
loosened fingers. For a moment he scanned it; then he looked up.
“I reckon this is what knocked him,” he jeered. “This here letter
says: ‘The girl you was sweet on ain’t married. She’s done broke her
engagement and she wants you to come back to her.’ An’ here he’s done
gone and tied up with a half-breed Injun cub. Ha! Ha!”
Alagwa’s face grew white. What was lacking in the letter her mind
supplied. Her brain reeled. Williams’s jeering laughter grew faint,
coming from an immeasurable distance; the candles spun round her in
enormous zigzags, the floor beneath her swayed. Blindly she stared,
all her being concentrated in one great determination not to faint.
Then she felt Fantine’s arms about her. Slowly self control came back
to her, and she raised her head. “Help me to get my husband to bed,”
she commanded.
* * * * *
Two hours later Alagwa, dressed for the road, stood looking down upon
Jack’s unconscious form. Her eyes were dry but her face betrayed the
ache that tore her heart.
She was not uneasy about Jack. The surgeon had seen him and had
declared that his set-back could be no more than temporary. “Good
Lord!” he exclaimed. “What would you have? From all accounts the boy’s
been under stress enough tonight to prostrate a well man. He’s blamed
lucky to get off as easy as he probably has. Take better care of him in
the future, madame!”
Alagwa had listened silently. She knew that more than exertion had
overcome Jack. Her mind was made up. Since Williams’s revelation she
had felt that she no longer had a place by her husband’s side. She had
saved his life in battle and had brought him safely back to his white
companions. Since then she had saved his life again by the care she
had taken of him. She had betrayed her friends in order that he might
be safe. And she had reaped her bitter reward. She did not blame Jack.
She blamed herself. She ought never to have married him. His life was
not hers. If for a moment she had thought it possible to go with him
and live the white man’s life in far Alabama the events of the night
had blotted the idea from her mind. She had done all she could to save
him. The fort, warned of the coming attack, would be able to hold out
till help came from the south. She could do nothing more. Her part in
his life was over. It remained only for her to take herself out of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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