When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois CountryParrish, Randall
General
When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois Country
Parrish, Randall
Illinois -- Fiction
Directly ahead of us there was nothing by which I could safely guide
our course. The flat sameness of the plain offered no landmarks, while
the night sky was so thickly overcast as to leave no stars visible.
Nor was there light of any kind, save that of the fires in the camp we
had just left. I hesitated to risk the open prairie thus unaided, lest
we should wander astray and lose much valuable time; so, although it
measurably increased our peril of encountering parties of savages,
I turned sharply northward, keeping the bright Indian fires upon our
left, and groping forward through the gloom toward where I knew the
main branch of the river must lie. It was neither the time nor place
for speech. I held her hand closely while we moved onward silently,
carefully guarding each step lest by mischance it should bring
betrayal. Once, after we had reached the river and were moving eastward
again, a party of Indians passed us, coming so silently out of the
black void, in their soft moccasins, that I had barely time to hold her
motionless before they were fairly upon us. I counted nine of them,
moving rapidly in single file, like so many black ghosts. We waited
with wildly throbbing hearts, listening for fear others might follow in
their trail.
We were almost beside the walls of the factory building before
either of us was aware of its proximity. Even then, as I lay prone
on the earth and studied its dim outlines, they possessed nothing
of familiarity, for the high-pitched roof had fallen in and carried
with it the greater portion of the upper walls, leaving a mere shell,
shapeless and empty. I rested there, gazing at it, and wondering how
best we might proceed to find our way beneath where the boat was to
be moored, when I felt Mademoiselle's fingers press my arm warningly.
Scarcely a yard away, on a ridge of higher ground, two dim figures came
to a sudden pause.
"I perceive naught of the presence of your friends as yet, Monsieur,"
spoke a soft voice, "but I will remain until certain of the outcome."
"Then your decision is unchanged?" asked the other, in deeper accent,
full of earnest pleading. "All is to be over between us from this hour?
And you deliberately choose to devote your life to the redemption of
these savages?"
"We have discussed all this at length, Monsieur le Marquis, as we came
along, and, as you fully know, my choice is made beyond recall. I am
here to serve you to-night, because it seems to be a duty given unto
me by some strange Providence; and I have relied upon your courtesy
to make it as little unpleasant as possible. I pray you, beseech me
no more. The girl I once was lives no longer; the woman I now am has
been given a special mission by God, too sacred to be cast aside for
aught that earth has to offer her of happiness. We part in kindness,
Monsieur,--in friendship even; but that which was once between us may
never be again."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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