Randall Parrish

Beyond the Frontier Randall Parrish

It was early autumn, for the clusters of grapes above me were already purple, and theforest leaves were tinged with red. And yet the air was soft, and the golden bars of sunflickered down on the work in my lap through the laced branches of the trellis. The workwas but a pretense, for I had fled the house to escape the voice of Monsieur Cassion whowas still urging my uncle to accompany him on his journey into the wilderness. They sat inthe great room before the fireplace, drinking, and I had heard enough already to tell methere was treachery on foot against the Sieur de la Salle. To be sure it was nothing to me, agirl knowing naught of such intrigue, yet I had not forgotten the day, three years before, when this La Salle, with others of his company, had halted 2 before the Ursuline convent, and the sisters bade them welcome for the night. 'Twas my part to help serve, and he hadstroked my hair in tenderness. I had sung to them, and watched his face in the firelight ashe listened. Never would I forget that face, nor believe evil of such a man. No! not from thelips of Cassion nor even from the governor, La Barre. I recalled it all now, as I sat there in the silence, pretending to work, how we watched themembark in their canoes and disappear, the Indian paddlers bending to their task, andMonsieur la Salle, standing, bareheaded as he waved farewell. Beyond him was the darkface of one they called De Tonty, and in the first boat a mere boy lifted his ragged hat. Iknow not why, but the memory of that lad was clearer than all those others, for he had metme in the hall and we had talked long in the great window ere the sister came, and took meaway. So I remembered him, and his name, Rene de Artigny. And in all those years I heardno more. Into the black wilderness they swept and were lost to those of us at home in NewFranc