Read Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 for Free Online

expected to take part in the planning of such exploits, much less direct them. That last was the responsibility of the second most important man in the tribe, their uncle, Tattooed Serpent, chief of war.
    “For what purpose?”
    That was an excellent question. Reynaud flicked a glance over the face of the young Frenchwoman, who had knelt to take Madame Doucet’s head on her lap. There were traces of tears on her cheeks, but her self-control was complete. She looked deathly tired, however, and her features mirrored a haunted fear that he would give much to banish. At that instant she lifted her lashes, meeting his gaze, and so much virulent dislike sprang into her eyes that he felt the muscles of his abdomen tighten involuntarily as if in anticipation of a blow.
    “To keep her from harm,” he said slowly.
    “You could do that?” It was the man with the crutch who spoke and the hope that threaded his voice gave it a ragged sound.
    “It’s possible.”
    “How?” the merchant asked, a sneer curling his lip. “By taking her back to the village to slave for you?”
    “There is another way.”
    Something in the half-breed’s tone sent a tremor of uneasiness over Elise. Or perhaps it was the way his gaze kept returning to rest on her in impassive speculation. She had had time while hiding under the magnolia to think about what might be done, however. She swallowed hard, then spoke from where she knelt.
    “If we could know what has happened at the fort, know if they are holding out there, perhaps we could reach it.”
    “It has fallen.” St. Amant shifted uncomfortably on his crutch. “Or perhaps it might be best to say it never held. Chepart is dead. I saw him struck down and dismembered in his own garden.”
    She caught her breath at the implication of those stark words. If the fort had not held, then all was lost. There was scarcely time to consider it at this moment. “Then we must get away. With a boat, we could go down the river to New Orleans, give the alarm.”
    Reynaud shook his head. “The river will be watched, sentries posted for miles downstream. It is unlikely that you would get through. There were six men who took to the river at the first sign of the attack. Four were killed and the other two are being pursued even now.”
    Elise glanced at the others. Their faces were tight and pale, their eyes fixed on Reynaud Chavalier as if he alone could save them.
    “You mentioned a way out,” St. Amant suggested.
    “The nearest place of refuge for you is at the fort at the Poste de la Saint Jean Baptiste . I could take you there.”
    The normal method of reaching this post, located in the country of the Natchitoches Indians, was to travel down the Mississippi to where the Red River flowed into the larger river, then to proceed up the Red to the site of the French post, which had been built on its banks.
    “But if we can’t go on the river, how—”
    “We would have to cross to the west bank after nightfall, then make our way overland using the Indian trails. That’s much less dangerous than running the gauntlet down the river.”
    “Yes,” interrupted the merchant, Pascal, his voice harsh. “I seem to have heard a tale or two about these trails. Dangerous, they are, if I remember right, and long and hard.”
    “Regardless, it appears we have no choice.” St. Amant looked at Reynaud, but the other man only returned the Frenchman’s gaze without speaking.
    The merchant gave a hard nod. He spread his legs and put his fists on his hips. “Name your price, half-breed!”
    Until that moment, there had been no thought in Reynaud’s mind of profiting by the misfortune of the small band of French; he would have sworn it. Now something in the other man’s tone grated on his taut nerves like a flint knife scraping buffalo hide, mingling with the scorn shown him by the Widow Laffont to stir his anger. That they could despise him even while he was offering his help was bad enough, but that they should show