CHAPTER XII.

THE SECRET JOURNEY AND THE HIDDEN TREASURE.

The long-threatened war between the French and English betokened its nearer approach by numerous aggressions upon both sides, and skirmishes became frequent.

At this time Gaston de Laguy had been appointed Governor of Canada. He was a young man to hold an office of such importance, but there had been a variety of peculiar circumstances which led to his appointment, and among those which most induced him to accept the position had been the health of his wife, Adèle. She had been the adopted daughter of Count de Frontenac, the former Governor, and was the playmate of Mahaska in her childhood, as well as the hated rival of her girlish years, for she had won the love of de Laguy whom Mahaska had worshiped with a passion bordering on frenzy in its intensity and reckless disregard of conventional proprieties.

Madame de Laguy’s health had declined after the birth of her first-born, and the physicians decided that a return to Canada and the enjoyment of the free air of the wilderness, in which so much of her early life had been spent, would conduce more than all their skill to restore her to health. So they had returned to Canada, and, though Adèle retained few pleasant memories of the country, she was content to remain there for a time, since she could have the enjoyment of her husband’s society and that of her child, with the prospect of recovering her wasted strength.

The love between de Laguy and his beautiful wife was something truly impressive to witness. They seemed to have grown so closely into each other’s souls that not even death could disturb the ties which bound them.

The birth of their boy drew them still more closely together, and, content with the world of happiness which they could center in their home, they came unrepiningly out to the New World. During the summer, business of importance took the Governor to Montreal, whither his wife and child accompanied him. While there, they received intelligence of the arrival of an old friend and relative of de Laguy at Quebec, and, as the Governor could not leave for some time, Adèle determined to return at once in order to welcome him at the gubernatorial castle.

The parting between the young husband and his wife was very painful, but it would be only of brief duration, and the Governor saw his treasures depart under the charge of a numerous escort without fear for her safety or anxiety beyond the pain of separation. The Governor’s wife made the journey in boats, and, as the weather was delightful, the trip was exceedingly pleasant.

Adèle did her best to shake off the oppression which parting from her husband had caused, with the unselfishness which made one of the most beautiful traits of her character, and endeavored to make every return for the efforts which the officers, who commanded her escort, employed to render her journey pleasant. So she drifted on toward her own sumptuous home, counting the days in her loving heart as blanks in her life till they brought back her husband.

While this journey was taking place, Mahaska and her band of warriors were threading the forest till they reached the vicinity of the St. Lawrence. It had been a dreary journey to Gi-en-gwa-tah; Mahaska had paid very little attention to his presence, but she never missed an opportunity to make his slight impatience apparent to the band, and to irritate, him by a thousand feminine efforts of malice. Still, he would not speak harshly to her; in spite of all, he loved her with the fervor of a noble heart that has set all its hopes on one object. He suffered cruelly and he changed greatly during those long days, but he bore up bravely under the heart-martyrdom which she inflicted on him. But he watched her; doubt and jealousy grew every day stronger in his mind. If once fully convinced that she was deceiving his people, all his love would not prevent his exposing her plots; his keen sense of honor and right would not have allowed him to remain silent.

So they journeyed on, but nothing arose to throw light upon the trouble in his mind or to make the reason of this hasty journey more apparent. He could neither eat nor sleep; all his faculties seemed absorbed in that eager suspense as if some great crisis were at hand and he was waiting for its approach.

Besides her other reasons for this expedition, Mahaska had one which was unknown to any human being—a project which she might not be able to carry out at that time, but which was swayed by the passion in her nature next in magnitude to her thirst for powder and revenge—her love of wealth.

It was a plan which would be very difficult to carry out, and in which she could not trust even the most faithful of her band, resulting from a secret confided to her by her grandmother, Ahmo, just before her death, a few months previously. It was Ahmo to whose baleful influence the child of Count Frontenac owed much of the unnatural ferocity of her nature. It was Ahmo who had instilled into Mahaska’s mind the idea that Frontenac had poisoned her mother—she it was who had inspired the girl with the idea of a queenly supremacy over the tribes of the Six Nations, by whom her mother’s father, the great chief and prophet Nemono, had been held in the greatest reverence. After Mahaska’s rejection by the gay young cavalier—de Laguy—to whom she made a remarkable proposition of marriage, but who rejected her strange suit and soon wed Adèle, Mahaska’s foster-sister and companion—the half-breed’s passions were in a fit mood to bend to the will of Ahmo’s cunning and treacherous nature, and the girl passed off among the Indians to become their queen and prophet. Old Ahmo’s implacable soul only stayed long enough in its worn out body to see her grandchild the wife of one of the Seneca braves and the acknowledged princess of the tribe.

It was just after Mahaska’s arrival among the Senecas, that she was one day sitting in her lodge, reflecting upon the savage life which now she had chosen, when the draperies were flung back and Ahmo entered the apartment. Her form was bent; her steps tottering and feeble, and it was evident that she was rapidly passing away beyond the restlessness of this life.

She had been for several days confined to her bed; Mahaska, hence, looked in astonishment at her entrance.

“Ahmo could not rest; she longed to see her grandchild once again.”

“Mahaska would have come to you,” she said, kindly; “Ahmo is feeble; she should not be out in the chill air.”

The old woman sunk down on a pile of furs near Mahaska and began muttering to herself.

“Ahmo is tired, very tired,” said Mahaska, compassionately.

“Ahmo is dying,” replied the old woman, calmly.

Mahaska started; the idea of death was terrible to her then; she could have met it once with fortitude, but now blankness and desolation were abhorrent to her proud nature.

“All night she heard the voices of Nemono and her daughter Chileli,” continued the old woman; “they are waiting for Ahmo; they have made ready her lodge in the happy hunting-grounds.”

“Ahmo will stay yet with Mahaska, and watch her greatness increase till it is beyond that of all the chiefs,” said the white girl.

The old woman shook her head.

“Three generations have blossomed before Ahmo’s eyes; she is very old and wants rest.”

“Can she not rest in Mahaska’s lodge?”

“But she wants the rest without dreams that they sleep down yonder by the water; Ahmo is old, and Chileli calls. She must go.”

She was silent again for some moments, then added:

“Ahmo has a secret for her grandchild.”

“Has Ahmo kept secrets from Mahaska?” she asked, reproachfully, her heart softening strangely at the woman’s changed face and feeble manner.

“Ahmo will tell it now,” she returned. “There was no need till she was ready to go forth in search of Nemono.”

“Ahmo could have trusted her child.”

“She knows it. But Ahmo was old; she loved power; she had grown miserly—Mahaska will not be angry.”

“Mahaska is never angry with Ahmo; let her hear this secret.”

“Mahaska remembers the island lodge where she used to come and stay when a child?”

The girl’s features contracted as they always did at the mention of any thing connected with that portion of her life; but she bowed her head in token of assent and motioned the old woman to proceed, not trusting her voice lest it should startle the sick woman by the passion it betrayed.

“Below the lodge,” pursued Ahmo, “there stand two willow trees. Mahaska has not forgotten them.”

It was not likely; as a child she had played under their shadow; as a girl she had sat there weaving her wild visions; often in her sleep had she heard the rustle of the long branches as they swayed to and fro, to awaken, suddenly, almost believing for an instant that the events of the past had been a dream, and that she was still a girl in the old lodge on Orleans Island.

“Mahaska will find a little knot at the foot of the lower tree; let her dig it away and push back the bark—she will see a box that was Chileli’s, Mahaska’s mother—it is full of gold.”

Mahaska was not greatly surprised; she knew that in her mother’s lifetime Frontenac had paid a large sum to old Ahmo, but she always averred that it had been squandered among the tribe.

“How much gold has Ahmo there?” she asked.

The woman named the sum—it was much larger than Mahaska expected, and the avaricious greed in her soul woke at once.

“But why did Ahmo leave it there?” she demanded.

The woman returned some vague answer.

“Mahaska can get it,” she said.

“But how? It will not be easy for Mahaska now to go so near Quebec. It would have been better to have brought the money when Ahmo came on to join the tribe.”

The old woman shook her head. The possession of that secret hoard had been one of the chief delights of her old age; nothing but the approach of death could have induced her to reveal her mystery even to her grandchild. She had bitterly lamented leaving it behind when she was forced to leave her home on the island, but she feared that it might be discovered by some watchful eye, and so concluded to leave it in its hiding-place.

“It may have been stolen,” Mahaska said.

“No, no,” returned Ahmo, with more energy than she had before betrayed; “Ahmo did her work well—even with the knowledge she has given her, Mahaska will find it hard to discover her gold.”

Mahaska was reflecting upon some means of placing the gold in her own possession. She had no one whom she chose to trust on an errand like that, while to go herself was an undertaking not at all agreeable to contemplate. The thought of increasing her wealth was delightful enough in itself, though there was a much broader passion than mere avarice reigning in her mind—the greater her wealth the more extended her influence. Gold and power—her soul centered its hopes on the two.

She looked at Ahmo and her heart softened again—she could not conceal from herself that the old woman was dying—a little time and she would be alone of all her race.

“Mahaska is not angry with Ahmo?” the woman demanded, rousing herself quickly.

“Angry? no! Mahaska loves Ahmo; her heart is knit fast to that of her grandmother.”

The old squaw’s face lighted up with a gleam of pleasure. She crept nearer to her grandchild and sheltered her head in the folds of her dress.

“Ahmo only kept her treasure secret to please her old age; it will be all Mahaska’s now.”

“Ahmo did well; Mahaska cares nothing for the gold, she would rather see her grandmother strong and vigorous than to possess all the gold the world could offer.”

The old woman smiled; she was touched and gratified by these words of affection.

“Mahaska shall be happy,” she said, “because she is kind to the aged woman; she loves her grandame.”

“When the spring comes, Ahmo will grow strong again,” urged the granddaughter.

The woman lifted her head warningly.

“Ahmo will never see the snow fall again; let not Mahaska deceive herself.”

She supported herself against the furs and motioned Mahaska to sit by her side. She sat for a long time silently regarding her, then she said:

“Mahaska will be a great queen; Ahmo only wishes to live long enough to witness her marriage with the chosen brave of her tribe.”

“Ahmo will surely live,” Mahaska replied, more touched than she had thought to be by the scene.

“She believes so,” said the woman; “Ahmo will watch over her from the spirit-land; let Mahaska be content.”

At last she rose as well as her feeble strength would permit and tottered away—she pressed a last kiss upon her grandchild’s forehead and made a sign of farewell as she turned to move away.

“Mahaska will go with you,” she said

“No, no; Ahmo can still walk; she _must_ keep her strength; she must live to see her grandchild go home to Gi-en-gwa-tah’s lodge.”

There never had been any further conversation between them on the subject, for the old woman died suddenly during the midst of the festivities which had followed the wedding of Mahaska. For a long time after that event Mahaska had been too much occupied with her own fortunes to devise any means for obtaining the coveted gold; but she had by no means forgotten the affair, and, during this expedition, she trusted to find an opportunity of approaching sufficiently near Quebec to go to the island of which her grandmother had spoken, in the hope of obtaining possession of the gold she had buried there, although she knew well that such an expedition would be very perilous and it might be impossible at the time.