The Black Feather | Page 3

herself on his money. All the brigades
knew his trouble by that time, and an easy breath was drawn by his
entertainers when he left the house with knife still sheathed. In the
wilderness the will of a brigade commander was law; but when the
voyageur was out of the Fur Company's yard in Mackinac his own will
was law.
One of the cautious clerks suggested that Charle' and Étienne be
separated in their work, since it was likely the husband might quarrel
with 'Tite Laboise's dancing partner.
"Turn 'em in together, man," chuckled the Scotch agent, Robert Stuart,
who had charge of the outside work. "Let 'em fight. Man Gurdon, I
havena had any sport with these wild lads since the boats came in."
But the combatants he hoped to see worked steadily until afternoon
without coming to the grip. They had no brute Anglo-Saxon
antagonism, and being occupied with different bales, did not face each
other.
The triple row of Indian lodges basked on the incurved beach, where a
thousand Indians had gathered to celebrate that vivid month. Night and
day the thump of their drums and the monotonous chant of their dances
could be heard above the rush and whisper of blue water breaking on
pebbles.
Lake Michigan was a deep sapphire color, and from where she stood
below the sally-port 'Tite Laboise could see the mainland's rim of beach
and slopes of forest near and distinct in transparent light. And she could
hear the farthest shaking of echoes from island to island like a throb of
some sublime wind instrument. The whitewashed blockhouse at the
west angle of the fort shone a marble turret. There was a low meadow
between the Fur Company's yard and pine heights. Though no salt tang
came in the wind, it blew sweet, refreshing the men at their dog-day
labor. And all the spell of that island, which since it rose from the water
it has held, lay around them.
Étienne St. Martin picked up a beaver-skin, and in the sight of 'Tite

Laboise her husband laid hold of it.
"Release that, Mange'-du-lard," he said.
"Eh bien!" responded Étienne, knowing that he was challenged and the
eyes of the whole yard were on him. "This fine crow he claims all
Mackinac because he carries a black feather in his cap. There are black
feathers in other brigades."
"But you never wore one in any brigade."
They dropped the skin and faced each other, feeling the fastenings of
their belts. Old Robert Stuart slipped up a window in the office and
grinned slyly out at the men surging towards that side of the yard. He
would not usually permit a breach of discipline. But the winter had
been so long!
"Myself I have no need of black feathers."
Étienne gave an insolent cast of the eye to the height where 'Tite
Laboise stood.
Charle', magnificent of inches, scorned his less-developed antagonist.
"Eh, man Gurdon," softly called old Robert Stuart from his window,
"set them to it, will ye? The lads will be jawing till the morn's morn."
This equivocal order had little effect on the ordained course of a
voyageur's quarrel.
"These St. Martins without stomachs, how is a man to hit
them?--pouf!" said Charle', and Etienne felt on his tender spot the cruel
allusion to his brother Alexis, whose stomach had been made public
property. He began to shed tears of wrath.
"I will take your scalp for that! As for the black feather, I trample it
under my foot!"
"Let me see you trample it. And my head is not so easily scalped as

your brother's stomach."
All the time they were dancing around each other in graceful and
menacing feints. But now they clinched, and Charle' Charette, when the
struggle had lasted two or three minutes, took his antagonist like a
puppy and flung him revolving to the ground. He hitched his belt and
glanced up towards the sally-port as he stood back laughing.
Étienne was on foot with a tiger's bound. He had no chance with the
wearer of the black feather, as everybody in the yard knew, and usually
a beaten antagonist was ready to shake hands after a few trials of
strength. But he seized one of the knives used in opening packs and
struck at the victor's side. As soon as he had struck and the bloody
knife came back in his hand he crouched and rolled his eyes around in
apology. No man was afraid of shedding blood in those days, but he
felt he had gone too far--that his quarrel was not sufficiently grounded.
He heard a woman's scream, and the sharp checking exclamation of his
master, and felt himself seized on each side. There was much confusion
in his mind and in the yard,