Cheri had carried his gun muzzle-downward. He had stumbled,--he did not
know how. He only knew that he had a ball lodged somewhere in his leg,
and he thought that his end was at hand. Now, with his head upon the
woman's shoulder, he moaned and wept with pain and fright.
"Oh, La Folle! La Folle! it hurt so bad! I can' stan' it, La Folle!"
"Don't cry, mon bebe, mon bebe, mon Cheri!" the woman spoke soothingly
as she covered the ground with long strides. "La Folle goin' mine you;
Doctor Bonfils goin' come make mon Cheri well agin."
She had reached the abandoned field. As she crossed it with her precious
burden, she looked constantly and restlessly from side to side. A
terrible fear was upon her,--the fear of the world beyond the bayou, the
morbid and insane dread she had been under since childhood.
When she was at the bayou's edge she stood there, and shouted for help
as if a life depended upon it:--
"Oh, P'tit Maitre! P'tit Maitre! Venez donc! Au secours! Au secours!"
No voice responded. Cheri's hot tears were scalding her neck. She called
for each and every one upon the place, and still no answer came.
She shouted, she wailed; but whether her voice remained unheard or
unheeded, no reply came to her frenzied cries. And all the while Cheri
moaned and wept and entreated to be taken home to his mother.
La Folle gave a last despairing look around her. Extreme terror was upon
her. She clasped the child close against her breast, where he could feel
her heart beat like a muffled hammer. Then shutting her eyes, she ran
suddenly down the shallow bank of the bayou, and never stopped till she
had climbed the opposite shore.
She stood there quivering an instant as she opened her eyes. Then she
plunged into the footpath through the trees.
She spoke no more to Cheri, but muttered constantly, "Bon Dieu, ayez
pitie La Folle! Bon Dieu, ayez pitie moi!"
Instinct seemed to guide her. When the pathway spread clear and smooth
enough before her, she again closed her eyes tightly against the sight
of that unknown and terrifying world.
A child, playing in some weeds, caught sight of her as she neared the
quarters. The little one uttered a cry of dismay.
"La Folle!" she screamed, in her piercing treble. "La Folle done cross
de bayer!"
Quickly the cry passed down the line of cabins.
"Yonda, La Folle done cross de bayou!"
Children, old men, old women, young ones with infants in their arms,
flocked to doors and windows to see this awe-inspiring spectacle. Most
of them shuddered with superstitious dread of what it might portend.
"She totin' Cheri!" some of them shouted.