Chapter Twenty Four.Waiting the Word.In truth was it a fearful moment—one to shake the steadiest nerves, or thrill the stoutest heart. To me, it was an ordeal far more terrible than that of an ordinary duel; for there was, lacking the motive—at least on my side—which usually stimulates to an affair of honour. Sense of wrong I felt, but too slightly for revenge—not enough to steel the heart to the spilling of blood. Anger Ihadfelt but the moment before; and then I could have fought, even to the death! But my blood, that had boiled up for an instant, now ran coldly through my veins. The unexpected behaviour of my adversary had calmed my wrath—acting upon it like oil upon troubled water.Thus to fight without seconds; to die without friend to speak the last word of worldly adieu; or to take the life of another, without human being to attest the fairness of the act—no earthly eye beholding us—no living creature save the black vultures—appropriate instruments to give the death-signal—ominous witnesses of the dark deed: such were the appalling reflections that came before my mind, as I stood facing my determined antagonist. It would scarcely be true to say, that I felt not fear; and yet it was less cowardice, than a sort of vague vexation at risking my life in so causeless a conflict. There was something absolutely ludicrous in standing up to be shot at, merely to square with the whim of this eccentric squatter; and to shoot at him seemed equally ridiculous. Either alternative, upon reflection, appeared the very essence of absurdity: and, having ample time to reflect, while awaiting the signal, I could not help thinking how farcical was the whole affair.No doubt, I might have laughed at it, had I been a mere looker on—herald or spectator; but, unfortunately, being a principal in this deadly duello—a real wrestler in the backwoods arena—the provocative to mirth was given in vain; and only served to heighten the solemnity of the situation. The circumstances might have elicited laughter; but the contingency, turn whatever way it might, was too serious to admit of levity on my part. Either horn of the dilemma presented a sharp point. To suffer one’s-self to be killed, in thissans façon, was little else than suicide—while to kill, smacked strongly of murder! And one or the other was the probable issue—nay, more than probable: for, as I bent my eyes on the resolute countenance of myvis-à-vis, I felt certain that there was no chance of escaping from the terrible alternative. He stood perfectly immobile—his long rifle raised to the “ready,” with its muzzle pointing towards me—and in his eye I could not read the slightest sign that he wavered in his determination! That grey-green orb was the only member that moved: his body, limbs, and features were still and rigid, as the stump behind which he stood. The eye alone showed signs of life. I could see its glance directed towards three points—in such rapid succession, that it might be said to look “three ways at once”—to the decoy upon the ground, to the shadowy forms upon the tree, and towards myself—its chief object of surveillance!“Merciful Heavens! is there no means to avert this doom of dread? Is it an absolute necessity, that I must either kill this colossus, or be myself slain? Is there no alternative? Is there still no chance of an arrangement?”Hopeless as it appeared, I resolved to make a last effort for peace. Once more I should try the force of an appeal. If he refused to assent to it, my position would be no worse. Better, indeed: since I stood in need of some stimulus to arouse me to an attitude, even of defence. This thought swaying me, I called out:“Holt! you are a brave man. I know it. Why should this go on? It is not too late—”“Youair a coward!” cried he, interrupting me, “an’ I know it—a sneakin’ coward, in spite o’ yur soger clothes! Shet up yur durned head, or ye’ll scare away the birds! an’, by the tarnal! ef you do, I’ll fire at ye, the fust that takes wing!”“Let that be the signal, then!” cried I, roused to an impatient indignation by this new insult: “the first that takes wing!”“Agreed!” was the quick rejoinder, delivered in a tone that bespoke determination to abide by it.My irresolution troubled me no longer. Thus driven to bay, I felt that further forbearance would not only be idle, but dangerous. It was playing with my life, to leave it in the hands of this unrelenting enemy. Better makehimsuffer for his sanguinary folly, than be myself its victim. Stirred by these thoughts, I grasped my rifle—now for the first time with a determination to make use of it. By the same prompting, my eye became active—watching with resolute regard the movements of the birds, and measuring the ground that separated me from my adversary.Notwithstanding the sting which his words had inflicted, I was yet hampered by some considerations of mercy. I had no desire tokillthe man, if I could avoid it. To “cripple” him would be sufficient. I had no fear of his having the shot before me. Long practice had given me such adroitness in the use of my weapon, that I could handle it with the quickness and skill of a juggler. Neither did I fear to miss my aim. I had perfect reliance on the sureness of my sight; and, with such a mark as the huge body of the squatter, it was impossible I could miss. In this respect, the advantage was mine; and, at so short a distance, I could have insured a fatal shot—had such been my intention. But it was not. The very contrary was my wish—to draw blood without inflicting a mortal wound. This would perhaps satisfy the honour of my antagonist, and bring our strife to an end.Whether any such consideration was in his mind, I could not tell. It was not visible in his eye—nor in his features that, throughout the whole scene, preserved their stern statue-like rigidity. There was no help for it—no alternative but to shoot at him, and shoot him down—if possible, only to wing him; but, of course, a sense of my own danger rendered this last of less than secondary importance. A single exchange of shots would, no doubt decide the affair; and the advantage would fall to him who was “quickest on the trigger.” To obtain this advantage, then, I watched with eager eye the behaviour of the birds. In like manner was my antagonist, occupied.
In truth was it a fearful moment—one to shake the steadiest nerves, or thrill the stoutest heart. To me, it was an ordeal far more terrible than that of an ordinary duel; for there was, lacking the motive—at least on my side—which usually stimulates to an affair of honour. Sense of wrong I felt, but too slightly for revenge—not enough to steel the heart to the spilling of blood. Anger Ihadfelt but the moment before; and then I could have fought, even to the death! But my blood, that had boiled up for an instant, now ran coldly through my veins. The unexpected behaviour of my adversary had calmed my wrath—acting upon it like oil upon troubled water.
Thus to fight without seconds; to die without friend to speak the last word of worldly adieu; or to take the life of another, without human being to attest the fairness of the act—no earthly eye beholding us—no living creature save the black vultures—appropriate instruments to give the death-signal—ominous witnesses of the dark deed: such were the appalling reflections that came before my mind, as I stood facing my determined antagonist. It would scarcely be true to say, that I felt not fear; and yet it was less cowardice, than a sort of vague vexation at risking my life in so causeless a conflict. There was something absolutely ludicrous in standing up to be shot at, merely to square with the whim of this eccentric squatter; and to shoot at him seemed equally ridiculous. Either alternative, upon reflection, appeared the very essence of absurdity: and, having ample time to reflect, while awaiting the signal, I could not help thinking how farcical was the whole affair.
No doubt, I might have laughed at it, had I been a mere looker on—herald or spectator; but, unfortunately, being a principal in this deadly duello—a real wrestler in the backwoods arena—the provocative to mirth was given in vain; and only served to heighten the solemnity of the situation. The circumstances might have elicited laughter; but the contingency, turn whatever way it might, was too serious to admit of levity on my part. Either horn of the dilemma presented a sharp point. To suffer one’s-self to be killed, in thissans façon, was little else than suicide—while to kill, smacked strongly of murder! And one or the other was the probable issue—nay, more than probable: for, as I bent my eyes on the resolute countenance of myvis-à-vis, I felt certain that there was no chance of escaping from the terrible alternative. He stood perfectly immobile—his long rifle raised to the “ready,” with its muzzle pointing towards me—and in his eye I could not read the slightest sign that he wavered in his determination! That grey-green orb was the only member that moved: his body, limbs, and features were still and rigid, as the stump behind which he stood. The eye alone showed signs of life. I could see its glance directed towards three points—in such rapid succession, that it might be said to look “three ways at once”—to the decoy upon the ground, to the shadowy forms upon the tree, and towards myself—its chief object of surveillance!
“Merciful Heavens! is there no means to avert this doom of dread? Is it an absolute necessity, that I must either kill this colossus, or be myself slain? Is there no alternative? Is there still no chance of an arrangement?”
Hopeless as it appeared, I resolved to make a last effort for peace. Once more I should try the force of an appeal. If he refused to assent to it, my position would be no worse. Better, indeed: since I stood in need of some stimulus to arouse me to an attitude, even of defence. This thought swaying me, I called out:
“Holt! you are a brave man. I know it. Why should this go on? It is not too late—”
“Youair a coward!” cried he, interrupting me, “an’ I know it—a sneakin’ coward, in spite o’ yur soger clothes! Shet up yur durned head, or ye’ll scare away the birds! an’, by the tarnal! ef you do, I’ll fire at ye, the fust that takes wing!”
“Let that be the signal, then!” cried I, roused to an impatient indignation by this new insult: “the first that takes wing!”
“Agreed!” was the quick rejoinder, delivered in a tone that bespoke determination to abide by it.
My irresolution troubled me no longer. Thus driven to bay, I felt that further forbearance would not only be idle, but dangerous. It was playing with my life, to leave it in the hands of this unrelenting enemy. Better makehimsuffer for his sanguinary folly, than be myself its victim. Stirred by these thoughts, I grasped my rifle—now for the first time with a determination to make use of it. By the same prompting, my eye became active—watching with resolute regard the movements of the birds, and measuring the ground that separated me from my adversary.
Notwithstanding the sting which his words had inflicted, I was yet hampered by some considerations of mercy. I had no desire tokillthe man, if I could avoid it. To “cripple” him would be sufficient. I had no fear of his having the shot before me. Long practice had given me such adroitness in the use of my weapon, that I could handle it with the quickness and skill of a juggler. Neither did I fear to miss my aim. I had perfect reliance on the sureness of my sight; and, with such a mark as the huge body of the squatter, it was impossible I could miss. In this respect, the advantage was mine; and, at so short a distance, I could have insured a fatal shot—had such been my intention. But it was not. The very contrary was my wish—to draw blood without inflicting a mortal wound. This would perhaps satisfy the honour of my antagonist, and bring our strife to an end.
Whether any such consideration was in his mind, I could not tell. It was not visible in his eye—nor in his features that, throughout the whole scene, preserved their stern statue-like rigidity. There was no help for it—no alternative but to shoot at him, and shoot him down—if possible, only to wing him; but, of course, a sense of my own danger rendered this last of less than secondary importance. A single exchange of shots would, no doubt decide the affair; and the advantage would fall to him who was “quickest on the trigger.” To obtain this advantage, then, I watched with eager eye the behaviour of the birds. In like manner was my antagonist, occupied.
Chapter Twenty Five.The Duel Delayed.Full five minutes passed, and not one of the vultures showed signs of stirring—five minutes of prolonged and terrible suspense. It was odd that the birds had not at once swooped down upon the piece of venison: since it lay conspicuously upon the ground—almost under the tree where they were perched! A score of them there were—ranged along the dead limbs—each with an eye keen of sight as an eagle’s! Beyond doubt, they observed the object—they would have seen it a mile off, and recognised it too—why, then, were they disregarding it—a circumstance so contradictory of their natural instincts and habits, that, even in that dread hour, I remarked its singularity? The cause might have been simple enough: perhaps the birds had already glutted themselves elsewhere? Some wild beast of the woods—more likely, some straying ox—had fallen a victim to disease and the summer heats; and his carcase had furnished them with their morning’s meal? There was evidence of the truth of this, in their blood-stained beaks and gorged maws, as also the indolent attitudes in which they roosted—many of them apparently asleep! Others at intervals stretched forth their necks, and half spread their wings; but only to yawn and catch the cooling breeze. Not one of all the listless flock, showed the slightest disposition to take wing.There were several already in the air, wheeling high aloft; and two or three had just joined their companions—increasing the cluster upon the tree. These had arrived, after we had taken our stand; and others were constantly coming down. But the signal mutually agreed to was mutually understood: it was thedepartureof one of the birds—not itsarrival—that was to give the cue ofentréeto the tragic act—the signal for the scene of death.Those five minutes to me appeared fifty—ah! far more than that: for, brief as was the actual time, a world of thoughts passed through my mind during its continuance. The past and future were alike considered. The memory of home, kindred, and friends; the probability that all such ties were to be severednowand for ever; some regret that laurels lately won were to be so briefly worn; the near prospect of life’s termination; of a death inglorious—perhaps scarcely to be recorded; vague visions of a future world; doubts not unmingled with dread, about the life to come: such were the thoughts that whirled confusedly through my brain.And theproximatepast had also its share in my reflections—perhaps occupying the largest space of all. That thing of light and gold—that but an hour ago had filled my heart to overflowing—was still there, mingling with its last emotions! Was I never more to look upon that radiant form? never more behold that face so divinely fair? never more listen to that melodious voice? Never more! The negative answer to these mental interrogatives—though only conjectural—was the bitterest reflection of all!Still stir not the vultures: only to preen their black plumes with fetid beak; or, extending their broad wings, to shadow the sunbeam from their bodies. It is the hour of noon; and the sun, shining down from the zenith, permeates the atmosphere with his sultriest rays. The birds droop under the extreme heat. It imbues them with a listless torpor. Carrion itself would scarce tempt them from their perch. Five minutes have elapsed; and not one moves from the tree—neither to swoop to the earth, nor soar aloft in the air! I no longer wish them to tarry. The suspense is terrible to endure—the more so from the ominous stillness that reigns around. Since the last angry challenge, not a word has been exchanged between my adversary and myself. In sullen silence, we eye each other, with scintillating glances watching for the signal.The situation was more than unpleasant. I longed for thefinale. My antagonist also showed signs of impatience. No longer preserving his statue-likepose, his body began to sway from side to side; while at intervals, he stamped the ground with his heavy heel. From the increasing anger that betrayed itself in his looks, I expected an explosion. It came at length. “Durn them buzzarts!” cried he, with a hurried gesture, “thar agwine to keep us stannin’ hyur till sundown. Durn the sleepy brutes! we can’t wait no longer on ’em. I dare ye—”The challenge thus commenced was never completed—at all events, I did not hear its conclusion; and know not to this hour what he meant to have proposed. His speech was interrupted, and his voice drowned, by the shrill neighing of my horse—who seemed startled at some sound from the forest. Almost at the same instant, I heard a responsive neigh, as if it were an echo from behind me. I heeded neither the one nor the other. I saw that the birds were aroused from their lethargic attitude. Some of them appeared as if pressing upon their limbs to spring upwards from the tree. The deadly moment had come!With my rifle raised almost to the level, I glanced rapidly towards my antagonist. His piece was also raised; but, to my astonishment, he appeared to be grasping it mechanically, as if hesitating to take aim! His glance, too, showed irresolution. Instead of being turned either upon myself or the vultures, it was bent in a different direction, and regarding with fixed stare some object behind me! I was facing round to inquire the cause, when I heard close at hand the trampling of a horse; and, almost at the same instant, an exclamation, uttered in the silvery tones of a woman’s voice. This was followed by a wild scream; and, simultaneously with its utterance, I beheld a female form springing over the bars! It was that of a young girl, whom I recognised at a glance. It was she I had encountered in the forest!I had not time to recover from my surprise before the girl had glided past me; and I followed her with my eyes, as she ran rapidly over the space that separated me from the squatter. Still mute with surprise, I saw her fling herself on the breast of my antagonist—at the same time crying out in a tone of passionate entreaty: “Father, dear father! what hashedone? Mercy! O mercy!”Good God!herfather? Holtherfather?“Away, Lil!” cried the man in a peremptory tone, removing her arms from his neck. “Away, gurl! git ye from, hyur!”“No, father! dear father! you will not? What does it mean? What hashedone? Why are you angry withhim?”“Done! gurl? He’s called mecoward; an’ ’ud drive us out o’ house an’ home. Git ye gone, I say! Into the house wi’ ye!—away!”“Mercy! O father, have mercy! Do not kill him. He is brave—he is beautiful! If you knew—”“Brave! beautiful?—gurl, yur ravin’! What do you know about him? Ye’ve niver seed him afore?”“Yes, dear father! only an hour ago. If you but knew—it was he who saved me. But for him—Father! he must not—he shall not die!”“Saved ye? What do ye mean, gurl?”“Hilloo! what’s all this rumpus?”The familiar ejaculation, and its adjunct interrogatory, admonished me that a new personage had appeared upon the scene. The voice came from behind. On turning, I beheld the unexpected speaker—a man on horseback, who had ridden up to the bars; and having halted there was craning his neck into the enclosure—gazing upon the scene that was being enacted there, with a singular half-comic, half-satirical expression of countenance!
Full five minutes passed, and not one of the vultures showed signs of stirring—five minutes of prolonged and terrible suspense. It was odd that the birds had not at once swooped down upon the piece of venison: since it lay conspicuously upon the ground—almost under the tree where they were perched! A score of them there were—ranged along the dead limbs—each with an eye keen of sight as an eagle’s! Beyond doubt, they observed the object—they would have seen it a mile off, and recognised it too—why, then, were they disregarding it—a circumstance so contradictory of their natural instincts and habits, that, even in that dread hour, I remarked its singularity? The cause might have been simple enough: perhaps the birds had already glutted themselves elsewhere? Some wild beast of the woods—more likely, some straying ox—had fallen a victim to disease and the summer heats; and his carcase had furnished them with their morning’s meal? There was evidence of the truth of this, in their blood-stained beaks and gorged maws, as also the indolent attitudes in which they roosted—many of them apparently asleep! Others at intervals stretched forth their necks, and half spread their wings; but only to yawn and catch the cooling breeze. Not one of all the listless flock, showed the slightest disposition to take wing.
There were several already in the air, wheeling high aloft; and two or three had just joined their companions—increasing the cluster upon the tree. These had arrived, after we had taken our stand; and others were constantly coming down. But the signal mutually agreed to was mutually understood: it was thedepartureof one of the birds—not itsarrival—that was to give the cue ofentréeto the tragic act—the signal for the scene of death.
Those five minutes to me appeared fifty—ah! far more than that: for, brief as was the actual time, a world of thoughts passed through my mind during its continuance. The past and future were alike considered. The memory of home, kindred, and friends; the probability that all such ties were to be severednowand for ever; some regret that laurels lately won were to be so briefly worn; the near prospect of life’s termination; of a death inglorious—perhaps scarcely to be recorded; vague visions of a future world; doubts not unmingled with dread, about the life to come: such were the thoughts that whirled confusedly through my brain.
And theproximatepast had also its share in my reflections—perhaps occupying the largest space of all. That thing of light and gold—that but an hour ago had filled my heart to overflowing—was still there, mingling with its last emotions! Was I never more to look upon that radiant form? never more behold that face so divinely fair? never more listen to that melodious voice? Never more! The negative answer to these mental interrogatives—though only conjectural—was the bitterest reflection of all!
Still stir not the vultures: only to preen their black plumes with fetid beak; or, extending their broad wings, to shadow the sunbeam from their bodies. It is the hour of noon; and the sun, shining down from the zenith, permeates the atmosphere with his sultriest rays. The birds droop under the extreme heat. It imbues them with a listless torpor. Carrion itself would scarce tempt them from their perch. Five minutes have elapsed; and not one moves from the tree—neither to swoop to the earth, nor soar aloft in the air! I no longer wish them to tarry. The suspense is terrible to endure—the more so from the ominous stillness that reigns around. Since the last angry challenge, not a word has been exchanged between my adversary and myself. In sullen silence, we eye each other, with scintillating glances watching for the signal.
The situation was more than unpleasant. I longed for thefinale. My antagonist also showed signs of impatience. No longer preserving his statue-likepose, his body began to sway from side to side; while at intervals, he stamped the ground with his heavy heel. From the increasing anger that betrayed itself in his looks, I expected an explosion. It came at length. “Durn them buzzarts!” cried he, with a hurried gesture, “thar agwine to keep us stannin’ hyur till sundown. Durn the sleepy brutes! we can’t wait no longer on ’em. I dare ye—”
The challenge thus commenced was never completed—at all events, I did not hear its conclusion; and know not to this hour what he meant to have proposed. His speech was interrupted, and his voice drowned, by the shrill neighing of my horse—who seemed startled at some sound from the forest. Almost at the same instant, I heard a responsive neigh, as if it were an echo from behind me. I heeded neither the one nor the other. I saw that the birds were aroused from their lethargic attitude. Some of them appeared as if pressing upon their limbs to spring upwards from the tree. The deadly moment had come!
With my rifle raised almost to the level, I glanced rapidly towards my antagonist. His piece was also raised; but, to my astonishment, he appeared to be grasping it mechanically, as if hesitating to take aim! His glance, too, showed irresolution. Instead of being turned either upon myself or the vultures, it was bent in a different direction, and regarding with fixed stare some object behind me! I was facing round to inquire the cause, when I heard close at hand the trampling of a horse; and, almost at the same instant, an exclamation, uttered in the silvery tones of a woman’s voice. This was followed by a wild scream; and, simultaneously with its utterance, I beheld a female form springing over the bars! It was that of a young girl, whom I recognised at a glance. It was she I had encountered in the forest!
I had not time to recover from my surprise before the girl had glided past me; and I followed her with my eyes, as she ran rapidly over the space that separated me from the squatter. Still mute with surprise, I saw her fling herself on the breast of my antagonist—at the same time crying out in a tone of passionate entreaty: “Father, dear father! what hashedone? Mercy! O mercy!”
Good God!herfather? Holtherfather?
“Away, Lil!” cried the man in a peremptory tone, removing her arms from his neck. “Away, gurl! git ye from, hyur!”
“No, father! dear father! you will not? What does it mean? What hashedone? Why are you angry withhim?”
“Done! gurl? He’s called mecoward; an’ ’ud drive us out o’ house an’ home. Git ye gone, I say! Into the house wi’ ye!—away!”
“Mercy! O father, have mercy! Do not kill him. He is brave—he is beautiful! If you knew—”
“Brave! beautiful?—gurl, yur ravin’! What do you know about him? Ye’ve niver seed him afore?”
“Yes, dear father! only an hour ago. If you but knew—it was he who saved me. But for him—Father! he must not—he shall not die!”
“Saved ye? What do ye mean, gurl?”
“Hilloo! what’s all this rumpus?”
The familiar ejaculation, and its adjunct interrogatory, admonished me that a new personage had appeared upon the scene. The voice came from behind. On turning, I beheld the unexpected speaker—a man on horseback, who had ridden up to the bars; and having halted there was craning his neck into the enclosure—gazing upon the scene that was being enacted there, with a singular half-comic, half-satirical expression of countenance!
Chapter Twenty Six.The Peacemaker.Without knowing why, I hailed the arrival of this stranger as opportune. Perhaps his presence, added to the entreaties of that fair young creature—still urgent in my behalf—might prevent the effusion of blood. Indeed, I had already determined that none should be spilled byme—let the consequences be as they might; and whatever was to be thedénouementof this awkward affair, I had resolved that my rifle should have nought to do in deciding it. The piece had fallen to the “order arms;” the ill-omened birds had forsaken their perch; and, now soaring in the blue sky, almost beyond the reach of human vision, their movements were no longer heeded—neither by my adversary nor myself.Turning away from the stranger—whom I had only regarded for a second or two—I faced again to the more interesting tableau in front of me. That, too, was rapidly undergoing a change. The squatter no longer clung to his rifle. The girl had taken it from his hands; and was hurrying with it into the door of the cabin. There was no hindrance made by my antagonist! On the contrary, he appeared to have delivered it over to her—as if the affair between us was to have a pacific termination, or, at all events, a respite.What surprised me more than all was the altered demeanour of my adversary. His whole manner seemed to have undergone a sudden change. Sudden it must have been, since it had taken place during a second or two, while my attention was occupied by the newly arrived horseman. What still further astonished me, was, that this transformation was evidently produced by the presence of the stranger himself! That it was not due to the young girl’s interference, I had evidence already. That had not moved him for a moment. Her earnest appeal had received a repulse—energetic and decisive, as it was rude; and of itself would certainly not have, saved me. Beyond doubt, then, was I indebted to the stranger for the truce so unexpectedly entered upon.The change in Holt’s demeanour was not more sudden than complete. At first, an air of astonishment had been observable; after that, an expression of inquietude—becoming each moment more marked. No longer did he exhibit the proud aspect of a man, who felt himself master of the ground; but, on the contrary, appeared cowed and quailing in the presence of the new-comer—whom he had met at the entrance, and at once invited into the enclosure. This manner was observable in the half-mechanical courtesy, with which he removed the bars, and took hold of the stranger’s horse—as also in some phrases of welcome, to which he gave utterance in my hearing.For myself, I was no longer regarded, any more than if I had been one of the dead-woods that stood around the clearing. The squatter passed, without even looking at me—his whole attention seemingly absorbed by the new arrival! It was natural I should regard with curiosity an individual, whose presence had produced such a wonderful effect; and my scrutinising gaze may have appeared rude enough to him. I cannot say that he elicited my admiration. On the contrary, his appearance produced an opposite effect. I beheld him with, what might be termed an instinct of repulsion: since I could assign no precise reason for the dislike with which he had inspired me on sight. He was a man of about thirty years of age; of a thin spare body, less than medium height; and features slightly marked with, thebar sinister. A face without beard—skin of cadaverous hue—nose sharply pointed—chin and forehead both receding—eyes small, but sparkling like those of a ferret—and long lank black hair, thinly shading his cheeks and brows—were the prominent characteristics of this man’s portrait. His dress was of a clerical cut and colour—though not of the finest fabric. The coat, trousers, and vest were of black broad-cloth—the coat and waistcoat being made with standing collars, similar in style to those worn by Wesleyan ministers—or more commonly by Catholic priests—while a white cravat not over clean and a hat with curving boat-brim, completed the saintly character of the costume.Judging from his personal appearance, I concluded that I saw in the individual before me the Methodist minister of Swampville. If so, it would account for the obsequiousness of his host, though not satisfactorily. There was something more than obsequiousness in Holt’s manner—something altogether different from that deferential respect, with which the gospel minister is usually received in the houses of the humbler classes. Moreover, the character of the squatter—such as I had heard it, and such as I had myself observed it to be—bore no correspondence with the attitude of reverence he had so suddenly assumed. Even under the hypothesis, that the new-comer was his clergyman, I was puzzled by his behaviour.He in the ecclesiastical costume appeared to be a man of few words; and of gesture he made a like limited use: having passed me, without even the courtesy of a bow. On the contrary, I was honoured with a glance of cynical regard—so palpable in its expression, as to cause an itching in my fingers, notwithstanding the saintly gown. I contented myself, however, with returning the glance, by one I intended should bear a like contemptuous expression; and, with this exchange, we separated from each other. I remained by my stand, without offering remark—either to the squatter or his guest. The only change I effected in my position, was to sit down upon the stump—where, with my rifle between my knees, I resolved to await the issue. All idea of using the weapon was gone out of my mind—at least, against Hickman Holt. He washerfather: I would as soon have thought of turning its muzzle to my own body.I tarried, therefore, with no hostile intention. On the contrary, I only waited for an opportunity to propose some pacific arrangement of our difficulty; and my thoughts were now directed to this end. I had every chance of observing the movements of the two men: since, instead of entering the cabin, they had stopped in front of it—where they at once became engaged in conversation. I took it for granted that I was myself the subject; but, after a time, I began to fancy I was mistaken. Judging from the earnest manner of both—but more especially from Holt’s gestures and frequent ejaculations—something of still greater interest appeared to be the theme of their dialogue. I saw the squatter’s face suddenly brighten up—as if some new and joyous revelation had been made to him; while the features of his visitor bore the satisfied look of one, who was urging an argument with success. They were evidently talking of some topic beyond my affair, and unconnected with it; but what it could be, I was unable even to guess. Perhaps, had I listened more attentively, I might have arrived at some knowledge of it—since words were occasionally uttered aloud—but my eyes were busier than my ears; and at that moment, neither the squatter nor his guest was the subject of my thoughts.Beyond them was the attraction that fascinated my gaze—that thing of roseate golden hue, whose shining presence seemed to light up the dark interior of the cabin—gleaming meteor-like through the interstices of the logs—now softly moving from side to side, and now, thank Heaven! gliding towards the door! Only for a moment stood she silently on the stoop—one smiling moment, and she was gone. Her fair face was once more hidden, behind the rudejalousieof the logs; but the smile remained. It was mine; and lingered long within the trembling temple of my heart.
Without knowing why, I hailed the arrival of this stranger as opportune. Perhaps his presence, added to the entreaties of that fair young creature—still urgent in my behalf—might prevent the effusion of blood. Indeed, I had already determined that none should be spilled byme—let the consequences be as they might; and whatever was to be thedénouementof this awkward affair, I had resolved that my rifle should have nought to do in deciding it. The piece had fallen to the “order arms;” the ill-omened birds had forsaken their perch; and, now soaring in the blue sky, almost beyond the reach of human vision, their movements were no longer heeded—neither by my adversary nor myself.
Turning away from the stranger—whom I had only regarded for a second or two—I faced again to the more interesting tableau in front of me. That, too, was rapidly undergoing a change. The squatter no longer clung to his rifle. The girl had taken it from his hands; and was hurrying with it into the door of the cabin. There was no hindrance made by my antagonist! On the contrary, he appeared to have delivered it over to her—as if the affair between us was to have a pacific termination, or, at all events, a respite.
What surprised me more than all was the altered demeanour of my adversary. His whole manner seemed to have undergone a sudden change. Sudden it must have been, since it had taken place during a second or two, while my attention was occupied by the newly arrived horseman. What still further astonished me, was, that this transformation was evidently produced by the presence of the stranger himself! That it was not due to the young girl’s interference, I had evidence already. That had not moved him for a moment. Her earnest appeal had received a repulse—energetic and decisive, as it was rude; and of itself would certainly not have, saved me. Beyond doubt, then, was I indebted to the stranger for the truce so unexpectedly entered upon.
The change in Holt’s demeanour was not more sudden than complete. At first, an air of astonishment had been observable; after that, an expression of inquietude—becoming each moment more marked. No longer did he exhibit the proud aspect of a man, who felt himself master of the ground; but, on the contrary, appeared cowed and quailing in the presence of the new-comer—whom he had met at the entrance, and at once invited into the enclosure. This manner was observable in the half-mechanical courtesy, with which he removed the bars, and took hold of the stranger’s horse—as also in some phrases of welcome, to which he gave utterance in my hearing.
For myself, I was no longer regarded, any more than if I had been one of the dead-woods that stood around the clearing. The squatter passed, without even looking at me—his whole attention seemingly absorbed by the new arrival! It was natural I should regard with curiosity an individual, whose presence had produced such a wonderful effect; and my scrutinising gaze may have appeared rude enough to him. I cannot say that he elicited my admiration. On the contrary, his appearance produced an opposite effect. I beheld him with, what might be termed an instinct of repulsion: since I could assign no precise reason for the dislike with which he had inspired me on sight. He was a man of about thirty years of age; of a thin spare body, less than medium height; and features slightly marked with, thebar sinister. A face without beard—skin of cadaverous hue—nose sharply pointed—chin and forehead both receding—eyes small, but sparkling like those of a ferret—and long lank black hair, thinly shading his cheeks and brows—were the prominent characteristics of this man’s portrait. His dress was of a clerical cut and colour—though not of the finest fabric. The coat, trousers, and vest were of black broad-cloth—the coat and waistcoat being made with standing collars, similar in style to those worn by Wesleyan ministers—or more commonly by Catholic priests—while a white cravat not over clean and a hat with curving boat-brim, completed the saintly character of the costume.
Judging from his personal appearance, I concluded that I saw in the individual before me the Methodist minister of Swampville. If so, it would account for the obsequiousness of his host, though not satisfactorily. There was something more than obsequiousness in Holt’s manner—something altogether different from that deferential respect, with which the gospel minister is usually received in the houses of the humbler classes. Moreover, the character of the squatter—such as I had heard it, and such as I had myself observed it to be—bore no correspondence with the attitude of reverence he had so suddenly assumed. Even under the hypothesis, that the new-comer was his clergyman, I was puzzled by his behaviour.
He in the ecclesiastical costume appeared to be a man of few words; and of gesture he made a like limited use: having passed me, without even the courtesy of a bow. On the contrary, I was honoured with a glance of cynical regard—so palpable in its expression, as to cause an itching in my fingers, notwithstanding the saintly gown. I contented myself, however, with returning the glance, by one I intended should bear a like contemptuous expression; and, with this exchange, we separated from each other. I remained by my stand, without offering remark—either to the squatter or his guest. The only change I effected in my position, was to sit down upon the stump—where, with my rifle between my knees, I resolved to await the issue. All idea of using the weapon was gone out of my mind—at least, against Hickman Holt. He washerfather: I would as soon have thought of turning its muzzle to my own body.
I tarried, therefore, with no hostile intention. On the contrary, I only waited for an opportunity to propose some pacific arrangement of our difficulty; and my thoughts were now directed to this end. I had every chance of observing the movements of the two men: since, instead of entering the cabin, they had stopped in front of it—where they at once became engaged in conversation. I took it for granted that I was myself the subject; but, after a time, I began to fancy I was mistaken. Judging from the earnest manner of both—but more especially from Holt’s gestures and frequent ejaculations—something of still greater interest appeared to be the theme of their dialogue. I saw the squatter’s face suddenly brighten up—as if some new and joyous revelation had been made to him; while the features of his visitor bore the satisfied look of one, who was urging an argument with success. They were evidently talking of some topic beyond my affair, and unconnected with it; but what it could be, I was unable even to guess. Perhaps, had I listened more attentively, I might have arrived at some knowledge of it—since words were occasionally uttered aloud—but my eyes were busier than my ears; and at that moment, neither the squatter nor his guest was the subject of my thoughts.
Beyond them was the attraction that fascinated my gaze—that thing of roseate golden hue, whose shining presence seemed to light up the dark interior of the cabin—gleaming meteor-like through the interstices of the logs—now softly moving from side to side, and now, thank Heaven! gliding towards the door! Only for a moment stood she silently on the stoop—one smiling moment, and she was gone. Her fair face was once more hidden, behind the rudejalousieof the logs; but the smile remained. It was mine; and lingered long within the trembling temple of my heart.
Chapter Twenty Seven.Yes—Yes!Towards the interior of the hut, hallowed by such lovely presence, I continued to direct my glances—with an occasional side-look, noting the movements of the two men. Whatever had been the exciting topic of discourse but the moment before, I saw that it was now changed; and that I was myself the subject of their conversation. This I could tell by their looks and gestures—evidently bearing upon me and my business. Conscious that I was observing them—and as if desirous of conferring more privately—they passed round to the rear of the cabin; where for the time they were out of my sight, as well as hearing. So far from regretting this movement, it was just what I desired: it left me free to continue the pleasant espionage in which I had become engaged. New more boldly my eyes explored the dark interior of the hut—more freely roamed my glance along the interstices of the logs. Gladly should I have gone up to the doorway—fain would I have been to enter—had I not been restrained; but delicacy, and something more stood in the way; and I was forced to keep my ground. Again I saw the bright form flitting within. Gliding gently across the floor—as if on tiptoe, and by stealth—the young girl stood for a while near the back-wall of the cabin. Close behind this, the two men were conversing. Did she go there to listen? She might easily hear what was said: I could myself distinguish the voices, and almost the words.She remained motionless; and, as well as I could judge, in an attitude of attention—her head lowered, and her body bent slightly forward. I was forming conjectures as to her motive, when I saw her moving away from the spot. In another instant, she appeared in the doorway—this time evidently with some design, as her manner clearly betokened. For a moment she stood upon the stoop, fronting towards me—but with her face averted, and her eyes by a side-glance directed towards the rear of the hut. She appeared to look and listens—as if noting the position of the men; and then, seemingly satisfied that she was not herself observed, she suddenly faced round, and came running towards me!Taken by surprise—a surprise mingled with sweet satisfaction—I rose to my feet; and stood silently but respectfully awaiting her approach. I had acted with prudence in not speaking: for I saw by her manner that the movement was a stolen one. Moreover, the finger, raised for an instant to her lips, admonished me to silence. I understood the signal, so piquantly given; and obeyed it. In another instant she was near—near enough for me to hear her words—delivered in a half-whisper. She had paused before me in an attitude that betokened the fear of interruption; and, before speaking, again cast behind her another of those unquiet looks.“Brave stranger!” said she, in a hurried undertone, “I know you are not afraid of my father; but oh, sir! for mercy’s sake, do not fight with him!”“Foryoursake,” I said, interrupting her, and speaking in a low but impressive tone—“for your sake, fair Lilian, I shall not fight with him. Trust me, there is no fear. I shall bear anything, rather than—”“Hush!” said she, again motioning me to silence, at the same time glancing furtively behind her. “You must not speak: you may be heard! Only listen to me. I know why you are here. I came out to tell you something.”“I listen.”“Father does not now wish to quarrel with you: he has changed his mind. I have just heard what they said. He intends to make you a proposal. Oh, sir! if you can, please agree to it; for then there—will be no trouble. I hope there will be none!”“For you, fair Lilian, I shall agree to it—whatever the conditions be. Can you tell me what proposal he intends making me?”“I heard him say he wouldsell—Oh, mercy! they are coming—if I am seen—”The murmuring words were drowned by the louder voices of the men—who were now heard returning round the angle of the wall. Fortunately, before they had reached the front of the cabin, the young girl had glided back into the doorway; and no suspicion appeared to be entertained by either, of the clandestine visit just paid me.On rounding the corner, the stranger stopped. The squatter continued to advance, until within a few paces of where I stood. Then halting, he erected his gigantic form to its full height; and, for a moment, confronted me without speaking. I noticed that his countenance no longer bore signs of angry passion; but, on the contrary, betrayed some traces of a softer feeling—as of regret and contrition.“Strenger!” said he at length, “I’ve two things to propose to ye; an’ ef you’ll agree to them, thur’s no need why you an’ I shed quarrel—leest of all plug one another wi’ bullets, as we wur agwine to do a minnit ago.”“Name your conditions!” rejoined I, “and if they are not impossible for me to accept, I promise you they shall be agreed to.”With Lilian in my thoughts, they would be hard indeed if I could not square with whatever terms he might propose.“They ain’t unpossible—neyther o’ ’em; thur only just an’ fair.”“Let me hear them; and believe me, Hickman Holt, I shall judge them most liberally.”“Fust, then, you called me a coward. Do you take that back?”“Willingly I do.”“So fur good; an’ now for tother proposal I hev to make. I don’t acknowledge yur right to this clarin’. I’ve made it; an’ call it my own, as a sovereign citizen of these United States; an’ I don’t care a cuss for pre-emption right, since I don’t believe in any man’s right to move me off o’ the groun’ I’ve clared. But I ain’t so durned pertickler ’bout this hyur bit. Another ’ll answer my bizness equally as well—maybe better—an’ ef ye’ll pay me for myimprovements, ye can take both clarin’ an’ cabin, an’ hev no more muss about it. Them’s my proposals.”“How much do you expect for these improvements? At what sum do you value them?”I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor purse felt light as it lay against my bosom—far lighter than the heart within: though that had been heavier but an hour before. I knew that the sack contained less than two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters’ Bank; and I feared that such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter.“Wal, stranger,” replied he, after a pause, “thur worth a good wheen o’ dollars; but I shan’t valley ’em myself. I’ll leave that part o’ the bizness to a third individooal—my friend as stands thur; an’ who’s a just man, an’s been some’at o’ a lawyer too. He’ll say what’s fair atween us. Won’t ye, Josh?”I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of the squatter, towards his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrained from showing my astonishment.“Oh, yes,” replied the other, “I’ll value the property with pleasure—that is, if the gentleman desires me to do so.”“How much do you think it worth?” I inquired with nervous anxiety. “Well, I should say that, for the improvements Mr Holt has made, a hundred dollars would be a fair compensation.”“A hundred dollars?”“Yes—in cash, of course, I mean.”“Will you be satisfied with that sum?” said I, turning to Holt for the answer.“Parfitly satisfied—so long’s it’s in cash.”“I agree to give it then.”“All right, strenger! a bargain’s a bargain. You kin shell out the dollars; and I’ll gie ye pursession afore this gentleman—who’ll witness it in writin’, ef you like.”“I want no writing. I can trust to your word.”It was no flattery: I felt at the moment that the squatter—rudely as he had acted—was still possessed of an honourable principle; and I knew that, under the circumstances, his word would not only be as good as his bond, butbetter! I made no hesitation, therefore; but, counting out the money, placed it upon the stump—alongside that curious document, impaled there by the blade of the squatter’s knife.“When ’ud ye like to take pursession?” asked the outgoing tenant.“At your convenience,” I replied, wishing to behave as courteously as possible.“It won’t takemelong to move. My furniter ain’t very cumbersome; an’ I kud let ye in to-morrow, ef ’t wan’t that I hev some unexpected bizness with my friend hyur. Say day arter the morrow? Ef ye’ll kum then, ye’ll find me ready to deliver up. Will that answer for ye?”“Admirably!” was my reply.“All right, then! I’d ask ye in, but thur’s nothin’ to gie you—’ceptin’ that piece o’ deer-meat, an’ it’s raw. Besides, strenger, I’ve some particklerbizness jest now, that I’m ’bleeged to see to.”“Oh, never mind! I shall not need any refreshment till I reach Swampville.”“Wal, then, I’ll bid you good-mornin’ at the same time wishin’ you luck o’ your bargin.”“Thanks—good morning!”I leaped into the saddle, and turned my horse’s head towards the entrance of the enclosure. I should have given him the touch to go forward with more reluctance, had I not perceived the fair Lilian gliding out of the cabin, and proceeding in the same direction! Two or, three of the bars had been replaced by the clerical visitor; and she had gone, apparently, to remove them. Was it simple courtesy, or a pretence to speak with me? My heart heaved with a tumultuous joy, as I fancied that the latter might be her motive. When I reached the entrance, the bars were down; and the young girl stood leaning against one of the uprights—her round white arm embracing the post. Envied piece of timber!“Promise me, we shall meet again?” said I, bending down, and speaking in a half-whisper.She looked back towards the cabin with a timid glance. We were not observed. The two men had gone into the horse-shed. In her fingers, I noticed the flower of a bignonia. She had taken it from among the golden tresses of her hair. Her cheek rivalled the crimson of its corolla, as she flung the blossom upon the saddle-bow.“Promise me!” I repeated in a more earnest tone.“Yes—yes!” she replied in a soft low voice, that resembled the whisper of an angel; and then, hearing noises from the house, she passed hurriedly away. “Yes—yes—!” cried the mimic thrush, as I rode on through the tall tulip-trees. “Yes—yes!” repeated a thousand rival songsters; or were the sounds I heard but the echoes of her voice, still pealing through the glad chambers of my heart?
Towards the interior of the hut, hallowed by such lovely presence, I continued to direct my glances—with an occasional side-look, noting the movements of the two men. Whatever had been the exciting topic of discourse but the moment before, I saw that it was now changed; and that I was myself the subject of their conversation. This I could tell by their looks and gestures—evidently bearing upon me and my business. Conscious that I was observing them—and as if desirous of conferring more privately—they passed round to the rear of the cabin; where for the time they were out of my sight, as well as hearing. So far from regretting this movement, it was just what I desired: it left me free to continue the pleasant espionage in which I had become engaged. New more boldly my eyes explored the dark interior of the hut—more freely roamed my glance along the interstices of the logs. Gladly should I have gone up to the doorway—fain would I have been to enter—had I not been restrained; but delicacy, and something more stood in the way; and I was forced to keep my ground. Again I saw the bright form flitting within. Gliding gently across the floor—as if on tiptoe, and by stealth—the young girl stood for a while near the back-wall of the cabin. Close behind this, the two men were conversing. Did she go there to listen? She might easily hear what was said: I could myself distinguish the voices, and almost the words.
She remained motionless; and, as well as I could judge, in an attitude of attention—her head lowered, and her body bent slightly forward. I was forming conjectures as to her motive, when I saw her moving away from the spot. In another instant, she appeared in the doorway—this time evidently with some design, as her manner clearly betokened. For a moment she stood upon the stoop, fronting towards me—but with her face averted, and her eyes by a side-glance directed towards the rear of the hut. She appeared to look and listens—as if noting the position of the men; and then, seemingly satisfied that she was not herself observed, she suddenly faced round, and came running towards me!
Taken by surprise—a surprise mingled with sweet satisfaction—I rose to my feet; and stood silently but respectfully awaiting her approach. I had acted with prudence in not speaking: for I saw by her manner that the movement was a stolen one. Moreover, the finger, raised for an instant to her lips, admonished me to silence. I understood the signal, so piquantly given; and obeyed it. In another instant she was near—near enough for me to hear her words—delivered in a half-whisper. She had paused before me in an attitude that betokened the fear of interruption; and, before speaking, again cast behind her another of those unquiet looks.
“Brave stranger!” said she, in a hurried undertone, “I know you are not afraid of my father; but oh, sir! for mercy’s sake, do not fight with him!”
“Foryoursake,” I said, interrupting her, and speaking in a low but impressive tone—“for your sake, fair Lilian, I shall not fight with him. Trust me, there is no fear. I shall bear anything, rather than—”
“Hush!” said she, again motioning me to silence, at the same time glancing furtively behind her. “You must not speak: you may be heard! Only listen to me. I know why you are here. I came out to tell you something.”
“I listen.”
“Father does not now wish to quarrel with you: he has changed his mind. I have just heard what they said. He intends to make you a proposal. Oh, sir! if you can, please agree to it; for then there—will be no trouble. I hope there will be none!”
“For you, fair Lilian, I shall agree to it—whatever the conditions be. Can you tell me what proposal he intends making me?”
“I heard him say he wouldsell—Oh, mercy! they are coming—if I am seen—”
The murmuring words were drowned by the louder voices of the men—who were now heard returning round the angle of the wall. Fortunately, before they had reached the front of the cabin, the young girl had glided back into the doorway; and no suspicion appeared to be entertained by either, of the clandestine visit just paid me.
On rounding the corner, the stranger stopped. The squatter continued to advance, until within a few paces of where I stood. Then halting, he erected his gigantic form to its full height; and, for a moment, confronted me without speaking. I noticed that his countenance no longer bore signs of angry passion; but, on the contrary, betrayed some traces of a softer feeling—as of regret and contrition.
“Strenger!” said he at length, “I’ve two things to propose to ye; an’ ef you’ll agree to them, thur’s no need why you an’ I shed quarrel—leest of all plug one another wi’ bullets, as we wur agwine to do a minnit ago.”
“Name your conditions!” rejoined I, “and if they are not impossible for me to accept, I promise you they shall be agreed to.”
With Lilian in my thoughts, they would be hard indeed if I could not square with whatever terms he might propose.
“They ain’t unpossible—neyther o’ ’em; thur only just an’ fair.”
“Let me hear them; and believe me, Hickman Holt, I shall judge them most liberally.”
“Fust, then, you called me a coward. Do you take that back?”
“Willingly I do.”
“So fur good; an’ now for tother proposal I hev to make. I don’t acknowledge yur right to this clarin’. I’ve made it; an’ call it my own, as a sovereign citizen of these United States; an’ I don’t care a cuss for pre-emption right, since I don’t believe in any man’s right to move me off o’ the groun’ I’ve clared. But I ain’t so durned pertickler ’bout this hyur bit. Another ’ll answer my bizness equally as well—maybe better—an’ ef ye’ll pay me for myimprovements, ye can take both clarin’ an’ cabin, an’ hev no more muss about it. Them’s my proposals.”
“How much do you expect for these improvements? At what sum do you value them?”
I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor purse felt light as it lay against my bosom—far lighter than the heart within: though that had been heavier but an hour before. I knew that the sack contained less than two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters’ Bank; and I feared that such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter.
“Wal, stranger,” replied he, after a pause, “thur worth a good wheen o’ dollars; but I shan’t valley ’em myself. I’ll leave that part o’ the bizness to a third individooal—my friend as stands thur; an’ who’s a just man, an’s been some’at o’ a lawyer too. He’ll say what’s fair atween us. Won’t ye, Josh?”
I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of the squatter, towards his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrained from showing my astonishment.
“Oh, yes,” replied the other, “I’ll value the property with pleasure—that is, if the gentleman desires me to do so.”
“How much do you think it worth?” I inquired with nervous anxiety. “Well, I should say that, for the improvements Mr Holt has made, a hundred dollars would be a fair compensation.”
“A hundred dollars?”
“Yes—in cash, of course, I mean.”
“Will you be satisfied with that sum?” said I, turning to Holt for the answer.
“Parfitly satisfied—so long’s it’s in cash.”
“I agree to give it then.”
“All right, strenger! a bargain’s a bargain. You kin shell out the dollars; and I’ll gie ye pursession afore this gentleman—who’ll witness it in writin’, ef you like.”
“I want no writing. I can trust to your word.”
It was no flattery: I felt at the moment that the squatter—rudely as he had acted—was still possessed of an honourable principle; and I knew that, under the circumstances, his word would not only be as good as his bond, butbetter! I made no hesitation, therefore; but, counting out the money, placed it upon the stump—alongside that curious document, impaled there by the blade of the squatter’s knife.
“When ’ud ye like to take pursession?” asked the outgoing tenant.
“At your convenience,” I replied, wishing to behave as courteously as possible.
“It won’t takemelong to move. My furniter ain’t very cumbersome; an’ I kud let ye in to-morrow, ef ’t wan’t that I hev some unexpected bizness with my friend hyur. Say day arter the morrow? Ef ye’ll kum then, ye’ll find me ready to deliver up. Will that answer for ye?”
“Admirably!” was my reply.
“All right, then! I’d ask ye in, but thur’s nothin’ to gie you—’ceptin’ that piece o’ deer-meat, an’ it’s raw. Besides, strenger, I’ve some particklerbizness jest now, that I’m ’bleeged to see to.”
“Oh, never mind! I shall not need any refreshment till I reach Swampville.”
“Wal, then, I’ll bid you good-mornin’ at the same time wishin’ you luck o’ your bargin.”
“Thanks—good morning!”
I leaped into the saddle, and turned my horse’s head towards the entrance of the enclosure. I should have given him the touch to go forward with more reluctance, had I not perceived the fair Lilian gliding out of the cabin, and proceeding in the same direction! Two or, three of the bars had been replaced by the clerical visitor; and she had gone, apparently, to remove them. Was it simple courtesy, or a pretence to speak with me? My heart heaved with a tumultuous joy, as I fancied that the latter might be her motive. When I reached the entrance, the bars were down; and the young girl stood leaning against one of the uprights—her round white arm embracing the post. Envied piece of timber!
“Promise me, we shall meet again?” said I, bending down, and speaking in a half-whisper.
She looked back towards the cabin with a timid glance. We were not observed. The two men had gone into the horse-shed. In her fingers, I noticed the flower of a bignonia. She had taken it from among the golden tresses of her hair. Her cheek rivalled the crimson of its corolla, as she flung the blossom upon the saddle-bow.
“Promise me!” I repeated in a more earnest tone.
“Yes—yes!” she replied in a soft low voice, that resembled the whisper of an angel; and then, hearing noises from the house, she passed hurriedly away. “Yes—yes—!” cried the mimic thrush, as I rode on through the tall tulip-trees. “Yes—yes!” repeated a thousand rival songsters; or were the sounds I heard but the echoes of her voice, still pealing through the glad chambers of my heart?
Chapter Twenty Eight.An Errand of Love.This second purchase and payment rendered necessary a communication with my Nashville friend. Fortunately, Swampville had a mail; and, to avail myself of it, I rode direct for the settlement. On my return, I found the river-town, figuratively speaking, on fire. Short as bad been the period of my absence, it had been marked by an incident of no ordinary character. That morning’s mail had conveyed to the settlement the intelligence of a rare and interesting event—the discovery of thegold placersof California. I had heard rumours of this before—only half believed, and not yet reaching to Swampville. Returned emigrants from California were now reported, as having arrived in Saint Louis and other frontier towns—bringing with them, not only the full account of the gold discovery, but its confirmation, in the shape of large “chunks” of gold-bearing quartz, and bags of the yellow dust itself. The marvellous tale was no longer questioned, or doubted. The mail had brought newspapers from New Orleans and Saint Louis, giving detailed accounts of the digging of Sutter’s mill-race by the disbanded soldiers of the “Mormon Battalion;” of thecrevassecaused by the water, which had laid open the wonderful auriferous deposits; and describing also the half frantic excitement which the news had produced these populous cities.In this, Swampville had not been slow to imitate them. I found the little village on thequi vive: not only the idlers showing an interest in the extraordinary intelligence; but the business men of the place being equally startled out of their sobriety. A “company” was already projected, in which many well-to-do men had registered their names; and even Colonel Kipp talked of transporting hispenatesacross the great plains, and swinging the Jackson sign upon the shores of the Pacific. Swampville was smitten with a golden mania, that seemed to promise its speedy depopulation.Though many of my oldcamaradosof the Mexican campaign found fresh vent for their energies in this new field of enterprise, for me it had no attractions whatever. I therefore resisted the solicitations of the Swampvillians to “jine thar company”—in which I was offered the compliment of a command. On that day, and at that hour, not for all the gold in California would I have forsaken my new home in the forest—under whose “boundless contiguity of shade” sparkled, in my eyes, “a metal more attractive.” Instead of longing for the far shores of the Pacific, I longed only to return to the banks of Mud Creek; and chafed at the necessary delay that hindered me from gratifying my wish. Even the generous hospitality of Colonel Kipp—amiable under the influence of golden dreams—even the smiles of the simpering Alvina, and the morebravecoquetry of Car’line—now become a decided admirer of my yellow buttons—were not sufficient to preserve my spirits fromennui. Only at meals did I make my appearance at the hotel—at all other times, seeking to soothe the impassioned pulsations of my heart in the dark depths of the forest. There I would wander for hours, not listing where I went; but ever finding myself, as if by some instinct, upon the path that conducted in the direction of the creek! It was some solace to listen to the notes of the wild-woods—the songs of birds and bee—for these had become associated in my mind with the melodious tones of Lilian’s voice—to look upon the forest flowers; more especially upon the encarmined blossom of the bignonia—now to me a symbol of the sweetest sentiment. The one most prized of all, I had carefully preserved. In a glass I had placed it, on the dressing-table of my chamber, with its peduncle immersed in water.My zealous care only procured me a chagrin. On returning from one of my rambles, I found the flower upon the floor, crushed by some spiteful heel? Was it thy heel, Caroline Kipp? In its place was a bunch of hideous gilly-flowers and yellow daffodils, of the dimensions of a drum-head cabbage—placed there either to mock my regard, or elicit my admiration! In either case, I resolved upon arevanche. By its wound, the bignonia smelt sweeter than ever; and though I could not restore the pretty blossom to its graceful campanulate shape, from that time forward it appeared in my buttonhole—to the slight torture, I fancied, of the backwoods coquette.In the two days during which I was denied sight of her my love for Lilian Holt was fast ripening into a passion—which absence only seemed to amplify. No doubt the contrast of common faces—such as those I observed in Swampville—did something towards heightening my admiration. There was another contrast that had at this time an influence on my heart’s inclinings. To an eye, fatigued with dwelling long and continuously on the dark complexions of the south—the olivine hue of Aztec and Iberian skins—there was a relief in the radiance of this carmined blonde, that, apart from her absolute loveliness, was piquant from the novelty and rareness of the characteristic. Additional elements of attraction may have been: themise en scènethat surrounded her; the unexpected discovery of such a precious jewel in so rude a casket; the romantic incident of our first encounter; and the equally peculiar circumstances attending our second and last interview. All these may have combined in weaving around my spirit a spell, that now embraced, and was likely to influence, every act of my future existence. Therefore, on the morning of the third day, as I mounted my horse, and turned his head in the direction of Holt’s clearing, it was not with any design of dispossessing the squatter. Occupied with sweet love-dreams, I had as yet given no thought to the ruder realities of life. I had formed no plan for colonising—neither towards entering upon possession, nor extending the “improvement” I had twice purchased.Notwithstanding both purchase and payment, the squatter might still continue to hold his cabin and clearing—and share with me the disputed land. Welcome should I make him, on one condition—the condition of becoming his guest—constant or occasional—in either way, so long as I might have the opportunity of enjoying the presence of his fair daughter, and to her demonstrating my heart’s devotion. Some such idea, vaguely conceived, flitted across my mind, as I entered upon my second journey to Mud Creek. My ostensible object was to take formal possession of an estate, and turn out its original owner. But my heart was in no unison with such an end. It recoiled from, or rather had it forgotten, its purpose. Its throbbings were directed to a different object: guiding me on a more joyful and auspicious errand—the errand of love.
This second purchase and payment rendered necessary a communication with my Nashville friend. Fortunately, Swampville had a mail; and, to avail myself of it, I rode direct for the settlement. On my return, I found the river-town, figuratively speaking, on fire. Short as bad been the period of my absence, it had been marked by an incident of no ordinary character. That morning’s mail had conveyed to the settlement the intelligence of a rare and interesting event—the discovery of thegold placersof California. I had heard rumours of this before—only half believed, and not yet reaching to Swampville. Returned emigrants from California were now reported, as having arrived in Saint Louis and other frontier towns—bringing with them, not only the full account of the gold discovery, but its confirmation, in the shape of large “chunks” of gold-bearing quartz, and bags of the yellow dust itself. The marvellous tale was no longer questioned, or doubted. The mail had brought newspapers from New Orleans and Saint Louis, giving detailed accounts of the digging of Sutter’s mill-race by the disbanded soldiers of the “Mormon Battalion;” of thecrevassecaused by the water, which had laid open the wonderful auriferous deposits; and describing also the half frantic excitement which the news had produced these populous cities.
In this, Swampville had not been slow to imitate them. I found the little village on thequi vive: not only the idlers showing an interest in the extraordinary intelligence; but the business men of the place being equally startled out of their sobriety. A “company” was already projected, in which many well-to-do men had registered their names; and even Colonel Kipp talked of transporting hispenatesacross the great plains, and swinging the Jackson sign upon the shores of the Pacific. Swampville was smitten with a golden mania, that seemed to promise its speedy depopulation.
Though many of my oldcamaradosof the Mexican campaign found fresh vent for their energies in this new field of enterprise, for me it had no attractions whatever. I therefore resisted the solicitations of the Swampvillians to “jine thar company”—in which I was offered the compliment of a command. On that day, and at that hour, not for all the gold in California would I have forsaken my new home in the forest—under whose “boundless contiguity of shade” sparkled, in my eyes, “a metal more attractive.” Instead of longing for the far shores of the Pacific, I longed only to return to the banks of Mud Creek; and chafed at the necessary delay that hindered me from gratifying my wish. Even the generous hospitality of Colonel Kipp—amiable under the influence of golden dreams—even the smiles of the simpering Alvina, and the morebravecoquetry of Car’line—now become a decided admirer of my yellow buttons—were not sufficient to preserve my spirits fromennui. Only at meals did I make my appearance at the hotel—at all other times, seeking to soothe the impassioned pulsations of my heart in the dark depths of the forest. There I would wander for hours, not listing where I went; but ever finding myself, as if by some instinct, upon the path that conducted in the direction of the creek! It was some solace to listen to the notes of the wild-woods—the songs of birds and bee—for these had become associated in my mind with the melodious tones of Lilian’s voice—to look upon the forest flowers; more especially upon the encarmined blossom of the bignonia—now to me a symbol of the sweetest sentiment. The one most prized of all, I had carefully preserved. In a glass I had placed it, on the dressing-table of my chamber, with its peduncle immersed in water.
My zealous care only procured me a chagrin. On returning from one of my rambles, I found the flower upon the floor, crushed by some spiteful heel? Was it thy heel, Caroline Kipp? In its place was a bunch of hideous gilly-flowers and yellow daffodils, of the dimensions of a drum-head cabbage—placed there either to mock my regard, or elicit my admiration! In either case, I resolved upon arevanche. By its wound, the bignonia smelt sweeter than ever; and though I could not restore the pretty blossom to its graceful campanulate shape, from that time forward it appeared in my buttonhole—to the slight torture, I fancied, of the backwoods coquette.
In the two days during which I was denied sight of her my love for Lilian Holt was fast ripening into a passion—which absence only seemed to amplify. No doubt the contrast of common faces—such as those I observed in Swampville—did something towards heightening my admiration. There was another contrast that had at this time an influence on my heart’s inclinings. To an eye, fatigued with dwelling long and continuously on the dark complexions of the south—the olivine hue of Aztec and Iberian skins—there was a relief in the radiance of this carmined blonde, that, apart from her absolute loveliness, was piquant from the novelty and rareness of the characteristic. Additional elements of attraction may have been: themise en scènethat surrounded her; the unexpected discovery of such a precious jewel in so rude a casket; the romantic incident of our first encounter; and the equally peculiar circumstances attending our second and last interview. All these may have combined in weaving around my spirit a spell, that now embraced, and was likely to influence, every act of my future existence. Therefore, on the morning of the third day, as I mounted my horse, and turned his head in the direction of Holt’s clearing, it was not with any design of dispossessing the squatter. Occupied with sweet love-dreams, I had as yet given no thought to the ruder realities of life. I had formed no plan for colonising—neither towards entering upon possession, nor extending the “improvement” I had twice purchased.
Notwithstanding both purchase and payment, the squatter might still continue to hold his cabin and clearing—and share with me the disputed land. Welcome should I make him, on one condition—the condition of becoming his guest—constant or occasional—in either way, so long as I might have the opportunity of enjoying the presence of his fair daughter, and to her demonstrating my heart’s devotion. Some such idea, vaguely conceived, flitted across my mind, as I entered upon my second journey to Mud Creek. My ostensible object was to take formal possession of an estate, and turn out its original owner. But my heart was in no unison with such an end. It recoiled from, or rather had it forgotten, its purpose. Its throbbings were directed to a different object: guiding me on a more joyful and auspicious errand—the errand of love.
Chapter Twenty Nine.A red-skinned Sibyl.Not a sound came from the forest to disturb my sweet musings. Silent was the sky of the Indian summer—soft and balm-laden its breeze. The trees stirred not; the branches seemed extended in the stillness of repose; even the leaves of thetremuloides, hanging on their compressed petioles, were scarcely seen to quiver. The rustling heard at intervals, was but the fluttering of bright wings amid the foliage; or the rushing of some mountebank squirrel in reckless evolution among the branches—sounds harmonising with the scene. Not till I had entered the glade was I aroused from my reverie—at first gently, by the sudden emergence from shade into light; but afterwards in a more sensible manner on sight of a human form—at a glance recognised as that of the Indian maiden. She was seated, or rather reclining, against the blanched log; her brown arm embracing an outstretched limb; half supported on one leg—the other crossed carelessly over it in an attitude of repose. Beside her on the log lay a wicker pannier, filled with odds and ends of Indian manufacture.Though I had risen close up to the girl, she vouchsafed no acknowledgment of my presence. I observed no motion—not even of the eyes; which, directed downwards, seemed fixed in steadfast gaze upon the ground. Nothing about her appeared to move—save the coruscation of metallic ornaments that glittered in the sun, as though her body were enveloped in scale-armour. Otherwise, she might have been mistaken for a statue in bronze. And one, too, of noble proportions. The attitude was in every way graceful; and displayed to perfection the full bold contour of the maiden’s form. Her well-rounded arm entwining the branch, with her large body and limbs outlined inalto-relievoagainst the entablature of the white trunk, presented a picture that a sculptor would have loved to copy; and that even the inartistic eye could not look upon without admiration.Instinctively I checked my horse, and halted in front of this singular apparition. I can scarcely tell why I did so; since neither by look nor gesture was I invited to take such a liberty. On the contrary, I could perceive that my movement was regarded with displeasure. There was no change in the statuesque attitude: even the eyes were not raised from the earth; but a frown was distinctly traceable on the features of the girl. Thus repulsed, I should have ridden on; and would have done so, but for that sense of awkwardness, which one feels in similar situations. By pausing in the marked manner I had done, and gazing so pointedly at the girl, I had committed an act of ill-breeding—of which I now felt sensible. Indian though she was, she was evidently no commonsquaw; but gifted with certain noble traits, of which many a maiden with white skin might have envied her the possession. Beyond that, I knew she was the victim of a passion—all-absorbing as it was hopeless—and this in my eyes, ennobled and sanctified her.Just then, I had myself no cause to fear an unrequited love—no need to be ungenerous or selfish—and could, therefore, afford to extend my sympathy to the sufferings of another. It was some vague prompting of this kind, that had caused me to draw up—some idea of offering consolation. The repelling reception was altogether unexpected, and placed me in a predicament. How was I to escape from it? By holding my tongue, and riding on? No; this would be an acknowledgment of having committed an act ofgaucherie—to which man’s vanity rarely accedes, or only with extreme reluctance. I had rushed inconsiderately into the mire, and must plunge deeper to get through. “We must become worse to make our title good.”So reflecting, or rather without reflecting at all, I resolved to “become worse”—with the risk of making a worse of it. “Perhaps,” thought I, “she does not recognise me?” She had not looked at me as yet. “If she would only raise her eyes, she would remember me as the friend of the White Eagle. That might initiate a conversation; and cause her to interpret more kindly my apparent rudeness. I shall speak to her at all hazards. Su-wa-nee!” The dark Indian eye was raised upon me with an angry flash; but no other reply was vouchsafed. “Su-wa-nee!” I repeated in the most conciliatory tone. “Do you not remember me? I am the friend of the White Eagle.”“And what is that to Su-wa-nee? She has no words for you—you may go on!”This decided repulse, instead of bettering my position, rendered it still more complicated. Somewhat confusedly, I rejoined: “I am on the way to visit the White Eagle. I thought—perhaps—you might—that possibly you might have some message for him.”“Su-wa-nee has no message for the White Eagle!” replied she, interrupting me, in the indignant tone, and with a contemptuous toss of her head. “If she had, she would not choose a false pale-face, like himself, to be its bearer. You fancy, white man, you can insult the Indian maiden at your pleasure? You dare not take such liberty with one of your own colour?”“I assure you I had no such intention: my object was very different. I was prompted to speak to you, knowing something of your affair of the other night with my friend Wingrove—which you remember I was witness of. I could not help overhearing—”I was interrupted by another quick contemptuous exclamation, that accompanied a glance of mingled vexation and scorn:—“You may know too much, and too little, my brave slayer of red panthers! Su-wa-nee does not thank you for interfering in her affairs. She can promise you sufficient occupation with yourown. Go! See to them!”“How? What mean you?” I hurriedly asked, perceiving a certain significance in her looks, as well as words, that produced within me a sudden feeling of inquietude. “What mean you?” I repeated, too anxious to wait her reply; “has anything happened?”“Go, see yourself! You lose time in talking to asquaw, as you call us. Haste! or your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed, like that which you wear so proudly upon your breast. The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim! Su-wa-nee joys at it: ha, ha, ha! Hers will not be the only heart wrung by the villainy of the false pale-face. Ha, ha, ha! Go, brave slayer of red panthers! Ah! you may go, but only to grieve: you will be too late—too late—too late!”Finishing her speech with another peal of half-maniac laughter, she snatched her pannier from the log, flung it over her shoulder, and hurried away from the spot! Her words, though ill understood, were full of fearful significance, and acted upon me like a shock—for a moment paralysing my powers both of speech and action. In my anxiety to ascertain their full meaning, I would have intercepted her retreat; but before I could recover from my unpleasant surprise, she had glided in among the shrubbery, and disappeared from my sight.
Not a sound came from the forest to disturb my sweet musings. Silent was the sky of the Indian summer—soft and balm-laden its breeze. The trees stirred not; the branches seemed extended in the stillness of repose; even the leaves of thetremuloides, hanging on their compressed petioles, were scarcely seen to quiver. The rustling heard at intervals, was but the fluttering of bright wings amid the foliage; or the rushing of some mountebank squirrel in reckless evolution among the branches—sounds harmonising with the scene. Not till I had entered the glade was I aroused from my reverie—at first gently, by the sudden emergence from shade into light; but afterwards in a more sensible manner on sight of a human form—at a glance recognised as that of the Indian maiden. She was seated, or rather reclining, against the blanched log; her brown arm embracing an outstretched limb; half supported on one leg—the other crossed carelessly over it in an attitude of repose. Beside her on the log lay a wicker pannier, filled with odds and ends of Indian manufacture.
Though I had risen close up to the girl, she vouchsafed no acknowledgment of my presence. I observed no motion—not even of the eyes; which, directed downwards, seemed fixed in steadfast gaze upon the ground. Nothing about her appeared to move—save the coruscation of metallic ornaments that glittered in the sun, as though her body were enveloped in scale-armour. Otherwise, she might have been mistaken for a statue in bronze. And one, too, of noble proportions. The attitude was in every way graceful; and displayed to perfection the full bold contour of the maiden’s form. Her well-rounded arm entwining the branch, with her large body and limbs outlined inalto-relievoagainst the entablature of the white trunk, presented a picture that a sculptor would have loved to copy; and that even the inartistic eye could not look upon without admiration.
Instinctively I checked my horse, and halted in front of this singular apparition. I can scarcely tell why I did so; since neither by look nor gesture was I invited to take such a liberty. On the contrary, I could perceive that my movement was regarded with displeasure. There was no change in the statuesque attitude: even the eyes were not raised from the earth; but a frown was distinctly traceable on the features of the girl. Thus repulsed, I should have ridden on; and would have done so, but for that sense of awkwardness, which one feels in similar situations. By pausing in the marked manner I had done, and gazing so pointedly at the girl, I had committed an act of ill-breeding—of which I now felt sensible. Indian though she was, she was evidently no commonsquaw; but gifted with certain noble traits, of which many a maiden with white skin might have envied her the possession. Beyond that, I knew she was the victim of a passion—all-absorbing as it was hopeless—and this in my eyes, ennobled and sanctified her.
Just then, I had myself no cause to fear an unrequited love—no need to be ungenerous or selfish—and could, therefore, afford to extend my sympathy to the sufferings of another. It was some vague prompting of this kind, that had caused me to draw up—some idea of offering consolation. The repelling reception was altogether unexpected, and placed me in a predicament. How was I to escape from it? By holding my tongue, and riding on? No; this would be an acknowledgment of having committed an act ofgaucherie—to which man’s vanity rarely accedes, or only with extreme reluctance. I had rushed inconsiderately into the mire, and must plunge deeper to get through. “We must become worse to make our title good.”
So reflecting, or rather without reflecting at all, I resolved to “become worse”—with the risk of making a worse of it. “Perhaps,” thought I, “she does not recognise me?” She had not looked at me as yet. “If she would only raise her eyes, she would remember me as the friend of the White Eagle. That might initiate a conversation; and cause her to interpret more kindly my apparent rudeness. I shall speak to her at all hazards. Su-wa-nee!” The dark Indian eye was raised upon me with an angry flash; but no other reply was vouchsafed. “Su-wa-nee!” I repeated in the most conciliatory tone. “Do you not remember me? I am the friend of the White Eagle.”
“And what is that to Su-wa-nee? She has no words for you—you may go on!”
This decided repulse, instead of bettering my position, rendered it still more complicated. Somewhat confusedly, I rejoined: “I am on the way to visit the White Eagle. I thought—perhaps—you might—that possibly you might have some message for him.”
“Su-wa-nee has no message for the White Eagle!” replied she, interrupting me, in the indignant tone, and with a contemptuous toss of her head. “If she had, she would not choose a false pale-face, like himself, to be its bearer. You fancy, white man, you can insult the Indian maiden at your pleasure? You dare not take such liberty with one of your own colour?”
“I assure you I had no such intention: my object was very different. I was prompted to speak to you, knowing something of your affair of the other night with my friend Wingrove—which you remember I was witness of. I could not help overhearing—”
I was interrupted by another quick contemptuous exclamation, that accompanied a glance of mingled vexation and scorn:—“You may know too much, and too little, my brave slayer of red panthers! Su-wa-nee does not thank you for interfering in her affairs. She can promise you sufficient occupation with yourown. Go! See to them!”
“How? What mean you?” I hurriedly asked, perceiving a certain significance in her looks, as well as words, that produced within me a sudden feeling of inquietude. “What mean you?” I repeated, too anxious to wait her reply; “has anything happened?”
“Go, see yourself! You lose time in talking to asquaw, as you call us. Haste! or your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed, like that which you wear so proudly upon your breast. The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim! Su-wa-nee joys at it: ha, ha, ha! Hers will not be the only heart wrung by the villainy of the false pale-face. Ha, ha, ha! Go, brave slayer of red panthers! Ah! you may go, but only to grieve: you will be too late—too late—too late!”
Finishing her speech with another peal of half-maniac laughter, she snatched her pannier from the log, flung it over her shoulder, and hurried away from the spot! Her words, though ill understood, were full of fearful significance, and acted upon me like a shock—for a moment paralysing my powers both of speech and action. In my anxiety to ascertain their full meaning, I would have intercepted her retreat; but before I could recover from my unpleasant surprise, she had glided in among the shrubbery, and disappeared from my sight.
Chapter Thirty.A Storm without and within.Heading my horse to the path, I rode out of the glade; but with very different feelings from those I had on entering it. The words of this ill-starred maiden—attainted with that sibylline cunning peculiar to her race—had filled my heart with most dire forebodings. Her speech could not be mere conjecture, put forth to vex and annoy me? She had scarcely motive enough for this; besides, her display of a positive foreknowledge was proof against the supposition, that she was deceiving me?“Slayer of red panthers? You may go, but only to grieve.”“Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear so proudly upon your breast.”These, and other like innuendoes, could not be conjectural? However obtained, they betokened a knowledge of the past, with an implied forecast of the future—probable as it was painful. The “yellow fawn,” too. The reference was clear; Lilian Holt was the yellow fawn. But the wolf that had “slept in its lair”? Who was the wolf? Who was to make her a victim? and how? These unpleasant interrogatives passed rapidly through my mind, and without obtaining reply. I was unable to answer them, even by conjecture. Enough that therewasa wolf; and that Lilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!This brought me to the consideration of the last words, still ringing in my ears: “You will be too late—too late!” Prompted by their implied meaning, I drove the spurs into my horse, and galloped forward—as fast as the nature of the ground would permit. My mind was in dread confusion—a chaos of doubt and fear. The half-knowledge I had obtained was more painful to endure than a misfortune well ascertained: for I suffered the associated agonies of suspense, and darkly outlined suspicion. A wolf! In what shape and guise? A victim? How, and by what means? What the nature of the predicted danger?The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had taken their cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle! A storm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun—black as the wing of the buzzard-vulture. Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky—threatening to scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously along their tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, came pattering down upon the leaves—soon to fall thick and continuous! I heeded not these indications. At that moment, what where the elements to me? What cared I for the clouds or rain—lightning, thunder, or the riven forest? There was a cloud on my own heart—an electric rush through my veins—of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky, or the coruscations of the ethereal fire. “The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim. You will be too late—too late!” These were clouds to be regarded—the fires to be feared. No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flame infernal burning in my breast?The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence, had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free; and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut. The door was open—wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of the interior. No one appeared within! no one came forth to greet me!Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture—several chairs and a rough table. I had noticed them on my first visit. They were now in the same place—just as I had seen them before. One of my apprehensions was allayed by the sight: the family was still there. “Strange that no one hears me! that no one comes out to receive me!”I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while. “Surely I was expected? It was the time named by Holt himself? The day and hour! Was I again unwelcome? and had the squatter relapsed into his uncourteous mood?”It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was raining at the moment—as if the very clouds were coming down—and I stood in need of shelter. But that grievance was little thought of. I was suffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest. Where was Lilian? Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected. It was indeed a surprise. Had I mistaken the character of this Idyllian damsel? Was she, too, an arch creature—a coquette? Had she bestowed the blossom only to betray me?I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I had promised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasant anticipations of its being recognised—fond hopes of its creating an effect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Its carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of blood!I could bear the suspense no longer. I would have hailed the house; but by this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside. After a short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin. The interstices between the logs—where they had formerly been covered with skins—were now open. The draping had been removed; and a closer scrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants were concerned, the house was empty! I rode up to the door; and, leaning over from my saddle, looked in. My conjecture was correct. Only the chairs and table with one or two similar pieces of “plenishing,” remained. Everything else had been removed; and some worthlessdébrisstrewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered complete.They were gone!It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on the premises—outside or elsewhere near. The pouring rain forbade such, a supposition. There was nowhere else—the horse-shed excepted—where they could have sheltered! themselves from its torrent; and they were not in the shed. Rosinante was absent from his rude stall—saddle and bridle had alike disappeared. I needed no further assurance. They were gone.With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under the shed; and then entered the deserted dwelling. My footfall upon the plank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making a survey of the “premises”—my future home. I might have observed with ludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly it needed repair. But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the house or its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, I gave way to gloomy reflections. Any one, seeing me at that moment, would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to be turned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!
Heading my horse to the path, I rode out of the glade; but with very different feelings from those I had on entering it. The words of this ill-starred maiden—attainted with that sibylline cunning peculiar to her race—had filled my heart with most dire forebodings. Her speech could not be mere conjecture, put forth to vex and annoy me? She had scarcely motive enough for this; besides, her display of a positive foreknowledge was proof against the supposition, that she was deceiving me?
“Slayer of red panthers? You may go, but only to grieve.”
“Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear so proudly upon your breast.”
These, and other like innuendoes, could not be conjectural? However obtained, they betokened a knowledge of the past, with an implied forecast of the future—probable as it was painful. The “yellow fawn,” too. The reference was clear; Lilian Holt was the yellow fawn. But the wolf that had “slept in its lair”? Who was the wolf? Who was to make her a victim? and how? These unpleasant interrogatives passed rapidly through my mind, and without obtaining reply. I was unable to answer them, even by conjecture. Enough that therewasa wolf; and that Lilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!
This brought me to the consideration of the last words, still ringing in my ears: “You will be too late—too late!” Prompted by their implied meaning, I drove the spurs into my horse, and galloped forward—as fast as the nature of the ground would permit. My mind was in dread confusion—a chaos of doubt and fear. The half-knowledge I had obtained was more painful to endure than a misfortune well ascertained: for I suffered the associated agonies of suspense, and darkly outlined suspicion. A wolf! In what shape and guise? A victim? How, and by what means? What the nature of the predicted danger?
The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had taken their cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle! A storm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun—black as the wing of the buzzard-vulture. Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky—threatening to scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously along their tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, came pattering down upon the leaves—soon to fall thick and continuous! I heeded not these indications. At that moment, what where the elements to me? What cared I for the clouds or rain—lightning, thunder, or the riven forest? There was a cloud on my own heart—an electric rush through my veins—of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky, or the coruscations of the ethereal fire. “The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim. You will be too late—too late!” These were clouds to be regarded—the fires to be feared. No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flame infernal burning in my breast?
The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence, had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free; and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut. The door was open—wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of the interior. No one appeared within! no one came forth to greet me!
Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture—several chairs and a rough table. I had noticed them on my first visit. They were now in the same place—just as I had seen them before. One of my apprehensions was allayed by the sight: the family was still there. “Strange that no one hears me! that no one comes out to receive me!”
I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while. “Surely I was expected? It was the time named by Holt himself? The day and hour! Was I again unwelcome? and had the squatter relapsed into his uncourteous mood?”
It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was raining at the moment—as if the very clouds were coming down—and I stood in need of shelter. But that grievance was little thought of. I was suffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest. Where was Lilian? Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected. It was indeed a surprise. Had I mistaken the character of this Idyllian damsel? Was she, too, an arch creature—a coquette? Had she bestowed the blossom only to betray me?
I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I had promised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasant anticipations of its being recognised—fond hopes of its creating an effect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Its carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of blood!
I could bear the suspense no longer. I would have hailed the house; but by this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside. After a short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin. The interstices between the logs—where they had formerly been covered with skins—were now open. The draping had been removed; and a closer scrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants were concerned, the house was empty! I rode up to the door; and, leaning over from my saddle, looked in. My conjecture was correct. Only the chairs and table with one or two similar pieces of “plenishing,” remained. Everything else had been removed; and some worthlessdébrisstrewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered complete.They were gone!
It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on the premises—outside or elsewhere near. The pouring rain forbade such, a supposition. There was nowhere else—the horse-shed excepted—where they could have sheltered! themselves from its torrent; and they were not in the shed. Rosinante was absent from his rude stall—saddle and bridle had alike disappeared. I needed no further assurance. They were gone.
With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under the shed; and then entered the deserted dwelling. My footfall upon the plank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making a survey of the “premises”—my future home. I might have observed with ludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly it needed repair. But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the house or its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, I gave way to gloomy reflections. Any one, seeing me at that moment, would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to be turned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!