Wild Western Scenes Part 40

"But you will be the prettiest bird among them, and flower too, to my eyes," said Glenn, gazing at the clear and brilliant though laughing eyes of the pleased girl.

"If that were the case, why did you linger so long in the garden?"

asked the maid, with some seriousness.

"I should not have done so, Mary, but for Joe, who, you know, will always be heard when he has any thing to say; and this morning he had a ludicrous dream to tell me."

"I like Joe a great deal--he makes me laugh every time I see him. And you must tell me what he said, and how he looked and acted, that I may know whether you did right to stay away so long," said the thoughtless and happy girl, eager to listen to the accents of the one whose approach had illumined her features with the mystical fires of the heart.

Glenn faithfully repeated every word and gesture of his dialogue with Joe, and the unsophisticated girl's joyous laugh rang merrily up the echoing vale in sweet accompaniment with the carols of the feathered songsters.

When the narration ended, they both turned with surprise to William, who, instead of partaking their hilarity as usual, sat perfectly motionless in deep thought, regarding with apparent intensity the straggling spears of gra.s.s that grew at his feet. The book he had taken up, which had dropped from Mary's lap when she hastily rose at the approach of Glenn, now fell un.o.bserved by him from his relaxed hand. His face became unusually pale. His limbs seemed to be strangely agitated, and the pulsations of his heart were audible.

"What's the matter, dear brother?" cried Mary, in alarm.

"La-u-na--LA-U-NA!" he exclaimed, and, sinking softly down on his knees, applied his ear close to the ground in a listening att.i.tude.

"Dear brother William! _do_ tell Mary what ails you! What is La-u-na!"

said the startled and distressed girl, with affectionate concern.

"_La-u-na_--THE TREMBLING FAWN!" cried William, pantingly.

"Listen" said Glenn, checking Mary when she was about to repeat her inquiry. A plaintive flute-like sound was heard at intervals, floating on the balmy and almost motionless air down the green-fringed vale. At times it resembled the mournful plaint of the lonely dove, and then died away like the last notes of the expiring swan.

Before many minutes elapsed another sound of quite a different character saluted their ears. This was a rustling among the bushes, heard indistinctly at first, while the object was far up the valley, but as it approached with fearful rapidity, the rus.h.i.+ng noise became tremendous, and a few moments after, when the trembling sumachs parted in view, they beheld Joe! He dashed through the briers interspersed among the undergrowth, and plunged through the winding brook that occasionally crossed his path, as if all surrounding obstacles and obstructions were contemptible in comparison with the danger behind!

Leaping over intervening rocks, and flying through dense cl.u.s.ters of young trees that ever and anon threatened to impede his progress, he at length reached the spot where the little group still remained seated. Without hat or coat, and panting so violently that he was unable to explain distinctly the cause of his alarm, poor Joe threw himself down on the earth in the most distressed and pitiable condition.

"What have you seen? What is the cause of this affright?" asked Glenn.

"I--oh--they--coming!" cried Joe, incoherently.

"What is coming?" continued Glenn.

"I--Indians!" exclaimed he, springing up and rus.h.i.+ng into the house.

"They are friendly Indians, then," said Mary; "because the hostile ones never come upon us at this season of the year."

"So I have been told," said Glenn; "but even the sight of a friendly Indian would scare Joe."

"It is La-u-na!" said William, still attentively listening.

"What is _La-u-na_?" interrogated Mary, again.

"The _Trembling Fawn_!" repeated William, with emphasis, in a mysterious and abstracted manner. Presently he stood up and intently regarded the dim path over-shadowed by the luxuriant foliage that Joe had so recently traversed, and an animated smile played upon his lips, and dark, clear eyes sparkled with a thrill of ecstasy.

A slight female form, emerged from the dark green thicket, and glided more like a spirit of the air than a human being towards the wondering group. Her light steps produced no sound. In each hand she held a rich bouquet of fresh wild flowers, and leaves and blossoms were fantastically, though tastefully, arranged in her hair and on her breast. A broad, s.h.i.+ning gold band decked her temples, but many of her raven ringlets had escaped from their confinement, and floated out on the wind as she sped towards her beloved.

"La-u-na! La-u-na!" cried William, darting forward frantically and catching the girl in his arms. He pressed her closely and fondly to his heart, and she hid her face on his breast. Thus they clung together several minutes in silence, when they were interrupted by Roughgrove, whose attention had been attracted by the sudden affright of Joe.

"William, my dear boy," said the grieved old man, "you must not have any thing to do with the Indians--you promised us that you would not--"

"Leave us!" said the youth, sternly, and stamping impatiently.

"Do, father!" cried Mary, who looked on in tears, a few paces apart; "brother won't leave us again--I'm sure he won't--will you, William?"

"No, I will not!" exclaimed the youth. The Indian girl comprehended the meaning of his words, and, tearing, away from his embrace, stood with folded arms at his side, with her penetrating and reproachful eyes fixed full upon him, while her lips quivered and her breast heaved in agitation. All now regarded her in silence and admiration.

Her form was a perfect model of beauty. Her complexion was but a shade darker than that of the maidens of Spain. Her brows were most admirably arched, and her long silken lashes would have been envied by an Italian beauty. Her forehead and cheeks were smooth, and all her features as regular as those of a Venus. The mould of her face was strictly Grecian, and on her delicate lips rested a half-formed expression of sad regret and firm resolution. Her vestments were rich, and highly ornamented with pearls and diamonds. She wore a light snowy mantle made of swan skins, on which a portion of the fleecy down remained. Beneath, the dress was composed of skins of the finest finish, descending midway between her knees and ankles, where it was met by the tops of the buckskin moccasins, that confined her small and delicately-formed feet. Her arms, which were mostly concealed under her mantle, were bare from the elbows down, and adorned at the wrists with silver bands.

"Why, hang it all! Was there nothing running after me but this squaw?"

asked Joe, who had ventured forth again un.o.bserved, and now stood beside Glenn and Mary.

"Silence!" said Glenn.

"Oh, don't call _her_ a squaw, Joe--she's more like an angel than a squaw," said Mary, gazing tenderly at the lovers, while tears were yet standing in her eyes.

"I won't do so again," said Joe, "because she's the prettiest wild thing I ever saw; and if Mr. William don't marry her, I will."

"Keep silent, Joe, or else leave us," again interposed Glenn.

"I'll go catch my fish. I had just found a frog, and was in the act of catching it, when I saw the sq--the--_her_--and I thought then that I would just run home and let you know she was coming before I took it.

But I remember where it was, and I'll have it now in less than no time." Saying this, Joe set off up the valley again, though not very well pleased with himself for betraying so much alarm when there was so little danger.

"La-u-na, I am no Indian," said William, at length, in the language of her tribe, and much affected by her searching stare.

"But you were once the young chief that led our warriors to battle, and caught La-u-na's heart. I heard you were a pale-face after you were taken away from us; and I thought if you would not fly back to La-u-na, like the pigeon that escapes from the talons of the eagle and returns to its mate, then I would lose you--forget you--hate you. I tried, but I could not do it. When the white moon ran up to the top of the sky, and shone down through the tall trees in my face, I would ever meet you in the land of dreams, with the bright smile you used to have when you were wont to put your arm around me and draw me so gently to your breast. I was happy in those dreams. But they would not stay. The night-hawk flew low and touched my eyes with his wings as he flapped by, and I awoke. Then my breast was cold and my cheeks were wet. The katydids gathered in the sweet rose-bushes about me and sung mournfully. La-u-na was unhappy. La-u-na must see her Young Eagle, or go to the land of spirits. She called her wild steed to her side, and, plucking these flowers to test his fleetness, sprang upon him and flew hither. He is now grazing in the prairie at the head of the valley; and here are the blossoms, still alive, fresh and sweet." The trembling and tearful girl then gently and sadly strewed the flowers over the gra.s.s at her feet.

"Sweet La-u-na!" cried William, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the blossoms and pressing them to his lips, "forgive the young chief; he will still love you and never leave you again."

"No--no--no!" said the girl, shaking her head in despair; "the pale face youth will not creep through the silent and shady forest with La-u-na any more. He will gather no more ripe grapes for the Trembling Fawn. He will not bathe again in the clear waters with La-u-na. He will give her no more rings of roses to put on her breast. The Trembling Fawn is wounded. She must find a cool shade and lie down.

The dove will perch over her and wail. She will sing a low song. She will close her eyes and die."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh, no!" cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly; "La-u-na must not die; or, if she does, she shall not die alone. Why will not La-u-na dwell with me, among my friends?" The girl started, and exhibited signs of mingled delight and doubt.--P. 232]

"Oh, no!" cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly, "La-u-na must not die, or if she does, she shall not die alone. Why will not La-u-na dwell with me among my friends?" The girl started and exhibited signs of mingled delight and doubt, and then replied--

"The pale maiden would hate La-u-na, and the gray-head would drive her away."

"No, La-u-na," said William; "they would all love you, and we would be so happy! Say you will stay with me here, and you shall be my wife, and I will have no other love. My sister is sweet and mild as La-u-na, and my father will always be kind."

The dark eyes of the girl a.s.sumed an unwonted l.u.s.tre, and she turned imploringly to Mary, Glenn, and Roughgrove.

"Oh!" cried William, in his native tongue, addressing his white friends; "let La-u-na dwell with us! She is as innocent as the lily by the brook, and as n.o.ble as a queen. Father," he continued, stepping forward and taking Roughgrove's hand, "you won't refuse my request!

And you, sister Mary, I know you will love her as dearly as you do me.

And you, my friend," said he, turning to Glenn, "will soon hear her speak our own language, and she will cull many beautiful flowers for you that the white man never yet beheld. Grant this," added the youth, after pausing a few moments, while his friends hung their heads in silence, "and I will remain with you always; but if you refuse, I must fly to the forest again."

"Stay! Oh, brother, you shall not go!" cried Mary, and rus.h.i.+ng forward, she threw her arms round his neck. The Indian girl kissed her pale brow, and smiled joyfully, when the youth told her that Mary was his dear sister.

"He loves her, and her affection for him is imperishable!" said Glenn.

"And why may they not be happy together, if they dwell with us?" asked Roughgrove, pondering.