The Wild Huntress Part 51

The place we had chosen for our temporary bivouac--and where we had pa.s.sed the night--was at the upper extremity of the little valley, and close in to the cliff. We had selected this spot, from the ground being a little more elevated than the general surface, and in consequence drier. Several cotton-wood trees shaded it; and it was further sheltered by a number of large boulders of rock, that, having fallen from the cliff above, lay near its base. Behind these boulders, the men of our party had slept--not from any idea of the greater security afforded by them, but simply from a delicate motive--being thus separated from the _chamber_ occupied by our fair _protegees_.

It had never occurred to us that our place of concealment could be discovered in the night; and, even long after the day had arisen, so confident did we continue in our fancied security, that we had taken no precautions--neither to reconnoitre the cliffs in search of away of retreat, nor to adopt any means of defence in the event of our being a.s.sailed. As far as Wingrove and I were concerned, I have explained this negligence, for it was negligence of the most imprudent character.

The Mexican, feeling quite certain that he had succeeded in blinding our trail, was perhaps less cautious than he might otherwise have been; and Sure-shot equally trusted to his new comrade, for whose still the ex-ranger had conceived an exalted opinion.

I could see withal that Archilete was not without some apprehension. He had buckled on his artificial leg--the real one having become fatigued by pressing too long on the stirrup; and, as he hobbled over the ground, I noticed that from time to time he cast inquiring glances down the valley. Observing these signs of impatience more than once, I began to grow uneasy.

Prudence required that even that sweet scene should be interrupted--only temporality, I hoped--until some plan should be adopted, that would render us more secure against the contingency of our being discovered.

With my fair companion, I had turned away from the sweet whisperings of the cascade, and was facing to the upper end of the vallon--when, all at once, I observed a strange manoeuvre on the part of "Peg-leg." The trapper had thrown himself flat upon the gra.s.s; and with his ear placed close to the ground, appeared to listen. The movement was too significant not to attract the attention of everybody. My companion was the only one who did not comprehend it; but she observed that it had powerfully affected all the others; and an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of alarm escaped her, as she saw them hastening up to the place occupied by the prostrate trapper. Before we could arrive on the spot, the man had sprung back into an erect att.i.tude; and, as he stamped his timber leg with violence upon the ground, was heard to exclaim: "_Carrambo, camarados_! The curs are upon our trail! _Oiga los_?--_el perro_--_el perro_!" (You hear them?--the dog--the dog!) The words were scarcely out of his mouth when their interpretation was given in the sound that came pealing up the valley. Borne upon the sighing breeze, it was heard above the rus.h.i.+ng noise of the waters--easily heard, and as easily understood. It was the bay of a dog, who ran "growling" along a trail! Its deep tone was even identified. The huntress recognised it in the first note that fell upon her ear--as was evidenced by her quick exclamation: "Wolf! my dog Wolf!"

The speech had scarcely escaped her, before the dog himself made his appearance, convincing us all of his ident.i.ty. The animal, seeing us, ran no longer by the scent; but with raised snout came galloping across the valley, and bounded forward to receive the caresses of his mistress.

We rushed to our weapons; and, having grasped them, ran behind the boulders of rock. It would have been idle to have taken to our horses.

If our pursuers were following the dog, and guided by him, they would already be near enough to intercept our retreat from the vallon?

Perhaps they were at that moment in the gorge? We had but one hope; and that was, that the dog might be _alone_. Missing Marian at the camp, he might have struck upon her trail, and been running upon it throughout the night! This seemed scarcely probable: for Holt could have detained him; and in all likelihood would have done so? Still less probable did it appear, as we watched the movements of the dog himself. Instead of staying by Marian, and continuing to receive her caresses, we noticed that at short intervals he ran off again, making demonstration in the direction he had come--as if in expectation of some one who was following at his heels! The slight hope we had conceived was quickly and rudely crushed, by the confirmation of this fact. The voices of men, echoing hoa.r.s.ely through the gorge, confirmed it! Beyond doubt, they were our pursuers, guided by the dog--who little comprehended the danger he was thus conducting towards the object of his instinctive affections!

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE.

AN UNEXPECTED DEFECTION.

Almost as soon as we heard the voices, we saw those who were giving utterance to them. A horseman appeared issuing from the jaws of the chasm--another, and another--until eight had filed into the open ground!

They were all armed men--armed with guns, pistols, and knives. He in the lead was at once identified. The colossal stature, the green blanket-coat, red s.h.i.+rt, and kerchief turban, proclaimed that the foremost of our pursuers was Holt himself. Immediately behind him rode Stebbins; while those following in file were the executive myrmidons of the Mormon faith--the _Destroying Angels_!

On entering the open ground, Holt alone kept on without slackening his speed. Stebbins followed, but more cautiously and at a distance of several lengths of his horse. The Danites at sight of our animals, and ourselves too--for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks-- drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other--as if irresolute whether to advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving on after the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrels of our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fifty paces of our position, he too reined in--keeping the body of Holt between himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance, without the slightest show of fear. So near had he got to us, that we could note the expression upon his features, though it was difficult to understand it. It was one that bespoke reckless determination--no doubt a determination to recover his child from the savages who had stolen her; for as yet he had no reason to think otherwise than that we were Indians. Of course, none of us thought of firing upon Holt; but, had Stebbins at the moment advanced only a step nearer, there was more than one rifle ready to give out its deadly detonation.

Holt approached rapidly, his horse going a trot. He held his long gun obliquely in front of him, and grasped in both hands--as if ready to fire on the instant. All at once, he checked his horse, dropped the gun on the pommel of his saddle, and sat gazing towards us with a look of bewildered surprise. _White_ faces appearing over the rock instead of _red_ ones, had caused this sudden change in his demeanour.

Before he had time to give utterance to his astonishment, Lilian glided from behind the boulder, and standing with arms extended, cried out: "O father! they are not Indians! It is Marian! it is--" At the same instant her sister appeared by her side.

"Marian alive!" cried Holt, recognising his long-lost daughter. "My child Marian yet livin'! G.o.d be praised! Thur's one weight off o' my poor soul--an' now to eeze it o' another!" As he uttered the last words, he wrenched his horse half around, and dropped to his feet upon the nearer side. Then, quickly resting his rifle over the hollow of the saddle, he brought its barrel to bear on the breast of Stebbins--who still sat upon horseback, scarce twenty paces distant from its muzzle.

"Now, Josh Stebbins!" cried the squatter, in a voice of thunder, "the time's come to squar the yards wi' _you_!"

"What do you mean, Holt?" mechanically inquired the Mormon, in trembling surprise. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you infernal skunk, that afore ye leave this groun', ye've got to make a clean breast o' it, an' clar me o' the crime o' murder."

"What murder?" inquired Stebbins, prevaricatingly.

"Oh! you know what I'm talkin' about! 'Twant _no_ murder. 'Twar only a suicide; an' G.o.d knows it broke my own heart." Holt's voice was husky with emotion. He continued, after a pause: "For all o' that, appearances wur agin' me: an' you invented proofs that wud a stood good among lawyers, though thur as false as yur own black heart. Ye've kep'

'm over me for years, to sarve yer rascally designs. But thur's neither law nor lawyers hyur to help you any longer. Thur's witnesses o' both sides--yur own beauties down yander; an' some hyur o' a better sort, I reck'n. Afore them, I call on ye to declar that yur proofs wur false, an' that I'm innocent o' the crime o' murder!"

There was a profound silence when the speaker finished. The strange and unexpected nature of the demand, held every one in breathless surprise.

Even the armed men at the bottom of the _vallon_ said not a word; and perceiving that, by the defection of Holt, there was almost gun for gun against them, they showed no signs of advancing to the protection of their apostolic leader. The latter appeared for a moment to vacillate.

The fear depicted upon his features was blended with an expression of the most vindictive bitterness--as that of a tyrant forced to yield up some despotic privilege which he has long wielded. True, it mattered little to him now. The intended victims of his vile contrivance-- whatever it may have been--were likely to escape from his control in another way; but, for all that, he seemed loth to part with even the shadow of his former influence. He was not allowed much time for reflection: scarce the opportunity to look round upon his Danites, which, however, he did--glancing back as if desirous of retreating towards them.

"Stan' yur groun'!" shouted the squatter in a tone of menace--"stan' yur groun'! Don't dar to turn yur face from me! Ef ye do, ye'll only get the bullet in yur back. Now, confess! or, by the etarnal G.o.d! you hain't another second to sit in that seddle!" The quick threatening manner in which the speaker grasped his gun, told Stebbins that prevarication would be idle. In hurried speech, he replied: "You committed no murder, Hickman Holt! I never said you did!"

"No! but you said you would; and you invented proofs o' it? Confess you invented proofs, an' kep' 'em over my head like a black shadder?

Confess that!" Stebbins hesitated. "Quick, or ye're a dead man!"

"I did," muttered the guilty wretch, trembling as he spoke. "An' the proofs wur false!"

"They were false--I confess it."

"Enuf!" cried Holt, drawing down his gun. "Enuf for me. An' now, ye cowardly snake, ye may go wi' yur beauties yander. They'll not like ye a bit the wuss for all this. Ye may go--an' carry yur conscience along wi' ye--ef that 'll be any comfort to ye. Away wi' ye!"

"No!" exclaimed a voice from behind, and at the same time Wingrove was seen stepping out from the rock. "Not yet adzactly. _I've_ got a score to settle wi' the skunk. The man who'd plot that way agin another, hain't ought to live. _You_ may let him off, Hick Holt, but _I_ won't; nor wud you eyther, I reck'n, if you knew--"

"Knew what!" interrupted the squatter. "What he intended for your daughter."

"He air my daughter's husband," rejoined Holt, in a tone that betokened a mixture of bitterness and shame. "That was my fault, G.o.d forgi' me!"

"He ain't her husband--nothin' o' the kind. The marriage war a sham.

He war takin' poor Marian out thar for a diffrent purpose--an' Lilian too."

"For what purpose?" cried Holt, a new light seeming suddenly to break upon his mind.

"To make--" answered Wingrove hesitatingly. "I can't say the word, Hick Holt, in presence o' the girls--to make _wives_ to the Mormon Prophet-- that's what he intended wi' both o' 'em."

The scream that, like the neigh of an angry horse, burst from the lips of the squatter, drowned the last words of Wingrove's speech; and simultaneously the report of a rifle pealed upon the air. A cloud of smoke for a moment enveloped Holt and his horse, from the midst of which came a repet.i.tion of that wild vengeful cry. At the same instant the steed of Stebbins was seen running riderless down the valley, while the Saint himself lay stretched, face upward, upon the sward! His body remained motionless. He was dead--a purple spot on his forehead showing where the fatal bullet had entered his brain!

The sisters had just time to shelter themselves behind the rocks when a volley from the Danites was poured upon us. Their shots fell harmlessly around; while ours, fired in return, had been better aimed; and another of these fearful men, dropping out of his saddle, yielded up his life upon the spot. The remaining five, seeing that the day had gone against them, wheeled suddenly about; and galloped back down the gorge--ten times faster than they had ridden up it. It was the last we saw of the _Destroying Angels_!

"O my children!" cried Holt, in a supplicating tone, as he staggered forward, and received both within his outstretched embrace, "will ye-- can ye forgi' me? O G.o.d! I've been a bad father to ye; but I knew not the wickedness o' these Mormon people. No--nor half o' _his_, till it war too late; an' now--"

"And now, father!" said Marian, interrupting his contrite speech with a consoling smile, "speak not of forgiveness! There is nothing to forgive; and perhaps not much to regret: since the perils we have gone through, have proved our fidelity to one another. We shall return home all the happier, having escaped from so many dangers, dear father!"

"Ah, Marian, gurl, you don't know all--we hev now no home to go to!"

"The same you ever had," interposed I, "if you will consent to accept it. The old cabin on Mud Creek will hold us all till we can build a larger one. But no,"--I added, correcting myself--"I see two here who will scarcely feel inclined to share its hospitality. Another cabin, higher up the creek, will be likely to claim them for its tenants?"

Marian blushed; while the young backwoodsman, although turning equally red at the allusion, had the courage to stammer out, that he always "thort his cabin war big enough for two."

"Stranger!" said Holt, turning to me, and frankly extending his hand, "I've much to be ashamed o', an' much to thank ye for; but I accept yur kind offer. You bought the land, an' I'd return ye the money, ef 't hedn't been all spent. I thort I kud a made up for it, by gieing ye somethin' ye mout a liked better. Now I see I can't even gi' ye that somethin' since it appears to be yourn a'ready. Ye've won her, stranger! an' ye've got her. All I kin now do is to say, that, from the bottom o' my heart I consent to yur keepin' her."

"Thanks--thanks!" Lilian was mine for ever.

The curtain falls upon our drama; and brief must be the epilogue. To scenes warlike and savage succeeded those of a pacific and civilised character--as the turbulent torrent, debouching from its mountain channel, flows in tranquil current through the alluvion of the level plain. By our Utah allies, whom we encountered on the following day, we were "outfitted" for recrossing the prairies--the abandoned waggon, with a team of Indian mules, affording a proper means of transport. Not without regret did we part with the friendly Mexican trapper, and our brave a.s.sociates, the ex-rifleman and ex-infantry. We had afterwards the gratification to learn that the scalpless man survived his terrible mutilation; that under the protection of Peg-leg, he and Sure-shot were taken to the valley of Taos--whence, along with the next migration of "diggers," they proceeded, by the Colorado, to the golden placers of California.

To detail the incidents of our homeward journey, were a pleasant task for the pen; but the record would scarcely interest the reader. The colossal squatter, silent but cheerful, drove the waggon, and busied himself about the management of his mules. The young backwoodsman and I were thus left free to interchange with our respective "sweethearts"

those phrases of delirious endearment--those glances of exquisite sweetness, that only pa.s.s between eyes illumined by the light of a mutual love. Proverbially sweet is the month after marriage; but the honeymoon, with all its joys, could not have exceeded in bliss those ante-nuptial hours spent by us in recrossing the prairies. Clear as the sky over our heads was the horoscope of our hearts; all doubt and suspicion had pa.s.sed away; not a shadow lingered upon the horizon of our future, to dim the perfect happiness we enjoyed. In our case, the delight of antic.i.p.ation could not be enhanced by actual possession: since we had possession already.

We arrived safely in Swampville. In the post-office of that interesting village a letter awaited me, of which "jet black was de seal." Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, this should have cast a gloom upon my joy; but candour forces me to confess that a perusal of the contents of that epistle produced upon me an effect altogether the reverse. The letter announced the demise of an octogenarian female relative--whom I had never seen--but who, for a full decade of years, beyond the period allotted to the life of man--or women either--had obstinately persisted in standing betwixt me and a small reversion--so long, indeed, that I had ceased to regard it as an "expectation." It was of no great amount; but, arriving just then in the very "nick o' time," was doubly welcome; and under its magical influence, a large quant.i.ty of superfluous timber soon disappeared from the banks of Mud Creek.

Ah! the squatter's clearing, with its zigzag fence, its girdled trees, and white dead-woods! It is no longer recognisable. The log-hut is replaced by a pretentious frame-dwelling with portico and verandahs-- almost a mansion. The little maize patch, scarcely an acre in extent, is now a splendid plantation, of many fields--in which wave the golden ta.s.sels of the Indian corn, the broad leaves of another indigenous vegetable--the aromatic "Indian weed," and the gossamer-like florets of the precious cotton-plant. Even the squatter himself you would scarcely recognise, in the respectable old gentleman, who, mounted upon his cob, with a long rifle over his shoulder, rides around, looking after the affairs of the plantation, and picking off the squirrels, who threaten the young corn with their destructive depredations. It is not the only plantation upon Mud Creek. A little further up the stream, another is met with--almost equally extended, and cultivated in like manner. Need I say who is the owner of this last? Who should it be, but the young backwoodsman--now transformed into a prosperous planter? The two estates are contiguous, and no jealous fence separates the one from the other. Both extend to that flowery glade, of somewhat sad notoriety whose bordering woods are still undefiled by the axe.

Not there, but in another spot, alike flowery and pleasant, the eye of the soaring eagle, looking from aloft, may see united together a joyous group--the owners of the two plantations--with their young wives, Marian and Lilian. The sisters are still in the fall bloom of their incomparable beauty. In neither is the maiden yet subdued into the matron--though each beholds her own type reflected in more than one bright face smiling by her side; while more than one little voice lisps sweetly in her ear that word of fond endearment--the first that falls from human lips. Ah! beloved Lilian! thine is not a beauty born to blush but for an hour. In my eyes, it can never fade; but, like the blossom of the citron, seems only the fairer, by the side of its own fruit! I leave it to other lips to symbol the praises of thy sister--

The Wild Huntress.