Charlemont; Or, The Pride of the Village Part 41

"Brain the rascal!" exclaimed the whiskered stranger, looking more fierce than ever. The same idea seemed to prompt the actions of Stevens.

Both of them, at the same moment, advanced upon the intruder, with their whips uplifted; but still Ned Hinkley did not rise. With his legs still crossed, he kept his position, simply lifting from the sward beside him, where they had been placed conveniently, his two "puppies." One of these he grasped in his right hand and presented as his enemies approached.

"This, gentlemen," said he, "is my peace-maker. It says, 'Keep your distance.' This is my bull-pup, or peace-breaker; it says, 'Come on.'

Listen to which you please. It's all the same to me. Both are ready to answer you, and I can hardly keep 'em from giving tongue. The bull-pup longs to say something to you, Brother Stevens--the pacificator is disposed to trim your whiskers, Brother Ben; and I say, for 'em both, come on, you black-hearted rascals, if you want to know whether a girl of Charlemont can find a man of Charlemont to fight her battles. I'm man enough, by the Eternal, for both of you!"

The effect of Hinkley's speech was equally great upon himself and the enemy. He sprang to his feet, ere the last sentence was concluded, and they recoiled in something like indecent haste. The language of determination was even more strongly expressed by the looks of the rustic than by his language and action. They backed hurriedly at his approach.

"What! won't you stand?--won't you answer to your villanies?--won't you fight? Pull out your barkers and blaze away, you small-souled scamps; I long to have a crack at you--here and there--both at a time! Aint you willing? I'm the sleepy trout-fisherman! Don't you know me? You've waked me up, my lads, and I sha'n't sleep again in a hurry! As for you, Alfred Stevens--you were ready to fight Bill Hinkley--here's another of the breed--won't you fight him?"

"Yes--give me one of your pistols, if you dare, and take your stand,"

said Stevens boldly.

"You're a cunning chap--give you one of my puppies--a stick for my own head--while this bush-whiskered chap cudgels me over from behind. No!

no! none of that! Besides, these pistols were a gift from a good man, they sha'n't be disgraced by the handling of a bad one. Get your own weapons, Brother Stevens, and every man to his tree."

"They are in Charlemont!"

"Well!--you'll meet me there then?"

"Yes!" was the somewhat eager answer of Stevens, "I will meet you there--to-morrow morning--"

"Sunday--no! no!"

"Monday, then; this evening, if we get home in season."

"It's a bargain then," replied Hinkley, "though I can hardly keep from giving you the teeth of the bull! As for big-whiskered Ben, there, I'd like to let him taste my pacificator. I'd just like to brush up his whiskers with gun-powder--they look to have been done up with bear's grease before, and have a mighty fine curl; but if I wouldn't frizzle them better than ever a speckled hen had her feathers frizzled, then I don't know the virtues of gun-powder. On Monday morning, Brother Stevens!"

"Ay, ay! on Monday morning!"

Had Ned Hinkley been more a man of the world--had he not been a simple backwoodsman, he would have seen, in the eagerness of Stevens to make this arrangement, something, which would have rendered him suspicious of his truth. The instantaneous thought of the arch-hypocrite, convinced him that he could never return to Charlemont if this discovery was once made there. His first impulse was to put it out of the power of Ned Hinkley to convey the tidings. We do not say that he would have deliberately murdered him; but, under such an impulse of rage and disappointment as governed him in the first moments of detection, murder has been often done. He would probably have beaten him into incapacity with his whip--which had a heavy handle--had not the rustic been sufficiently prepared. The pistols of Stevens were in his valise, but he had no purpose of fighting, on equal terms, with a man who spoke with the confidence of one who knew how to use his tools; and when the simple fellow, a.s.suming that he would return to Charlemont for his chattels, offered him the meeting there, he eagerly caught at the suggestion as affording himself and friend the means of final escape.

It was not merely the pistols of Hinkley of which he had a fear. But he well knew how extreme would be the danger, should the rustic gather together the people of Ellisland, with the story of his fraud, and the cruel consequences to the beauty of Charlemont, by which the deception had been followed. But the simple youth, ignorant of the language of libertinism, had never once suspected the fatal lapse from virtue of which Margaret Cooper had been guilty. He was too unfamiliar with the annals and practices of such criminals, to gather this fact from the equivocal words, and half-spoken sentences, and sly looks of the confederates. Had he dreamed this--had it, for a moment, entered into his conjecturings--that such had been the case, he would probably have shot down the seducer without a word of warning. But that the crime was other than prospective, he had not the smallest fancy; and this may have been another reason why he took the chances of Stevens's return to Charlemont, and let him off at the moment.

"Even should he not return," such may have been his reflection--"I have prevented mischief at least. He will be able to do no harm. Margaret Cooper shall be warned of her escape, and become humbler at least, if not wiser in consequence. At all events, the eyes of Uncle Hinkley will be opened, and poor Bill be restored to us again!"

"And now mount, you scamps," said Hinkley, pressing upon the two with presented pistols. "I'm eager to send big-whiskered Ben home to his mother; and to see you, Brother Stevens, on your way back to Charlemont.

I can hardly keep hands off you till then; and it's only to do so, that I hurry you. If you stay, looking black, mouthing together, I can't stand it. I will have a crack at you. My peace-maker longs to brush up them whiskers. My bull-pup is eager to take you, Brother Stevens, by the muzzle! Mount you, as quick as you can, before I do mischief."

Backing toward their horses, they yielded to the advancing muzzles, which the instinct of fear made them loath to turn their backs upon.

Never were two hopeful projectors so suddenly abased--so completely baffled. Hinkley, advancing with moderate pace, now thrust forward one, and now the other pistol, accompanying the action with a specific sentence corresponding to each, in manner and form as follows:--

"Back, parson--back, whiskers! Better turn, and look out for the roots, as you go forward. There's no seeing your way along the road by looking down the throats of my puppies. If you want to be sure that they'll follow till you're mounted, you have my word for it. No mistake, I tell you. They're too eager on scent, to lose sight of you in a hurry, and they're ready to give tongue at a moment's warning. Take care not to stumble, whiskers, or the pacificator 'll be into your brush."

"I'll pay you for this!" exclaimed Stevens, with a rage which was not less really felt than judiciously expressed. "Wait till we meet!"

"Ay, ay! I'll wait; but be in a hurry. Turn now, your nags are at your backs. Turn and mount!"

In this way they reached the tree where their steeds were fastened.

Thus, with the muzzle of a pistol bearing close upon the body of each--the click of the c.o.c.k they had heard--the finger close to the trigger they saw--they were made to mount--in momentary apprehension that the backwoodsman, whose determined character was sufficiently seen in his face, might yet change his resolve, and with wanton hand, riddle their bodies with his bullets. It was only when they were mounted, that they drew a breath of partial confidence.

"Now," said Hinkley, "my lads, let there be few last words between you.

The sooner you're off the better. As for you, Alfred Stevens, the sooner you're back in Charlemont the more daylight we'll have to go upon. I'll be waiting you, I reckon, when you come."

"Ay, and you may wait," said Stevens, as the speaker turned off and proceeded to the spot where his own horse was fastened.

"You won't return, of course?" said his companion.

"No! I must now return with you, thanks to your interference. By Heavens, Ben, I knew, at your coming, that you would do mischief; you have been a marplot ever; and after this, I am half-resolved to forswear your society for ever."

"Nay, nay! do not say so, Warham. It was unfortunate, I grant you; but how the devil should either of us guess that such a Turk as that was in the bush?"

"Enough for the present," said the other. "It is not now whether I wish to ride with you or not. There is no choice. There is no return to Charlemont."

"And that's the name of the place, is it?"

"Yes! yes! Much good may the knowledge of it do you."

"How fortunate that this silly fellow concluded to let you off on such a promise. What an a.s.s!"

"Yes! but he may grow wiser! Put spurs to your jade, and let us see what her heels are good for, for the next three hours. I do not yet feel secure. The simpleton may grow wiser and change his mind."

"He can scarcely do us harm now, if he does."

"Indeed!" said Stevens--"you know nothing. There's such a thing as hue and cry, and its not unfrequently practised in these regions, when the sheriff is not at hand and constables are scarce. Every man is then a sheriff."

"Well--but there's no law-process against us!"

"You are a born simpleton, I think," said Stevens, with little scruple.

He was too much mortified to be very heedful of the feelings of his companion. "There needs no law in such a case, at least for the CAPTURE of a supposed criminal; and, for that matter, they do not find it necessary for his punishment either. Hark ye, Ben--there's a farmhouse?"

"Yes, I see it!"

"Don't you smell tar?--They're running it now!"

"I think I do smell something like it. What of it?"

"Do you see that bed hanging from yon window?"

"Yes! of course I see it!"

"It is a feather-bed!"

"Well--what of that? Why tell me this stuff? Of course I can guess as well as you that it's a feather-bed, since I see a flock of geese in the yard with their necks all bare."

"Hark ye, then! There's something more than this, which you may yet see!

Touch up your mare. If this fellow brings the mob at Ellisland upon us, that tar will be run, and that feather-bed gutted, for our benefit. What they took from the geese will be bestowed on us. Do you understand me?

Did you ever hear of a man whose coat was made of tar and feathers, and furnished at the expense of the county?"