The Headless Horseman Part 53

Death would not be immediate. Although suffering acute pain in his head, neither the shock it had received, nor the damage done to his knee, were like to prove speedily fatal. He might dread a more painful way of dying than from wounds. Thirst would be his destroyer--of all shapes of death perhaps the most agonising.

The thought stimulated him to renewed efforts; and despite the slow progress he was able to make--despite the pain experienced in making it--he toiled on.

The black birds hovering above, kept pace with his halting step and laborious crawl. Now more than a mile from the point of their first segregation, they were all of them still there--their numbers even augmented by fresh detachments that had become warned of the expected prey. Though aware that the quarry still lived and moved, they saw that it was stricken. Instinct--perhaps rather experience--told them it must soon succ.u.mb.

Their shadows crossed and recrossed the track upon which he advanced-- filling him with ominous fears for the end.

There was no noise: for these birds are silent in their flight--even when excited by the prospect of a repast. The hot sun had stilled the voices of the crickets and tree-toads. Even the hideous "horned frog"

reclined listless along the earth, sheltering its tuberculated body under the stones.

The only sounds to disturb the solitude of the chapparal were those made by the sufferer himself--the swishing of his garments, as they brushed against the hirsute plants that beset the path; and occasionally his cries, sent forth in the faint hope of their being heard.

By this time, blood was mingling with the sweat upon his skin. The spines of the cactus, and the clawlike thorns of the agave, had been doing their work; and scarce an inch of the epidermis upon his face, hands, and limbs, that was not rent with a laceration.

He was near to the point of despondence--in real truth, he had reached it: for after a spell of shouting he had flung himself prostrate along the earth, despairingly indifferent about proceeding farther.

In all likelihood it was the att.i.tude that saved him. Lying with his ear close to the surface, he heard a sound--so slight, that it would not have been otherwise discernible.

Slight as it was, he could distinguish it, as the very sound for which his senses were sharpened. It was the murmur of moving water!

With an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of joy, he sprang to his feet, as if nothing were amiss; and made direct towards the point whence proceeded the sound.

He plied his improvised crutch with redoubled energy. Even the disabled leg appeared to sustain him. It was strength and the love of life, struggling against decrepitude and the fear of death.

The former proved victorious; and, in ten minutes after, he lay stretched along the sward, on the banks of a crystal streamlet-- wondering why the want of water could have caused him such indescribable agony!

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

THE CUP AND THE JAR.

Once more the mustanger's hut! Once more his henchman, astride of a stool in the middle of the floor! Once more his hound lying astretch upon the skin-covered hearth, with snout half buried in the cinders!

The relative positions of the man and the dog are essentially the same-- as when seen on a former occasion--their att.i.tudes almost identical.

Otherwise there is a change in the picture since last painted--a transformation at once striking and significant.

The horse-hide door, standing ajar, still hangs upon its hinges; and the smooth coats of the wild steeds shine l.u.s.trously along the walls. The slab table, too, is there, the trestle bedstead, the two stools, and the "shake down" of the servitor.

But the other "chattels" wont to be displayed against the skin tapestry are either out of sight, or displaced. The double gun has been removed from its rack; the silver cup, hunting horn, and dog-call, are no longer suspended from their respective pegs; the saddle, bridles, ropes, and serapes are unslung; and the books, ink, pens, and _papeterie_ have entirely disappeared.

At first sight it might be supposed that Indians have paid a visit to the jacale, and pillaged it of its _penates_.

But no. Had this been the case, Phelim would not be sitting so unconcernedly on the stool, with his carroty scalp still upon his head.

Though the walls are stripped nothing has been carried away. The articles are still there, only with a change of place; and the presence of several corded packages, lying irregularly over the floor--among which is the leathern portmanteau--proclaims the purpose of the transposition.

Though a clearing out has not been made, it is evident that one is intended.

In the midst of the general displacement, one piece of plenishing was still seen in its accustomed corner--the demijohn. It was seen by Phelim, oftener than any other article in the room: for no matter in what direction he might turn his eyes, they were sure to come round again to that wicker-covered vessel that stood so temptingly in the angle.

"Ach! me jewel, it's there yez are!" said he, apostrophising the demijohn for about the twentieth time, "wid more than two quarts av the crayther inside yer bewtifull belly, and not doin' ye a bit av good, nayther. If the tinth part av it was inside av me, it wud be a moighty binnefit to me intistines. Trath wud it that same. Wudn't it, Tara?"

On hearing his name p.r.o.nounced, the dog raised his head and looked inquiringly around, to see what was wanted of him.

Perceiving that his human companion was but talking to himself, he resumed his att.i.tude of repose.

"Faix! I don't want any answer to that, owld boy. It's meself that knows it, widout tillin'. A hape av good a gla.s.s of that same potyeen would do me; and I dar'n't touch a dhrap, afther fwhat the masther sid to me about it. Afther all that packin', too, till me throat is stickin' to me tongue, as if I had been thryin' to swallow a pitch plaster. Sowl! it's a shame av Masther Maurice to make me promise agaynst touchin' the dhrink--es.p.a.cially when it's not goin' to be wanted. Didn't he say he wudn't stay more than wan night, whin he come back heeur; an shure he won't conshume two quarts in wan night--unless that owld sinner Stump comes along wid him. Bad luck to his greedy gut!

he gets more av the Manongahayla than the masther himsilf.

"There's wan consolashun, an thank the Lord for it, we're goin' back to the owld _sad_, an the owld place at Ballyballagh. Won't I have a skinful when I get thare--av the raal stuff too, instid of this Amerikyan rotgut! Hooch--hoop--horoo! The thought av it's enough to sit a man mad wid deloight. Hooch--hoop--horoo!"

Tossing his wide-awake up among the rafters, and catching it as it came down again, the excited Galwegian several times repeated his ludicrous shibboleth. Then becoming tranquil he sate for awhile in silence--his thoughts dwelling with pleasant antic.i.p.ation on the joys that awaited him at Ballyballagh.

They soon reverted to the objects around him--more especially to the demijohn in the corner. On this once more his eyes became fixed in a gaze, in which increasing covetousness was manifestly visible.

"Arrah, me jewel!" said he, again apostrophising the vessel, "ye're extramely bewtifull to look at--that same ye arr. Shure now, yez wudn't till upon me, if I gave yez a thrifle av a kiss? Ye wudn't be the thraiter to bethray me? Wan smack only. Thare can be no harum in that.

Trath, I don't think the masther 'ud mind it--when he thinks av the throuble I've had wid this packin', an the dhry dust gettin' down me throat. Shure he didn't mane me to kape that promise for this time-- which differs intirely from all the rest, by razon av our goin' away. A dhry flittin', they say, makes a short sittin'. I'll tell the masther that, whin he comes back; an shure it 'll pacify him. Besoides, there's another ixcuse. He's all av tin hours beyant his time; an I'll say I took a thriflin' dhrap to kape me from thinkin' long for him. Shure he won't say a word about it. Be Sant Pathrick! I'll take a smell at the dimmyjan, an trust to good luck for the rist. Loy down, Tara, I'm not agoin' out."

The staghound had risen, seeing the speaker step towards the door.

But the dumb creature had misinterpreted the purpose--which was simply to take a survey of the path by which the jacale was approached, and make sure, that, his master was not likely to interrupt him in his intended dealings with the demijohn.

Becoming satisfied that the coast was clear, he glided back across the floor; uncorked the jar; and, raising it to his lips, swallowed something more than a "thriflin' dhrap av its contints."

Then putting it back in its place, he returned to his seat on the stool.

After remaining quiescent for a considerable time, he once more proceeded to soliloquise--now and then changing his speech to the apostrophic form--Tara and the demijohn being the individuals honoured by his discourse.

"In the name av all the angels, an the divils to boot, I wondher what's kapin' the masther! He sid he wud be heeur by eight av the clock in the marnin', and it's now good six in the afthernoon, if thare's any truth in a Tixas sun. Shure thare's somethin' detainin' him? Don't yez think so, Tara?"

This time Tara did vouchsafe the affirmative "sniff"--having poked his nose too far into the ashes.

"Be the powers! then, I hope it's no harum that's befallen him! If there has, owld dog, fwhat 'ud become av you an me? Thare might be no Ballyballagh for miny a month to come; unliss we cowld pay our pa.s.sage wid these thraps av the masther's. The drinkin' cup--raal silver it is--wud cover the whole expinse av the voyage. Be j.a.pers! now that it stroikes me, I niver had a dhrink out av that purty little vessel. I'm shure the liquor must taste swater that way. Does it, I wondher--trath, now's just the time to thry."

Saying this, he took the cup out of the portmanteau, in which he had packed it; and, once more uncorking the demijohn, poured out a portion of its contents--of about the measure of a winegla.s.sful.

Quaffing it off at a single gulp, he stood smacking his lips--as if to a.s.sure himself of the quality of the liquor.

"Sowl! I don't know that it _does_ taste betther," said he, still holding the cup in one hand, and the jar in the other. "Afther all, I think, it's swater out av the dimmyjan itself, that is, as far as I cyan remimber. But it isn't givin' the gawblet fair play. It's so long since I had the jar to me mouth, that I a'most forget how it tasted that way. I cowld till betther if I thryed thim thegither. I'll do that, before I decoide."

The demijohn was now raised to his lips; and, after several "glucks" was again taken away.

Then succeeded a second series of smacking, in true connoisseur fashion, with the head held reflectingly steadfast.

"Trath! an I'm wrong agane!" said he, accompanying the remark with another doubtful shake of the head. "Althegither asthray. It's swater from the silver. Or, is it only me imaginayshin that's desavin' me?

It's worth while to make shure, an I can only do that by tastin' another thrifle out av the cup. That wud be givin' fair play to both av the vessels; for I've dhrunk twice from the jar, an only wanst from the silver. Fair play's a jewil all the world over; and thare's no raison why this bewtiful little mug showldn't be trated as dacently as that big basket av a jar. Be j.a.pers! but it shall tho'!"