The Headless Horseman Part 87

The two ride off; the young planter taking the lead, his charge slowly following--the former scarce able to conceal his exultation, the latter her chagrin.

Yancey is more distressed than displeased, at the melancholy mood of his companion. How could it be otherwise, with such a sorrow at her heart?

Of course he ascribes it to that.

He but half interprets the cause. Were he to look steadfastly into the eye of Louise Poindexter, he might there detect an expression, in which sorrow for the past is less marked, than fear for the future.

They ride on through the trees--but not beyond ear-shot of the people they have left behind them.

Suddenly a change comes over the countenance of the Creole--her features lighting up, as if some thought of joy, or at least of hope, had entered her soul.

She stops reflectingly--her escort constrained to do the same.

"Mr Yancey," says she, after a short pause, "my saddle has got loose.

I cannot sit comfortably in it. Have the goodness to look to the girths!"

Yancey leaps to the ground, delighted with the duty thus imposed upon him.

He examines the girths. In his opinion they do not want tightening. He does not say so; but, undoing the buckle, pulls upon the strap with all his strength.

"Stay!" says the fair equestrian, "let me alight. You will get better at it then."

Without waiting for his a.s.sistance, she springs from her stirrup, and stands by the side of the mustang.

The young man continues to tug at the straps, pulling with all the power of his arms.

After a prolonged struggle, that turns him red in the face, he succeeds in shortening them by a single hole.

"Now, Miss Poindexter; I think it will do."

"Perhaps it will," rejoins the lady, placing her hand upon the horn of her saddle, and giving it a slight shake. "No doubt it will do now.

After all 'tis a pity to start back so soon. I've just arrived here after a fast gallop; and my poor Luna has scarce had time to breathe herself. What if we stop here a while, and let her have a little rest?

'Tis cruel to take her back without it."

"But your father? He seemed desirous you should--"

"That I should go home at once. That's nothing. 'Twas only to get me out of the way of these rough men--that was all. He won't care; so long as I'm out of sight. 'Tis a sweet place, this; so cool, under the shade of these fine trees--just now that the sun is blazing down upon the prairie. Let us stay a while, and give Luna a rest! We can amuse ourselves by watching the gambols of these beautiful silver fish in the stream. Look there, Mr Yancey! What pretty creatures they are!"

The young planter begins to feel flattered. Why should his fair companion wish to linger there with him? Why wish to watch the _iodons_, engaged in their aquatic cotillon--amorous at that time of the year?

He conjectures a reply conformable to his own inclinations.

His compliance is easily obtained.

"Miss Poindexter," says he, "it is for you to command me. I am but too happy to stay here, as long as you wish it."

"Only till Luna be rested. To say the truth, sir, I had scarce got out of the saddle, as the people came up. See! the poor thing is still panting after our long gallop."

Yancey does not take notice whether the spotted mustang is panting or no. He is but too pleased to comply with the wishes of its rider.

They stay by the side of the stream.

He is a little surprised to perceive that his companion gives but slight heed, either to the silver fish, or the spotted mustang. He would have liked this all the better, had her attentions been transferred to himself.

But they are not. He can arrest neither her eye nor her ear. The former seems straying upon vacancy; the latter eagerly bent to catch every sound that comes from the clearing.

Despite his inclinations towards her, he cannot help listening himself.

He suspects that a serious scene is there being enacted--a trial before Judge Lynch, with a jury of "Regulators."

Excited talk comes echoing through the tree-trunks. There is an earnestness in its accents that tells of some terrible determination.

Both listen; the lady like some tragic actress, by the side-scene of a theatre, waiting for her cue.

There are speeches in more than one voice; as if made by different men; then one longer than the rest--a harangue.

Louise recognises the voice. It is that of her cousin Ca.s.sius. It is urgent--at times angry, at times argumentative: as if persuading his audience to something they are not willing to do.

His speech comes to an end; and immediately after it, there are quick sharp exclamations--cries of a.s.sent--one louder than the rest, of fearful import.

While listening, Yancey has forgotten the fair creature by his side.

He is reminded of her presence, by seeing her spring away from the spot, and, with a wild but resolute air, glide towards the _jacale_!

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

A JURY OF REGULATORS.

The cry, that had called the young Creole so suddenly from the side of her companion, was the verdict of a jury--in whose rude phrase was also included the p.r.o.nouncing of the sentence.

The word "hang" was ringing in her ears, as she started away from the spot.

While pretending to take an interest in the play of the silver fish, her thoughts were upon that scene, of less gentle character, transpiring in front of the jacale.

Though the trees hindered her from having a view of the stage, she knew the actors that were on it; and could tell by their speeches how the play was progressing.

About the time of her dismounting, a tableau had been formed that merits a minute description.

The men, she had left behind, were no longer in scattered groups; but drawn together into a crowd, in shape roughly resembling the circ.u.mference of a circle.

Inside it, some half-score figures were conspicuous--among them the tall form of the Regulator Chief, with three or four of his "marshals."

Woodley Poindexter was there, and by his side Ca.s.sius Calhoun. These no longer appeared to act with authority, but rather as spectators, or witnesses, in the judicial drama about being enacted.

Such in reality was the nature of the scene. It was a trial for Murder--a trial before _Justice Lynch_--this grim dignitary being typified in the person of the Regulator Chief--with a jury composed of all the people upon the ground--all except the prisoners.

Of these there are two--Maurice Gerald and his man Phelim.

They are inside the ring, both prostrate upon the gra.s.s; both fast bound in raw-hide ropes, that hinder them from moving hand or foot.