The Headless Horseman Part 89

"Please proceed, Mr Calhoun! Let us hear the whole of the evidence you have promised to produce. It will be time enough then to state your opinions."

"Well, gentlemen; as you may imagine, I was no little surprised at hearing my cousin's voice--supposing him asleep in his bed. So sure was I of its being him, that I didn't think of going to his room, to see if he was there. I knew it was his voice; and I was quite as sure that the other was that of the horse-catcher.

"I thought it uncommonly queer, in Henry being out at such a late hour: as he was never much given to that sort of thing. But out he was. I couldn't be mistaken about that.

"I listened to catch what the quarrel was about; but though I could distinguish the voices, I couldn't make out anything that was said on either side. What I did hear was Henry calling _him_ by some strong names, as if my cousin had been first insulted; and then I heard the Irishman threatening to make him rue it. Each loudly p.r.o.nounced the other's name; and that convinced me about its being them.

"I should have gone out to see what the trouble was; but I was in my slippers; and before I could draw on a pair of boots, it appeared to be all over.

"I waited for half an hour, for Henry to come home. He didn't come; but, as I supposed he had gone back to Oberdoffer's and fallen in with some of the fellows from the Fort, I concluded he might stay there a spell, and I went back to my bed.

"Now, gentlemen, I've told you all I know. My poor cousin never came back to Casa del Corvo--never more laid his side on a bed,--for that we found by going to his room next morning. His bed that night must have been somewhere upon the prairie, or in the chapparal; and there's the only man who knows where."

With a wave of his hand the speaker triumphantly indicated the accused-- whose wild straining eyes told how unconscious he was of the terrible accusation, or of the vengeful looks with which, from all sides, he was now regarded.

Calhoun's story was told with a circ.u.mstantiality, that went far to produce conviction of the prisoner's guilt. The concluding speech appeared eloquent of truth, and was followed by a clamourous demand for the execution to proceed.

"Hang! hang!" is the cry from fourscore voices.

The judge himself seems to waver. The minority has been diminished--no longer eighty, out of the hundred, but ninety repeat the cry. The more moderate are overborne by the inundation of vengeful voices.

The crowd sways to and fro--resembling a storm fast increasing to a tempest.

It soon comes to its height. A ruffian rushes towards the rope. Though none seem to have noticed it, he has parted from the side of Calhoun-- with whom he has been holding a whispered conversation. One of those "border ruffians" of Southern descent, ever ready by the stake of the philanthropist, or the martyr--such as have been late typified in the _military murderers_ of Jamaica, who have disgraced the English name to the limits of all time.

He lays hold of the lazo, and quickly arranges its loop around the neck of the condemned man--alike unconscious of trial and condemnation.

No one steps forward to oppose the act. The ruffian, bristling with bowie-knife and pistols, has it all to himself or, rather, is he a.s.sisted by a scoundrel of the same kidney--one of the _ci-devant_ guards of the prisoner.

The spectators stand aside, or look tranquilly upon the proceedings.

Most express a mute approval--some encouraging the executioners with earnest vociferations of "Up with him! Hang him!"

A few seem stupefied by surprise; a less number show sympathy; but not one dares to give proof of it, by taking part with the prisoner.

The rope is around his neck--the end with the noose upon it. The other is being swung over the sycamore.

"Soon must the soul of Maurice Gerald go back to its G.o.d!"

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

A SERIES OF INTERLUDES.

"Soon the soul of Maurice Gerald must go back to its G.o.d!"

It was the thought of every actor in that tragedy among the trees. No one doubted that, in another moment, they would see his body hoisted into the air, and swinging from the branch of the sycamore.

There was an interlude, not provided for in the programme. A farce was being performed simultaneously; and, it might be said, on the same stage. For once the tragedy was more attractive, and the comedy was progressing without spectators.

Not the less earnest were the actors in it. There were only two--a man and a mare. Phelim was once more re-enacting the scenes that had caused surprise to Isidora.

Engrossed by the arguments of Calhoun--by the purposes of vengeance which his story was producing--the Regulators only turned their attention to the chief criminal. No one thought of his companion-- whether he was, or was not, an accomplice. His presence was scarce perceived--all eyes being directed with angry intent upon the other.

Still less was it noticed, when the ruffians sprang forward, and commenced adjusting the rope. The Galwegian was then altogether neglected.

There appeared an opportunity of escape, and Phelim was not slow to take advantage of it.

Wriggling himself clear of his fastenings, he crawled off among the legs of the surging crowd.

No one seemed to see, or care about, his movements. Mad with excitement, they were pressing upon each other--the eyes of all turned upward to the gallows tree.

To have seen Phelim skulking off, it might have been supposed, that he was profiting by the chance offered for escape--saving his own life, without thinking of his master.

It is true he could have done nothing, and he knew it. He had exhausted his advocacy; and any further interference on his part would have been an idle effort, or only to aggravate the accusers. It was but slight disloyalty that he should think of saving himself--a mere instinct of self-preservation--to which he seemed yielding, as he stole off among the trees. So one would have conjectured.

But the conjecture would not have done justice to him of Connemara. In his flight the faithful servant had no design to forsake his master-- much less leave him to his fate, without making one more effort to effect his delivery from the human bloodhounds who had hold of him. He knew he could do nothing of himself. His hope lay in summoning Zeb Stump, and it was to sound that signal--which had proved so effective before--that he was now stealing off from the scene, alike of trial and execution.

On getting beyond the selvedge of the throng, he had glided in among the trees; and keeping these between him and the angry crowd, he ran on toward the spot where the old mare still grazed upon her tether.

The other horses standing "hitched" to the twigs, formed a tolerably compact tier all round the edge of the timber. This aided in screening his movements from observation, so that he had arrived by the side of the mare, without being seen by any one.

Just then he discovered that he had come without the apparatus necessary to carry out his design. The cactus branch had been dropped where he was first captured, and was still kicking about among the feet of his captors. He could not get hold of it, without exposing himself to a fresh seizure, and this would hinder him from effecting the desired end.

He had no knife--no weapon of any kind--wherewith he might procure another _nopal_.

He paused, in painful uncertainty as to what he should do. Only for an instant. There was no time to be lost. His master's life was in imminent peril, menaced at every moment. No sacrifice would be too great to save him; and with this thought the faithful Phelim rushed towards the cactus-plant; and, seizing one of its spinous branches in his naked hands, wrenched it from the stem.

His fingers were fearfully lacerated in the act; but what mattered that, when weighed against the life of his beloved master? With equal recklessness he ran up to the mare; and, at the risk of being kicked back again, took hold of her tail, and once more applied the instrument of torture!

By this time the noose had been adjusted around the mustanger's neck, carefully adjusted to avoid fluke or failure. The other end, leading over the limb of the tree, was held in hand by the brace of bearded bullies--whose fingers appeared itching to pull upon it. In their eyes and att.i.tudes was an air of deadly determination. They only waited for the word.

Not that any one had the right to p.r.o.nounce it. And just for this reason was it delayed. No one seemed willing to take the responsibility of giving that signal, which was to send a fellow-creature to his long account. Criminal as they might regard him--murderer as they believed him to be--all shied from doing the sheriff's duty. Even Calhoun instinctively held back.

It was not for the want of will. There was no lack of that on the part of the ex-officer, or among the Regulators. They showed no sign of retreating from the step they had taken. The pause was simply owing to the informality of the proceedings. It was but the lull in the storm that precedes the grand crash.

It was a moment of deep solemnity--every one silent as the tomb. They were in the presence of death, and knew it,--death in its most hideous shape, and darkest guise. Most of them felt that they were abetting it.

All believed it to be nigh.

With hushed voice, and hindered gesture, they stood rigid as the tree-trunks around them. Surely the crisis had come?

It had; but not that crisis by everybody expected, by themselves decreed. Instead of seeing Maurice Gerald jerked into the air, far different was the spectacle they were called upon to witness,--one so ludicrous as for a time to interrupt the solemnity of the scene, and cause a suspension of the harsh proceedings.

The old mare--that they knew to be Zeb Stump's--appeared to have gone suddenly mad. She had commenced dancing over the sward, flinging her heels high into the air, and screaming with all her might. She had given the cue to the hundred horses that stood tied to the trees; and all of them had commenced imitating: her wild capers, while loudly responding to her screams!

Enchantment could scarce have produced a quicker transformation than occurred in the tableau formed in front of the jacale hut. Not only was the execution suspended, but all other proceedings that regarded the condemned captive.

Nor was the change of a comical character. On the contrary, it was accompanied by looks of alarm, and cries of consternation!