The Quadroon Part 30

I did not make reply. I pushed on up-stairs, and found relief in the privacy of my chamber.

I had been badly torn by the bushes. My wounds needed dressing. I despatched a messenger for Reigart. Fortunately he was at home, and in a few minutes followed my messenger to the hotel. He entered my room, and stood staring at me with a look of surprise.

"My dear R--, where have you been?" he inquired at length.

"To the swamp."

"And those wounds--your clothes torn--blood?"

"Thorn-scratches--that's all."

"But where have you been?"

"In the swamp."

"In the swamp! but how came you to get such a mauling?"

"I have been bitten by a rattlesnake."

"What! bitten by a rattlesnake? Do you speak seriously?"

"Quite true it is--but I have taken the antidote. I am cured."

"Antidote! Cured! And what cure? who gave you an antidote?"

"A friend whom I met in the swamp!"

"A friend in the swamp!" exclaimed Reigart, his astonishment increasing.

I had almost forgotten the necessity of keeping my secret. I saw that I had spoken imprudently. Inquisitive eyes were peeping in at the door.

Ears were listening to catch every sound.

Although the inhabitant of the Mississippi is by no means of a curious disposition--_malgre_ the statements of gossiping tourists--the unexplained and forlorn appearance I presented on my return was enough to excite a degree of interest even among the most apathetic people; and a number of the guests of the hotel had gathered in the lobby around the door of my chamber, and were eagerly asking each other what had happened to me. I could overhear their conversation, though they did not know it.

"He's been fightin' a painter?" said one, interrogatively.

"A painter or a bar," answered another.

"'Twur some desprit varmint anyhow--it hez left its mark on him,--that it hez."

"It's the same fellow that laid out Bully Bill: ain't it?"

"The same," replied some one.

"English, ain't he?"

"Don't know. He's a Britisher, I believe. English, Irish, or Scotch, he's a hull team an' a cross dog under the wagon. By G.o.d! he laid out Bully Bill straight as a fence-rail, wi' nothin' but a bit o' a whup, and then tuk Bill's pistols away from him! Ha! ha! ha!"

"Jehosophat!"

"He's jest a feller to whip his weight in wild-cats. He's killed the catamount, I reckon."

"No doubt he's done that."

I had supposed that my encounter with Bully Bill had made me enemies among his cla.s.s. It was evident from the tone and tenor of their conversation that such was not the case. Though, perhaps, a little piqued that a stranger--a mere youth as I then was--should have conquered one of their bullies, these backwoodsmen are not intensely clannish, and Bully Bill was no favourite. Had I "whipped" him on any other grounds, I should have gained a positive popularity by the act.

But in defence of a slave--and I a foreigner--a Britisher, too--that was a presumption not to be pardoned. That was the drawback on my victory, and henceforth I was likely to be a "marked man" in the neighbourhood.

These observations had served to amuse me while I was awaiting the arrival of Reigart, though, up to a certain point, I took but little interest in them. A remark that now reached my ears, however, suddenly changed the nature of my thoughts. It was this:--

"_He's after Miss Besancon, they say_."

I was now interested. I stepped to the door, and, placing my ear close to the keyhole, listened.

"I guess he's arter _the plantation_," said another; and the remark was followed by a significant laugh.

"Well, then," rejoined a voice, in a more solemn and emphatic tone, "he's after what he won't get."

"How? how?" demanded several.

"He may get _thee_ lady, preehaps," continued the same voice, in the same measured tones; "but not _thee_ plantation."

"How? What do you mean, Mr Moxley?" again demanded the chorus of voices.

"I mean what I say, gentlemen," replied the solemn speaker; and then repeated again his former words in a like measured drawl. "He may get the lady, _pree_haps, but not _thee_ plantation."

"Oh! the report's true, then?" said another voice, interrogatively.

"Insolvent? Eh? Old Gayarre--"

"Owns _thee_ plantation."

"And n.i.g.g.e.rs?"

"Every skin o' them; the sheriff will take possession to-morrow."

A murmur of astonishment reached my ears. It was mingled with expressions of disapprobation or sympathy.

"Poor girl! it's a pity o' _her_!"

"Well, it's no wonder. She made the money fly since the old 'un died."

"Some say he didn't leave so much after all. 'Twar most part mortgaged before--"

The entrance of the doctor interrupted this conversation, and relieved me for the moment from the torture which it was inflicting upon me.

"A friend in the swamp, did you say?" again interrogated Reigart.

I had hesitated to reply, thinking of the crowd by the door. I said to the doctor in a low earnest voice--

"My dear friend, I have met with an adventure; am badly scratched, as you see. Dress my wounds, but do not press me for details. I have my reasons for being silent. You will one day learn all, but not now.