The Wild Huntress Part 12

A SERIES OF CONTRE-TEMPS.

At sight of this charming equestrian, all thoughts of leaping the log were driven out of my mind; and I rode quietly forward, with the intention of going round it. It might be that I timed the pace of my horse--_mechanically_, no doubt--but however that may have been, I arrived at the prostrate tree, just as the young girl reached it from the opposite side. We were thus brought face to face, the log-barrier between us. I would have spoken; but, for the life of me, I could not think of something graceful to say; and to have used the hackneyed phraseology of "Fine morning, miss!" would, in those beautiful blue eyes that glistened under the shadow of the sun-bonnet, have rendered me as commonplace as the remark. I felt certain it would; and therefore said nothing.

Some acknowledgement, however, was necessary; and, lifting the forage-cap from my forehead, I bowed slightly--as such a salutation required--but with all the _verve_ that politeness would permit. My salutation was acknowledged by a nod, and, as I fancied, a smile.

Either was grace enough for me to expect; but, whether the smile was the offspring of a feeling in my favour, or at my expense, I was unable at the moment to determine. I should have an opportunity of repeating the bow, as we met again in going round the tree. Then I should certainly speak to, her; and, as I turned my horse's head to the path, I set about thinking of something to say.

I had taken the path leading to the right--that which pa.s.sed round the root of the tree. Of the two ways this appeared to be the shorter and the more used. What was my chagrin, when, in glancing over my arm, I perceived that I had made a most grievous mistake: the girl was going in the opposite direction! Yes--she had chosen to ride round the branching tops of the dead-wood--by all the G.o.ds, a much wider circuit! Was it accident, or design? It had the appearance of the latter. I fancied so, and fell many degrees in my own estimation. Her choosing what was evidently the "round-about" direction, argued unwillingness that we should meet again: since the _mazy_ movement we were now performing precluded all chance of a second encounter, except with the great log still between us. Even then we should be no longer _vis-a-vis_ as before, but _dos-a-dos_, almost on the instant of our approaching! To insure even this poor privilege, I rode rapidly round the great b.u.t.tress of roots, that for a moment concealed the fair equestrian from my sight.

I did this with the intention of getting forward in time. So rapidly did I pa.s.s, and so absorbed was I in the idea of another sweet salutation, that I saw not the fearful creature that lay basking upon the log--on the sunny side of the upheaved ma.s.s of earth.

Once on the other side, I discovered that I had made a third mistake-- equally as provoking as the second--I had arrived _too soon_!

Golden-hair was away up among the tangle of the tree-tops. I could see her bright face gleaming through the branches--now and then hidden by the broad leaves of the bignonias that laced them together. To make me still more miserable, I fancied that she was moving with a _studied slowness_! I had already reached that point, where the path parted from the log. I dared not pause: there was no excuse for it. Not the shadow of one could I think of; and, with a lingering towards that glittering attraction, I reluctantly headed my horse to the forest. A last glance over my shoulder disclosed no improvement in my situation: she was still behind the trellised leaf-work of the bignonias, where she had stayed perhaps to pluck a flower.

"Happier far if I had never seen her!" was the reflection that occurred to me, as I entered the gloomy shadow of the trees--less gloomy than my own thoughts.

With one circ.u.mstance I now reproached myself: why had I been so shy with this forest damsel? The very way to secure her indifference. Why had I not _spoken_ to her, if only in commonplace? Even "Good-day"

would have promised me a response; and the result could not have been more unfavourable. Why the deuce had I not bidden her "Good-day"? I should have heard her voice--no doubt an additional charm--for I never yet saw a beautiful woman with a harsh voice; and I fear the inverse proposition is equally true. Why pa.s.sed I without speaking? No doubt, she deems me a _yokel_! Perhaps it was my very shyness she was smiling at? S'death! what a simpleton--Ho! what do I hear? A woman's voice--a cry?--of terror? There again!--a scream! the words, "Help, oh! help!"

Is it she who is calling? Yes--yes it is she! By such strange sounds were my reflections interrupted. Turning my horse with a wrench, I urged him back along the path. I was yet scarcely a dozen lengths from the log--for the reflections above detailed were but the thoughts of a moment. Half-a-dozen bounds of my steed brought me back to the edge of a standing timber--where I pulled up, to ascertain the purport of this singular summons that had reached me.

I made no inquiry--no explanation was needed. The scene explained itself: for, at the moment of my emerging from the shadowy path, I had a tableau under my eyes, expressive as it was terrifying. The girl was upon the other side of the log, and near the point where she should have turned off from it; but, instead of advancing, I saw that she had come to a halt--her att.i.tude expressing the wildest terror, as if some fearful object was before her! The jade, too, showed affright, by snorting loudly--his head raised high in the air, and his long ears pointing forward. The young girl was dragging mechanically on the bridle--as if to head him away from the spot. But this was impossible: another log, overlapping the first, formed an avenue, so narrow as to leave not the slightest chance of a horse being able to turn in it.

Into this the animal had backed. There was no way of his getting from between the two trunks, but by going straight forward or backward.

Forward he _dared not go_; and backward he was moving, as fast as the nature of the place would permit: now halting with his hips against one of the logs; then with a quick rush backing against the other, that, but for the support thus obtained, would have brought him upon his haunches!

The retrograde movement on the part of the horse was evidently the result of terror, at the sight of some object in front. It was aided also by the half-mechanical action of the rider: who, pulling continuously on the bridle, and repeating her cries for help, appeared equally to suffer from affright! My astonishment was of short duration.

Effect and cause came under my eye almost at the same instant. The latter I saw upon the log in hideous form--the form of a _couguar_!

Slowly advancing along the dead-wood--not by bounds or paces, but with the stealthy tread of a cat--his long red body stretched out to its full extent--the beast more resembled a gigantic caterpillar than a quadruped. I could scarcely detect the movement of his limbs, so closely did the monster crawl; but his great tail, tapering three feet behind him, was seen vibrating from side to side, or at intervals moving with quick jerks--expressive of the enjoyment he was receiving in the contemplation of his prey--for such he deemed the helpless maiden before him.

I saw not the couguar's face--hideous sight at such a moment--nor yet his eyes. Both were turned from me, and fixed steadfastly upon his intended victim. The fierce beast did not perceive my approach--perhaps a fortunate circ.u.mstance. Once or twice I saw him pause, as if crouching for a spring. Luckily, the old horse, making a fresh retrogression, caused the couguar again to advance along the log, in the same creeping att.i.tude as before. With a glance, I had comprehended the situation: indeed, at the first glance I understood it perfectly. My delay in acting only arose from the necessity of preparing for action; and that did not take long.

It was habitual with me to carry my rifle over my shoulder, or rested across the pommel of my saddle: in either case, always in hand. It was but the work of a moment to get the piece ready. The pressure of the muzzle against my horse's ear, was a signal well understood; and at once rendered him as immobile as if made of bronze. Many years of practice-- during which I had often aimed at higher game--had steeled my nerves and straightened my sight. Both proved sufficiently true for the destruction of the couguar. Quick after the crack, I saw his red body roll back from the log; and, when the smoke thinned off, I could see the animal writhing upon the ground. Why the couguar had fallen to my side, I could not tell: for he was fairly on the ridge of the dead-wood when I fired. Perhaps, on receiving the shot, he had fancied that it came from the only enemy visible to him; and, by an instinct impelling him to escape, had tumbled off in the opposite direction. I perceived that he was not yet dead. He was still wriggling about among the branches; but it was clear that the piece of lead had taken the "spring" out of him.

The bullet had pa.s.sed through his spine, crashing the column in twain.

After playing upon him with my revolving pistol, until I had emptied three or four of its chambers, I had the satisfaction of seeing him give his last spasmodic "kick."

What followed, I leave to the imagination of my reader. Suffice it to say, that the incident proved my friend. The ice of indifference was broken; and I was rewarded for my sleight-of-hand prowess by something more than smiles--by words of praise that rang melodiously in my ear-- words of grat.i.tude spoken with the free innocent naivete of childhood-- revealing, on the part of her who gave utterance to them, a truly grateful heart.

I rode back with my fair protegee across the track of fallen timber--I could have gone with her to the end of the world! The tortuous path hindered me from holding much converse with her: only, now and then, was there opportunity for a word. I remember little of what was said--on my side, no doubt, much that was commonplace; but even _her_ observations I can recall but confusedly. The power of love was upon me, alike absorbing both soul and sense--engrossing every thought in the contemplation of the divine creature by my side I cared not to talk-- enough for me to look and listen.

I did not think of questioning her as to whence she had come. Even her name was neither asked nor ascertained! Whither she was going was revealed only by the accident of conversation. She was on her way to visit some one who lived on the other side of the creek--some friend of her father. Would that I could have claimed to be her father's friend-- his relative--his son!

We reached a ford: it was the crossing-place. The house, for which her visit was designed, stood not far off, on the other side; and I must needs leave her. Emboldened by what had pa.s.sed, I caught hold of that little hand. It was a rare liberty; but I was no longer master of myself. There was no resistance; but I could perceive that the tiny fingers trembled at my touch.

The old horse, with provoking impatience, plunged into the stream; and we were parted. I watched her while crossing the creek. The crystal drops sparkled like pearls upon her naked feet. Some of them, dashed higher by the hoofs of the horse, were sprinkled upon her cheek, and clung to the carmined skin as if kissing it! I envied those diamond drops!

Lingering upon the bank, I gazed upon her receding form--with my eyes, followed it through the forest aisle; and then, saw it only at intervals--moving like some bright meteor among the trees--until by a sudden turning in the path, it was taken from my sight.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

SWEET AND BITTER.

Slowly and reluctantly, I turned back from the stream, and once more entered amid the wreck of the hurricane. Along the sunny path, the flowers appeared to sparkle with a fresher brilliancy--imbuing the air with sweet odours, wafted from many a perfumed chalice. The birds sang with clearer melody; and the hum of the honey-bee rang through the glades more harmoniously than ever. The "_coo-coo-oo_" of the doves blending with the love-call of the squirrel, betokened that both were inspired by the tenderest of pa.s.sions. "Pensando de amor," as the Spanish phrase finely expresses it; for at that moment, the beautiful words of the southern poet were in my thoughts, and upon my lips:

Aunque las fieras En sus guaridas Enternecidas Pensan de amor!

Even the fierce beasts in their forest lairs become gentle under the influence of this all-pervading pa.s.sion!

I rode on slowly and in silence--my whole soul absorbed in the contemplation of that fair being, whose image seemed still before my eyes--palpable as if present. My heart quivered under the influence of a gentle joy. The past appeared bright; the present, happiness itself; the future, full of hope. I had found the very "wilderness-home" of my longings; the fair spirit that should be my minister! No doubt rose before my mind to dim the brilliant prospect before me--no shadow hung over the horizon of my hopes. The prospect before me appeared bright and sunny as the sky above my head. Within and without the world was smiling--all nature seemed tinted with the hue of the rose! This delightful reverie lasted for a time--alas! too short a time--only while I was traversing the track, that, but the moment before, I had pa.s.sed over in such pleasant companionship.

On arriving at the scene of my late adventure, a turn was given to my thoughts. It had been a scene of triumph, and deserved commemoration.

The body of the panther lay across the path. His shining skin was a trophy not to be despised; and, dismounting on the spot, with my hunting-knife I secured it. I could point to it with pride--as the first spoil obtained in my new hunting-field; but I should prize it still more, as the memento of a far sweeter sentiment. In a few minutes, it was folded up, and strapped over the cantle of my saddle; and, with this odd addition to my equipage, I once more plunged into the forest-path.

For the next mile, the trace led through heavy bottom-timber, such as we had traversed, after leaving the settlement of Swampville. The black earth, of alluvial origin, was covered deeply with decayed vegetation; and the track of horses and cattle had converted the path into mud. At intervals, it was intersected by embayments of wet mora.s.s--the projecting arms of a great swamp, that appeared to run parallel with the creek. Through these, my horse, unused to such footing, pa.s.sed with difficulty--often floundering up to his flanks in the mud. Though it was but the hour of noon, it more resembled night, or the late gloaming of twilight--so dark were the shadows under this umbrageous wood. As if to strengthen the illusion, I could hear the cry of the bittern, and the screech of the owl, echoing through the aisles of the forest--sounds elsewhere suggestive of night and darkness. Now and then, light shone upon the path--the light that indicates an opening in the forest; but it was not that of a friendly clearing. Only the break caused by some dismal lagoon, amidst whose dank stagnant waters even the cypress cannot grow--the habitat of black water-snakes and mud-turtles--of cranes, herons, and _Qua-birds_. Hundreds of these I saw perched upon the rotting half-submerged trunks--upon the cypress "knees" that rose like brown obelisks around the edge of the water; or winged their slow flight through the murky gloom, and filling the air with their deafening screams. On both sides of the trace towered gigantic trees, flanked at their bases with huge projections, that appeared like the battlements of a fortress, these singular protuberances rose far above the height of my horse--radiating from the trunks on every side, and often causing the path to take a circuitous direction. In the deep gloom, the track would have been difficult to follow, but for an occasional blaze appearing upon the smooth bark of the sycamores.

The scene was by no means suggestive of pleasant reflections--the less so, since I had ascertained, from my host of yesternight, that the greater portion of Section Number 9 was of just such a character; and that there was scarcely a spot upon it fit for a "homestead," except the one already occupied! "Such an 'enc.u.mbrance' on my estate," reflected I, "is worse than the _heaviest mortgage_;" and I should have been willing at that moment to part with the timber at a very "low valuation." But I well knew the value of such a commodity. On the Thames or the Mersey, a mine of wealth--on Mud Creek, it would not have been taken as a gift! My spirits fell as I rode forward--partly influenced by the sombre scenes through which I was pa.s.sing--partly by the natural reaction which ever follows the hour of sweet enjoyment--and partly, no doubt, from some unpleasant presentiments that were once more shaping themselves in my mind.

Up to this time, I had scarcely given thought to my errand, or its object. First the gay hues of the morning, and then the romantic incidents of the hour, had occupied my thoughts, and hindered me from dwelling on future plans or purposes. Now, however, that I was coming close to the clearing of the squatter, I began to feel, that I was also _approaching a crisis_.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

A RUDE RESPONSE.

An opening of about two acres in extent, of irregular semi-circular shape, with the creek for its chord, and a worm-fence zig-zagging around its arc--scarcely a clearing: since trees bleached and barkless stand thickly over it; a log shanty, with clapboard roof, in the centre of the concavity, flanked on one side by a rude horse-shed, on the other, by a corn-crib of split rails; all three--shed, shanty, and crib--like the tower of Pisa, threatening to tumble down; near the shanty, a wood-pile, with an old axe lying upon the chop-block; by the shed and crib, a litter of white "shucks" and "cobs;" in front, among the stumps and girdled trees, a thin straggle of withered corn-stalks, shorn of their leafy tops--some standing, some trampled down: such was the picture before my eyes, as, with my horse, breast up against the fence, I looked into the clearing of Squatter Holt!

"It must be the place--my place? there is no other clearing within a mile? My directions have been given with exact minuteness of detail. I have followed them to the letter: I cannot be mistaken: I have reached Holt's Clearing at last."

I had ridden quite up to the fence, but could see no gate. A set of bars, however, between two roughly mortised uprights, indicated an entrance to the enclosure. The top bar was out. Not feeling inclined to dismount, I sprang my horse _over_ the others; and then trotted forward in front of the shanty. The door stood wide open. I had hopes that the sound of my horse's hoof-stroke would have brought some one into it; but no one came! Was there n.o.body within? I waited for a minute or two, listening for some sign of life in the interior of the cabin. No voice reached me--no sound of any one stirring! Perhaps the cabin was empty! Not untenanted: since I could perceive the signs of occupation, in some articles of rude furniture visible inside the doorway. Perhaps the inmates had gone out for a moment, and might be in the woods, near at hand?

I looked around the clearing, and over the fence into the forest beyond.

No one to be seen no one to be heard! Without the cabin, as within, reigned a profound silence. Not a living thing in sight--save the black vultures--a score of which, perched on the dead-woods overhead, and fetid as their food, were infecting the air with their carrion odour.

Although within easy range of my rifle, the foul birds took no heed of my movements; but sat still, indolently extending their broad wings to the sun--now and then one coming, one going, in slow silent flight-- their very shadows seeming to flit lazily among the withered maize-plants that covered the ground.

I had no desire to appear rude. I already regretted having leaped my horse over the bars. Even that might be regarded as rather a brusque method of approach to a private dwelling; but I was in hopes it would not be noticed: since there appeared to be no one who had witnessed it.

I coughed and made other noises, with like unfruitful result. My demonstrations were either not heard, or if heard, unheeded.

"Certainly," thought I, "if there be any one in the house, they must not only hear, but _see me_:" for although there was no window, I could perceive that the logs were but poorly "c.h.i.n.ked;" and from within the house, the whole clearing must have been in sight. Nay, more, the interior itself was visible from without--at least the greater part of it--and, while making this observation, I fancied I could trace the outlines of a human figure through the interstices of the logs! I became convinced it was a human figure; and furthermore, the figure of a man. It was odd he had not heard me! Was he asleep? No: that could not be--from the att.i.tude in which he was. He appeared to be seated in a chair, but with his body erect, and his head held aloft. In such position, he could scarcely be asleep? After making this reflection, I coughed again--louder than before; but to no better purpose! I thought the figure moved. I was sure it moved; but as if with no intention of stirring from the seat! "Cool indifference!" thought I--"what can the fellow mean?" I grew impatient; and, feeling a little provoked by the inexplicable somnolency of the owner of the cabin, I determined to try whether my voice might not rouse him. "Ho! house, there!" I shouted, though not loudly; "ho!--holloa!--any one within?" Again the figure moved--but still stirred not from the seat! I repeated both my summons and query--this time in still a louder and more commanding tone; and this time I obtained a response.

"Who the h.e.l.l _air_ you?" came a voice through the interstices of the logs--a voice that more resembled the growl of a bear, than the articulation of a human throat. "Who the h.e.l.l air you?" repeated the voice, while at the same time, I could perceive the figure rising from the chair.

I made no answer to the rough query. I saw that my last summons had been sufficient. I could hear the hewn floor-planks cracking under a heavy boot; and knew from this, that my questioner was pa.s.sing towards the door. In another instant he stood in the doorway--his body filling it from side to side--from head to stoop. A fearful-looking man was before me. A man of gigantic stature, with a beard reaching to the second b.u.t.ton of his coat; and above it a face, not to be looked upon without a sensation of terror: a countenance expressive of determined courage, but, at the same time, of ferocity, untempered by any trace of a softer emotion. A s.h.a.ggy sand-coloured beard, slightly grizzled; eyebrows like a _chevaux-de-frise_ of hogs' bristles; eyes of a greenish-grey, with a broad livid scar across the left cheek, were component parts in producing this expression; while a red cotton kerchief, wound, turban-like, around the head, and, pulled low down in front, rendered it more palpable and p.r.o.nounced. A loose coat of thick green blanket, somewhat faded and worn, added to the colossal appearance of the man; while a red-flannel shirt served him also for a vest. His large limbs were inserted in pantaloons of blue Kentucky _jeans_ cloth; but these were scarcely visible, hidden by the skirt of the ample blanket-coat that draped down below the tops of a pair of rough horse-skin boots reaching above the knee, and into which the trousers had been tucked. The face of the man was a singular picture; the colossal stature rendered it more striking; the costume corresponded; and all were in keeping with the rude manner of my reception.

It was idle to ask the question. From the description given me by the young backwoodsman, I knew the man before me to be Hickman Holt the squatter.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.