The Headless Horseman Part 80

"Trust me, good sir, I shall take every care of him. But tell me what has caused it? The Indians? No, they are not near? Has there been a quarrel with any one?"

"In thet, saynoritta; ye're beout as wise as I air meself. Thur's been a quarrel wi' coyeats; but that ain't what's gin him the ugly knee. I foun' him yesterday, clost upon sun-down, in the chapparal beyont. When we kim upon him, he war up to his waist in the water o' a crik as runs through thur, jest beout to be attakted by one o' them spotty critters yur people call tigers. Wal, I relieved him o' that bit o' danger; but what happened afore air a mystery to me. The young fellur had tuk leeve o' his senses, an ked gie no account o' hisself. He hain't rekivered them yet; an', thurfore, we must wait till he do."

"But you are sure, sir, he is not badly injured? His wounds--they are not dangerous?"

"No danger whatsomediver. Nuthin' beyont a bit o' a fever, or maybe a touch o' the agey, when that goes off o' him. As for the wounds, they're only a wheen o' scratches. When the wanderin' hev gone out o'

his senses, he'll soon k.u.m roun, I reck'n. In a week's time, ye'll see him as strong as a buck."

"Oh! I shall nurse him tenderly!"

"Wal, that's very kind o' you; but--but--"

Zeb hesitated, as a queer thought came before his mind. It led to a train of reflections kept to himself. They were these:

"This air the same she, as sent them kickshaws to the tavern o' Rough an Ready. Thet she air in love wi' the young fellur is clur as Ma.s.sissipi mud--in love wi' him to the eends o' her toe nails. So's the tother.

But it air equally clur that he's thinkin' o' the tother, an not o' her.

Now ef she hears him talk about tother, as he hev been a doin' all o'

the night, thur'll be a putty consid'able rumpus riz inside o' her busom. Poor thing! I pity her. She ain't a bad sort. But the Irish-- Irish tho' he be--can't belong to both; an I _know_ he freezes to the critter from the States. It air durned awkurd--Better ef I ked pursuade her not to go near him--leastwise till he gets over ravin' about Lewaze.

"But, miss," he continued, addressing himself to the Mexican, who during his long string of reflections had stood impatiently silent, "don't ye think ye'd better ride home agin; an k.u.m back to see him arter he gits well. He won't know ye, as I've sayed; an it would be no use yur stayin', since he ain't in any danger o' makin' a die of it."

"No matter, that he may not know me. I should tend him all the same.

He may need some things--which I can send, and procure for him."

"Ef ye're boun' to stay then," rejoined Zeb, relentingly, as if some new thought was causing him to consent, "I won't interfere to say, no. But don't you mind what he'll be palaverin' about. Ye may hear some queer talk out o' him, beout a man bein' murdered, an the like. That's natral for any one as is dulleerious. Don't be skeeart at it. Beside, ye may hear him talkin' a deal about a woman, as he's got upon his mind."

"A woman!"

"Jest so. Ye'll hear him make mention o' her name."

"Her name! Senor, what name?"

"Wal, it air the name o' his sister, I reck'n. Fact, I'm sure o' it bein' his sister."

"Oh! Misther Stump. If yez be spakin' av Masther Maurice--"

"Shut up, ye durned fool! What is't to you what I'm speakin' beout?

You can't unnerstan sech things. k.u.m along!" he continued, moving off, and motioning the Connemara man to follow him. "I want ye a leetle way wi' me. I killed a rattle as I wur goin' up the crik, an left it thur.

k.u.m you, an toat it back to the shanty hyur, lest some varmint may make away wi' it; an lest, arter all, I moutn't strike turkey agin."

"A rattle. Div yez mane a rattle-snake?"

"An' what shed I mean?"

"Shure, Misther Stump, yez wudn't ate a snake. Lard! wudn't it poison yez?"

"Pisen be durned! Didn't I cut the pisen out, soon 's I killed the critter, by cuttin' off o' its head?"

"Trath! an for all that, I wudn't ate a morsel av it, if I was starvin'."

"Sturve, an be durned to ye! Who axes ye to eet it. I only want ye to toat it home. k.u.m then, an do as I tell ye; or dog-goned, ef I don't make ye eet the head o' the reptile,--pisen, fangs an all!"

"Be j.a.pers, Misther Stump, I didn't mane to disobey you at all--at all.

Shure it's Phaylim O'Nale that's reddy to do your biddin' anyhow. I'm wid ye for fwhativer yez want; aven to swallowin the snake whole. Saint Pathrick forgive me!"

"Saint Patrick be durned! k.u.m along!"

Phelim made no farther remonstrance; but, striking into the tracks of the backwoodsman, followed him through the wood.

Isidora entered the hut; advanced towards the invalid reclining upon his couch; with fierce fondness kissed his fevered brow, fonder and fiercer kissed his unconscious lips; and then recoiled from them, as if she had been stung by a scorpion!

Worse than scorpion's sting was that which had caused her to spring back.

And yet 'twas but a word--a little word--of only two syllables!

There was nothing strange in this. Oft, on one word--that soft short syllabic "Yes"--rests the happiness of a life; while oft, too oft, the harsher negative is the prelude to a world of war!

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

ANOTHER WHO CANNOT REST.

A dark day for Louise Poindexter--perhaps the darkest in the calendar of her life--was that in which she released Don Miguel Diaz from the lazo.

Sorrow for a brother's loss, with fears for a lover's safety, were yesterday commingled in the cup. To-day it was further embittered by the blackest pa.s.sion of all--jealousy. Grief--fear--jealousy--what must be the state of the soul in which these emotions are co-existent? A tumult of terrible imaginings.

So was it in the bosom of Louise Poindexter after deciphering the epistle which contained written evidence of her lover's disloyalty.

True, the writing came not from him; nor was the proof conclusive.

But in the first burst of her frenzied rage, the young Creole did not reason thus. In the wording of the letter there was strong presumption, that the relations.h.i.+p between Maurice Gerald and the Mexican was of a more affectionate character than he had represented it to be--that he had, in fact, been practising a deception.

Why should _that_ woman write to him in such free strain--giving bold, almost unfeminine, licence to her admiration of his eyes: "_Essos ojos tan lindos y tan espresivos_?"

These were no phrases of friends.h.i.+p; but the expressions of a prurient pa.s.sion. As such only could the Creole understand them: since they were but a paraphrase of her own feelings.

And then there was the appointment itself--solicited, it is true, in the shape of a request. But this was mere courtesy--the coquetry of an accomplished _maitresse_. Moreover, the tone of solicitation was abandoned towards the close of the epistle; which terminated in a positive command: "Come, sir! come!"

Something more than jealousy was aroused by the reading of this. A spirit of revenge seemed to dictate the gesture that followed,--and the stray sheet was crushed between the aristocratic fingers into which it had fallen.

"Ah, me!" reflected she, in the acerbity of her soul, "I see it all now.

'Tis not the first time he has answered a similar summons; not the first they have met on that same ground, 'the hill above my uncle's house'--slightly described, but well understood--oft visited before."

Soon the spirit of vengeance gave place to a profound despair. Her heart had its emblem in the piece of paper that lay at her feet upon the floor--like it, crushed and ruined.

For a time she surrendered herself to sad meditation. Wild emotions pa.s.sed through her mind, suggesting wild resolves. Among others she thought of her beloved Louisiana--of going back there to bury her secret sorrow in the cloisters of the _Sacre Coeur_. Had the Creole convent been near, in that hour of deep despondency, she would, in all probability, have forsaken the paternal home, and sought an asylum within its sacred walls. In very truth was it the darkest day of her existence. After long hours of wretchedness her spirit became calmer, while her thoughts returned to a more rational tone. The letter was re-read; its contents submitted to careful consideration.