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Wild Huntress

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<h3>Chapter One Hundred Five.</h3> <h4>An unexpected Defection.</h4> Almost as soon as we heard the voices, we saw those who were giving utterance to them. A horseman appeared issuing from the jaws of the chasm—another, and another—until eight had filed into the open ground! They were all armed men—armed with guns, pistols, and knives. He in the lead was at once identified. The colossal stature, the green blanket-coat, red shirt, and kerchief turban, proclaimed that the foremost of our pursuers was Holt himself. Immediately behind him rode Stebbins; while those following in file were the executive myrmidons of the Mormon faith—the Destroying Angels! On entering the open ground, Holt alone kept on without slackening his speed. Stebbins followed, but more cautiously and at a distance of several lengths of his horse. The Danites at sight of our animals, and ourselves too—for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks—drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other—as if irresolute whether to advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving on after the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrels of our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fifty paces of our position, he too reined in—keeping the body of Holt between himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance, without the slightest show of fear. So near had he got to us, that we could note the expression upon his features, though it was difficult to understand it. It was one that bespoke reckless determination—no doubt a determination to recover his child from the savages who had stolen her; for as yet he had no reason to think otherwise than that we were Indians. Of course, none of us thought of firing upon Holt; but, had Stebbins at the moment advanced only a step nearer, there was more than one rifle ready to give out its deadly detonation. Holt approached rapidly, his horse going a trot. He held his long gun obliquely in front of him, and grasped in both hands—as if ready to fire on the instant. All at once, he checked his horse, dropped the gun on the pommel of his saddle, and sat gazing towards us with a look of bewildered surprise. White faces appearing over the rock instead of red ones, had caused this sudden change in his demeanour. Before he had time to give utterance to his astonishment, Lilian glided from behind the boulder, and standing with arms extended, cried out: “O father! they are not Indians! It is Marian! it is—” At the same instant her sister appeared by her side. “Marian alive!” cried Holt, recognising his long-lost daughter. “My child Marian yet livin’! God be praised! Thur’s one weight off o’ my poor soul—an’ now to eeze it o’ another!” As he uttered the last words, he wrenched his horse half around, and dropped to his feet upon the nearer side. Then, quickly resting his rifle over the hollow of the saddle, he brought its barrel to bear on the breast of Stebbins—who still sat upon horseback, scarce twenty paces distant from its muzzle. “Now, Josh Stebbins!” cried the squatter, in a voice of thunder, “the time’s come to squar the yards wi’ you!” “What do you mean, Holt?” mechanically inquired the Mormon, in trembling surprise. “What do you mean by that?” “I mean, you infernal skunk, that afore ye leave this groun’, ye’ve got to make a clean breast o’ it, an’ clar me o’ the crime o’ murder.” “What murder?” inquired Stebbins, prevaricatingly. “Oh! you know what I’m talkin’ about! ’Twant no murder. ’Twar only a suicide; an’ God knows it broke my own heart.” Holt’s voice was husky with emotion. He continued, after a pause: “For all o’ that, appearances wur agin’ me: an’ you invented proofs that wud a stood good among lawyers, though thur as false as yur own black heart. Ye’ve kep’ ’m over me for years, to sarve yer rascally designs. But thur’s neither law nor lawyers hyur to help you any longer. Thur’s witnesses o’ both sides—yur own beauties down yander; an’ some hyur o’ a better sort, I reck’n. Afore them, I call on ye to declar that yur proofs wur false, an’ that I’m innocent o’ the crime o’ murder!” There was a profound silence when the speaker finished. The strange and unexpected nature of the demand, held every one in breathless surprise. Even the armed men at the bottom of the vallon said not a word; and perceiving that, by the defection of Holt, there was almost gun for gun against them, they showed no signs of advancing to the protection of their apostolic leader. The latter appeared for a moment to vacillate. The fear depicted upon his features was blended with an expression of the most vindictive bitterness—as that of a tyrant forced to yield up some despotic privilege which he has long wielded. True, it mattered little to him now. The intended victims of his vile contrivance—whatever it may have been—were likely to escape from his control in another way; but, for all that, he seemed loth to part with even the shadow of his former influence. He was not allowed much time for reflection: scarce the opportunity to look round upon his Danites, which, however, he did—glancing back as if desirous of retreating towards them. “Stan’ yur groun’!” shouted the squatter in a tone of menace—“stan’ yur groun’! Don’t dar to turn yur face from me! Ef ye do, ye’ll only get the bullet in yur back. Now, confess! or, by the etarnal God! you hain’t another second to sit in that seddle!” The quick threatening manner in which the speaker grasped his gun, told Stebbins that prevarication would be idle. In hurried speech, he replied: “You committed no murder, Hickman Holt! I never said you did!” “No! but you said you would; and you invented proofs o’ it? Confess you invented proofs, an’ kep’ ’em over my head like a black shadder? Confess that!” Stebbins hesitated. “Quick, or ye’re a dead man!” “I did,” muttered the guilty wretch, trembling as he spoke. “An’ the proofs wur false!” “They were false—I confess it.” “Enuf!” cried Holt, drawing down his gun. “Enuf for me. An’ now, ye cowardly snake, ye may go wi’ yur beauties yander. They’ll not like ye a bit the wuss for all this. Ye may go—an’ carry yur conscience along wi’ ye—ef that ’ll be any comfort to ye. Away wi’ ye!” “No!” exclaimed a voice from behind, and at the same time Wingrove was seen stepping out from the rock. “Not yet adzactly. I’ve got a score to settle wi’ the skunk. The man who’d plot that way agin another, hain’t ought to live. You may let him off, Hick Holt, but I won’t; nor wud you eyther, I reck’n, if you knew—” “Knew what!” interrupted the squatter. “What he intended for your daughter.” “He air my daughter’s husband,” rejoined Holt, in a tone that betokened a mixture of bitterness and shame. “That was my fault, God forgi’ me!” “He ain’t her husband—nothin’ o’ the kind. The marriage war a sham. He war takin’ poor Marian out thar for a diffrent purpose—an’ Lilian too.” “For what purpose?” cried Holt, a new light seeming suddenly to break upon his mind. “To make—” answered Wingrove hesitatingly. “I can’t say the word, Hick Holt, in presence o’ the girls—to make wives to the Mormon Prophet—that’s what he intended wi’ both o’ ’em.” The scream that, like the neigh of an angry horse, burst from the lips of the squatter, drowned the last words of Wingrove’s speech; and simultaneously the report of a rifle pealed upon the air. A cloud of smoke for a moment enveloped Holt and his horse, from the midst of which came a repetition of that wild vengeful cry. At the same instant the steed of Stebbins was seen running riderless down the valley, while the Saint himself lay stretched, face upward, upon the sward! His body remained motionless. He was dead—a purple spot on his forehead showing where the fatal bullet had entered his brain! The sisters had just time to shelter themselves behind the rocks when a volley from the Danites was poured upon us. Their shots fell harmlessly around; while ours, fired in return, had been better aimed; and another of these fearful men, dropping out of his saddle, yielded up his life upon the spot. The remaining five, seeing that the day had gone against them, wheeled suddenly about; and galloped back down the gorge—ten times faster than they had ridden up it. It was the last we saw of the Destroying Angels! “O my children!” cried Holt, in a supplicating tone, as he staggered forward, and received both within his outstretched embrace, “will ye—can ye forgi’ me? O God! I’ve been a bad father to ye; but I knew not the wickedness o’ these Mormon people. No—nor half o’ his, till it war too late; an’ now—” “And now, father!” said Marian, interrupting his contrite speech with a consoling smile, “speak not of forgiveness! There is nothing to forgive; and perhaps not much to regret: since the perils we have gone through, have proved our fidelity to one another. We shall return home all the happier, having escaped from so many dangers, dear father!” “Ah, Marian, gurl, you don’t know all—we hev now no home to go to!” “The same you ever had,” interposed I, “if you will consent to accept it. The old cabin on Mud Creek will hold us all till we can build a larger one. But no,”—I added, correcting myself—“I see two here who will scarcely feel inclined to share its hospitality. Another cabin, higher up the creek, will be likely to claim them for its tenants?” Marian blushed; while the young backwoodsman, although turning equally red at the allusion, had the courage to stammer out, that he always “thort his cabin war big enough for two.” “Stranger!” said Holt, turning to me, and frankly extending his hand, “I’ve much to be ashamed o’, an’ much to thank ye for; but I accept yur kind offer. You bought the land, an’ I’d return ye the money, ef ’t hedn’t been all spent. I thort I kud a made up for it, by gieing ye somethin’ ye mout a liked better. Now I see I can’t even gi’ ye that somethin’ since it appears to be yourn a’ready. Ye’ve won her, stranger! an’ ye’ve got her. All I kin now do is to say, that, from the bottom o’ my heart I consent to yur keepin’ her.” “Thanks—thanks!” Lilian was mine for ever. The curtain falls upon our drama; and brief must be the epilogue. To scenes warlike and savage succeeded those of a pacific and civilised character—as the turbulent torrent, debouching from its mountain channel, flows in tranquil current through the alluvion of the level plain. By our Utah allies, whom we encountered on the following day, we were “outfitted” for recrossing the prairies—the abandoned waggon, with a team of Indian mules, affording a proper means of transport. Not without regret did we part with the friendly Mexican trapper, and our brave associates, the ex-rifleman and ex-infantry. We had afterwards the gratification to learn that the scalpless man survived his terrible mutilation; that under the protection of Peg-leg, he and Sure-shot were taken to the valley of Taos—whence, along with the next migration of “diggers,” they proceeded, by the Colorado, to the golden placers of California. To detail the incidents of our homeward journey, were a pleasant task for the pen; but the record would scarcely interest the reader. The colossal squatter, silent but cheerful, drove the waggon, and busied himself about the management of his mules. The young backwoodsman and I were thus left free to interchange with our respective “sweethearts” those phrases of delirious endearment—those glances of exquisite sweetness, that only pass between eyes illumined by the light of a mutual love. Proverbially sweet is the month after marriage; but the honeymoon, with all its joys, could not have exceeded in bliss those ante-nuptial hours spent by us in recrossing the prairies. Clear as the sky over our heads was the horoscope of our hearts; all doubt and suspicion had passed away; not a shadow lingered upon the horizon of our future, to dim the perfect happiness we enjoyed. In our case, the delight of anticipation could not be enhanced by actual possession: since we had possession already. We arrived safely in Swampville. In the post-office of that interesting village a letter awaited me, of which “jet black was de seal.” Under ordinary circumstances, this should have cast a gloom upon my joy; but candour forces me to confess that a perusal of the contents of that epistle produced upon me an effect altogether the reverse. The letter announced the demise of an octogenarian female relative—whom I had never seen—but who, for a full decade of years, beyond the period allotted to the life of man—or women either—had obstinately persisted in standing betwixt me and a small reversion—so long, indeed, that I had ceased to regard it as an “expectation.” It was of no great amount; but, arriving just then in the very “nick o’ time,” was doubly welcome; and under its magical influence, a large quantity of superfluous timber soon disappeared from the banks of Mud Creek. Ah! the squatter’s clearing, with its zigzag fence, its girdled trees, and white dead-woods! It is no longer recognisable. The log-hut is replaced by a pretentious frame-dwelling with portico and verandahs—almost a mansion. The little maize patch, scarcely an acre in extent, is now a splendid plantation, of many fields—in which wave the golden tassels of the Indian corn, the broad leaves of another indigenous vegetable—the aromatic “Indian weed,” and the gossamer-like florets of the precious cotton-plant. Even the squatter himself you would scarcely recognise, in the respectable old gentleman, who, mounted upon his cob, with a long rifle over his shoulder, rides around, looking after the affairs of the plantation, and picking off the squirrels, who threaten the young corn with their destructive depredations. It is not the only plantation upon Mud Creek. A little further up the stream, another is met with—almost equally extended, and cultivated in like manner. Need I say who is the owner of this last? Who should it be, but the young backwoodsman—now transformed into a prosperous planter? The two estates are contiguous, and no jealous fence separates the one from the other. Both extend to that flowery glade, of somewhat sad notoriety whose bordering woods are still undefiled by the axe. Not there, but in another spot, alike flowery and pleasant, the eye of the soaring eagle, looking from aloft, may see united together a joyous group—the owners of the two plantations—with their young wives, Marian and Lilian. The sisters are still in the fall bloom of their incomparable beauty. In neither is the maiden yet subdued into the matron—though each beholds her own type reflected in more than one bright face smiling by her side; while more than one little voice lisps sweetly in her ear that word of fond endearment—the first that falls from human lips. Ah! beloved Lilian! thine is not a beauty born to blush but for an hour. In my eyes, it can never fade; but, like the blossom of the citron, seems only the fairer, by the side of its own fruit! I leave it to other lips to symbol the praises of thy sister— The Wild Huntress. <h4>The End.</h4> <hr /></div> <div class="navigation"> | Chapter 1 | | Chapter 2 | | Chapter 3 | | Chapter 4 | | Chapter 5 | | Chapter 6 | | Chapter 7 | | Chapter 8 | | Chapter 9 | | Chapter 10 | | Chapter 11 | | Chapter 12 | | Chapter 13 | | Chapter 14 | | Chapter 15 | | Chapter 16 | | Chapter 17 | | Chapter 18 | | Chapter 19 | | Chapter 20 | | Chapter 21 | | Chapter 22 | | Chapter 23 | | Chapter 24 | | Chapter 25 | | Chapter 26 | | Chapter 27 | | Chapter 28 | | Chapter 29 | | Chapter 30 | | Chapter 31 | | Chapter 32 | | Chapter 33 | | Chapter 34 | | Chapter 35 | | Chapter 36 | | Chapter 37 | | Chapter 38 | | Chapter 39 | | Chapter 40 | | Chapter 41 | | Chapter 42 | | Chapter 43 | | Chapter 44 | | Chapter 45 | | Chapter 46 | | Chapter 47 | | Chapter 48 | | Chapter 49 | | Chapter 50 | | Chapter 51 | | Chapter 52 | | Chapter 53 | | Chapter 54 | | Chapter 55 | | Chapter 56 | | Chapter 57 | | Chapter 58 | | Chapter 59 | | Chapter 60 | | Chapter 61 | | Chapter 62 | | Chapter 63 | | Chapter 64 | | Chapter 65 | | Chapter 66 | | Chapter 67 | | Chapter 68 | | Chapter 69 | | Chapter 70 | | Chapter 71 | | Chapter 72 | | Chapter 73 | | Chapter 74 | | Chapter 75 | | Chapter 76 | | Chapter 77 | | Chapter 78 | | Chapter 79 | | Chapter 80 | | Chapter 81 | | Chapter 82 | | Chapter 83 | | Chapter 84 | | Chapter 85 | | Chapter 86 | | Chapter 87 | | Chapter 88 | | Chapter 89 | | Chapter 90 | | Chapter 91 | | Chapter 92 | | Chapter 93 | | Chapter 94 | | Chapter 95 | | Chapter 96 | | Chapter 97 | | Chapter 98 | | Chapter 99 | | Chapter 100 | | Chapter 101 | | Chapter 102 | | Chapter 103 | | Chapter 104 | | Chapter 105 | <hr /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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