The White Squaw

Just as her closing eyes saw the courageous animal slide into the black chasm, and heard its last snort of her terror, she felt herself lifted from the saddle, borne from the spot, and then —

She knew no more.

She had fainted!

Chapter Fourteen.

A True Gentleman

It was Cris Carrol who had rescued the fair equestrian.

The old hunter had perceived her danger, and, with the quickness of thought, mastered the whole situation.

Without uttering a word, he stealthily approached the spot, until reaching a tree, one of whose branches extended over the horse’s head.

To clutch it, spring out on the projecting limb, and lift the young lady out of the saddle, were acts performed almost instantaneously.

What followed was not so easy.

He had not counted on the feminine weakness of fainting, and, with the dead weight of the swooning girl upon his arm, there was still a difficulty as to his future movements. How was he to get back along the limb?

He saw that nothing but sheer strength could accomplish it, and accordingly exerted all he had.

With one hand grasping the branch, and the other around the unconscious form, he made a superhuman effort, and succeeded in reaching the trunk of the tree. Against this he supported himself until he recovered breath and strength.

While thus resting, he was witness to the engulfing of the gallant steed, as the snorting animal sank into the chasm below.

The old hunter heaved a sigh. He was sorry for the creature, and would have saved it had the thing been possible.

“Wal, if it ain’t too bad for a good, plucky crittur like that to die sich a death! Confound them tarnal sink holes! They’ve been the misfortun’ o’ many a one. Thank goodness I’ve saved the feminine.”

The “feminine’s” condition now demanded his attention, as the temporary faintness was passing away, and she showed signs of returning animation.

With rare tact and delicacy, the old hunter, regardless of his own fatigue, softly lowered himself and his fair burden to the ground. Then, gently withdrawing his arm from her waist, he drew back a step or two.

Taking of his seal-skin cap, he wiped the perspiration from his brow, and, with the gallantry of a true gentleman, waited until she should address him.

The young lady he had rescued was no ordinary person.

The faintness which had come upon her endured only for a short while.

Recovering consciousness, she understood at a glance, not only the nature of the service rendered her, but also the character of the man who had rendered it.

“Oh, sir! I’m afraid that you have run a fearful risk. I can hardly tell you how grateful I am.”

“Wal, miss, it war rayther a toughish struggle while it lasted. But, bless ye, that’s nothin’ so long as it’s turned out all right. If you’d not been the plucky one you air, nothin’ I could ha’ done would have helped ye. It war your own grit as much as my muscle saved ye from fallin’ into that trap.”

“My horse. Where is he?”

“Yur right there, he’s gone, poor crittur. I’d ha’ liked to saved him, too, for the way he behaved. That dumb crittur had more sense in him than many a human; and it ’ud ha’ done me a sight o’ good to have pulled him thro’; but it wasn’t possible, nohow.”

“Tell me, sir, where did you come from? I did not see you.”

“Wal, I war clost by, and seed you ride right on to the danger. It war too late to holler, for that would only ha’ made things worse, an’ skeared you both; so I said nothin’, but jist dropped my rifle, and made track toarst ye. I spied the branch above you, an’ speeled up to it. The next war nothin’ – only a spell o’ twisting an’ wrigglin’.”

He did not tell her that the muscles of his arms were fearfully swollen, and that it demanded all his power of endurance to prevent him groaning at the intense agony he suffered.

But the young lady, with a quickness of apprehension, seemed to understand this, too.

“Nothing, do you say? Oh! sir, it’s another proof of your noble courage. I can never show you enough gratitude. For all that, I feel deeply grateful.”

Her voice trembled with emotion – tears welled into her eyes.

Her brave heart had well endured danger, but could not contemplate, without betraying its emotion, the self-generosity of her preserver.

“Wal,” said he, in order to change the conversation, which he thought too flattering towards himself, “what do you intend doing, now that your horse is gone?”

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and in a firm voice answered him —

“I’m not more than four or five miles from my home. I merely rode out for pleasure. I little thought that my excursion would end thus. Where do you live, sir? I don’t remember to have seen you before.”

“At the settlement?” he asked.

She nodded.

“No; I ain’t a resident of no place. I’m as you see me – a hunter. I’ve been at the settlement tho’ many a time; in fact, I used to live on that thar spot afore thar war any settlement. It war enough for me to know they war a-comin’, so I pulled up stakes and quit. You see, miss, it don’t do for a hunter to live among the clearins; besides, I’m a deal happier by myself.”

“No doubt. To a contented mind, such a life as yours must be a happy one.”

“That’s it, miss; to them as is contented. Do you know I’ve often and often puzzled over the expressin’ o’ that idear, and never could hit it; and yet you’ve gin it in the snapping of a jack-knife.”

“Perhaps you were going to the settlement when you saw me?”

“No; exactly t’other way. I war goin’ from it. I’ve been down beyont hyar to meet a friend o’ mine. It ain’t long ago tho’ since I war in the colony, and staid a spell there. Now I’m bound for the big Savanna, that is, arter I’ve seen you home, and out of danger.”

“Oh, no thank you, that’s not at all necessary. I’m used to wander about alone, although this part of the country is a little new to me.”

“If you’ll allow me, miss, I’ll go with pleasure.”

“That I cannot do. All I want to know now is your name?”

“Cris Carrol,” was the hunter’s reply.

“Then,” said she holding out her pretty white hand, “Cris Carrol, I thank you with my whole heart for what you have done for me. I will remember it to my dying day.”

Like a knight of ancient chivalry, the backwoodsman stooped and kissed the proffered hand.

When he stood erect again, a flush of pleasurable pride made his rugged face look as handsome as an Apollo’s. It was the beauty of honesty.