The White Squaw

“Bless you, miss, bless you! Cris Carrol will allers be too glad to do a sarvice for one that’s real grit, as you air. That I’ll swar to. Bless you!”

As she turned to take her departure, a sudden idea struck the backwoodsman —

“Why, what a durn’d old fool I am; I never axed her for her name.”

“You’ll pardon me, miss,” said he, “I’m sure you will – but – ”

“But, what?” she asked, smilingly.

“But, might I ask you – I’d like to know – ” here he stammered and stuttered.

“You want to know my name; that’s it, isn’t it?”

“The very thing!”

“Alice Rody.”

The old backwoodsman started on hearing it.

Chapter Fifteen.

Brother and Sister

As Alice Rody left the spot, which had so nearly proved her tomb, she thought of the old hunter with admiration. His courage and honest courtesy had won her, but she had also noticed his surprise on hearing her name.

Of the feeling entertained by him for her father and brother she knew nothing.

The female mind loves riddles, and Alice, like a true woman, racked her brain for a solution of that one Carrol’s conduct seemed to embody.

Thus occupied, she emerged from the forest, and had proceeded some distance upon her road, when she perceived two individuals in close conversation.

Their backs were turned towards her, and, as her light footfall did not disturb them, she got close to the spot on which they stood without their perceiving her.

Near enough, in fact, to hear the following: —

“Hark you, you black rascal! If you betray me, it will be the worse for you. I have a means of silencing those who prove false to me.”

Whatever reply the “black rascal” would have made was prevented by an impetuous gesture of the speaker, who had caught sight of Alice.

“Ah, Alice, you here?” said he, facing towards her. “I did not know you were abroad – ”

It was her brother Warren.

Alice recognised in the “black rascal” no less a personage than Crookleg.

Warren thrust a piece of silver into the negro’s hands.

“There, there, that’ll do. I’ll forgive you this time, but remember! Now be off with you – be off, I say.”

Crookleg, cut short in his attempt to address Alice, hobbled away, muttering some words to himself.

“Why, Warren,” asked his sister, “what makes you speak so harshly to poor Crookleg?”

“Because he’s a pestilent fellow. I want him to know his place.”

“But a kind word doesn’t cost much.”

“There, sister! no scolding, if you please. I’m not in the best of humours now. Where is your horse?”

Alice told her brother of the incident, and spoke warmly of Carrol.

“So the old hunter did you a good service, did he? I didn’t think he had it in him, the old bear.”

“How unjust you are, Warren. Bear, indeed! I tell you that Cris Carrol is as good a gentleman as ever lived!”

As she said this she showed signs of indignation.

“Is he, indeed!” was the brother’s mocking retort.

“Yes – a thorough gentleman! One who wouldn’t wound another’s feelings if he could help it – and that’s my idea of a gentleman!”

“Well, we won’t argue the point. He has done good this time, and that’ll go to his credit; for all that, I don’t like him!”

Alice bit her lip with vexation, but made no reply.

“He’s too officious,” continued Warren; “too free with his advice – and I hate advice!”

“Most people do, especially when it is good,” quickly answered his sister.

“Who said it was good?”

“I know it is, or you would have liked it, and have followed it.”

“You are sarcastic.”

“No – truthful.”

“Well, as I am in no mode for quarrelling, we’ll drop the subject, and Cris Carrol too.”

“You may, but I shall never drop him. He is my friend from this time forward!”

“You are welcome to choose your friends – I’ll select my own.”

“You have done so already.”

“What do you mean?”

“That Nelatu, the Indian, seems to be one of them.”