The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

“Yes; it was he – I know it myself.”

I continued the narrative; but I saw I was no longer listened to with attention. Wingrove was on his feet, and pacing the floor with nervous irregular strides. Every now and then, I saw him glance towards his rifle – that rested above the fireplace; while the angry flash of his eyes betokened that he was meditating some serious design. As soon as I had described the winding up of the duel, and what followed – including my departure from Swampville – I was again interrupted by the young hunter – this time not by his speech but by an action equally significant. Hastily approaching the fireplace, he lifted his rifle from the cleets; and, dropping the piece upon its butt, commenced loading it!

It was not the movement itself, so much as the time and manner, that arrested my attention; and these declared the object of the act. Neither for squirrel nor coon – deer, bear, nor panther – was that rifle being loaded!

“Where are you going?” I inquired, seeing that he had taken down his coon-skin cap, and slung on his pouch and powder-horn. “Only a bit down the crik. You’ll excuse me, stranger, for leavin’ o’ ye; but I’ll be back in the twinklin’ o’ an eye. Thar’s a bit o’ dinner for ye, if you can eat cold deer-meat; an’ you’ll find somethin’ in the old bottle thar. I won’t be gone more’n a hour. I reckon I won’t.”

The emphasis expressed a certain indecision, which I observed without being able to interpret. I had my conjectures however.

“Can I not go with you?” I asked in hopes of drawing him to declare his design. “The weather has cleared up; and I should prefer riding out, to staying here alone. If it is not some business of a private nature – ”

“Thar’s nothin’ particularly private about it, stranger; but it’s a bizness I don’t want you to be mixed up in. I guess ye’ve got yur own troubles now; ’ithout takin’ share o’ myen.”

“If it is not rude, may I ask the business on which you’re going?”

“Welcome to know it, stranger. I’m a-goin’ to kill Josh Stebbins!”

“Kill Josh Stebbins?”

“Eyther that, or he shall kill me.”

“Oh! nonsense!” I exclaimed, surprised less at the intention – which I had already half divined – than at the cool determined tone in which it was declared.

“I’ve said it, stranger! I’ve sworn it over an’ over, an’ it shell be done. ’Taint no new notion I’ve tuk. I’d detarmined on makin’ him fight long ago: for I’d an old score to settle wi’ him, afore that ’un you know o’; but I niver ked got the skunk to stan’ up. He allers tuk care to keep out o’ my way. Now I’ve made up my mind he don’t dodge me any longer; an’, by the Etarnal! if that black-hearted snake’s to be foun’ in the settlement – ”

“He is not to be found in the settlement.”

“Not to be foun’ in the settlement!” echoed the hunter, in a tone that betrayed both surprise and vexation – “not to be foun’ in the settlement? Surely you ain’t in earnest, stranger? You seed him the day afore yesterday!”

“True – but I have reason to think he is gone.”

“God forbid! But you ain’t sure o’ it? What makes you think he air gone?”

“Too sure of it – it was that knowledge that brought me in such haste to your cabin.”

I detailed the events of the morning, which Wingrove had not yet heard; my brief interview with the Indian maiden – her figurative prophecy that had proved but two truthful. I described the deserted dwelling; and at last read to him the letter of Lilian – read it from beginning to end.

He listened with attention, though chafing at the delay. Once or twice only did he interrupt me, with the simple expression – “Poor little Lil!”

“Poor little Lil!” repeated he when I had finished. “She too gone wi’ him! – just as Marian went six months ago!

“No – no!” he exclaimed correcting himself, in a voice that proclaimed the agony of his thoughts. “No! it war different – altogether different: Marian went willin’ly.”

“How know you that?” I said, with a half-conceived hope of consoling him.

“Know it? O stranger! I’m sure o’ it; Su-wa-nee sayed so.”

“That signifies nothing. It is not the truer of her having said so. A jealous and spiteful rival. Perhaps the very contrary is the truth? Perhaps Marian was forced to marry this, man? Her father may have influenced her: and it is not at all unlikely, since he appears to be himself under some singular influence – as if in dread of his saintly son-in-law. I noticed some circumstances that would lead one to this conclusion.”

“Thank ye, stranger, for them words!” cried the young hunter, rushing forward; and grasping me eagerly by the hand. “It’s the first bit o’ comfort I’ve had since Marian war tuk away! I’ve heerd myself that Holt war afeerd o’ Stebbins; an’ maybe that snake in the grass had a coil about him somehow. I confess ye, it often puzzled me, Marian’s takin’ it so to heart, an’ all about a bit o’ a kiss – which I wudn’t a tuk, if the Indian hadn’t poked her lips clost up to myen. Lord o’ mercy! I’d gie all I’ve got in the world, to think it war true as you’ve sayed.”

“I have very little doubt of its being true. I have now seen your rival; and I think it altogether improbable she would, of her own free will, have preferred him to you.”

“Thank ye, stranger! it’s kind in you to say so. She’s now married an’ gone: but if I thort thar had been force used, I’d ’a done long ago what I mean to do now.”

“What is that?” I asked, struck by the emphatic energy with which the last words were spoken. “Foller him, if it be to the furrest eend o’ the world! Yes, stranger! I mean it. I’ll go arter him, an’ track him out. I’ll find him in the bottom o’ a Californey gold mine, or wherever he may try to hide hisself; an’, by the etarnal! I’ll wipe out the score – both the old un and the new un – in the skunk’s blood, or I’ll never set fut agin in the state o’ Tennessee. I’ve made up my mind to it.”

“You are determined to follow him?”

“Firmly detarmined!”

“Enough! Our roads lie together!”

Chapter Thirty Four

A Departure in a “Dug-Out.”

We were in perfect accord as to our course of action, as in our thoughts. If our motives were not similar, our enemy was the same. Only was there a difference in our prospective designs. Love was the lure that beckoned me on; Wingrove was led by revenge. To follow him, and punish guilt, was the métier of my companion; to follow her, and rescue innocence, was the rôle cast for me. Though guided by two such different passions, both were of the strongest of our nature – either sufficient to stimulate to the most earnest action; and without loss of time, we entered upon it in full determination to succeed. I had already formed the design of pursuit; and perhaps it was with the hope of obtaining an associate and companion, that I had sought an interview with the hunter. At all events, this had been my leading idea. His expressed determination, therefore, was but the echo of my wish. It only remained for us to mould our design into a proper and practicable form.

Though not much older than my new comrade, there were some things in which I had the advantage of him. I was his superior in experience. He acknowledged it with all deference, and permitted my counsels to take the lead. The exercise of partisan warfare – especially that practised on the Mexican and Indian frontiers – is a school scarcely equalled for training the mind to coolness and self-reliance. An experience thus obtained, had given mine such a cast; and taught me, by many a well-remembered lesson, the truthfulness of that wise saw; “The more haste the less speed.” Instead, therefore of rushing at once in medias res, and starting forth, without knowing whither to go, my counsel was that we should act with caution; and adopt some definite plan of pursuit. It was not the suggestion of my heart, but rather of my head. Had I obeyed the promptings of the former, I should have been in the saddle, hours before, and galloping somewhere in a westerly direction – perhaps to find, at the end of a long journey only disappointment, and the infallibility of the adage.

Taking counsel from my reason, I advised a different course of action; and my comrade – whose head for his age was a cool one – agreed to follow my advice. Indeed, he had far less motive for haste than I. Revenge would keep, and could be slept upon; while with emotions such as mine, a quiet heart was out of the question. She whom I loved was not only in danger of being lost to me for ever, but in danger of becoming the victim of a dastard coquin– diabolic as dastard! Suffering under the sting of such a fearful apprehension, it required me to exert all the self-restraining power of which I was possessed. Had I but known where to go, I should have rushed to horse, and ridden on upon the instant. Not knowing, I was fortunately possessed of sufficient prudence to restrain myself from the idle attempt.

That Holt and his daughter were gone, and in company with the Mormon, we knew: the letter told that. That they had left the cabin was equally known; but whether they were yet clear off from the neighbourhood, was still uncertain; and to ascertain this, was the first thing to be accomplished. If still within the boundaries of the settlement, or upon any of the roads leading from it, there would be a chance of overtaking them. But what after that? Ah! beyond that I did not trust myself to speculate. I dared not discuss the future. I refrained from casting even a glance into its horoscope – so dark did it appear. I had but little hope that they were anywhere within reach. That phrase of fatal prophecy, “You will be too late – too late!” still rang in my ears. It had a fuller meaning than might appear, from a hasty interpretation of it. Had not it also a figurative application? and did it not signify I should be too late in every sense?

At what time had they taken their departure? By what route? and upon what road? These were the points to be ascertained; and our only hope of obtaining a clue to them was by proceeding to the place of departure itself – the deserted dwelling. Thither we hied in all haste – prepared, if need be, for a more distant expedition. On entering the enclosure, we dismounted, and at once set about examining the “sign.” My companion passed to and fro, like a pointer in pursuit of a partridge. I had hoped we might trace them by the tracks; but this hope was abandoned, on perceiving that the rain had obliterated every index of this kind. Even the hoof-prints of my own horse – made but an hour before – were washed full of mud, and scarcely traceable.

Had they gone upon horseback? It was not probable: the house-utensils could hardly have been transported that way? Nor yet could they have removed them in a wagon? No road for wheels ran within miles of the clearing – that to Swampville, as already stated, being no more than a bridle-path; while the other “traces,” leading up and down the creek, were equally unavailable for the passage of a wheeled vehicle.

There was but one conclusion to which we could come; and indeed we arrived at it without much delay: they had gone off in a canoe. It was clear as words or eye-witnesses could have made it. Wingrove well knew the craft. It was known as Holt’s “dug-out;” and was occasionally used as a ferry-boat, to transport across the creek such stray travellers as passed that way. It was sufficiently large to carry several at once – large enough for the purpose of a removal. The mode of their departure was the worst feature in the case; for, although we had been already suspecting it, we had still some doubts. Had they gone off in any other way, there would have been a possibility of tracking them. But a congé in a canoe was a very different affair: man’s presence leaves no token upon the water: like a bubble or a drop of rain, his traces vanish from the surface, or sink into the depths of the subtle element – an emblem of his own vain nothingness!

Chapter Thirty Five

A dangerous Sweetheart

Our conjectures as to the mode of their departure were at an end. On this point, we had arrived at a definite knowledge. It was clear they had gone off in the canoe; and with the current, of course: since that would carry them in the direction they intended to travel. The settling of this question, produced a climax – a momentary pause in our action. We stood upon the bank of the stream, bending our eyes upon its course, and for a time giving way to the most gloomy reflections. Like our thoughts were the waters troubled. Swollen by the recent rain-storm, the stream no longer preserved its crystal purity; but in the hue of its waters justified the name it bore. Brown and turbid, they rolled past – no longer a stream, but a rushing torrent – that spumed against the banks, as it surged impetuously onward. Trees torn up by the roots were carried on by the current – their huge trunks and half-riven branches twisting and wriggling in the stream, like drowning giants in their death-struggle. In the “sough” of the torrent, we heard their sighs – in its roar, the groans of their departing spirits!

The scene was in unison with our thoughts; and equally so with the laughter that at that moment sounded in our ears – for it was laughter wild and maniac. It was heard in the forest behind us; ringing among the trees, and mingling its shrill unearthly echo with the roaring of the torrent. Both of us were startled at the sound. Though the voice was a woman’s, I could see that it had produced on Wingrove a certain impression of fear. On hearing it, he trembled and turned pale. I needed no explanation. A glance towards the forest revealed the cause. A female form moving among the trees told me whence had come that unexpected and ill-timed cachinnation.

“Lord o’ mercy!” exclaimed my companion, “that Injun again! She’s been arter me since that night, an’ threatens to have a fresh try at takin’ my life. Look out stranger! I know she’s got pistols.”

“Oh! I fancy there’s not much danger. She appears to be in the laughing mood.”

“It’s jest that ere larf I don’t like: she’s allers wust when she’s in that way.”

By this time the Indian had reached the edge of the clearing very near the rear of the cabin. Without pausing she sprang up on the fence – as if to enter the enclosure. This, however, proved not to be her intention; for, on climbing to the topmost rail, she stood erect upon it, with one hand clutching the limb of a tree, to keep her in position. As soon as she had attained the upright attitude, another peal of laughter came ringing from her lips, as wild as that with which she had announced her approach; but there was also in its tones a certain modulation that betokened scorn! Neither of us uttered a syllable; but, observing a profound silence, stood waiting to hear what she had to say. Another scornful laugh, and her words broke forth:

“White Eagle! and proud slayer of red panthers! your hearts are troubled as the stream on which your eyes are gazing! Su-wa-nee knows your sorrows. She comes to you with words of comfort.”