The Death Shot: A Story Retold

The men have dismounted, but not to form camp, or make bivouac. They kindle no fires, nor seem caring to cook, or eat. They drink, however; several of them taking flasks from their saddle pouches, and holding them to their heads bottom upward. Nothing strange in this. The Texan Indian, whether Comanche, Kiowa, or Lipan, likes his fire-water as much as a white man, and as constantly carries it along with him. The only peculiarity about these is that, while quaffing, they do not talk in the Indian tongue, but English of the Texan idiom, with all its wild swearing!

The place where they have halted is a bit of glade-ground, nearly circular in shape, only half-encompassed by timber, the other half being an embayment of the bluffs, twin to those on the opposite side of the river bottom. It is shaded three-quarters across by the cliff, the moon being behind this. The other quarter, on the side of the trees, is brilliantly lit up by her beams, showing the timber thick and close along its edge, to all appearance impassable as the façade of rugged rock frowning from the opposite concave of the enclosed circle. Communicating with this are but two paths possible for man or horse, and for either only in single file. One enters the glade coming up the river bottom along the base of the bluff; the other debouches at the opposite end, still following the cliff’s foot. By the former the Indians have entered; but by the latter it is evident they intend going out, as their eyes are from time to time turned towards it, and their gestures directed that way. Still they make no movement for resuming their march, but stand in gathered groups, one central and larger than the rest. In its midst is a man by nearly the head taller than those around him: their chief to a certainty. His authority seems acknowledged by all who address him, if not with deference, in tone and speech telling they but wait for his commands, and are willing to obey them. He, himself, appears waiting for something, or somebody else, before he can issue them, his glance continually turning towards the point where the path leads out upwards.

Impatiently, too, as ever and anon he pulls out a watch and consults it as, to the time. Odd to see a savage so engaged; above all possessed of a repeater! Still the Indians of to-day are different from those of days past, and have learnt many of the white man’s ways – even to wearing watches. The man in question seems to know all about it; and has his reasons for being particular as to the hour. He is evidently acting upon a preconcerted plan, with the time fixed and fore-arranged. And evident also that ten is the hour awaited; for, while in the act of examining his dial, the old mission clock, restored to striking, tolls just so many times; and, before the boom of its cracked bell has ceased rolling in broken reverberation through the trees, he thrusts the watch hurriedly into his fob. Then stands in expectant attitude, with eyes upon the embouchure of the upper path, scanning it more eagerly than ever. There is a strange coincidence between the strokes of the clock and the flashes of Fernanda powder – both numbering the same. Though not strange to the leader of the savage troop. He knows what it is – comprehends the significance of the signal – for signal it has been. A dread one, too, foreboding danger to innocent people. One who could behold this savage band, scrutinise the faces of those composing it, witness the fierce wicked flashes from their eyes, just as the clock is striking, would send up a prayer for the safety of Colonel Armstrong and his colonists.

If further informed as to who the savages are, the prayer would sure be succeeded by the reflection – “Heaven help his daughters! If God guard not, a fearful fate will be theirs – a destiny worse than death!”

Chapter Fifty.

An uncanny skulker

Still within the garden are the young girls – still standing under the shadow of the two trees that furnished the contrasting symbols, – unconscious of danger near. Helen’s speech, suggesting such painful sequence, has touched her sister to the quick, soon as spoken, afflicting also herself; and for a time they remain with entwined arms and cheeks touching – their tears flowing together. But Jessie’s sobs are the louder, her grief greater than that she has been endeavouring to assuage.

Helen perceiving it, rises to the occasion; and, as oft before, in turn becomes the comforter; their happiness and misery like scales vibrating on the beam.

“Don’t cry so, Jess. Be a good girl, now. You’re a little simpleton, and I a big one. ’Twas very wrong of me to say what I did. Be it forgotten, and let’s hope we may yet both be happy.”

“Oh, if I could but think that!”

“Think it, then. You are happy, and I – shall try to be. Who knows what time may do – that and Texas? Now, my little Niobe, dry up your tears. Mine are all gone, and I feel in first rate spirits. I do indeed.”

She is not sincere in what she says, and but counterfeits cheerfulness to restore that of her sister.

She has well-nigh succeeded, when a third personage appears upon the scene, causing a sudden change in their thoughts, turning these into a new and very different channel.

He whose appearance produces such effect – for it is a man – seems wholly unconscious of the influence he has exerted; indeed, is so.

When first observed, he is coming down the central walk; which, though wide, is partially shadowed by trees. And in their shadow he keeps, clinging to it, as if desirous to shun observation. His step declares it; not bold this, nor regardless, but skulking, with tread catlike; while every now and then he casts a backward glance, as if in fear of some one being behind. Just that which hinders him from seeing those who are in front.

The girls are still standing together, with hands joined – luckily on one of the side-walks, and like himself in shadow – though very near to having separated, and one, at least, rushing out into the light at first sound of his footstep. For to Jessie it gave joy, supposing it that of her Luis. Naturally expecting him to join her, she was almost sure of its being he.

Only for an instant. The tread was too light for a man marching with honest intent, and the step too shuffling to be that of the young planter. So whispered Helen.

Soon they see it is not he, but his major-domo.

Both are annoyed, some little irritated, at being thus intruded upon. At such a time, in the midst of sacred emotions, all the more by a man they both instinctively dislike. For Fernand is not a favourite with either.

Then the idea occurs, he may be coming to seek them, sent with some message from the house, and if so, they can excuse him. Concluding his errand to be this, they await it, in silence.

They are quite mistaken, and soon perceive it. An honest messenger would not be moving as he. While passing the open ground by the ruined waterworks, the moon falls full upon his face, which wears an expression anything but innocent, as they can both see. Besides, his gestures also betray guilt; for he is skulking, and casting glances back.

“What can it mean?” whispers Jessie into Helen’s ear; who replies by placing a finger on her lips, and drawing her sister into deeper shadow.

Silent both stand, not stirring, scarce breathing. One seeing, might easily mistake them for statues – a Juno and a Venus. Fortunately Fernand does not see, else he might scrutinise them more closely. He is too much absorbed about his own affair, whatever it be, to think of any one loitering there at that time of the night.

Where the main garden-walk meets the one going along the bottom, is another open space, smaller than that around the fountain, still sufficient to let in the light of the moon. Here also have been seats and statues; the latter lying shattered, as if hashed to the earth by the hand of some ruthless iconoclast. Just opposite, is a breach in the wall; the mud bricks, crumbled into clods forming a talus on each face of it.

Arriving at this, the mestizo makes stop. Only for an instant, long enough to give a last glance up the garden.

Apparently satisfied, that he is not followed nor observed, he scrambles up the slope and down on the opposite side, where he is lost to the view of the sisters; who both stand wondering – the younger sensibly trembling.

“What on earth is the fellow after?” asks Helen, whose speech comes first.

“What, indeed?” echoes Jessie.

“A question, sister, you should be better able to answer than I. He is the trusted servant of M. Dupré; and he, I take it, has told you all about him.”

“Not a word has he. He knows that I don’t like the man, and never did from the first. I’ve intimated as much to him more than once.”

“That ought to have got Master Fernand his discharge. Your Luis will surely not keep him, if he knows it’s disagreeable to you?”

“Well, perhaps he wouldn’t if I were to put it in that way. I haven’t done so yet. I only hinted that the man wasn’t altogether to my liking; especially made so much of as Luis makes of him. You must know, dear Helen, my future lord and master is of a very trusting nature; far too much, I fear, for some of the people now around him. He has been brought up like all Creoles, without thought for the morrow. A sprinkling of Yankee cuteness wouldn’t do him any harm. As for this fellow, he has insinuated himself into Luis’s confidence in some way that appears quite mysterious. It even puzzles our father; though he’s said nothing much about it. So far he appears satisfied, because the man has proved capable, and, I believe, very useful to them in their affairs. For my part I’ve been mystified by him all along, and not less now. I wonder what he can be after. Can you not give a guess?”

“Not the slightest; unless it be theft. Do you think it’s that?”

“I declare I don’t know.”

“Is there anything he could be carrying off from the house, with the intention of secreting it outside? Some of your Luis’s gold for instance, or the pretty jewels he has given you?”

“My jewels! No; they are safe in their case; locked up in my room, of which I’ve the key with me. As for Luis’s gold, he hasn’t much of that. All the money he possesses – quite fifty thousand dollars, I believe – is in silver. I wondered at his bringing it out here in that heavy shape, for it made a whole waggon-load of itself. He’s told me the reason, however; which is, that among Indians and others out here on the frontier, gold is not thought so much of as silver.”

“It can’t be silver Fernand is stealing – if theft it be. He would look more loaded, and couldn’t have gone so lightly over that wall.”

“Indeed, as you say, he went skipping over it like a grasshopper.”

“Rather say gliding like a snake. I never saw a man whose movements more resembled the Devil in serpent shape – except one.”

The thought of this one, who is Richard Darke, causes Helen Armstrong to suspend speech; at the same time evoking a sigh to the memory of another one – Charles Clancy.

“Shall we return into the house?” asks Jessie, after a pause.

“For what purpose?”

“To tell Luis of what we’ve seen; to warn him about Fernand.”

“If we did the warning would be unheeded. I fear Monsieur Dupré will remain unconvinced of any intended treachery in his trusted servant, until something unpleasant occur; it may be something disastrous. After all, you and I, Jess, have only our suspicions, and may be wronging the fellow. Suppose we stay a little longer, and see what comes of it. No doubt, he’ll soon return from his mysterious promenade, and by remaining, we may find out what he’s been after. Shall we wait for him? You’re not afraid, are you?”

“A little, I confess. Do you know, Helen, this Fernand gives me the same sort of feeling I had at meeting that big fellow in the streets of Natchitoches. At times he glares at me just in the same way. And yet the two are so different.”

“Well, since no harm came of your Nachitoches bogie, it’s to be hoped there won’t any from this one. If you have any fear to stay, let us go in. Only my curiosity is greatly excited by what we’ve seen, and I’d like to know the end of it. If we don’t discover anything, it can do no harm. And if we do – say; shall we go, or try?”

“I’m not afraid now. You make me brave, sister. Besides, we may find out something Luis ought to know.”

“Then let us stay.”

Having resolved to await the coming back of the half-blood, and watch his further movements, the sisters bethink them of seeking a safer place for observation; one where there will be less danger of being themselves seen.

It is to Helen the idea occurs.