Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

“A name! What name?”

“I can’t tell you exactly. It’s too long for me to remember, seeing that my education was entirely neglected. But there’s another name that you put before it; and that I can tell you. It’s Louise that you say, Master Maurice; and then comes the point.”

“Ah!” interrupted the young Irishman, evidently not caring to converse longer on the subject. “Some name I may have heard – somewhere, accidentally. One does have such strange ideas in dreams!”

“In your dreams, master, you talk about a girl looking out of a carriage with curtains to it, and telling her to close them against some danger that you are going to save her from.”

“I wonder what puts such nonsense into my head? But come! You forget that I haven’t tasted food since morning. What have you got?”

“There’s only the cold venison and the corn-bread. If you like I’ll put the venison in the pot”.

“Yes, do so. I can wait.”

Phelim was about stepping outside, when a growl from Tara, accompanied by a start, and followed by a rush across the floor, caused the servitor to approach the door with a certain degree of caution.

The individual, who had thus freely presented himself in front of the mustanger’s cabin, was as unlike either of its occupants, as one from the other.

He stood fall six feet high, in a pair of tall boots, fabricated out of tanned alligator skin. A deerskin undershirt, without any other, covered his breast and shoulders; over which was a “blanket coat,” that had once been green. He was equipped in the style of a backwoods hunter. There was no embroidery upon his coarse clothing. Everything was plain almost to rudeness.

The individual was apparently about fifty years of age, with a complexion inclining to dark, and features that, at first sight, exhibited a grave aspect.

It was Zebulon Stump, or “Old Zeb Stump,” as he was better known to the very limited circle of his acquaintances.

“Kentuckian, by birth and raising,”—as he would have described himself, if asked the country of his nativity. The hunter had passed the early part of his life among the forests of the Lower Mississippi; and now, at a later period, he was living and hunting in the wilds of south-western Texas.

The behaviour of the staghound told of a friendly acquaintance between Zeb Stump and Maurice the mustanger.

“Evening!” laconically saluted Zeb.

“Good evening, Mr Stump!” rejoined the owner of the hut, rising to receive him. “Step inside, and take a seat! On foot, Mr Stump, as usual?”

“No: I got my old creature out there, tied to a tree.”

“Let Phelim take her round to the shed. You’ll have something to eat? Phelim was just getting supper ready. I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything very dainty. I’ve been so occupied, for the last three days, in chasing a very curious mustang, that I never thought of taking my gun with me.”

“What sort of a mustang?” inquired the hunter.

“A mare; with white spots on a dark chocolate ground – a splendid creature!”

“That’s the very business that’s brought me over to you. I’ve seen that mustang several times out on the prairie, and I just wanted you to go after her. I’ll tell you why. I’ve been to the Leona settlements since I saw you last, and since I saw her too. Well, there has come a man that I knew on the Mississippi. He is a rich planter, his name is Poindexter.”

“Poindexter?”

“That is the name – one of the best known on the Mississippi from Orleans to Saint Louis. He was rich then; and, I reckon, isn’t poor now – seeing as he’s brought about a hundred niggers along with him. Beside, there’s his nephew, by name Calhoun. He’s got the dollars, and nothing to do with them but lend them to his uncle – the which, for a certain reason, I think he will. Now, young fellow, I’ll tell you why I wanted to see you. That planter has got a daughter, she’s fond of horses. She heard me telling her father about the spotted mustang; and nothing would content her there and then, till he promised he’d offer a big price for catching the creature. He said he’d give a couple of hundred dollars for the animal. So, saying nothing to nobody, I came over here, fast as my old mare could fetch me.”

“Will you step this way, Mr Stump?” said the young Irishman, rising from his stool, and proceeding in the direction of the door.

The hunter followed, not without showing some surprise at the abrupt invitation.

Maurice conducted his visitor round to the rear of the cabin; and, pointing into the shed, inquired—

“Does that look anything like the mustang you’ve been speaking of?”

“Dog-gone my cats, if it’s not the same! Caught already! Two hundred dollars! Young fellow, you’re in luck: two hundred, – and the animal’s worth every cent of the money! Won’t Miss Poindexter be pleased!”

Answer the following questions:

1) How does Maurice’s dwelling characterize its owner? Describe it.

2) Who is Phelim?

3) Who is Maurice’s new captive?

4) Why was Maurice unable to obtain repose? What did he talk about in his dreams?

5) Who is Zeb Stump? What did he come for?

Chapter Four

The estate, or “hacienda,”[19 - hacienda – асьенда (крупное частное поместье)] known as Casa del Corvo, extends along the wooded bottom of the Leona River. A structure of superior size whose white walls show conspicuously against the green background of forest with which it is half encircled. It is the newly acquired estate of the Louisiana planter and his family.

Louise Poindexter flung herself into a chair in front of her dressing-glass, and directed her maid Florinda to prepare her for the reception of guests. It was the day fixed for the “house-warming,”[20 - house-warming – празднование новоселья] and about an hour before the time appointed for dinner to be on the table.

Soon they loud voices were heard in the courtyard.

“Oh, Mr Zebulon Stump, is it you?” exclaimed a silvery voice, followed by the appearance of Louise Poindexter upon the verandah.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” continued the young lady, “you said you were going upon a long journey. Well – I am pleased that you are here; and so will papa and Henry be. Pluto! go instantly to Chloe, the cook, and see what she can give you for Mr Stump’s dinner.

Zeb told Louise that he had come to talk to her father about the spotted mustang that he’d promised to purchase for her. She asked who caught it, and the hunter told her it was a mustanger.

“His name?”

“Well, as to the name of his family, I’ve never heard it. He’s known up there about the Fort as Maurice the mustanger.”

The old hunter was not sufficiently observant to take note of the tone of eager interest in which the question had been asked, nor the sudden deepening of colour upon the cheeks of the questioner as she heard the answer. Neither had escaped the observation of Florinda.

“Miss Looey!” exclaimed the latter, “that’s the name of the brave young white gentleman – that saved us in the black prairie?”

“Yes!” resumed the hunter, relieving the young lady from the necessity of making reply. “He told me of that circumstance this very morning, before we started. That’s the very fellow as has trapped the spotty; and he is trotting the creature along at this identical minute, in company with about a dozen others. He ought to be here before sundown. I pushed my old mare ahead, to tell your father the spotty was coming, and let him get the first chance of buying. I thought of you, Miss Louise!”

Lightly did Louise Poindexter trip back across the corridor. Only after entering her chamber, did she give way to a reflection of a more serious character, that found expression in words low murmured, but full of mystic meaning —

“It is my destiny: I feel – I know that it is! I dare not meet, and yet I cannot shun it – I may not – I would not – I will not!”

***

On that same evening, after the dining-hall had been deserted, the roof, instead of the drawing-room, was chosen as the place of re-assemblage.