The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

“Saved ye? What do ye mean, gurl?”

“Hilloo! what’s all this rumpus?”

The familiar ejaculation, and its adjunct interrogatory, admonished me that a new personage had appeared upon the scene. The voice came from behind. On turning, I beheld the unexpected speaker – a man on horseback, who had ridden up to the bars; and having halted there was craning his neck into the enclosure – gazing upon the scene that was being enacted there, with a singular half-comic, half-satirical expression of countenance!

Chapter Twenty Six

The Peacemaker

Without knowing why, I hailed the arrival of this stranger as opportune. Perhaps his presence, added to the entreaties of that fair young creature – still urgent in my behalf – might prevent the effusion of blood. Indeed, I had already determined that none should be spilled by me– let the consequences be as they might; and whatever was to be the dénouement of this awkward affair, I had resolved that my rifle should have nought to do in deciding it. The piece had fallen to the “order arms;” the ill-omened birds had forsaken their perch; and, now soaring in the blue sky, almost beyond the reach of human vision, their movements were no longer heeded – neither by my adversary nor myself.

Turning away from the stranger – whom I had only regarded for a second or two – I faced again to the more interesting tableau in front of me. That, too, was rapidly undergoing a change. The squatter no longer clung to his rifle. The girl had taken it from his hands; and was hurrying with it into the door of the cabin. There was no hindrance made by my antagonist! On the contrary, he appeared to have delivered it over to her – as if the affair between us was to have a pacific termination, or, at all events, a respite.

What surprised me more than all was the altered demeanour of my adversary. His whole manner seemed to have undergone a sudden change. Sudden it must have been, since it had taken place during a second or two, while my attention was occupied by the newly arrived horseman. What still further astonished me, was, that this transformation was evidently produced by the presence of the stranger himself! That it was not due to the young girl’s interference, I had evidence already. That had not moved him for a moment. Her earnest appeal had received a repulse – energetic and decisive, as it was rude; and of itself would certainly not have, saved me. Beyond doubt, then, was I indebted to the stranger for the truce so unexpectedly entered upon.

The change in Holt’s demeanour was not more sudden than complete. At first, an air of astonishment had been observable; after that, an expression of inquietude – becoming each moment more marked. No longer did he exhibit the proud aspect of a man, who felt himself master of the ground; but, on the contrary, appeared cowed and quailing in the presence of the new-comer – whom he had met at the entrance, and at once invited into the enclosure. This manner was observable in the half-mechanical courtesy, with which he removed the bars, and took hold of the stranger’s horse – as also in some phrases of welcome, to which he gave utterance in my hearing.

For myself, I was no longer regarded, any more than if I had been one of the dead-woods that stood around the clearing. The squatter passed, without even looking at me – his whole attention seemingly absorbed by the new arrival! It was natural I should regard with curiosity an individual, whose presence had produced such a wonderful effect; and my scrutinising gaze may have appeared rude enough to him. I cannot say that he elicited my admiration. On the contrary, his appearance produced an opposite effect. I beheld him with, what might be termed an instinct of repulsion: since I could assign no precise reason for the dislike with which he had inspired me on sight. He was a man of about thirty years of age; of a thin spare body, less than medium height; and features slightly marked with, the bar sinister. A face without beard – skin of cadaverous hue – nose sharply pointed – chin and forehead both receding – eyes small, but sparkling like those of a ferret – and long lank black hair, thinly shading his cheeks and brows – were the prominent characteristics of this man’s portrait. His dress was of a clerical cut and colour – though not of the finest fabric. The coat, trousers, and vest were of black broad-cloth – the coat and waistcoat being made with standing collars, similar in style to those worn by Wesleyan ministers – or more commonly by Catholic priests – while a white cravat not over clean and a hat with curving boat-brim, completed the saintly character of the costume.

Judging from his personal appearance, I concluded that I saw in the individual before me the Methodist minister of Swampville. If so, it would account for the obsequiousness of his host, though not satisfactorily. There was something more than obsequiousness in Holt’s manner – something altogether different from that deferential respect, with which the gospel minister is usually received in the houses of the humbler classes. Moreover, the character of the squatter – such as I had heard it, and such as I had myself observed it to be – bore no correspondence with the attitude of reverence he had so suddenly assumed. Even under the hypothesis, that the new-comer was his clergyman, I was puzzled by his behaviour.

He in the ecclesiastical costume appeared to be a man of few words; and of gesture he made a like limited use: having passed me, without even the courtesy of a bow. On the contrary, I was honoured with a glance of cynical regard – so palpable in its expression, as to cause an itching in my fingers, notwithstanding the saintly gown. I contented myself, however, with returning the glance, by one I intended should bear a like contemptuous expression; and, with this exchange, we separated from each other. I remained by my stand, without offering remark – either to the squatter or his guest. The only change I effected in my position, was to sit down upon the stump – where, with my rifle between my knees, I resolved to await the issue. All idea of using the weapon was gone out of my mind – at least, against Hickman Holt. He was her father: I would as soon have thought of turning its muzzle to my own body.

I tarried, therefore, with no hostile intention. On the contrary, I only waited for an opportunity to propose some pacific arrangement of our difficulty; and my thoughts were now directed to this end. I had every chance of observing the movements of the two men: since, instead of entering the cabin, they had stopped in front of it – where they at once became engaged in conversation. I took it for granted that I was myself the subject; but, after a time, I began to fancy I was mistaken. Judging from the earnest manner of both – but more especially from Holt’s gestures and frequent ejaculations – something of still greater interest appeared to be the theme of their dialogue. I saw the squatter’s face suddenly brighten up – as if some new and joyous revelation had been made to him; while the features of his visitor bore the satisfied look of one, who was urging an argument with success. They were evidently talking of some topic beyond my affair, and unconnected with it; but what it could be, I was unable even to guess. Perhaps, had I listened more attentively, I might have arrived at some knowledge of it – since words were occasionally uttered aloud – but my eyes were busier than my ears; and at that moment, neither the squatter nor his guest was the subject of my thoughts.

Beyond them was the attraction that fascinated my gaze – that thing of roseate golden hue, whose shining presence seemed to light up the dark interior of the cabin – gleaming meteor-like through the interstices of the logs – now softly moving from side to side, and now, thank Heaven! gliding towards the door! Only for a moment stood she silently on the stoop – one smiling moment, and she was gone. Her fair face was once more hidden, behind the rude jalousie of the logs; but the smile remained. It was mine; and lingered long within the trembling temple of my heart.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Yes – Yes!

Towards the interior of the hut, hallowed by such lovely presence, I continued to direct my glances – with an occasional side-look, noting the movements of the two men. Whatever had been the exciting topic of discourse but the moment before, I saw that it was now changed; and that I was myself the subject of their conversation. This I could tell by their looks and gestures – evidently bearing upon me and my business. Conscious that I was observing them – and as if desirous of conferring more privately – they passed round to the rear of the cabin; where for the time they were out of my sight, as well as hearing. So far from regretting this movement, it was just what I desired: it left me free to continue the pleasant espionage in which I had become engaged. New more boldly my eyes explored the dark interior of the hut – more freely roamed my glance along the interstices of the logs. Gladly should I have gone up to the doorway – fain would I have been to enter – had I not been restrained; but delicacy, and something more stood in the way; and I was forced to keep my ground. Again I saw the bright form flitting within. Gliding gently across the floor – as if on tiptoe, and by stealth – the young girl stood for a while near the back-wall of the cabin. Close behind this, the two men were conversing. Did she go there to listen? She might easily hear what was said: I could myself distinguish the voices, and almost the words.

She remained motionless; and, as well as I could judge, in an attitude of attention – her head lowered, and her body bent slightly forward. I was forming conjectures as to her motive, when I saw her moving away from the spot. In another instant, she appeared in the doorway – this time evidently with some design, as her manner clearly betokened. For a moment she stood upon the stoop, fronting towards me – but with her face averted, and her eyes by a side-glance directed towards the rear of the hut. She appeared to look and listens – as if noting the position of the men; and then, seemingly satisfied that she was not herself observed, she suddenly faced round, and came running towards me!

Taken by surprise – a surprise mingled with sweet satisfaction – I rose to my feet; and stood silently but respectfully awaiting her approach. I had acted with prudence in not speaking: for I saw by her manner that the movement was a stolen one. Moreover, the finger, raised for an instant to her lips, admonished me to silence. I understood the signal, so piquantly given; and obeyed it. In another instant she was near – near enough for me to hear her words – delivered in a half-whisper. She had paused before me in an attitude that betokened the fear of interruption; and, before speaking, again cast behind her another of those unquiet looks.

“Brave stranger!” said she, in a hurried undertone, “I know you are not afraid of my father; but oh, sir! for mercy’s sake, do not fight with him!”

“For your sake,” I said, interrupting her, and speaking in a low but impressive tone – “for your sake, fair Lilian, I shall not fight with him. Trust me, there is no fear. I shall bear anything, rather than – ”

“Hush!” said she, again motioning me to silence, at the same time glancing furtively behind her. “You must not speak: you may be heard! Only listen to me. I know why you are here. I came out to tell you something.”

“I listen.”

“Father does not now wish to quarrel with you: he has changed his mind. I have just heard what they said. He intends to make you a proposal. Oh, sir! if you can, please agree to it; for then there – will be no trouble. I hope there will be none!”

“For you, fair Lilian, I shall agree to it – whatever the conditions be. Can you tell me what proposal he intends making me?”

“I heard him say he would sell– Oh, mercy! they are coming – if I am seen – ”

The murmuring words were drowned by the louder voices of the men – who were now heard returning round the angle of the wall. Fortunately, before they had reached the front of the cabin, the young girl had glided back into the doorway; and no suspicion appeared to be entertained by either, of the clandestine visit just paid me.

On rounding the corner, the stranger stopped. The squatter continued to advance, until within a few paces of where I stood. Then halting, he erected his gigantic form to its full height; and, for a moment, confronted me without speaking. I noticed that his countenance no longer bore signs of angry passion; but, on the contrary, betrayed some traces of a softer feeling – as of regret and contrition.

“Strenger!” said he at length, “I’ve two things to propose to ye; an’ ef you’ll agree to them, thur’s no need why you an’ I shed quarrel – leest of all plug one another wi’ bullets, as we wur agwine to do a minnit ago.”

“Name your conditions!” rejoined I, “and if they are not impossible for me to accept, I promise you they shall be agreed to.”

With Lilian in my thoughts, they would be hard indeed if I could not square with whatever terms he might propose.

“They ain’t unpossible – neyther o’ ’em; thur only just an’ fair.”

“Let me hear them; and believe me, Hickman Holt, I shall judge them most liberally.”

“Fust, then, you called me a coward. Do you take that back?”

“Willingly I do.”

“So fur good; an’ now for tother proposal I hev to make. I don’t acknowledge yur right to this clarin’. I’ve made it; an’ call it my own, as a sovereign citizen of these United States; an’ I don’t care a cuss for pre-emption right, since I don’t believe in any man’s right to move me off o’ the groun’ I’ve clared. But I ain’t so durned pertickler ’bout this hyur bit. Another ’ll answer my bizness equally as well – maybe better – an’ ef ye’ll pay me for my improvements, ye can take both clarin’ an’ cabin, an’ hev no more muss about it. Them’s my proposals.”

“How much do you expect for these improvements? At what sum do you value them?”

I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor purse felt light as it lay against my bosom – far lighter than the heart within: though that had been heavier but an hour before. I knew that the sack contained less than two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters’ Bank; and I feared that such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter.

“Wal, stranger,” replied he, after a pause, “thur worth a good wheen o’ dollars; but I shan’t valley ’em myself. I’ll leave that part o’ the bizness to a third individooal – my friend as stands thur; an’ who’s a just man, an’s been some’at o’ a lawyer too. He’ll say what’s fair atween us. Won’t ye, Josh?”

I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of the squatter, towards his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrained from showing my astonishment.

“Oh, yes,” replied the other, “I’ll value the property with pleasure – that is, if the gentleman desires me to do so.”

“How much do you think it worth?” I inquired with nervous anxiety. “Well, I should say that, for the improvements Mr Holt has made, a hundred dollars would be a fair compensation.”

“A hundred dollars?”

“Yes – in cash, of course, I mean.”

“Will you be satisfied with that sum?” said I, turning to Holt for the answer.

“Parfitly satisfied – so long’s it’s in cash.”

“I agree to give it then.”

“All right, strenger! a bargain’s a bargain. You kin shell out the dollars; and I’ll gie ye pursession afore this gentleman – who’ll witness it in writin’, ef you like.”

“I want no writing. I can trust to your word.”

It was no flattery: I felt at the moment that the squatter – rudely as he had acted – was still possessed of an honourable principle; and I knew that, under the circumstances, his word would not only be as good as his bond, but better! I made no hesitation, therefore; but, counting out the money, placed it upon the stump – alongside that curious document, impaled there by the blade of the squatter’s knife.

“When ’ud ye like to take pursession?” asked the outgoing tenant.

“At your convenience,” I replied, wishing to behave as courteously as possible.

“It won’t take me long to move. My furniter ain’t very cumbersome; an’ I kud let ye in to-morrow, ef ’t wan’t that I hev some unexpected bizness with my friend hyur. Say day arter the morrow? Ef ye’ll kum then, ye’ll find me ready to deliver up. Will that answer for ye?”

“Admirably!” was my reply.

“All right, then! I’d ask ye in, but thur’s nothin’ to gie you – ’ceptin’ that piece o’ deer-meat, an’ it’s raw. Besides, strenger, I’ve some partickler bizness jest now, that I’m ’bleeged to see to.”

“Oh, never mind! I shall not need any refreshment till I reach Swampville.”

“Wal, then, I’ll bid you good-mornin’ at the same time wishin’ you luck o’ your bargin.”

“Thanks – good morning!”

I leaped into the saddle, and turned my horse’s head towards the entrance of the enclosure. I should have given him the touch to go forward with more reluctance, had I not perceived the fair Lilian gliding out of the cabin, and proceeding in the same direction! Two or, three of the bars had been replaced by the clerical visitor; and she had gone, apparently, to remove them. Was it simple courtesy, or a pretence to speak with me? My heart heaved with a tumultuous joy, as I fancied that the latter might be her motive. When I reached the entrance, the bars were down; and the young girl stood leaning against one of the uprights – her round white arm embracing the post. Envied piece of timber!

“Promise me, we shall meet again?” said I, bending down, and speaking in a half-whisper.

She looked back towards the cabin with a timid glance. We were not observed. The two men had gone into the horse-shed. In her fingers, I noticed the flower of a bignonia. She had taken it from among the golden tresses of her hair. Her cheek rivalled the crimson of its corolla, as she flung the blossom upon the saddle-bow.

“Promise me!” I repeated in a more earnest tone.

“Yes – yes!” she replied in a soft low voice, that resembled the whisper of an angel; and then, hearing noises from the house, she passed hurriedly away. “Yes – yes – !” cried the mimic thrush, as I rode on through the tall tulip-trees. “Yes – yes!” repeated a thousand rival songsters; or were the sounds I heard but the echoes of her voice, still pealing through the glad chambers of my heart?

Chapter Twenty Eight

An Errand of Love

This second purchase and payment rendered necessary a communication with my Nashville friend. Fortunately, Swampville had a mail; and, to avail myself of it, I rode direct for the settlement. On my return, I found the river-town, figuratively speaking, on fire. Short as bad been the period of my absence, it had been marked by an incident of no ordinary character. That morning’s mail had conveyed to the settlement the intelligence of a rare and interesting event – the discovery of the gold placers of California. I had heard rumours of this before – only half believed, and not yet reaching to Swampville. Returned emigrants from California were now reported, as having arrived in Saint Louis and other frontier towns – bringing with them, not only the full account of the gold discovery, but its confirmation, in the shape of large “chunks” of gold-bearing quartz, and bags of the yellow dust itself. The marvellous tale was no longer questioned, or doubted. The mail had brought newspapers from New Orleans and Saint Louis, giving detailed accounts of the digging of Sutter’s mill-race by the disbanded soldiers of the “Mormon Battalion;” of the crevasse caused by the water, which had laid open the wonderful auriferous deposits; and describing also the half frantic excitement which the news had produced these populous cities.

In this, Swampville had not been slow to imitate them. I found the little village on the qui vive: not only the idlers showing an interest in the extraordinary intelligence; but the business men of the place being equally startled out of their sobriety. A “company” was already projected, in which many well-to-do men had registered their names; and even Colonel Kipp talked of transporting his penates across the great plains, and swinging the Jackson sign upon the shores of the Pacific. Swampville was smitten with a golden mania, that seemed to promise its speedy depopulation.

Though many of my old camarados of the Mexican campaign found fresh vent for their energies in this new field of enterprise, for me it had no attractions whatever. I therefore resisted the solicitations of the Swampvillians to “jine thar company” – in which I was offered the compliment of a command. On that day, and at that hour, not for all the gold in California would I have forsaken my new home in the forest – under whose “boundless contiguity of shade” sparkled, in my eyes, “a metal more attractive.” Instead of longing for the far shores of the Pacific, I longed only to return to the banks of Mud Creek; and chafed at the necessary delay that hindered me from gratifying my wish. Even the generous hospitality of Colonel Kipp – amiable under the influence of golden dreams – even the smiles of the simpering Alvina, and the more brave coquetry of Car’line – now become a decided admirer of my yellow buttons – were not sufficient to preserve my spirits from ennui. Only at meals did I make my appearance at the hotel – at all other times, seeking to soothe the impassioned pulsations of my heart in the dark depths of the forest. There I would wander for hours, not listing where I went; but ever finding myself, as if by some instinct, upon the path that conducted in the direction of the creek! It was some solace to listen to the notes of the wild-woods – the songs of birds and bee – for these had become associated in my mind with the melodious tones of Lilian’s voice – to look upon the forest flowers; more especially upon the encarmined blossom of the bignonia – now to me a symbol of the sweetest sentiment. The one most prized of all, I had carefully preserved. In a glass I had placed it, on the dressing-table of my chamber, with its peduncle immersed in water.

My zealous care only procured me a chagrin. On returning from one of my rambles, I found the flower upon the floor, crushed by some spiteful heel? Was it thy heel, Caroline Kipp? In its place was a bunch of hideous gilly-flowers and yellow daffodils, of the dimensions of a drum-head cabbage – placed there either to mock my regard, or elicit my admiration! In either case, I resolved upon a revanche. By its wound, the bignonia smelt sweeter than ever; and though I could not restore the pretty blossom to its graceful campanulate shape, from that time forward it appeared in my buttonhole – to the slight torture, I fancied, of the backwoods coquette.

In the two days during which I was denied sight of her my love for Lilian Holt was fast ripening into a passion – which absence only seemed to amplify. No doubt the contrast of common faces – such as those I observed in Swampville – did something towards heightening my admiration. There was another contrast that had at this time an influence on my heart’s inclinings. To an eye, fatigued with dwelling long and continuously on the dark complexions of the south – the olivine hue of Aztec and Iberian skins – there was a relief in the radiance of this carmined blonde, that, apart from her absolute loveliness, was piquant from the novelty and rareness of the characteristic. Additional elements of attraction may have been: the mise en scène that surrounded her; the unexpected discovery of such a precious jewel in so rude a casket; the romantic incident of our first encounter; and the equally peculiar circumstances attending our second and last interview. All these may have combined in weaving around my spirit a spell, that now embraced, and was likely to influence, every act of my future existence. Therefore, on the morning of the third day, as I mounted my horse, and turned his head in the direction of Holt’s clearing, it was not with any design of dispossessing the squatter. Occupied with sweet love-dreams, I had as yet given no thought to the ruder realities of life. I had formed no plan for colonising – neither towards entering upon possession, nor extending the “improvement” I had twice purchased.