WHO THE STRANGER WAS.
As soon as the farmer had taken some slight refreshment and assured
himself as to the comfortable position in which he was placed, he took
his leave. The day was far advanced, and he had to meet his brother on
a matter of business.
On leaving George, the squatter bent low on his horse, and after one
last glance at the hut:
"Beware, my friend," he said, "of the wounded man. I think him an
unmitigated rascal. Get rid of him."
"I will take your advice. I do not like him myself, and as soon as he
can travel he shall surely go."
And, after mutual promises to meet again, the two friends parted, and
Samuel rode off in hot haste. George watched him until he was quite out
of sight.
He then sighed. The departure of Samuel had broken the last link
between the charming events of the morning and the more matter-of-fact
events of the evening. He now gloomily turned on his heel, and found
himself face to face with the three travellers accompanied by Keen-hand.
"You are not going?" he cried.
"No," answered Bright-eye; "on the contrary, if you will allow us, we
intend remaining some little time."
"You will give me great satisfaction," continued Clinton, "use my house
entirely as your own."
The hunters bowed courteously.
"We have come to meet you," said Oliver, "because, having something to
say, we prefer the open air."
"Yes," continued Bright-eye, "though the wounded man whom you have
so generously entertained is as yet incapable of listening, your
servants--"
"Are discreet and devoted," observed Clinton.
"We know that, and have taken no precautions against them."
"You would have been very unwise to do so. Morris and Stephen knew me
from my birth. They love me as if I were a child of their own. I have
no secrets from them and should be sorry to wound their feelings."
"I was prepared for that objection," said Keen-hand, "and was therefore
careful to warn them."
"You have done well, Charbonneau, as I would not for the world offend
those worthy fellows. And now, gentlemen, follow me, and I will take
you where you can speak openly without fear of being overheard."
Saying which George moved away from the house and led them to a
hillock, wholly without trees, overlooking the river, and whence he
could see a long way.
"This is my observatory," he said, smiling.
"Admirably well chosen," replied Oliver.
On the invitation of Clinton everyone seated himself on the grass,
and lit his pipe; then Bright-eye, who appeared general spokesman,
addressed their host.
"We have learned from Keen-hand that you have not long left the cities
of the United States to visit for a time the prairies of the Far West."
"I have no reason for making any secret of the matter."
"Everyone is master of his own actions," continued Bright-eye, "and we
have no right to inquire in any way into your affairs. We only desire
to indicate you as new to prairie customs."
"I am not very learned in the matter, and am therefore wholly guided by
my hunter, who, despite his youth, is an old runner of the woods. But
as I see no motive for this conversation, I should be glad if it were
abridged."
"One question first--Are you prepared as a dweller in the desert to
submit to its habits and customs?" asked Bright-eye.
"As long as they are just and reasonable," said the other, "I pledge my
word to be guided by them."
"We find that your friend here described you well."
"Still you must be aware that you are keeping me waiting."
"Two words will explain," said Bright-eye; "we demand the body of the
wounded man yonder."
"What to do?" cried Clinton.
"To apply Lynch law to him," coldly replied the hunter.
The young man shuddered, a livid pallor spread over his countenance; he
looked at the hunters, who nodded their heads, with a glance of horror.
"What do you mean, gentlemen?" he cried; "Do you intend to torture this
man, whose life hangs on a thread?"
"It is our right and our duty, not to torture him, but to try him, and
execute the sentence, whatever it may be, at once."
"This is terrible!" cried the young man.
"You do not know him. If, for reasons best known to ourselves, we
feigned not to know him, now that your friend has left we will tell you
who the wretch is."
"No matter who he is," cried Clinton, fiercely, "all I know is that he
is wounded and under the protection of my roof."
"Your sentiments of humanity do you honour," said Bright-eye,
ironically; "they are well suited to civilised society, where the law
defends you. In the desert they have no meaning. Every moment menaced
with death, you must cut down your murderous foes without mercy."
"Better be victim than executioner," said George.
"If you like to present your breast to the enemies, that is your
lookout; we beg to differ from you."
"But, gentlemen--" said Clinton, haughtily.
"You made a promise. Do you or do you not intend to be bound by it?"
asked Bright-eye.
"This is your return for my hospitality."
"You are unjust, sir; we are but the instruments of public opinion,
about to accomplish a painful duty, guided by our conscience and our
sense of right. Do you give this man up to us, yes or no?" he continued.
"Take him, if you insist; but as on your private authority you judge
this man, I will defend him."
"We are delighted to hear it."
"When do you intend trying this man who is dangerously wounded and
nearly insensible?"
"He is not so ill as he pretends to be," replied Bright-eye; "and we
intend trying him at once."
"Come, then, for the matter is getting wearisome," said George.
All returned to the house. Oliver and Numank had not spoken, but their
firm step, their knitted brows, their flashing eyes, sufficiently
indicated that they fully agreed with Bright-eye in his intentions.
When they entered the room where the wounded man lay he was quite
conscious; his face, of an earthy pallor, had two red spots on the
cheeks; the pearly sweat fell heavily from his brow; his eyes were half
closed, but he could clearly see through his lashes. His attitude was
that of a tiger at bay, unaware from what side danger was likely to
come.
Bright-eye looked at him with such pertinacity that after a time he was
compelled to open his eyes.
The Canadian smiled, whispered to Keen-hand, who nodded his head, and
soon left the hut.
"Gentlemen," said Bright-eye in a loud tone, "we will at once proceed
to instal the head of the court of Judge Lynch."
"You are the chief," said the others.
"I accept. You will be the accusers. I shall at once take my seat, as
we are here to judge this man."
"You forget I am here to defend him," remarked Clinton.
"You are quite right," replied Bright-eye; "pray therefore attend
carefully to the accusations I am about to make against him; you can
then undertake his defence, if, indeed, when you know all, you care to
do so."
The wounded man had appeared motionless and insensible to all around
him, but on hearing the generous words of the young man, spoken in a
gentle voice, he seemed to shiver all over, and, raising himself a
little, looked keenly at George Clinton, with a glance of gratitude.
Bright-eye meanwhile reflected a moment, folded his arms, and throwing
back his head spoke:
"Prisoner," he said, "you are before a terrible tribunal. Judge
Lynch has been appointed to condemn you if guilty, to absolve you if
innocent. Prepare yourself to hear and answer the charges made against
you."
"I do not acknowledge the jurisdiction of Judge Lynch," said the man;
"you are a tribunal of assassins."
"As you please," replied the Canadian; "but your silence will be
treated as a confession of guilt."
The accused shuddered.
"Why, instead of leaving me to die in the prairie, was I brought here?"
he asked; "Is hospitality a mere trick?"
"The man is right," cried George; "I cannot suffer such things to pass
under my roof. I protest, in the name of humanity, against all that is
being done. You dishonour me by acting in this manner here."
"The jurisdiction of Judge Lynch is universal in the desert," was the
cold reply; "none can check it. This man is an outlaw of the prairies,
a man of blood and crime. Louis Querehard, Paul Sambrun, Tom Mitchell,
and half a dozen aliases--you see we know you well--eleven days ago you
basely attacked an old man in charge of a young girl; you killed the
old man from behind at the Elk's Leap. Where is the young girl?"
"Base calumny," cried the wounded man, sitting up suddenly; "I know not
what you mean. I killed no old man."
"I repeat that you killed the old man and stole away the girl. I have
the proofs," he answered.
The wounded man sat biting his lips with rage.
"This morning," continued Bright-eye, "you quarrelled with one of your
accomplices, while crossing this valley, and fell from the treachery of
your fellow bandit."
"Falsehood!" cried the wounded man.
"We shall soon see," said the Canadian, coldly, and putting his fingers
to his lips he uttered a shrill whistle.
A noise was heard and several men entered. These were Keen-hand, two
servants of Clinton, and a prisoner--a man of wretched, mean, and
ignoble appearance.
"This is your accomplice," said Bright-eye.
"I don't know him," replied the wounded man.
"You don't know me?" cried the other; "Really now, have you already
forgotten poor Camotte?"
"You declare this man unknown to you?" said the judge. "Well, be it so.
Now, fellow," to the man Camotte, "will you confess?"
"Caray, yes," said the prisoner, "anything you like."
"Speak then," responded Bright-eye: "we wait."
"Miserable wretch," asked the wounded man, "are you a traitor?"
"My good sir, I object to be hung," he answered.
"It is useless to question that rascal," said the wounded man. "I will
tell you all you want to know; but before we go any further it must be
on one condition."
"We decline to accept conditions," was the reply.
"Then beware. I alone know where the young girl is concealed. Refuse my
conditions and my secret dies with me."
"It is true," said Camotte, in answer to a look from Bright-eye.
"What are your conditions?" resumed the judge.
"My life, liberty, and three hours' start," said the outlaw; "also the
company of my friend Camotte yonder," he added, with a sneer, as that
individual shivered; "further, I require my horse, arms, and my valise.
On these conditions you shall have the young girl: I swear it."
"Anything else?" continued the judge.
"One moment," observed George; "I ask for him eight days to recover
from his wound, during which time he shall remain here under my
guardianship and yours."
"We consent," said Bright-eye, gloomily; "now speak."
"The girl is concealed twelve miles away, in the Cavern of the Elk. I
was going there with food when I was shot. Make haste."
Scarcely had he finished ere Oliver and the chief disappeared.
"Beware of my vengeance," cried Bright-eye, "if you have spoken
falsely."
"I have spoken the truth," said the wounded man, and fainted.