Phelim was not mistaken as to the voice that had hailed him. It was
that of his master, Maurice Gerald.
On getting outside, he saw the mustanger at a short distance from the
door, and advancing towards it.
As the servant should have expected, his master was mounted upon his
horse--no longer of a reddish colour, but appearing almost black. The
animal's coat was darkened with sweat; its counter and flanks speckled
with foam.
The blood-bay was not alone. At the end of the lazo--drawn taut from
the saddle tree--was a companion, or, to speak more accurately, a
captive. With a leathern thong looped around its under jaw, and firmly
embracing the bars of its mouth, kept in place by another passing over
its neck immediately behind the ears, was the captive secured.
It was a mustang of peculiar appearance, as regarded its markings; which
were of a kind rarely seen--even among the largest "gangs" that roam
over the prairie pastures, where colours of the most eccentric patterns
are not uncommon.
That of the animal in question was a ground of dark chocolate in places
approaching to black--with white spots distributed over it, as regularly
as the contrary colours upon the skin of the jaguar.
As if to give effect to this pleasing arrangement of hues, the creature
was of perfect shape--broad chested, full in the flank, and clean
limbed--with a hoof showing half a score of concentric rings, and a head
that might have been taken as a type of equine beauty. It was of large
size for a mustang, though much smaller than the ordinary English horse;
even smaller than the blood-bay--himself a mustang--that had assisted in
its capture.
The beautiful captive was a mare--one of a _manada_ that frequented the
plains near the source of the Alamo; and where, for the third time, the
mustanger had unsuccessfully chased it.
In his case the proverb had proved untrue. In the third time he had not
found the "charm"; though it favoured him in the fourth. By the
fascination of a long rope, with a running noose at its end, he had
secured the creature that, for some reason known only to himself, he so
ardently wished to possess.
Phelim had never seen his master return from a horse-hunting excursion
in such a state of excitement; even when coming back--as he often did--
with half a dozen mustangs led loosely at the end of his lazo.
But never before at the end of that implement had Phelim beheld such a
beauty as the spotted mare. She was a thing to excite the admiration of
one less a connoisseur in horse-flesh than the _ci-devant_ stable-boy of
Castle Ballagh.
"Hooch--hoop--hoora!" cried he, as he set eyes upon the captive, at the
same time tossing his hat high into the air. "Thanks to the Howly
Vargin, an Saint Pathrick to boot, Masther Maurice, yez have cotched the
spotty at last! It's a mare, be japers! Och! the purthy crayther! I
don't wondher yez hiv been so bad about gettin' howlt av her. Sowl! if
yez had her in Ballinasloe Fair, yez might ask your own price, and get
it too, widout givin' sixpence av luckpenny. Oh! the purty crayther!
Where will yez hiv her phut, masther? Into the corral, wid the others?"
"No, she might get kicked among them. We shall tie her in the shed.
Castro must pass his night outside among the trees. If he's got any
gallantry in him he won't mind that. Did you ever see anything so
beautiful as she is, Phelim--I mean in the way of horseflesh?"
"Niver, Masther Maurice; niver, in all me life! An' I've seen some nice
bits av blood about Ballyballagh. Oh, the purty crayther! she looks as
if a body cud ate her; and yit, in trath, she looks like she wud ate
you. Yez haven't given her the schoolin' lesson, have yez?"
"No, Phelim: I don't want to break her just yet--not till I have time,
and can do it properly. It would never do to spoil such perfection as
that. I shall tame her, after we've taken her to the Settlements."
"Yez be goin' there, masther Maurice? When?"
"To-morrow. We shall start by daybreak, so as to make only one day
between here and the Fort."
"Sowl! I'm glad to hear it. Not on me own account, but yours, Masther
Maurice. Maybe yez don't know that the whisky's on the idge of bein'
out? From the rattle av the jar, I don't think there's more than three
naggins left. Them sutlers at the Fort aren't honest. They chate ye in
the mizyure; besides watherin' the whisky, so that it won't bear a dhrap
more out av the strame hare. Trath! a gallon av Innishowen wud last
ayqual to three av this Amerikin _rotgut_, as the Yankees themselves
christen it."
"Never mind about the whisky, Phelim--I suppose there's enough to last
us for this night, and fill our flasks for the journey of to-morrow.
Look alive, old Ballyballagh! Let us stable the spotted mare; and then
I shall have time to talk about a fresh supply of `potheen,' which I
know you like better than anything else--except yourself!"
"And you, Masther Maurice!" retorted the Galwegian, with a comical
twinkle of the eye, that caused his master to leap laughingly out of the
saddle.
The spotted mare was soon stabled in the shed, Castro being temporarily
attached to a tree; where Phelim proceeded to groom him after the most
approved prairie fashion.
The mustanger threw himself on his horse-skin couch, wearied with the
work of the day. The capture of the "yegua pinta" had cost him a long
and arduous chase--such as he had never ridden before in pursuit of a
mustang.
There was a motive that had urged him on, unknown to Phelim--unknown to
Castro who carried him--unknown to living creature, save himself.
Notwithstanding that he had spent several days in the saddle--the last
three in constant pursuit of the spotted mare--despite the weariness
thus occasioned, he was unable to obtain repose. At intervals he rose
to his feet, and paced the floor of his hut, as if stirred by some
exciting emotion.
For several nights he had slept uneasily--at intervals tossing upon his
_catre_--till not only his henchman Phelim, but his hound Tara, wondered
what could be the meaning of his _unrest_.
The former might have attributed it to his desire to possess the spotted
mare; had he not known that his master's feverish feeling antedated his
knowledge of the existence of this peculiar quadruped.
It was several days after his last return from the Fort that the "yegua
pinta" had first presented herself to the eye of the mustanger. That
therefore could not be the cause of his altered demeanour.
His success in having secured the animal, instead of tranquillising his
spirit, seemed to have produced the contrary effect. At least, so
thought Phelim: who--with the freedom of that relationship known as
"foster-brother"--had at length determined on questioning his master as
to the cause of his inquietude. As the latter lay shifting from side to
side, he was saluted with the interrogatory--
"Masther Maurice, fwhat, in the name of the Howly Vargin, is the matther
wid ye?"
"Nothing, Phelim--nothing, _mabohil_! What makes you think there is?"
"_Alannah_! How kyan I help thinkin' it! Yez kyant get a wink av
sleep; niver since ye returned the last time from the Sittlement. Och!
yez hiv seen somethin' there that kapes ye awake? Shure now, it isn't
wan av them Mixikin girls--_mowchachas_, as they call them? No, I won't
believe it. You wudn't be wan av the owld Geralds to care for such
trash as them."
"Nonsense, my good fellow! There's nothing the matter with me. It's
all your own imagination."
"Trath, masther, yez arr mistaken. If there's anything asthray wid me
imaginashun, fhwat is it that's gone wrong wid your own? That is, whin
yez arr aslape--which aren't often av late."
"When I'm asleep! What do you mean, Phelim?"
"What div I mane? Fwhy, that wheniver yez close your eyes an think yez
are sleepin', ye begin palaverin', as if a preast was confessin' ye!"
"Ah! Is that so? What have you heard me say?"
"Not much, masther, that I cud make sinse out av. Yez be always tryin'
to pronounce a big name that appares to have no indin', though it begins
wid a _point_!"
"A name! What name?"
"Sowl! I kyan't till ye exakly. It's too long for me to remimber,
seein' that my edicashun was intirely neglicted. But there's another
name that yez phut before it; an that I kyan tell ye. It's a wuman's
name, though it's not common in the owld counthry. It's Looaze that ye
say, Masther Maurice; an 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!"
"Trath! yez spake the truth there; for in your drames, masther, ye talk
about a purty girl lookin' out av a carriage wid curtains to it, an
tellin' her to close them agaynst some danger that yez are going to save
her from."
"I wonder what puts such nonsense into my head?"
"I wondher meself," rejoined Phelim, fixing his eyes upon his young
master with a stealthy but scrutinising look. "Shure," he continued,
"if I may make bowld to axe the quistyun--shure, Masther Maurice, yez
haven't been makin' a Judy Fitzsummon's mother av yerself, an fallin' in
love wid wan of these Yankee weemen out hare? Och an-an-ee! that wud be
a misforthune; an thwat wud she say--the purty colleen wid the goodlen
hair an blue eyes, that lives not twinty miles from Ballyballagh?"
"Poh, poh! Phelim! you're taking leave of your senses, I fear."
"Trath, masther, I aren't; but I know somethin' I wud like to take lave
av."
"What is that? Not me, I hope?"
"You, _alannah_? Niver! It's Tixas I mane. I'd like to take lave of
that; an you goin' along wid me back to the owld sad. Arrah, now,
fhwat's the use av yer stayin' here, wastin' the best part av yer days
in doin' nothin'? Shure yez don't make more than a bare livin' by the
horse-catchin'; an if yez did, what mathers it? Yer owld aunt at Castle
Ballagh can't howld out much longer; an when she's did, the bewtiful
demane 'll be yours, spite av the dhirty way she's thratin' ye. Shure
the property's got a tail to it; an not a mother's son av them can kape
ye out av it!"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the young Irishman: "you're quite a lawyer,
Phelim. What a first-rate attorney you'd have made! But come! You
forget that I haven't tasted food since morning. What have you got in
the larder?"
"Trath! there's no great stock, masther. Yez haven't laid in anythin'
for the three days yez hiv been afther spotty. There's only the cowld
venison an the corn-bread. If yez like I'll phut the venison in the
pat, an make a hash av it."
"Yes, do so. I can wait."
"Won't yez wait betther afther tastin' a dhrap av the crayther?"
"True--let me have it."
"Will yez take it nate, or with a little wather? Trath! it won't carry
much av that same."
"A glass of grog--draw the water fresh from the stream."
Phelim took hold of the silver drinking-cup, and 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 barking of the dog soon subsided into a series of joyful
whimperings, which told that he had been gratified by the sight of some
old acquaintance.
"It's owld Zeb Stump," said Phelim, first peeping out, and then stepping
boldly forth--with the double design of greeting the new-comer, and
executing the order he had received from his master.
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; into the ample tops of which were thrust the
bottoms of his pantaloons--the latter being of woollen homespun, that
had been dyed with "dog-wood ooze," but was now of a simple dirt colour.
A deerskin under shirt, without any other, covered his breast and
shoulders; over which was a "blanket coat," that had once been green,
long since gone to a greenish yellow, with most of the wool worn off.
There was no other garment to be seen: a slouch felt hat, of greyish
colour, badly battered, completing the simple, and somewhat scant,
collection of his wardrobe.
He was equipped in the style of a backwoods hunter, of the true Daniel
Boone breed: bullet-pouch, and large crescent-shaped powder-horn, both
suspended by shoulder-straps, hanging under the right arm; a waist-belt
of thick leather keeping his coat closed and sustaining a skin sheath,
from which protruded the rough stag-horn handle of a long-bladed knife.
He did not affect either mocassins, leggings, nor the caped and fringed
tunic shirt of dressed deerskin worn by most Texan hunters. There was
no embroidery upon his coarse clothing, no carving upon his
accoutrements or weapons, nothing in his _tout ensemble_ intended as
ornamental. Everything was plain almost to rudeness: as if dictated by
a spirit that despised "fanfaron."
Even the rifle, his reliable weapon--the chief tool of his trade--looked
like a rounded bar of iron, with a piece of brown unpolished wood at the
end, forming its stock; stock and barrel, when the butt rested on the
ground, reaching up to the level of his shoulder.
The individual thus clothed and equipped was apparently about fifty
years of age, with a complexion inclining to dark, and features that, at
first sight, exhibited a grave aspect.
On close scrutiny, however, could be detected an underlying stratum of
quiet humour; and in the twinkle of a small greyish eye there was
evidence that its owner could keenly relish a joke, or, at times,
perpetrate one.
The Irishman had pronounced his name: it was Zebulon Stump, or "Old Zeb
Stump," as he was better known to the very limited circle of his
acquaintances.
"Kaintuck, by birth an raisin',"--as he would have described himself, if
asked the country of his nativity--he had passed the early part of his
life among the primeval forests of the Lower Mississippi--his sole
calling that of a hunter; and now, at a later period, he was performing
the same _metier_ in the wilds of south-western Texas.
The behaviour of the staghound, as it bounded before him, exhibiting a
series of canine welcomes, told of a friendly acquaintance between Zeb
Stump and Maurice the mustanger.
"Evenin'!" laconically saluted Zeb, as his tail figure shadowed the
cabin door.
"Good evening', Mr Stump!" rejoined the owner of the hut, rising to
receive him. "Step inside, and take a seat!"
The hunter accepted the invitation; and, making a single stride across
the floor, after some awkward manoeuvring, succeeded in planting himself
on the stool lately occupied by Phelim. The lowness of the seat brought
his knees upon a level with his chin, the tall rifle rising like a
pikestaff several feet above his head.
"Durn stools, anyhow!" muttered he, evidently dissatisfied with the
posture; "an' churs, too, for thet matter. I likes to plant my starn
upon a log: thur ye've got somethin' under ye as ain't like to guv way."
"Try that," said his host, pointing to the leathern portmanteau in the
corner: "you'll find it a firmer seat."
Old Zeb, adopting the suggestion, unfolded the zigzag of his colossal
carcase, and transferred it to the trunk.
"On foot, Mr Stump, as usual?"
"No: I got my old critter out thur, tied to a saplin'. I wa'n't a
huntin'."
"You never hunt on horseback, I believe?"
"I shed be a greenhorn if I dud. Anybody as goes huntin' a hossback
must be a durnation fool!"
"But it's the universal fashion in Texas!"
"Univarsal or no, it air a fool's fashion--a durned lazy fool's fashion!
I kill more meat in one day afut, then I ked in a hul week wi' a hoss
atween my legs. I don't misdoubt that a hoss air the best thing for
you--bein' as yur game's entire different. But when ye go arter baar,
or deer, or turkey eyther, ye won't see much o' them, trampin' about
through the timmer a hossback, an scarrin' everythin' es hes got ears
'ithin the circuit o' a mile. As for hosses, I shodn't be bothered wi'
ne'er a one no how, ef twa'n't for packin' the meat: thet's why I keep
my ole maar."
"She's outside, you say? Let Phelim take her round to the shed. You'll
stay all night?"
"I kim for that purpiss. But ye needn't trouble about the maar: she air
hitched safe enuf. I'll let her out on the laryitt, afore I take to
grass."
"You'll have something to eat? Phelim was just getting supper ready.
I'm sorry I can't offer you anything very dainty--some hash of venison."
"Nothin' better 'n good deermeat, 'ceptin it be baar; but I like both
done over the coals. Maybe I can help ye to some'at thet'll make a
roast. Mister Pheelum, ef ye don't mind steppin' to whar my critter air
hitched, ye'll find a gobbler hangin' over the horn o' the seddle. I
shot the bird as I war comin' up the crik."
"Oh, that is rare good fortune! Our larder has got very low--quite out,
in truth. 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.
Phelim and I, and Tara, too, had got to the edge of starvation."
"Whet sort o' a mustang?" inquired the hunter, in a tone that betrayed
interest, and without appearing to notice the final remark.
"A mare; with white spots on a dark chocolate ground--a splendid
creature!"
"Durn it, young fellur! thet air's the very bizness thet's brung me over
to ye."
"Indeed!"
"I've seed that mustang--maar, ye say it air, though I kedn't tell, as
she'd niver let me 'ithin hef a mile o' her. I've seed her several
times out on the purayra, an I jest wanted ye to go arter her. I'll
tell ye why. I've been to the Leeona settlements since I seed you last,
and since I seed her too. Wal, theer hev kum thur a man as I knowed on
the Mississippi. He air a rich planter, as used to keep up the tallest
kind o' doin's, 'specially in the feestin' way. Many's the jeint o'
deermeat, and many's the turkey-gobbler this hyur coon hes surplied for
his table. His name air Peintdexter."
"Poindexter?"
"Thet air the name--one o' the best known on the Mississippi from
Orleens to Saint Looey. He war rich then; an, I reck'n, ain't poor
now--seein' as he's brought about a hunderd niggers along wi' him.
Beside, thur's a nephew o' hisn, by name Calhoun. He's got the dollars,
an nothin' to do wi' 'em but lend 'em to his uncle--the which, for a
sartin reezun, I think he _will_. Now, young fellur, I'll tell ye why I
wanted to see _you_. Thet 'ere planter hev got a darter, as air dead
bent upon hossflesh. She used to ride the skittishest kind o' cattle in
Loozeyanner, whar they lived. She heern me tellin' the old 'un 'bout
the spotted mustang; and nothin' would content her thur and then, till
he promised he'd offer a big price for catchin' the critter. He sayed
he'd give a kupple o' hunderd dollars for the anymal, ef 'twur anythin
like what I sayed it wur. In coorse, I knowed thet 'ud send all the
mustangers in the settlement straight custrut arter it; so, sayin'
nuthin' to nobody, I kim over hyur, fast as my ole maar 'ud fetch me.
You grup thet 'ere spotty, an Zeb Stump 'll go yur bail ye'll grab them
two hunderd dollars."
"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, ef 'taint the eyedenticul same! Grupped already!
Two hunderd dollars, easy as slidin' down a barked saplin'! Young
fellur, yur in luck: two hunderd, slick sure!--and durn me, ef the
anymal ain't worth every cent o' the money! Geehosofat! what a putty
beest it air! Won't Miss Peintdexter be pleezed! It'll turn that young
critter 'most crazy!"