For full ten minutes was the wild chorus kept up, the mare all the time
squealing like a stuck pig; while the dog responded in a series of
lugubrious howls, that reverberated along the cliffs on both sides of
the creek.
To the distance of a mile might the sounds have been heard; and as Zeb
Stump was not likely to be so far from the hut, he would be certain to
hear them.
Convinced of this, and that the hunter would soon respond to the signal
he had himself arranged, Phelim stood square upon the threshold, in
hopes that the lady visitor would stay outside--at least, until he
should be relieved of the responsibility of admitting her.
Notwithstanding her earnest protestations of amity, he was still
suspicious of some treasonable intention towards his master; else why
should Zeb have been so particular about being summoned back?
Of himself, he had abandoned the idea of offering resistance. That
shining pistol, still before his eyes, had cured him of all inclination
for a quarrel with the strange equestrian; and so far as the Connemara
man was concerned, she might have gone unresisted inside.
But there was another from Connemara, who appeared more determined to
dispute her passage to the hut--one whom a whole battery of great guns
would not have deterred from protecting its owner. This was Tara.
The staghound was not acting as if under the excitement of a mere
senseless alarm. Mingling with his prolonged sonorous "gowl" could be
heard in repeated interruptions a quick sharp bark, that denoted anger.
He had witnessed the attitude of the intruder--its apparent hostility--
and drawing his deductions, had taken stand directly in front of Phelim
and the door, with the evident determination that neither should be
reached except over his own body, and after running the gauntlet of his
formidable incisors.
Isidora showed no intention of undertaking the risk. She had none.
Astonishment was, for the time, the sole feeling that possessed her.
She remained transfixed to the spot, without attempting to say a word.
She stood expectingly. To such an eccentric prelude there should be a
corresponding _finale_. Perplexed, but patiently, she awaited it.
Of her late alarm there was nothing left. What she saw was too
ludicrous to allow of apprehension; though it was also too
incomprehensible to elicit laughter.
In the mien of the man, who had so oddly comported himself, there was no
sign of mirth. If anything, a show of seriousness, oddly contrasting
with the comical act he had committed; and which plainly proclaimed that
he had not been treating her to a joke.
The expression of helpless perplexity that had become fixed upon her
features, continued there; until a tall man, wearing a faded blanket
coat, and carrying a six-foot rifle, was seen striding among the
tree-trunks, at the rate of ten miles to the hour. He was making direct
for the _jacale_.
At sight of the new-comer her countenance underwent a change. There was
now perceptible upon it a shade of apprehension; and the little pistol
was clutched with renewed nerve by the delicate hand that still
continued to hold it.
The act was partly precautionary, partly mechanical. Nor was it
unnatural, in view of the formidable-looking personage who was
approaching, and the earnest excited manner with which he was hurrying
forward to the hut.
All this became altered, as he advanced into the open ground, and
suddenly stopped on its edge; a look of surprise quite as great as that
upon the countenance of the lady, supplanting his earnest glances.
Some exclamatory phrases were sent through his teeth, unintelligible in
the tumult still continuing, though the gesture that accompanied them
seemed to proclaim them of a character anything but gentle.
On giving utterance to them, he turned to one side; strode rapidly
towards the screaming mare; and, laying hold of her tail--which no
living man save himself would have dared to do--he released her from the
torments she had been so long enduring.
Silence was instantly restored; since the mare, abandoned by her fellow
choristers, as they became accustomed to her wild neighs, had been, for
some time, keeping up the solo by herself.
The lady was not yet enlightened. Her astonishment continued; though a
side glance given to the droll individual in the doorway told her, that
he had successfully accomplished some scheme with which he had been
entrusted.
Phelim's look of satisfaction was of short continuance. It vanished, as
Zeb Stump, having effected the deliverance of the tortured quadruped,
faced round to the hut--as he did so, showing a cloud upon the
corrugations of his countenance, darkly ominous of an angry storm.
Even the presence of beauty did not hinder it from bursting. "Durn, an
dog-gone ye, for a Irish eedyit! Air this what ye've brought me back
for! An' jest as I wur takin' sight on a turkey, not less 'n thirty
poun' weight, I reck'n; skeeart afore he ked touch trigger, wi' the
skreek o' thet cussed critter o' a maar. Damned little chance for
breakfust now."
"But, Misther Stump, didn't yez till me to do it? Ye sid if any wan
showld come to the cyabin--"
"Bah! ye fool! Ye don't serpose I meened weemen, did ye?"
"Trath! I didn't think it wus wan, whin she furst presented hersilf.
Yez showld a seen the way she rid up--sittin' astraddle on her horse."
"What matter it, how she wur sittin'! Hain't ye seed thet afore, ye
greenhorn? It's thur usooal way 'mong these hyur Mexikin sheemales.
Ye're more o' a woman than she air, I guess; an twenty times more o' a
fool. Thet I'm sartint o'. I know _her_ a leetle by sight, an
somethin' more by reeport. What hev fetched the critter hyur ain't so
difeequilt to comprehend; tho' it may be to git it out o' her, seein' as
she kin only talk thet thur Mexikin lingo; the which this chile can't,
nor wudn't ef he kud."
"Sowl, Misther Stump! yez be mistaken. She spakes English too. Don't
yez, misthress?"
"Little Inglees," returned the Mexican, who up to this time had remained
listening. "Inglees _poco pocito_."
"O--ah!" exclaimed Zeb, slightly abashed at what he had been saying. "I
beg your pardin, saynoritta. Ye kin _habla_ a bit o' Amerikin, kin ye?
_Moocho bono_--so much the betterer. Ye'll be able to tell me what ye
mout be a wantin' out hyur. Ye hain't lost yur way, hev ye?"
"No, senor," was the reply, after a pause. "In that case, ye know whar
ye air?"
"_Si, senor--si_--yes, of Don Mauricio Zyerral, this the--house?"
"Thet air the name, near as a Mexikin mouth kin make it, I reck'n.
'Tain't much o' a house; but it air his'n. Preehaps ye want to see the
master o't?"
"O, senor--yees--that is for why I here am--_por esta yo soy aqui_."
"Wal; I reck'n, thur kin be no objecshun to yur seein' him. Yur
intenshuns ain't noways hostile to the young fellur, I kalklate. But
thur ain't much good in yur talkin' to him now. He won't know yo from a
side o' sole-leather."
"He is ill? Has met with some misfortune? _El guero_ has said so."
"Yis. I towlt her that," interposed Phelim, whose carroty hair had
earned for him the appellation "El guero."
"Sartin," answered Zeb. "He air wounded a bit; an jest now a leetle
dulleerious. I reck'n it ain't o' much consekwence. He'll be hisself
agin soon's the ravin' fit's gone off o' him."
"O, sir! can I be his nurse till then? _Por amor dios_! Let me enter,
and watch over him? I am his friend--_un amigo muy afficionado_."
"Wal; I don't see as thur's any harm in it. Weemen makes the best o'
nusses I've heern say; tho', for meself, I hain't hed much chance o'
tryin' 'em, sincst I kivered up my ole gurl unner the sods o'
Massissipi. Ef ye want to take a spell by the side o' the young fellur,
ye're wilkim--seein' ye're his friend. Ye kin look arter him, till we
git back, an see thet he don't tummel out o' the bed, or claw off them
thur bandidges, I've tied roun him."
"Trust me, good sir, I shall take every care of him. But tell me what
has caused it? The Indians? No, they are not near? Has there been a
quarrel with any one?"
"In thet, saynoritta; ye're beout as wise as I air meself. Thur's been
a quarrel wi' coyeats; but that ain't what's gin him the ugly knee. I
foun' him yesterday, clost upon sun-down, in the chapparal beyont. When
we kim upon him, he war up to his waist in the water o' a crik as runs
through thur, jest beout to be attakted by one o' them spotty critters
yur people call tigers. Wal, I relieved him o' that bit o' danger; but
what happened afore air a mystery to me. The young fellur had tuk leeve
o' his senses, an ked gie no account o' hisself. He hain't rekivered
them yet; an', thurfore, we must wait till he do."
"But you are sure, sir, he is not badly injured? His wounds--they are
not dangerous?"
"No danger whatsomediver. Nuthin' beyont a bit o' a fever, or maybe a
touch o' the agey, when that goes off o' him. As for the wounds,
they're only a wheen o' scratches. When the wanderin' hev gone out o'
his senses, he'll soon kum roun, I reck'n. In a week's time, ye'll see
him as strong as a buck."
"Oh! I shall nurse him tenderly!"
"Wal, that's very kind o' you; but--but--"
Zeb hesitated, as a queer thought came before his mind. It led to a
train of reflections kept to himself. They were these:
"This air the same she, as sent them kickshaws to the tavern o' Rough an
Ready. Thet she air in love wi' the young fellur is clur as Massissipi
mud--in love wi' him to the eends o' her toe nails. So's the tother.
But it air equally clur that he's thinkin' o' the tother, an not o' her.
Now ef she hears him talk about tother, as he hev been a doin' all o'
the night, thur'll be a putty consid'able rumpus riz inside o' her
busom. Poor thing! I pity her. She ain't a bad sort. But the Irish--
Irish tho' he be--can't belong to both; an I _know_ he freezes to the
critter from the States. It air durned awkurd--Better ef I ked pursuade
her not to go near him--leastwise till he gets over ravin' about Lewaze.
"But, miss," he continued, addressing himself to the Mexican, who during
his long string of reflections had stood impatiently silent, "don't ye
think ye'd better ride home agin; an kum back to see him arter he gits
well. He won't know ye, as I've sayed; an it would be no use yur
stayin', since he ain't in any danger o' makin' a die of it."
"No matter, that he may not know me. I should tend him all the same.
He may need some things--which I can send, and procure for him."
"Ef ye're boun' to stay then," rejoined Zeb, relentingly, as if some new
thought was causing him to consent, "I won't interfere to say, no. But
don't you mind what he'll be palaverin' about. Ye may hear some queer
talk out o' him, beout a man bein' murdered, an the like. That's natral
for any one as is dulleerious. Don't be skeeart at it. Beside, ye may
hear him talkin' a deal about a woman, as he's got upon his mind."
"A woman!"
"Jest so. Ye'll hear him make mention o' her name."
"Her name! Senor, what name?"
"Wal, it air the name o' his sister, I reck'n. Fact, I'm sure o' it
bein' his sister."
"Oh! Misther Stump. If yez be spakin' av Masther Maurice--"
"Shut up, ye durned fool! What is't to you what I'm speakin' beout?
You can't unnerstan sech things. Kum along!" he continued, moving off,
and motioning the Connemara man to follow him. "I want ye a leetle way
wi' me. I killed a rattle as I wur goin' up the crik, an left it thur.
Kum you, an toat it back to the shanty hyur, lest some varmint may make
away wi' it; an lest, arter all, I moutn't strike turkey agin."
"A rattle. Div yez mane a rattle-snake?"
"An' what shed I mean?"
"Shure, Misther Stump, yez wudn't ate a snake. Lard! wudn't it poison
yez?"
"Pisen be durned! Didn't I cut the pisen out, soon 's I killed the
critter, by cuttin' off o' its head?"
"Trath! an for all that, I wudn't ate a morsel av it, if I was
starvin'."
"Sturve, an be durned to ye! Who axes ye to eet it. I only want ye to
toat it home. Kum then, an do as I tell ye; or dog-goned, ef I don't
make ye eet the head o' the reptile,--pisen, fangs an all!"
"Be japers, Misther Stump, I didn't mane to disobey you at all--at all.
Shure it's Phaylim O'Nale that's reddy to do your biddin' anyhow. I'm
wid ye for fwhativer yez want; aven to swallowin the snake whole. Saint
Pathrick forgive me!"
"Saint Patrick be durned! Kum along!"
Phelim made no farther remonstrance; but, striking into the tracks of
the backwoodsman, followed him through the wood.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Isidora entered the hut; advanced towards the invalid reclining upon his
couch; with fierce fondness kissed his fevered brow, fonder and fiercer
kissed his unconscious lips; and then recoiled from them, as if she had
been stung by a scorpion!
Worse than scorpion's sting was that which had caused her to spring
back.
And yet 'twas but a word--a little word--of only two syllables!
There was nothing strange in this. Oft, on one word--that soft short
syllabic "Yes"--rests the happiness of a life; while oft, too oft, the
harsher negative is the prelude to a world of war!