After getting clear of the enclosures of Casa del Corvo, the hunter
headed his animal up stream--in the direction of the Port and town.
It was the former he intended to reach--which he did in a ride of less
than a quarter of an hour.
Commonly it took him three to accomplish this distance; but on this
occasion he was in an unusual state of excitement, and he made speed to
correspond. The old mare could go fast enough when required--that is
when Zeb required her and he had a mode of quickening her speed--known
only to himself, and only employed upon extraordinary occasions. It
simply consisted in drawing the bowie knife from his belt, and inserting
about in inch of its blade into the mare's hip, close to the termination
of the spine.
The effect was like magic; or, if you prefer the figure--electricity.
So spurred, Zeb's "critter" could accomplish a mile in three minutes;
and more than once had she been called upon to show this capability,
when her owner was chased by Comanches.
On the present occasion there was no necessity for such excessive speed;
and the Fort was reached after fifteen minutes' sharp trotting.
On reaching it, Zeb slipped out of the saddle, and made his way to the
quarters of the commandant; while the mare was left panting upon the
parade ground.
The old hunter had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with the
military chief of Fort Inge. Looked upon by the officers as a sort of
privileged character, he had the entree at all times, and could go in
without countersign, or any of the other formalities usually demanded
from a stranger. The sentry passed him, as a matter of course--the
officer of the guard only exchanged with him a word of welcome; and the
adjutant at once announced his name to the major commanding the
cantonment.
From his first words, the latter appeared to have been expecting him.
"Ah! Mr Stump! Glad to see you so soon. Have you made any discovery
in this queer affair? From your quick return, I can almost say you
have. Something, I hope, in favour of this unfortunate young fellow.
Notwithstanding that appearances are strongly against him, I still
adhere to my old opinion--that he's innocent. What have you learnt?"
"Wal, Maje," answered Zeb, without making other obeisance than the
simple politeness of removing his hat; "what I've larnt aint much, tho'
enough to fetch me back to the Fort; where I didn't intend to come, till
I'd gone a bit o' a jurney acrosst the purayras. I kim back hyur to hev
a word wi' yurself."
"In welcome. What is it you have to say?"
"That ye'll keep back this trial as long's ye kin raisonably do so. I
know thur's a pressyur from the outside; but I know, too, that ye've got
the power to resist it, an what's more, Maje--yo've got the will."
"I have. You speak quite truly about that, Mr Stump. And as to the
power, I have that, too, in a certain sense. But, as you are aware, in
our great republic, the military power must always be subservient to the
civil--unless under martial-law, which God forbid should ever be
required among us--even here in Texas. I can go so far as to hinder any
open violation of the law; but I cannot go against the law itself."
"T'ant the law I want ye to go agin. Nothin' o' the sort, Maje. Only
them as air like to take it into thur own hands, an twist it abeout to
squar it wi' thur own purpisses. Thur's them in this Settlement as 'ud
do thet, ef they ain't rustrained. One in espeecial 'ud like to do it;
an I knows who thet one air--leestwise I hev a tolable clur guess o'
him."
"Who?"
"Yur good to keep a seecret, Maje? I know ye air."
"Mr Stump, what passes here is in confidence. You may speak your mind
freely."
"Then my mind air: thet the man who hez dud this murder ain't Maurice
the Mowstanger."
"That's my own belief. You know it already. Have you nothing more to
communicate?"
"Wal, Maje, preehaps I ked communerkate a leetle more ef you insist upon
it. But the time ain't ripe for tellin' ye what I've larnt--the which,
arter all, only mounts to surspishuns. I may be wrong; an I'd rayther
you'd let me keep 'em to myself till I hev made a short exkurshun acrost
to the Nooeces. Arter thet, ye'll be welkum to what I know now, besides
what I may be able to gather off o' the parayras."
"So far as I am concerned, I'm quite contented to wait for your return;
the more willingly that I know you are acting on the side of justice.
But what would you have me do?"
"Keep back the trial, Maje--only that. The rest will be all right."
"How long? You know that it must come on according to the usual process
in the Criminal Court. The judge of this circuit will not be ruled by
me, though he may yield a little to my advice. But there is a party,
who are crying out for vengeance; and he may be ruled by them."
"I know the party ye speak o'. I know their leader; an maybe, afore the
trial air over, _he_ may be the kriminal afore the bar."
"Ah! you do not believe, then, that these Mexicans are the _men_!"
"Can't tell, Maje, whether they air or ain't. I do b'lieve thet they've
hed a hand in the bizness; but I don't b'lieve thet they've been the
prime movers in't. It's _him_ I want to diskiver. Kin ye promise me
three days?"
"Three days! For what?"
"Afore the trial kims on."
"Oh! I think there will be no difficulty about that. He is now a
prisoner under military law. Even if the judge of the Supreme Court
should require him to be delivered up inside that time, I can make
objections that will delay his being taken from the guard-house. I
shall undertake to do that."
"Maje! ye'd make a man a'most contented to live under marshul law. No
doubt thur air times when it air the best, tho' we independent citizens
don't much like it. All I've got to say air, thet ef ye stop this trial
for three days, or tharahout, preehaps the prisoner to kim afore the bar
may be someb'y else than him who's now in the guard-house--someb'y who
jest at this mom't hain't the smallest serspishun o' bein' hisself
surspected. Don't ask me who. Only say ye'll streetch a pint, an gi'
me three days?"
"I promise it, Mr Stump. Though I may risk my commission as an officer
in the American army, I give you an officer's promise, that for three
days Maurice the Mustanger shall not go out of my guard-house. Innocent
or guilty, for that time he shall be protected."
"Yur the true grit, Maje; an dog-gone me, ef I don't do my beest to show
ye some day, thet I'm sensible o't. I've nuthin' more to say now,
'ceptin' to axe thet ye'll not tell out o' doors what I've been tellin'
you. Thur's them outside who, ef they only knew what this coon air
arter, 'ud move both heving an airth to circumwent his intenshuns."
"They'll have no help from me--whoever it is you are speaking of. Mr
Stump, you may rely upon my pledged word."
"I know't, Maje, I know't. God bless ye for a good 'un. _Yer_ the
right sort for Texas!"
With this complimentary leave-taking the hunter strode out of
head-quarters, and made his way back to the place where he had left his
old mare.
Once more mounting her, he rode rapidly away. Having cleared the parade
ground, and afterwards the outskirts of the village, he returned on the
same path that had conducted him from Casa Del Corvo.
On reaching the outskirts of Poindexter's plantation, he left the low
lands of the Leona bottom, and spurred his old mare 'gainst the steep
slope ascending to the upper plain.
He reached it, at a point where the chapparal impinged upon the prairie,
and there reined up under the shade of a mezquit tree. He did not
alight, nor show any sign of an intention to do so; but sate in the
saddle, stooped forward, his eyes turned upon the ground, in that vacant
gaze which denotes reflection.
"Dog-gone my cats!" he drawled out in slow soliloquy. "Thet ere
sarkimstance are full o' signiferkince. Calhoun's hoss out the same
night, an fetched home a' sweetin' all over. What ked that mean? Durn
me, ef I don't surspect the foul play hev kum from that quarter. I've
thort so all along; only it air so ridiklous to serpose thet he shed a
killed his own cousin. He'd do that, or any other villinous thing, ef
there war a reezun for it. There ain't--none as I kin think o'. Ef the
property hed been a goin' to the young un, then the thing mout a been
intellygible enuf. But it want. Ole Peintdexter don't own a acre o'
this hyur groun'; nor a nigger thet's upon it. Thet I'm sartin' 'beout.
They all belong to that cuss arready; an why shed he want to get shot
o' the cousin? Thet's whar this coon gets flummixed in his
kalkerlations. Thar want no ill will atween 'em, as ever I heerd o'.
Thur's a state o' feelin' twixt him an the gurl, thet _he_ don't like, I
know. But why shed it temp him to the killin' o' her brother?
"An' then thur's the mowstanger mixed in wi' it, an that shindy 'beout
which she tolt me herself; an the sham Injuns, an the Mexikin shemale
wi' the har upon her lip; an the hossman 'ithout a head, an hell knows
what beside! Geesus Geehosofat! it 'ud puzzle the brain pan o' a
Looeyville lawyer!
"Wal--there's no time to stan' speklatin' hyur. Wi' this bit o' iron to
assiss me, I may chance upon somethin' thet'll gie a clue to a part o'
the bloody bizness, ef not to the hul o' it; an fust, as to the
direcshun in which I shed steer?"
He looked round, as if in search of some one to answer the
interrogatory.
"It air no use beginnin' neer the Fort or the town. The groun' abeout
both on 'em air paddled wi' hoss tracks like a cattle pen. I'd best
strike out into the purayra at onst, an take a track crossways o' the
Rio Grande route. By doin' thet I may fluke on the futmark I'm in
search o'. Yes--ye-es! thet's the most sensiblest idee."
As if fully satisfied on this score, he took up his bridle-rein,
muttered some words to his mare, and commenced moving off along the edge
of the chapparal.
Having advanced about a mile in the direction of the Nueces river, he
abruptly changed his course; but with a coolness that told of a
predetermined purpose.
It was now nearly due west, and at right angles to the different trails
going towards the Rio Grande.
There was a simultaneous change in his bearing--in the expression of his
features--and his attitude in the saddle. No longer looking listlessly
around, he sate stooping forward, his eye carefully scanning the sward,
over a wide space on both sides of the path he was pursuing.
He had ridden about a mile in the new direction, when something seen
upon the ground caused him to start, and simultaneously pull upon the
bridle-rein.
Nothing loth, the "critter" came to a stand; Zeb, at the same time,
flinging himself out of the saddle.
Leaving the old mare to ruminate upon this eccentric proceeding, he
advanced a pace or two, and dropped down upon his knees.
Then drawing the piece of curved iron out of his capacious pocket, he
applied it to a hoof-print conspicuously outlined in the turf. It
fitted.
"Fits!" he exclaimed, with a triumphant gesticulation, "Dog-goned if it
don't!"
"Tight as the skin o' a tick!" he continued, after adjusting the broken
shoe to the imperfect hoof-print, and taking it up again. "By the
eturnal! that ere's _the track o' a creetur--mayhap a murderer_!"