No pen could portray the feelings of Helen Armstrong, on recognising her
rescuer. Charles Clancy alive! Is she dreaming? Or is it indeed he
whose arms are around, folding her in firm but tender embrace? Under
the moonbeams, that seem to have suddenly become brighter, she beholds
the manly form and noble features of him she believed dead, his cheeks
showing the hue of health, his eyes late glaring in angry excitement,
now glowing with the softer light of love. Yes: it is indeed her lover
long mourned, living, breathing, beautiful as ever!
She asks not if he be still true, that doubt has been long since
dissipated. It needs not his presence there, nor what he has just done,
to reassure her.
For a time she asks no questions; neither he. Both are too absorbed
with sweet thoughts to care for words. Speech could not heighten their
happiness, in the midst of caresses and kisses.
On his side there is no backwardness now; on hers no coyness, no mock
modesty. They come together not as at their last interview, timid
sweethearts, but lovers emboldened by betrothal. For she knows, that he
proposed to her; as he, that her acceptance was sent, and miscarried.
It has reached him nevertheless; he has it upon his person now--both the
letter and portrait. About the last are his first words. Drawing it
out, and holding it up to the light, he asks playfully:
"Helen; was it meant fo' me?"
"No," she evasively answers, "it was meant for me."
"Oh! the likeness, yes; but the inscript--these pleasant words written
underneath?"
"Put it back into; our pocket, Charles. And now tell me all. Am I
dreaming? Or is it indeed reality?"
No wonder she should so exclaim. Never was transformation quicker, or
more complete. But a few seconds before she was, as it were, in the
clutches of the devil; now an angel is by her side, a seraph with soft
wings to shelter, and strong arms to protect her. She feels as one,
who, long lingering at the door of death, has health suddenly and
miraculously restored, with the prospect of a prolonged and happy life.
Clancy replies, by again flinging his arms around, and rapturously
kissing her: perhaps thinking it the best answer he can give. If that
be not reality, what is?
Jessie has now joined them, and after exchanged congratulations, there
succeed mutual inquiries and explanations. Clancy has commenced giving
a brief account of what has occurred to himself, when he is interrupted
by a rough, but kindly voice; that of Sime, saying:--
"Ye kin tell them all that at some other time, Charley; thar aint a
minnit to be throwed away now." Then drawing Clancy aside, speaking so
as not to be heard by the others. "Thar's danger in dallyin' hyar.
I've jest been puttin' thet jail bird, Bosley, through a bit o'
catechism; an' from what he's told me the sooner we git out o' hyar the
better. Who d'ye spose is at the bottom o' all this? I needn't ask ye;
ye're boun to guess. I kin see the ugly brute's name bulgin' out yur
cheeks."
"Borlasse!"
"In course it's he. Bosley's confessed all. Ked'nt well help it, wi'
my bowie threetenin' to make a red stream run out o' him. The gang--
thar's twenty o' 'em all counted--goed up to the Mission to plunder it--
a sort o' burglarious expedishun; Borlasse hevin' a understandin' wi' a
treetur that's inside--a sort o' sarvint to the Creole, Dupray, who only
late engaged him. Wal; it seems they grupped the gurls, as they war
makin' for the house--chanced on 'em outside in the garden. Bosley an'
the other hev toated 'em this far, an' war wait in for the rest to come
on wi' the stolen goods. They may be hyar at any minnit; an', wi' Jim
Borlasse at thar head, I needn't tell ye what that means. Four o' us
agin twenty--for we can't count on Harkness--it's ugly odds. We'd hev
no show, howsomever. It 'ud end in their again grabbin' these pretty
critters, an' 's like 's not end our own lives."
Clancy needs no further speech to convince him of the danger. After
what has occurred, an encounter with the robbers would, indeed, be
disastrous. Richard Darke, leagued with Jim Borlasse, a noted pirate of
the prairies; their diabolical plans disclosed, and only defeated by the
merest accident of circumstances.
"You're right, Sime. We mustn't be caught by the scoundrels. As you
say, that would be the end of everything. How are we to avoid them?"
"By streakin' out o' hyar quick as possible."
"Do you propose our taking to the timber, and lying hid till they go
past?"
"No. Our better plan 'll be to go on to the Mission, an' get thar
soon's we kin."
"But we may meet them in the teeth?"
"We must, ef we take the main road up tother side--pretty sure to meet
'em. We shan't be sech fools. I've thought o' all that, an' a way to
get clear of the scrape."
"What way?"
"That road we kim in by, ye see, leads on'ard up the bank this side. I
reckin' it goes to the upper crossin', the which air several miles above
the buildin's. We kin take it, an' foller it without any fear o'
encounterin' them beauties. I've sent Jupe and Harkness to bring up the
hosses. Ned's tother side the tree in charge o' Bosley."
"You've arranged it right. Nothing could be better. Take the trail up
this side. I can trust you for seeing them safe into their father's
arms--if he still live."
Woodley wonders at this speech. He is about to ask explanation, when
Clancy adds, pointing to the elder sister--
"I want a word with her before parting. While you are getting ready the
horses--"
"Before partin'!" interrupts Sime with increased surprise, "Surely you
mean goin' along wi' us?"
"No, I don't."
"But why, Charley?"
"Well, I've something to detain me here."
"What somethin'?"
"You ought to know without my telling you."
"Dog-goned ef I do."
"Richard Darke, then."
"But he's goed off; ye don't intend follerin' him?"
"I do--to the death. If ever I had a fixed determination in my life,
'tis that."
"Wal, but you won't go all by yerself! Ye'll want some o' us wi' ye?"
"No."
"Not me, nor Ned?"
"Neither. You'll both be needed to take care of them."