A STRANGE PROPOSAL.
The hours dragged by drearily enough with Ned Campbell, though for a
part of the time he had the beautiful Lola for a guard. But after the
first flush of surprise, Ned gave her little attention. His mind was
filled with thoughts of his lost love, Fannie Hawksley, whom the old
man, his captor, declared was dead. Though the young hunter tried to
believe this a falsehood, his success was only partial. At times he
would believe that Fannie was indeed dead—murdered—and in the agony of
his soul he would groan aloud, almost praying for death that he might be
reunited to her, in spirit if not in life.
Campbell was aroused from one of these fits of gloomy despondency by a
low, taunting laugh sounding from close beside him, and hastily glancing
up, he perceived that the old man had taken Lola’s position. The almost
diabolical expression of triumph that rested upon his face, startled the
young hunter, and he resolved to give his enemy no more such gleeful
moments.
“Who are you that my misery should give you so much pleasure?” he
demanded, with ill-concealed curiosity.
“I promised to tell you—and this is as good a time as any to keep my
word,” slowly replied the old man, sinking down upon the rude stool that
had been so recently occupied by a much more agreeable figure. “You may
or you may not remember something of the matter, when I tell you that my
name is Albert Mestayer.”
As he spoke, his gaze was riveted firmly upon the young man’s
countenance. Though expressing curiosity, there was no change to
indicate that Campbell had ever heard of the name before.
“I see you do not know—I might have known that they would never have
told you. It is well. You will not be so prejudiced, and will be more
likely to do me justice. Now listen well, and you will see why I hate
your family and that of Hawksley.
“We three were close neighbors living then in the southern part of
Illinois. Almost from childhood we had been play-mates and bosom
friends. And such we might have remained to this day, only for the
treachery of one—of Christopher Hawksley, the brother of Archibald.
“We three men married, but he—Chris—was single. Though living with his
brother, he was quite as much at home while at your father’s house, or
at mine. Indeed the gossips began to whisper that he was more so, and to
point the finger of scorn at me.
“For a time I closed my ears to these rumors, but at my heart there
gnawed a horrible fear that what I dreaded was but too well founded. He
and she had long been intimate, and at one time were reported betrothed,
but then a coldness came between them, and she accepted me. You see,
young man, I am frank with you,” and Mestayer smiled bitterly. “I mean
to tell you all—both for and against myself.
“I spoke to her of the rumors, but she was of a quick, passionate
temper, and for the first time since marriage we had hot and angry words
together. She refused to answer me, saying that I insulted her by the
suspicion. While still angry, I met Christopher Hawksley and forbid him
ever entering my house, or addressing my wife at any time or place where
they might chance to meet.
“He seemed surprised—I thought then that he looked guilty, and I could
scarcely keep my hands from his throat. But I did, and went home with a
heart still more bitter and wicked.
“Three days after this, as I returned from the field somewhat earlier
than usual, I saw Hawksley parting from my wife at the door. They seemed
frightened and confused at my appearance, and I dare say they had cause.
“The next I remember is finding myself standing over his quivering and
senseless body, my hands covered with blood, my wife crying for me to
have mercy—not to stain my soul with murder. I had not killed because I
had no weapons with me, I suppose. But I had beaten him almost to death
with my naked fists.
“Well, the word soon spread that I had brutally murdered the man, and
the excitement was great. Hawksley was one of those general favorites,
half-fool, half-rogue, who spent his money with a lavish hand, making
friends with everybody, while I, naturally reserved, had become morose
and unsociable since these sickening rumors began to meet my ear. So you
see it took very little to get up a hue and cry against me.
“Arch. Hawksley came and removed his brother. That night, though the
doctors pronounced Chris. in no immediate danger, a mob, led by those
who had once been my dearest friends—_your_ father and Arch.
Hawksley—came and took me from my bed, dragging me out-doors amid curses
and threats, some even beating me with clubs and their fists as I was
hauled helplessly along over the rough ground, half naked, only in my
night-clothes.
“Well, you can guess the rest. The favorite punishment of western mobs,
when they do not wish to _quite_ murder, was given me. I was tarred and
feathered! And for what? I have told you. You can judge whether I
deserved it or not. And, mind you, _your_ father and Archibald Hawksley
were the leaders in the movement. By _their_ orders the others acted. Do
you wonder that I promised never to forgive them?
“After this, they set me free. Half mad I plunged into the swampy woods,
where I lay until morning. By that time I had in a manner regained my
coolness, and had decided upon my course of action. I knew that I had
one true friend near me, and to his hut I hastened. This was a
middle-aged negro. I had won him from his master half a dozen years
before, on a Mississippi steamboat, playing cards. It was the planter’s
last stake, and I could not refuse. When I gave Sam his choice, he
elected to go with me. At the end of my trip I gave him his freedom, and
he now lived on a piece of my land.
“He removed the tar, and tenderly nursed me through a long and severe
illness, brought on by exposure and excitement. During all this he had
kept my existence a secret, and all believed that I had thrown myself in
the river to hide my shame. Sam also kept close watch upon my house, and
when he considered me strong enough, he told me what he had learned.
“My wife took my death very easily, it seemed. Chris. Hawksley had been
seen visiting her. That was enough. I swore then that I would have a
deep and bitter revenge—that I would devote my entire life to that end.
“Sam was true to me, body and soul. What I said was law. He aided me in
my scheme, by procuring me weapons, clothes and such articles as I
needed. Then I watched my chance. It soon came.
“Sam brought me the word. Christopher Hawksley was at my house. I
hastened there, cool and calm as I am now, though I had resolved that
they both should die that night.
“I kept my oath. They were together in my wife’s room. They never left
it alive. I shot him, and entered the room. The woman who had been my
wife, fell upon her knees and begged for mercy, swearing that she was
innocent. But I knew that she lied. I had seen too much.
“I raised my hand and struck her. She fell forward bathed in blood. I
did not know that I had a knife in my hand, until I saw that.
“His death only inspired me with a ferocious joy. I gloried in my act of
vengeance. But when I saw her lying there, gasping out her life, I
changed. I had loved her so tenderly and true, until she fell from me. I
had idolized her almost. And yet—I had killed her!”
The old man choked and paused. Campbell, pale and horror-stricken, did
not speak. Then Mestayer, with an effort, resumed, his head bowed upon
his hands, his voice sounding like that of one talking in a dream.
“How long I remained there I do not know, but it must have been for
hours. The alarm was given by some one who had heard the shot and
investigated it. The neighbors came and found me sitting there, _her_
head upon my breast, her form clasped tight to my heart. Despite this
they knew that I was the murderer. My revolver lay there, with one
chamber discharged, as the blue gas around the tube showed, recently. My
knife—with initials carved upon the horn handle—was beside me, covered
with blood.
“They say that I acted like a madman when they tried to remove her body.
But numbers prevailed, and I was bound. The next I remember I was in the
county jail, tried and condemned to death. But trusty Sam didn’t fail
me.
“He set me free—I have not patience now to tell all that he had to do,
but he was at work for three nights before I was set free. Then, just as
I mounted the horse he had brought for my use, we were discovered. Sam
struck the horse a heavy blow that maddened it, and I was saved, though
I tried to turn and aid him.
“Yes, he—the simple, unlearned negro—he saved me, at the cost of his own
life. He was shot, but he kept the guards engaged until I was beyond
their reach. Thus I lost my only friend.
“I had only one thing to live for—_revenge_. I swore to devote my life
to that one end—and I have not yet forgotten my oath. For a time I kept
in hiding, but then I set to work. _You_ are the first one that knows
for a certainty how your father died. _I_ shot him.”
Campbell uttered a hoarse cry, and strove to arise, his eyes blazing
with horror and vengeance. But the strong cords restrained his fury.
“And why—what had he done to you?”
“I have told you. Besides, I swore that I would destroy the entire race
of the Hawksleys and Campbells. Boy, my wife was your father’s sister.”
Campbell listened in astonishment. Until now he had believed his father
had been an only child. But there was something in the old man’s tones
that told him he was speaking the truth.
“I am telling you the truth, though you seem to doubt it. But that
matters little. I need only tell you a little more. After I killed your
father, I had to hide again. I fled to New Orleans. While there, I met a
Spanish creole and married her. Had she lived, I might have reformed,
for I loved her with all my hot, fiery nature. But she died, leaving me
one babe—you have seen her here—Lola.
“For a time I lived in retirement, caring only for my child, teaching
her, as she grew older, to hate all mankind but her father. I succeeded,
as I thought. Then I left her at school, and set forth to strike another
blow. I found my enemies gone, they had removed, and I feared to inquire
of those who could have told me where, lest I should be recognized.
“For years I hunted you—you and the Hawksleys. I did not find you until
this spring. By chance I found this retreat, and fitted it up for use.
Then I brought Lola here. You remember the excitement that she caused,
as the strange rider—a better name would have been _decoy_, for that was
her duty. I first gained her good views of those I hated—just how does
not matter now.
“Her first success was in luring Fred Hawksley here. Then I stole away
his sister—your betrothed, as you say. _You_ came next. After you will
come your sister Mary Colton. Then the rest of the Hawksleys. Before
forty-eight hours roll by, all of those included in my vow of vengeance
will be dead—_dead_, do you hear?” hissed Westmayer, in a low, malignant
tone of voice.
“But Fannie—you have not—”
“It matters little to _you_ whether she be dead or not. If not, she will
be, soon. So will you. But I need the fresh air. I leave you to think of
what I have told you, and to compose your mind for what is to come. If
you sleep, pleasant dreams—ha! ha!” and laughing malignantly, the
monomaniac left the chamber.
The conflicting emotions that racked Campbell’s mind on hearing this
strange disclosure, can scarcely be imagined—most certainly not
described. Besides clearing up the mystery that had enshrouded his
father’s murder, it also revealed to him the full peril that threatened
his own as well as the lives of his friends.
So deeply buried was he in thought that he did not hear the soft
footfall nor the faint rustle as Lola seated herself beside him. Her
large, dark eyes were filled with a gentle light foreign to her fiery,
passionate nature, and her cheek glowed with the swift flow of blood.
As Campbell, aroused by that strange consciousness one feels when being
fixedly gazed upon, raised his eyes, his face darkened with a frown. In
a harsh tone he uttered:
“Well, I am waiting—proceed. Of course you come here to tell me some
frightful story of how I have wronged you, possibly through my
great-grandchildren, or something of that sort, and that you have sworn
deadly vengeance against me and mine. Proceed—but for pity’s sake, cut
it short.”
“You wrong me, Mr. Campbell,” and Lola’s voice sounded low and soft. “I
am no enemy of yours—I would be your friend, if you would permit.”
“My friend—and _his_ daughter?”
“I often think that I am _not_ his daughter—that he is mad—a monomaniac,
who does not know what he does or says. I overheard what he told you,
for I feared that he meant to kill you, and I resolved to prevent that,
if it cost my own life. It is the same story, almost word for word, that
he has told me scores of times. But—whether that is true or not—I am not
your enemy, since seeing you. Before, I hated you, because he taught me
to do so. He made me believe that all men were evil, treacherous beings,
but—I don’t think _you_ are,” and Lola drooped her eyes before the
steady gaze of the young hunter.
“What is your object in telling me this?” he asked, slowly.
“To prove to you that I am a friend, not an enemy, as you seemed to
regard me.”
“_Will_ you prove this? You can, if you wish. Will you do it?” added
Campbell, with ill-suppressed eagerness.
“How can I?” softly, with a quick glance at him.
“Easily. Unloosen these cords, restore my weapons, and I will believe
that you are a true, earnest friend.”
“So that you might kill my father?”
“No. I would not harm him unless he first attacked me. Then I would
defend myself.”
“He would kill me!”
“With me you would be safe. I will take you to any point you wish, or,
if you would rather, my mother will welcome you to her home.”
Their gaze met, but only for a moment, then the eyes of the strange girl
sunk, and a low sigh fluttered her lips. The face of the young hunter,
though open and earnest, had not told her the tale she wished and hoped
to hear.
“You asked my father about your friends. He gave you to understand that
they were dead. One of them still lives.”
“What—Fannie—” eagerly began Ned, his dark eyes gleaming.
“No—the young man,” and Lola’s face turned a shade paler.
“Merciful God!” groaned Campbell, quivering with intense heart-agony.
“Then it is true, as you told father—you loved this girl?”
“Better than my life! And now—but no—you are only trying me,” he added,
looking up imploringly. “Tell me she is still living?”
“Why should I lie to you? She is dead—but her blood is not on his hands.
He fought to save her, but one of the men shot her, as he was bringing
her here. The other—your friend, still lives, though badly wounded.
Could I believe in your gratitude, I would set both yourself and him
free.”
“You crush all my hopes, then taunt me with freedom—I have nothing to
live for now,” bitterly replied Ned.
“Your mother?”
“True, I forgot for a moment. Well, speak plain. What pledge do you
require? What do you wish me to do?” he added, wearily.
“Make me a solemn promise—pledge me your honor as a gentleman to make me
your—your wife, and I will free you both.”
“What!”
“Let me finish. I know that my words seem strange, unlady-like, if you
will, but consider what my past life has been. And yet, I have only
obeyed my father. I have never sinned of my own free will. He thinks me
all ice, but I can love, I _do_ love; I have loved with all my soul ever
since you came here. Now you know my heart. To win your love I am
willing to disown father—all else.”
“I have no love to give you. It was all _hers_—my poor, lost Fannie’s,”
muttered Ned, yet strongly affected by the passionate, yet pleading
tones of the strange girl.
“You will in time—I do not ask nor expect it all at once. I will love
you so tenderly and wholly that you _must_ return it, in time.”
“If you loved me as you say, you would free me and trust to my gratitude
for your reward.”
“And thus lose you forever? No—no! I would rather, far rather kill you
here, then take my own life, than to run that risk,” cried Lola, her
eyes flaming.
A strong temptation was upon him. Why not dissimulate,—or even give a
positive pledge, if by these means he could gain freedom?
“Wait—I must think of this a little. I can not answer you now,” he said,
at length.
“You must be quick, for there’s no time to lose. Father will soon
return. And he is looking for his messenger, sent to bring a band of
savages here. They intend attacking the settlements, when your mother,
sister, and the Hawksley family will be captured. Decide quickly, and
you may be in time to save them.”