TWO VISITORS.
On the evening succeeding the departure of Jack Carleton and Otto
Relstaub from the little settlement of Martinsville, the widowed mother
of Jack was seated by her fireside engaged in knitting. The night was
cold, and the huge sticks of wood were roaring and crackling in the
broad fireplace, and throwing a cheerful glow and warmth through the
room. The tallow candle on the mantel had not been lit, for there was no
need of it, and, despite the loneliness and poverty of the sad-faced
woman, there was an air of neatness and comfort about her home which
would have tempted any one who could look through the narrow window into
the homely, old-fashioned apartment.
The deft fingers flew back and forth as regularly as the most delicate
machinery, until all at once the lady stopped and allowed her hands to
rest in her lap. At the same moment a sigh escaped her, and she looked
into the glowing embers.
It was not hard to guess where her thoughts were; they were with that
only child who had gone forth in the woods to help the German lad look
for the missing horse. Mrs. Carleton smiled as she reflected upon a
certain absurdity which marked the whole business, for, look at it as
she chose, there was something grotesque in the project of two youths
setting out to hunt for a horse that had been wandering for days in a
limitless wood. But the smile quickly gave way to the serious expression
which not often left the face of the mother since that awful night when
her husband was stricken down by the fierce red men of Kentucky.
"I trust God will not forget my boy," were the almost inaudible words
that came to her lips. "He has wonderfully preserved him through many
perils, and my heart misgives me now that I allowed him to go from under
my roof."
Just then the latch-string was spitefully pulled, the door was pushed
inward, and Jacob Relstaub entered. The angry man was short of stature,
clumsily dressed, and the only weapon he carried was a heavy, knotted
cane, if that may be termed such, which was his companion when moving
about the sparse settlement. It has already been said that he was
parsimonious, cross-grained, and cruel-hearted, and he had been in
specially ill-temper since the return of his boy without the horse upon
which so much value was set.
The door swung to of itself, and the German, stopping short in the
middle of the room, banged his cane upon the floor, and, looking
savagely at the quiet lady who had nodded and bidden him good evening,
demanded:
"Vere is mine poy, Otto?"
"Don't you know?" asked the widow in return, with a tone of surprise.
"No, I does not; he says he goes off mit your poy, but dey both
lies--don't it?"
"My boy never tells a falsehood," was the quiet response of Mrs.
Carleton, whose pale cheek slightly flushed. "Your Otto told the truth
as you well know. Not only that, but he only obeyed you when he went out
in the woods to run into all kinds of danger in search of an animal
which I do not believe can possibly be found."
"All poys ish bad," said the visitor with an impatient sniff, as he took
off his cap and slouched to a chair on the opposite side of the fire.
"Your poy ish badder dan any oder poy; mine Otto is lazy, and if he
doesn't pring pack dot horse I vill pounds him till he don't live."
"He may _never_ come back," said the lady in a low, impressive voice
which would have moved anyone else, but it was lost on the boorish
visitor.
"Hoof! No fear of dot; he alvays comes back ven ve doesn't vant him to
come back."
"Well," said Mrs. Carleton with a sigh, "I am sorry I let Jack go, for
if he had insisted on staying home your boy would have done the same,
though if I was in Otto's place I would consider the woods, with all
their dangers and sufferings, preferable to living with a parent who is
as unfeeling as you."
Jacob Relstaub had both of his horny hands folded over the top of his
heavy cane, which rested on the floor between his large shoes, while his
cap, somewhat resembling the peaked head-gear of his boy, lay beside
him. His broad, ill-favored countenance was darkened by a frown, and it
was easy for the lady to see that the fellow still doubted her word. His
manner of looking about the large room, and a habit of listening
intently, as though he expected to bear approaching footsteps, showed
that he suspected Otto was hiding somewhere in the cabin. Mrs. Carleton
understood his feelings and she was annoyed to anger, for her sensitive
nature felt the insult keenly. Beside, she despised the coarse nature of
the man who seemed so totally lacking in humanity.
The lady was on the point of reproving him with sharp words, when both
were astonished by a gentle knock on the door, such a hail being
contrary to all the rules of the frontier, when the latch-string is not
drawn in. Both looked quickly toward the entrance, and the lady raised
her voice and said:
"The latch-string is out!"
The words were yet on her lips when it was pulled, and the door swung
inward.
The firelight fell upon the figure of an Indian warrior, who stopped on
the threshold as if he doubted whether he would be welcome when those
within saw him. As he stood with the blank darkness behind him and the
crimson glow from the burning logs lighting up the front of his body, he
formed a most striking picture.
He was the ideal of symmetry and manly beauty--one of those productions
of the American race which are very rare, but which, when seen, are the
nearest approach to physical and mental perfection that is ever attained
in this world. He was about five feet ten inches in height, and with
body and limbs in as perfect proportion as the chisel of Phidias ever
carved from marble. Even his long, black hair, which hung luxuriantly
and loosely about his shoulders, was of softer texture than is the rule
with his people. Several stained eagle feathers slanted upward and
outward from the crown, and a double row of brilliant beads encircled
his neck. A fine gold bracelet clasped his left wrist, and the deer-skin
hunting shirt and leggings were clean, and of the finest possible make.
They retained their dull, yellow hue, but the girdle which clasped his
body at the waist was of a red color, so bright that it seemed likely to
attract dangerous attention in the forest. The leggings were fringed,
and the delicate moccasins were also ornamented with colored beads. The
heavy blanket which he carried during severe weather was lacking, for it
would have been only an encumbrance when the climate was mild.
Into the girdle were thrust a tomahawk and hunting knife, while a long
bow was carried in his right hand, and a quiver full of arrows rested
behind his right shoulder, where they could be snatched forth on the
instant. The youthful warrior carried no firearms, for he depended alone
on the primitive weapons which his people had used for centuries.
Splendid as were the frame and limbs of the youth, the greatest
attraction lay in his countenance. His features were classical in their
regularity, excepting the nose, which was just enough aquiline to give
character to his face, and take away the femininity which otherwise
might cling to it.
When he smiled in his faint, shadowy fashion, his teeth were seen to be
small, white, regular, and without the slightest defect, while the
lustrous black eyes glowed with light and feeling. Having closed the
door behind him, he still hesitated to advance until assured he was
welcome.
Although Mrs. Carleton had never seen him before, she was certain of his
identity, and, rising from her seat, she asked:
"Are you Deerfoot the Shawanoe?"
He smiled and inclined his head.
"You are the friend of my boy, and of Otto, the son of Mr. Relstaub.
There is no one in the world who could be more welcome than you. Come
forward and take a seat nearer the fire."
The dusky countenance flushed with pleasure, for the words were warmer
than he was accustomed to hear.
Deerfoot advanced a couple of steps, and, reaching over, drew the rude
stool to him. His diffidence would not allow him to go very near the
blaze.
When Jacob Relstaub heard the name pronounced, he uttered an angry sniff
and banged his cane upon the floor. He said nothing; but he detested the
handsome Indian youth, whom he had driven from his door when he asked
for shelter, and he knew he had been the companion of his boy on the
stirring journey from Kentucky to Louisiana. It mattered not that the
masterful woodcraft of the dusky friend had saved the life of Otto
Relstaub; all that the German remembered was that the valuable horse was
lost, and he blamed this Indian for it, as he censured Jack Carleton for
the same misfortune. The man, however, said nothing for a few minutes.
It was manifest from the manner of Deerfoot that he was disappointed
because he did not meet Jack Carleton. He cast but a single glance
around the apartment, which showed him his young friend was not present;
then, as he gently seated himself, he looked into the pale face of the
widow and said:
"Deerfoot sees not his brother."
"No; Jack and Otto set out on a long hunt this morning. They may be back
in a few days and perhaps not for a fortnight."
"Have they gone to look for the horse that was lost?"
"Yes," answered the lady, with a smile; "I am ashamed to say they have;
but I ask your pardon; have you had supper? Will you not permit me to
give you to eat?"
She was about to rise when Deerfoot, who was resting his bow on the
floor, while he grasped the center as though it was a cane, motioned
with his left hand for her to retain her seat.
"The mother of my friend is good and kind, but Deerfoot cannot eat."
He appeared to be on the point of saying something more, but restrained
himself. The mother was quick to perceive it, and a pang of dread
stirred her heart.
"What were you about to say?" she asked, in her abrupt fashion,
suspending the knitting which she was in the very act of resuming.
Deerfoot was too truthful to deceive her outright; but it is fair to
presume he did not say all that was in his thoughts.
"Deerfoot is sorry his brothers have gone to look for the horse."
"Why?" quickly asked the mother.
"They cannot find him."
"Vy don't they finds him?" asked Jacob Relstaub, banging his cane again
and glaring fiercely at the youth, as though ready to spring upon him.
Deerfoot looked calmly in the forbidding countenance, and asked, more
directly than was his custom:
"Are you the father of my brother, Otto?"
"Yaw; of course I ish. He is one pad poy, as you ish de wust Injin dot
effer vasn't."
Without the least visible excitement, and in the same deliberate
monotone, Deerfoot still looking him straight in the face:
"The father of Otto is a dog; he has no heart. The Great Spirit hides
his face with shame when he looks upon him."
"VAT!" roared Jacob, half rising to his chair and grasping his knobby
cane with both hands, while he trembled with rage. "You don't speak dot
vays to me and I breaks your head."
He suddenly straightened up, and all aglow with fury advanced upon
Deerfoot, who placed his left hand on his knife, quietly arose and faced
him, without speaking.