I felt faint enough to have reeled from the saddle; but the necessity of
concealing the thoughts that were passing within me, kept me firm.
There are suspicions that even a bosom friend may not share; and mine
were of this character, if suspicions they could be called. Unhappily,
they approached the nature of convictions.
I saw that Gallagher was mystified; not, as I supposed, by the tracks
upon the ground, but by my behaviour in regard to them. He had observed
my excited manner on taking up the trail, and while following it; he
could not have failed to do so; and now, on reaching the glade, he
looked upon a pallid face, and lips quivering with emotions to him
unintelligible.
"What is it, Geordie, my boy? Do you think the ridskin has been after
some dhirty game? Playing the spy on your plantation, eh?"
The question aided me in my dilemma. It suggested a reply which I did
not believe to be the truth.
"Likely enough," I answered, without displaying any embarrassment; "an
Indian spy, I have no doubt of it; and evidently in communication with
some of the negroes, since this is the track of a pony that belongs to
the plantation. Some of them have ridden thus far to meet him; though
for what purpose it is difficult to guess."
"Massa George," spoke out my black follower, "dar's no one ebber ride da
White Fox, 'ceptin'--"
"Jake!" I shouted, sharply interrupting him, "gallop forward to the
house, and tell them we are coming. Quick, my man!"
My command was too positive to be obeyed with hesitation; and, without
finishing his speech, the black put spurs to his cob, and rode rapidly
past us.
It was a manoeuvre of mere precaution. But the moment before, I had no
thought of dispatching an _avant courier_ to announce us. I knew what
the simple fellow was about to say: "No one ebber ride da White Fox,
'ceptin' Missa Vaginny;" and I had adopted this ruse to stifle his
speech.
I glanced towards my companion, after Jake had passed out of sight. He
was a man of open heart and free of tongue, with not one particle of the
secretive principle in his nature. His fine florid face was seldom
marked by a line of suspicion; but I observed that it now wore a puzzled
expression, and I felt uneasy. No remark, however, was made by either
of us; and turning into the path which Jake had taken, we rode forward.
The path was a cattle-track--too narrow to admit of our riding abreast;
and Gallagher permitting me to act as pilot, drew his horse into the
rear. In this way we moved silently onward.
I had no need to direct my horse. It was an old road to him: he knew
where he was going. I took no heed of him, but left him to stride
forward at his will.
I scarcely looked at the path--once or twice only--and then I saw the
tracks of the pony--backward and forward; but I heeded them no more; I
knew whence and whither they led.
I was too much occupied with thoughts within, to notice aught without or
around me.
Could it have been any other than Virginia? Who else? It was true what
Jake had intended to say--that no one except my sister ever rode "White
Fox"--no one upon the plantation being permitted to mount this favourite
miniature of a steed.
Yes--there was an exception. I had seen Viola upon him. Perhaps Jake
would have added this exception, had I allowed him to finish his speech.
Might it have been Viola?
But what could be her purpose in meeting the Seminole chief? for that
the person who rode the pony had held an interview with the latter,
there could not be the shadow of a doubt; the tracks told that clearly
enough.
What motive could have moved the quadroon to such a meeting? Surely
none. Not surely, either; how could _I_ say so? I had been long
absent; many strange events had transpired in my absence--many changes.
How could I tell but that Viola had grown "tired" of her sable
sweetheart, and looked kindly upon the dashing chieftain? No doubt
there had been many opportunities for her seeing the latter; for, after
my departure for the north, several years had elapsed before the
expulsion of the Powells from their plantation. And now, that I thought
of it, I remembered something--a trifling circumstance that had occurred
on that very day when young Powell first appeared among us: Viola had
expressed admiration of the handsome youth. I remembered that this had
made Black Jake very angry; that my sister, too, had been angry, and
scolded Viola, as I thought at the time, for mortifying her faithful
lover. Viola was a beauty, and like most beauties, a coquette. My
conjecture might be right. It was pleasant to think so; but, alas, poor
Jake!
Another slight circumstance tended to confirm this view. I had observed
of late a change in my henchman; he was certainly not as cheerful as of
yore; he appeared more reflective--serious--dull.
God grant that this might be the explanation!
There was another conjecture that offered me a hope; one that, if true,
would have satisfied me still better, for I had a strong feeling of
friendship for Black Jake.
The other hypothesis was simply what Gallagher had already suggested--
although White Fox was not allowed to be ridden, some of the people
might have _stolen him for a ride_. It was possible, and not without
probability. There might be disaffected slaves on our plantation--there
were on almost every other--who were in communication with hostile
Indians. The place was more than a mile from the house. Riding would
be pleasanter than walking; and taking the pony from its pastures might
be easily accomplished, without fear of observation. A great black
negro may have been the rider after all. God grant that _this_ might be
the true explanation!
The mental prayer had scarcely passed my thoughts, when an object came
under my eyes, that swept my theories to the wind, sending a fresh pang
through my heart.
A locust tree grew by the side of the path, with its branches extending
partially across. A strip of ribbon had caught on one of the spines,
and was waving in the breeze. It was silk, and of fine texture--a bit
of the trimming of a lady's dress torn off by the thorn.
To me it was a sad token. My fabric of hopeful fancies fell into ruin
at the sight. No negro--not even Viola--could have left such evidence
as that; and I shuddered as I spurred past the fluttering relic.
I was in hopes my companion would not observe it; but he did. It was
too conspicuous to be passed without notice. As I glanced back over my
shoulder, I saw him reach out his arm, snatch the fragment from the
branch, and gaze upon it with a puzzled and inquiring look.
Fearing he might ride up and question me, I spurred my horse into a
rapid gallop, at the same time calling to him to follow.
Ten minutes after, we entered the lawn and pulled up in front of the
house. My mother and sister had come out into the verandah to receive
us; and we were greeted with words of welcome.
But I heard, or heeded them not; my gaze was riveted on Virginia--upon
her dress. It was a _riding-habit_: the plumed chapeau was still upon
her head!
My beautiful sister--never seemed she more beautiful than at that
moment; her cheeks were crimsoned with the wind, her golden tresses
hanging over them. But it joyed me not to see her so fair: in my eyes,
she appeared a fallen angel.
I glanced at Gallagher as I tottered out of my saddle: I saw that he
comprehended all. Nay, more--his countenance wore an expression
indicative of great mental suffering, apparently as acute as my own. My
friend he was--tried and true; he had observed my anguish--he now
guessed the cause; and his look betokened the deep sympathy with which
my misfortune inspired him.