When young Rody took his departure from Carrol's hut, he went off in no
very enviable mood.
His interview with Nelatu, although of the briefest, had been as
unproductive of results as that with the blunt old backwoodsman.
The plain speaking indulged in by Carrol, and which he had overheard
before entering the cabin, had annoyed him, while the oracular manner
adopted by Cris in no way assuaged the feeling.
The fact of the matter is that the old hunter had made a clear guess at
the truth.
Warren had a passion for Sansuta, the daughter of Oluski.
Not a manly, loving passion, though.
Her beauty had cast a spell upon him. Had his soul been pure, the spell
would have worked its own cure. Out of the magic of her very simplicity
would have arisen chaste love.
But his heart was wicked, and its growth weeds.
Hitherto the difference of race had shielded from harm the object of his
admiration. He would have been ashamed to avow it in an honest way.
Secretly, therefore, he had forged a false friendship for her brother,
as a mask to conceal his base treachery.
In the incident with which our tale opens, he had found a ready means of
advancing his own interests by more closely cementing Nelatu's simple
friendship, and moulding it to his will.
We have said that Red Wolf, the would-be assassin, fell by the bullet of
his rifle.
With his hand upon the trigger, and in the very act of sending this
wretch to his account, a thought had flashed across young Rody's mind,
which made his aim more certain.
Let us explain.
Nelatu said that Red Wolf had spoken wicked words of Sansuta and of
Warren.
The very conjunction of their names supplied the calumny.
Nelatu spoke truly; but what he did not know was, that the wretch who
paid the forfeit of his life for his foul speech was only the dupe of
Nelatu's own friend, Warren Rody.
Red Wolf, an idle, drunken scamp, had been a fit instrument in Rody's
hands to be employed as a messenger between him and the Indian girl.
For these services Red Wolf received repeated compensation in gold.
But the old story of the bad master becoming discontented with a bad
servant was true in this case.
Warren was afraid that Red Wolf would, in one of his drunken orgies,
talk too much, and betray the secret with which he had entrusted him.
So far, he was right; for it was whilst endeavouring to warn Nelatu of
his sister's danger that Red Wolf made use of language about the girl.
He had reviled Nelatu's sister while traducing his friend.
The issue is already known.
Wicked were Warren's thoughts as he stood, rifle in hand, watching the
two.
If Red Wolf--and he recognised him at once--were removed in the very act
of killing Nelatu, a dangerous tongue would be for ever silenced, while
Nelatu's friendship would be further secured, and Sansuta eventually
become his.
The decision was taken, the bullet sent through Red Wolf's brain, and
Warren Rody accomplished a part of his design.
Having succeeded so far, it was terribly mortifying to find that one
clear-sighted individual had penetrated his schemes, and, without
appearing to do so, had placed a restraint upon the otherwise warm sense
of gratitude with which Nelatu regarded him.
All this Cris Carrol had done, and therefore Warren Rody was angry with
him.
He left the cabin vowing vengeance upon Carrol, and casting about for
the means to accomplish it.
He had not long to wait, or far to seek.
At the end of the bye-road upon which the backwoodsman's dwelling stood,
he encountered the very tool suitable for his purpose.
It was in the person of a negro, with a skin black as Erebus, who was
seen perched upon the top of a tall fence.
He was odd enough looking to attract the attention of the most careless
traveller.
His head, denuded of the old ragged piece of felt he called hat, was
unusually large, and covered with an enormous shock of tightly-curling
wool.
This did not, however, conceal the apeish form of the skull, that bore a
strong resemblance to that of a chimpanzee.
Rolling and sparkling in a field of white, were eyes preternaturally
large, and wickedly expressive, above a nose and mouth of the strongest
African type.
His arms were ludicrously long, and seemed by their unusual proportions
to make up for the shortness, and impish form of the body.
He was whistling in a discordant strain some wild melody, and kicking
his heels about like one possessed.
As Warren Rody approached, he paused in his ear-splitting music, and
leaped nimbly from his perch, whilst flourishing his tattered felt in a
sort of salutation.
It might have been observed that he was lame, and the few halting steps
he took imparted a droll, hobbling motion to his diminutive body.
His dress was a curious warp of rags--woven, as it were--upon a still
more ragged woof.
They were held together more by sympathy than cohesion.
In his right hand was a stout gnarled stick, with which he assisted
himself in his frog-like progress.
At sight of young Rody, the huge mouth of this uncouth creature seemed
to open from ear to ear.
"Ha, ha! Who, whoo! Gor bress me, if it ain't Massa Warren hisself dat
I see! My stars, massa, but dis ole man am glad to see ye, dat he is!"
Such was his salutation.
The young man came to a stop, and surveyed the negro with a smile.
"Well, Crookleg, what do you want with me, you old fiend?"
"Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Bress him, what a brave young gen'lman it is! How
han'som'--jess like a pictur'. What do the ole fien' want? Why he want
a good deal, massa, good deal."
"Are you out of work again?"
"Ha, ha, ain't done a bressed stroke of work, massa, for more nor two
week! Ain't, 'pon dis old nigger's solemn word! Ain't had it, massa,
to do. Poor Crookleg am most used up, sa, most used up."
As if to prove his last assertion the hideous wretch cut a high caper
into the air, and settled down again in a grotesque attitude.
Young Rody laughed heartily at this feat, slapped his riding-whip
roughfully across the negro's back, pitched a piece of silver to him,
and passed on.
Whilst Crookleg stopped to pick up the coin he glanced after him under
his arm, and saw, with some surprise, that the youth had paused at a few
paces distance as if in thought.
After a time the latter faced round and came back along the road.
"By the way, Crookleg," said he, "come up to the house, my sister may
have something to give you."
"Ha, ha! he, he! Miss Alice, bress her, so she may, massa! I'll come,
sartin; dis old nigger's always glad to get what he can from Miss
Alice."
"And," continued Rody, "ask for me when you come. I may find something
for you to do that'll help you along a little."
Not staying to hear the voluble expressions of gratitude with which
Crookleg overwhelmed him, Warren strode on, and was soon lost to sight.
The moment of his disappearance the darkey perpetrated another aerial
leap, and then hobbled off in a direction opposite to that pursued by
the governor's son.