NORMAN MEETS HIS ENEMY.
“Don’t make any wanton move,” warned Woodranger. “If I’m not mistaken
the younker is one o’ the Scotch settlers on the river, and he’s a
likely lad, or I’m no jedge o’ human natur’.”
“I jess want him to know he ain’t going to play Injun with me,” replied
Gunwad. Then, speaking in a louder key to Norman, he said:
“Climb down hyur, youngster, and see thet ye air spry erbout it, for I
don’t think o’ spending the night in these woods.”
“I will be with you in a moment,” said Norman, starting toward the west
end of the cliff, where he could descend with comparative ease. He had
overheard enough to understand that Gunwad would prove no friend to
him, though he did not realise the deer reeve’s full intent.
“One o’ ’em condemned furriners!” muttered Gunwad. “I’d as soon snap
him up as thet copper-skin. Hi, there, youngster! be keerful how ye
handle thet shooting-iron,” as Norman inadvertently lifted the weapon
toward his shoulder in trying to avoid a bush.
“You have nothing to fear, as it isn’t loaded. I――”
“Isn’t loaded, eh?” demanded the deer reeve. “Let me take it.”
Norman handed him the firearm, as requested, and then turned to look at
Woodranger, who was watching the scene in silence, with a look in his
blue eyes that it was difficult to read.
“I reckon I’ve got all the evidence I shall need,” said Gunwad, after
hastily examining the gun. “You’ll need to go with me to Chelmsford,
youngster, to answer the grave charge of shooting deer out o’ season.
It’ll only cost ye ten pounds, or forty days’ work for the province.
Better have waited ernother day afore ye took yer leetle hunt!”
“I have shot no deer, sir,” replied Norman. “Neither have I hunted
deer.”
“Don’t make yer case enny wuss by trying to lie out o’ it. The
circumstances air all ag’in ye. Air ye coming erlong quiet like, or
shall I hev to call on Woodranger to help me?”
“Where are you going to take me?” asked Norman, feeling his first real
alarm. “Grandfather will be worried about me if I go away without
telling him――”
“Old man will be worrited, eh? O’ all the oxcuses to git out’n a bad
fix thet’s the tarnalest. D’ye hear thet, Woodranger?”
Nettled by the words, Norman showed some of the spirit of the McNiels,
exclaiming sharply:
“Sir, I have hunted no deer, shot no deer, and there is no reason why
you should make me prisoner. I have transgressed no law, as far as I
know.”
“Ignerance is no excuse for breaking a law, youngster. The facts air
all ag’in ye. Ain’t this yer dog? and weren’t he chasing thet deer?”
“He was chasing the deer, but surely you do not blame the hound for
doing what his natural instinct told him to do? To him all seasons are
as one, and the laws of man unknown.”
“A good p’int, lad,” said Woodranger, speaking for the first time since
Norman had reached the foot of the cliff.
“But it does not clear yer frills from the law made by honourable
law-makers and sanctioned by good King George,” retorted Gunwad,
angrily. “Ye ’low yer dog was chasing the deer?”
“I have not said he was my dog, sir. He came to my house about a week
ago and would stay with us. I――”
“’Mounts to the same as if he wus yers. I s’pose ye deny this is yer
gun and thet it’s as empty as a last year’s nutshell?”
“The gun is mine, sir, and it is empty because I wasted my ammunition
on a hawk an hour since. I had no more powder with me.”
“A story jess erbout in keeping with the other. Afore ye take up lying
fer a bizness I should ’vise ye to do a leetle practising. But I hev
got evidence ernough, so kem erlong without enny more palaver.”
Norman saw that it would be useless to remonstrate with the obstinate
deer reeve, and he began to realise that he might have serious trouble
with him before he could convince him and his friends of his innocence.
Accordingly he hesitated before he said:
“I am innocent of this charge, sir, but if you will allow me to go home
and tell sister and grandfather――”
“Go home!” again broke in Gunwad, who had no respect for another’s
feelings. “If thet ain’t the coolest thing I ever heerd of. I s’pose
ye think I’m innercent ernough to let ye take yer own way o’ going
to Chelmsford to answer to the grave charge o’ shooting deer out
o’ season. Did ye ever see the match o’ thet consarned audacity,
Woodranger?”
“It seems ag’in reason for me to think the lad means to play you
double, Gunwad,” said the Woodranger, deliberately. “It seems too bad
to put the lad to this inconvanience. I ’low, down ’mong ’em strangers
it’ll be a purty sharp amazement for him to prove his innercence, but
the lad’s tongue tells a purty straight story. I disbelieve he was
consarned in the killing o’ the deer.”
“Oh, ho! so thet’s the way the stick floats with ye, Woodranger? Mebbe
ye know crossways, but Captain Blanchard has the name o’ being square
and erbove board in his dealings. Ye can go down ef ye wanter, jess to
show thet the deer jumped off’n the rock o’ its own free will. Ha, ha!
thet’s a kink fer ye to straighten.”
“It would be easier done ’cording to my string o’ knots, than to fairly
prove the lad was to blame for its killing. I’ve heerd o’ deer jumping
off’n sich places out o’ a pure wish to end their days. Up north, some
years sence, I see, myself, an old sick buck march plumb down and sort
o’ throw hisself over a cliff o’ rock, where the leetle life left in
him was knocked flat. I was laying in ambushment for him, but seeing
the creetur’s intentions I jess waited to see what he would do. As I
have said afore, I do not believe in wanton killing, and deer, ’cording
to my mind, is next to the human family. This air rock has peculiar
’tractions for the low-spirited, and ther’ are them as say the ghost o’
poor Rimmon haunts the place, and it ain’t so onreasonable in the light
o’ some other things.”
Woodranger’s speech had reference to the legend current among the
Indians that a daughter of the mighty chief of the North, Chicorua,
once fell in love with a Pennacook brave; but her dusky lover proved
recreant to Rimmon, as the maiden was called, and she, unable to credit
the stories told of her betrothed, sought this locality by stealth to
learn if reports were true concerning him. Alas for her hopes! she was
soon only too well satisfied of their truthfulness, and, rather than
return to her home, in her grief and disappointment, she courted death
by leaping from this high rock. Hence the name Rock Rimmon.
“How long has it been sence the Indian killer turned philosopher and
begun to preach?” demanded Gunwad, whose coarse nature failed to
appreciate the sentiments of his companion.
“Let’s see,” said Woodranger, ignoring the other’s sneering words, “the
law ag’in killing deer will be off afore you get the lad tried. If I
remember right it was to last from the first day o’ January to the
first day o’ August, and it being now nigh about six o’clock on the
last day o’ July, there are only six hours or so left――”
“What difference does thet make?” cried Gunwad, with increasing anger.
“Ef ye keep me hyur till to-morrow morning it’ll be the same. But I
ain’t trying the youngster. Ef he’ll kem erlong Squire Blanchard will
settle his ’count.”
“And give you half the fine, I s’pose,” continued the imperturbable
Woodranger, with his accustomed moderation.
“I shall ’arn it!” snapped the other. “But it’s ye making me more
trubble than he, Woodranger.”
“I have a plan by which I may be able to more than even things with
you, Gunwad, as bad as I have been. What time will you start for
Chelmsford in the morning?”
“An hour erfore sunup.”
“Where do you think o’ taking the lad to-night?”
“Down to Shepley’s.”
“He’s away, and the women folks might object to having a deer slayer in
the house.”
“I shall stay with him.”
“They might object to you, too! But that ain’t neither here nor there.
I reckon the lad’s folks are going to be greatly consarned over his
disappearance, so I have been thinking it would be better to let him go
home now.”
Gunwad was about to utter an angry speech, when the three were startled
by the ringing note of a bugle sounding sharply on the still afternoon
air. The first peal had barely died away before it was followed by two
others in rapid succession, louder, clearer, and more prolonged each
time.
“It’s grandfather!” exclaimed Norman, excitedly. “There is something
wrong at home.”