Almost as soon as we heard the voices, we saw those who were giving
utterance to them. A horseman appeared issuing from the jaws of the
chasm--another, and another--until eight had filed into the open ground!
They were all armed men--armed with guns, pistols, and knives. He in
the lead was at once identified. The colossal stature, the green
blanket-coat, red shirt, and kerchief turban, proclaimed that the
foremost of our pursuers was Holt himself. Immediately behind him rode
Stebbins; while those following in file were the executive myrmidons of
the Mormon faith--the _Destroying Angels_!
On entering the open ground, Holt alone kept on without slackening his
speed. Stebbins followed, but more cautiously and at a distance of
several lengths of his horse. The Danites at sight of our animals, and
ourselves too--for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks--
drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other--as if irresolute whether
to advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving on
after the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrels
of our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fifty
paces of our position, he too reined in--keeping the body of Holt
between himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance,
without the slightest show of fear. So near had he got to us, that we
could note the expression upon his features, though it was difficult to
understand it. It was one that bespoke reckless determination--no doubt
a determination to recover his child from the savages who had stolen
her; for as yet he had no reason to think otherwise than that we were
Indians. Of course, none of us thought of firing upon Holt; but, had
Stebbins at the moment advanced only a step nearer, there was more than
one rifle ready to give out its deadly detonation.
Holt approached rapidly, his horse going a trot. He held his long gun
obliquely in front of him, and grasped in both hands--as if ready to
fire on the instant. All at once, he checked his horse, dropped the gun
on the pommel of his saddle, and sat gazing towards us with a look of
bewildered surprise. _White_ faces appearing over the rock instead of
_red_ ones, had caused this sudden change in his demeanour.
Before he had time to give utterance to his astonishment, Lilian glided
from behind the boulder, and standing with arms extended, cried out: "O
father! they are not Indians! It is Marian! it is--" At the same
instant her sister appeared by her side.
"Marian alive!" cried Holt, recognising his long-lost daughter. "My
child Marian yet livin'! God be praised! Thur's one weight off o' my
poor soul--an' now to eeze it o' another!" As he uttered the last
words, he wrenched his horse half around, and dropped to his feet upon
the nearer side. Then, quickly resting his rifle over the hollow of the
saddle, he brought its barrel to bear on the breast of Stebbins--who
still sat upon horseback, scarce twenty paces distant from its muzzle.
"Now, Josh Stebbins!" cried the squatter, in a voice of thunder, "the
time's come to squar the yards wi' _you_!"
"What do you mean, Holt?" mechanically inquired the Mormon, in trembling
surprise. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, you infernal skunk, that afore ye leave this groun', ye've got
to make a clean breast o' it, an' clar me o' the crime o' murder."
"What murder?" inquired Stebbins, prevaricatingly.
"Oh! you know what I'm talkin' about! 'Twant _no_ murder. 'Twar only a
suicide; an' God knows it broke my own heart." Holt's voice was husky
with emotion. He continued, after a pause: "For all o' that,
appearances wur agin' me: an' you invented proofs that wud a stood good
among lawyers, though thur as false as yur own black heart. Ye've kep'
'm over me for years, to sarve yer rascally designs. But thur's neither
law nor lawyers hyur to help you any longer. Thur's witnesses o' both
sides--yur own beauties down yander; an' some hyur o' a better sort, I
reck'n. Afore them, I call on ye to declar that yur proofs wur false,
an' that I'm innocent o' the crime o' murder!"
There was a profound silence when the speaker finished. The strange and
unexpected nature of the demand, held every one in breathless surprise.
Even the armed men at the bottom of the _vallon_ said not a word; and
perceiving that, by the defection of Holt, there was almost gun for gun
against them, they showed no signs of advancing to the protection of
their apostolic leader. The latter appeared for a moment to vacillate.
The fear depicted upon his features was blended with an expression of
the most vindictive bitterness--as that of a tyrant forced to yield up
some despotic privilege which he has long wielded. True, it mattered
little to him now. The intended victims of his vile contrivance--
whatever it may have been--were likely to escape from his control in
another way; but, for all that, he seemed loth to part with even the
shadow of his former influence. He was not allowed much time for
reflection: scarce the opportunity to look round upon his Danites,
which, however, he did--glancing back as if desirous of retreating
towards them.
"Stan' yur groun'!" shouted the squatter in a tone of menace--"stan' yur
groun'! Don't dar to turn yur face from me! Ef ye do, ye'll only get
the bullet in yur back. Now, confess! or, by the etarnal God! you
hain't another second to sit in that seddle!" The quick threatening
manner in which the speaker grasped his gun, told Stebbins that
prevarication would be idle. In hurried speech, he replied: "You
committed no murder, Hickman Holt! I never said you did!"
"No! but you said you would; and you invented proofs o' it? Confess you
invented proofs, an' kep' 'em over my head like a black shadder?
Confess that!" Stebbins hesitated. "Quick, or ye're a dead man!"
"I did," muttered the guilty wretch, trembling as he spoke. "An' the
proofs wur false!"
"They were false--I confess it."
"Enuf!" cried Holt, drawing down his gun. "Enuf for me. An' now, ye
cowardly snake, ye may go wi' yur beauties yander. They'll not like ye
a bit the wuss for all this. Ye may go--an' carry yur conscience along
wi' ye--ef that 'll be any comfort to ye. Away wi' ye!"
"No!" exclaimed a voice from behind, and at the same time Wingrove was
seen stepping out from the rock. "Not yet adzactly. _I've_ got a score
to settle wi' the skunk. The man who'd plot that way agin another,
hain't ought to live. _You_ may let him off, Hick Holt, but _I_ won't;
nor wud you eyther, I reck'n, if you knew--"
"Knew what!" interrupted the squatter. "What he intended for your
daughter."
"He air my daughter's husband," rejoined Holt, in a tone that betokened
a mixture of bitterness and shame. "That was my fault, God forgi' me!"
"He ain't her husband--nothin' o' the kind. The marriage war a sham.
He war takin' poor Marian out thar for a diffrent purpose--an' Lilian
too."
"For what purpose?" cried Holt, a new light seeming suddenly to break
upon his mind.
"To make--" answered Wingrove hesitatingly. "I can't say the word, Hick
Holt, in presence o' the girls--to make _wives_ to the Mormon Prophet--
that's what he intended wi' both o' 'em."
The scream that, like the neigh of an angry horse, burst from the lips
of the squatter, drowned the last words of Wingrove's speech; and
simultaneously the report of a rifle pealed upon the air. A cloud of
smoke for a moment enveloped Holt and his horse, from the midst of which
came a repetition of that wild vengeful cry. At the same instant the
steed of Stebbins was seen running riderless down the valley, while the
Saint himself lay stretched, face upward, upon the sward! His body
remained motionless. He was dead--a purple spot on his forehead showing
where the fatal bullet had entered his brain!
The sisters had just time to shelter themselves behind the rocks when a
volley from the Danites was poured upon us. Their shots fell harmlessly
around; while ours, fired in return, had been better aimed; and another
of these fearful men, dropping out of his saddle, yielded up his life
upon the spot. The remaining five, seeing that the day had gone against
them, wheeled suddenly about; and galloped back down the gorge--ten
times faster than they had ridden up it. It was the last we saw of the
_Destroying Angels_!
"O my children!" cried Holt, in a supplicating tone, as he staggered
forward, and received both within his outstretched embrace, "will ye--
can ye forgi' me? O God! I've been a bad father to ye; but I knew not
the wickedness o' these Mormon people. No--nor half o' _his_, till it
war too late; an' now--"
"And now, father!" said Marian, interrupting his contrite speech with a
consoling smile, "speak not of forgiveness! There is nothing to
forgive; and perhaps not much to regret: since the perils we have gone
through, have proved our fidelity to one another. We shall return home
all the happier, having escaped from so many dangers, dear father!"
"Ah, Marian, gurl, you don't know all--we hev now no home to go to!"
"The same you ever had," interposed I, "if you will consent to accept
it. The old cabin on Mud Creek will hold us all till we can build a
larger one. But no,"--I added, correcting myself--"I see two here who
will scarcely feel inclined to share its hospitality. Another cabin,
higher up the creek, will be likely to claim them for its tenants?"
Marian blushed; while the young backwoodsman, although turning equally
red at the allusion, had the courage to stammer out, that he always
"thort his cabin war big enough for two."
"Stranger!" said Holt, turning to me, and frankly extending his hand,
"I've much to be ashamed o', an' much to thank ye for; but I accept yur
kind offer. You bought the land, an' I'd return ye the money, ef 't
hedn't been all spent. I thort I kud a made up for it, by gieing ye
somethin' ye mout a liked better. Now I see I can't even gi' ye that
somethin' since it appears to be yourn a'ready. Ye've won her,
stranger! an' ye've got her. All I kin now do is to say, that, from the
bottom o' my heart I consent to yur keepin' her."
"Thanks--thanks!" Lilian was mine for ever.
The curtain falls upon our drama; and brief must be the epilogue. To
scenes warlike and savage succeeded those of a pacific and civilised
character--as the turbulent torrent, debouching from its mountain
channel, flows in tranquil current through the alluvion of the level
plain. By our Utah allies, whom we encountered on the following day, we
were "outfitted" for recrossing the prairies--the abandoned waggon, with
a team of Indian mules, affording a proper means of transport. Not
without regret did we part with the friendly Mexican trapper, and our
brave associates, the ex-rifleman and ex-infantry. We had afterwards
the gratification to learn that the scalpless man survived his terrible
mutilation; that under the protection of Peg-leg, he and Sure-shot were
taken to the valley of Taos--whence, along with the next migration of
"diggers," they proceeded, by the Colorado, to the golden placers of
California.
To detail the incidents of our homeward journey, were a pleasant task
for the pen; but the record would scarcely interest the reader. The
colossal squatter, silent but cheerful, drove the waggon, and busied
himself about the management of his mules. The young backwoodsman and I
were thus left free to interchange with our respective "sweethearts"
those phrases of delirious endearment--those glances of exquisite
sweetness, that only pass between eyes illumined by the light of a
mutual love. Proverbially sweet is the month after marriage; but the
honeymoon, with all its joys, could not have exceeded in bliss those
ante-nuptial hours spent by us in recrossing the prairies. Clear as the
sky over our heads was the horoscope of our hearts; all doubt and
suspicion had passed away; not a shadow lingered upon the horizon of our
future, to dim the perfect happiness we enjoyed. In our case, the
delight of anticipation could not be enhanced by actual possession:
since we had possession already.
We arrived safely in Swampville. In the post-office of that interesting
village a letter awaited me, of which "jet black was de seal." Under
ordinary circumstances, this should have cast a gloom upon my joy; but
candour forces me to confess that a perusal of the contents of that
epistle produced upon me an effect altogether the reverse. The letter
announced the demise of an octogenarian female relative--whom I had
never seen--but who, for a full decade of years, beyond the period
allotted to the life of man--or women either--had obstinately persisted
in standing betwixt me and a small reversion--so long, indeed, that I
had ceased to regard it as an "expectation." It was of no great amount;
but, arriving just then in the very "nick o' time," was doubly welcome;
and under its magical influence, a large quantity of superfluous timber
soon disappeared from the banks of Mud Creek.
Ah! the squatter's clearing, with its zigzag fence, its girdled trees,
and white dead-woods! It is no longer recognisable. The log-hut is
replaced by a pretentious frame-dwelling with portico and verandahs--
almost a mansion. The little maize patch, scarcely an acre in extent,
is now a splendid plantation, of many fields--in which wave the golden
tassels of the Indian corn, the broad leaves of another indigenous
vegetable--the aromatic "Indian weed," and the gossamer-like florets of
the precious cotton-plant. Even the squatter himself you would scarcely
recognise, in the respectable old gentleman, who, mounted upon his cob,
with a long rifle over his shoulder, rides around, looking after the
affairs of the plantation, and picking off the squirrels, who threaten
the young corn with their destructive depredations. It is not the only
plantation upon Mud Creek. A little further up the stream, another is
met with--almost equally extended, and cultivated in like manner. Need
I say who is the owner of this last? Who should it be, but the young
backwoodsman--now transformed into a prosperous planter? The two
estates are contiguous, and no jealous fence separates the one from the
other. Both extend to that flowery glade, of somewhat sad notoriety
whose bordering woods are still undefiled by the axe.
Not there, but in another spot, alike flowery and pleasant, the eye of
the soaring eagle, looking from aloft, may see united together a joyous
group--the owners of the two plantations--with their young wives, Marian
and Lilian. The sisters are still in the fall bloom of their
incomparable beauty. In neither is the maiden yet subdued into the
matron--though each beholds her own type reflected in more than one
bright face smiling by her side; while more than one little voice lisps
sweetly in her ear that word of fond endearment--the first that falls
from human lips. Ah! beloved Lilian! thine is not a beauty born to
blush but for an hour. In my eyes, it can never fade; but, like the
blossom of the citron, seems only the fairer, by the side of its own
fruit! I leave it to other lips to symbol the praises of thy sister--
The Wild Huntress.