In the conversation recorded Dick Tarleton has thrown some light on his
own history. Not much more is needed to elucidate the statement made by
him--that he must do his travelling _between two days_. He has admitted
almost enough to serve the purposes of our tale which refers only to
him, though a few more words, to fill up the sketch, may not be out of
place.
Richard Tarleton was, in early life, one of those wild spirits by no
means uncommon along the frontier line of civilisation. By birth and
breeding a gentleman; idleness, combined with evil inclinations had led
him into evil ways, and these, in their turn, had brought him to
beggary. Too proud to beg, and too lazy to enter upon any industrious
calling, he had sought to earn his living by cards and other courses
equally disreputable.
Vicksburg and other towns along the Lower Mississippi furnished him with
many victims, till, at length, he made a final settlement in the state
of Arkansas, at that time only a territory, and, as such, the safest
refuge for all characters of a similar kind. The town of Helena became
his head-quarters.
In this grand emporium of scamps and speculators there was nothing in
Dick Tarleton's profession to make him conspicuous. Had he confined
himself to card-playing, he might have passed muster among the most
respectable citizens of the place or its proximity, many of whom, like
himself, were professed "sportsmen." But, Dick was not long in Helena
until he began to be suspected of certain specialities of sport, among
others, that of _nigger-running_. Long absences unaccounted for,
strange company in which he was seen in strange places--both the company
and the places already suspected--with, at times, a plentiful supply of
money drawn from unknown sources, at length fixed upon Dick Tarleton a
stigma of a still darker kind than that of card-playing or even
sharping. It became the belief that he was a _negro-stealer_, a crime
unpardonable in all parts of planter-land--Arkansas not excepted.
Along with this belief, every other stigma that might become connected
with his name was deemed credible, and no one would have doubted Dick
Tarleton's capability of committing whatever atrocity might be charged
to him.
Bad as he was, he was not so bad as represented and believed. A
professed "sportsman," of wild and reckless habits, he knew no limits to
dissipation and common indulgence. Immoral to an extreme degree, it was
never proved that he was guilty of those dark crimes with which he stood
charged or suspected; and the suspicions, when probed to the bottom,
were generally found to be baseless.
There were few, however, who took this trouble, for from the first Dick
Tarleton was far from being a favourite among the fellows who surrounded
him. He was of haughty habits, presuming on the superiority of birth
and education, and--something still less easily tolerated--a handsome
personal appearance. One of the finest looking men to be seen among the
settlements, he was, it need hardly be said, popular among the fair
sex--such of them as might be expected to turn their eyes upon a
_sportsman_.
One of this class--a young girl of exceeding attraction, but, alas! with
tarnished reputation--was at the time an inhabitant of Helena. Among
her admirers, secret and open, were many young men of the place and of
the adjacent plantations. She could count a long list of conquests,
numbering names far above her own rank and station in life. Among those
were Planter Brandon, the lawyer Randall, and, of lesser note, the
horse-dealer, Buck. None of these, however, appeared to have been
successful in obtaining her smiles, which, according to general belief,
were showered on the dissolute but handsome Dick Tarleton.
However it might have gratified the gambler's vanity, it did not add to
his popularity. On the contrary, it increased the spite felt for him,
and caused the dark suspicions to be oftener repeated.
Such were the circumstances preceding a terrible tragedy that one day
startled Helena out of its ordinary tranquillity. The young girl in
question was found in the woods, at no great distance from the town, in
the condition already stated by Dick Tarleton, murdered, and Dick
himself was charged with being the murderer.
He was at once arrested and arraigned, not before a regular court of
justice, but one constituted under a tree, and under the presidency of
Judge Lynch. It was done in all haste, both the arrest and the trial,
and equally quick was the condemnation. The case was so clear. His
pistol, the very weapon that had sent the fatal bullet, in the hurry and
confusion of escape, was let fall upon the ground close by the side of
the victim. His relation with the unfortunate girl--some speech he had
been heard boastingly to utter--a suspected disagreement arising from
it--all pointed to Dick Tarleton as the assassin; and by a unanimous
verdict of his excited judges, prompted by extreme vindictiveness, he
was sentenced to hanging upon a tree.
In five minutes more he would have been consigned to this improvised
gallows, but for the negligence of his executioners. In their blind
fury they had but slightly fastened his hands, while they had forgotten
to strip him of his coat. In the pocket of this there chanced to be
another pistol--the fellow of that found. Its owner remembered it, and,
in the hour of his despair, determined upon an attempt to escape.
Wresting his wrists free from their fastening, he drew the pistol,
discharged it in the face of the man who stood most in his way, and then
clearing a track, sprang off into the woods!
The sudden surprise, the dismay caused by the death of the man shot at--
for he fell dead in his track--held the others for some time as if
spell-bound. When the pursuit commenced Dick Tarleton was out of sight,
and neither Judge Lynch nor his jury ever set eyes upon him again.
The woods were scoured all round, and the roads travelled for days by
parties sent in search of him. But all returned without reporting Dick
Tarleton, or any traces of him.
It was thought that some one must have assisted him in his escape, and
suspicion was directed upon a hunter named Rook, who squatted near White
River--the Jerry Rook of our tale. But no proof could be obtained of
this, and the hunter was left unmolested, though with some additional
stain on a character before not reputed very clean.
Such is a brief sketch of the life of Richard Tarleton--that portion of
it spent on the north-eastern corner of Arkansas. No wonder, with such
a record, he felt constrained to do his travelling by night.
Since that fearful episode, now a long time ago, he had not appeared at
Helena or the settlements around--at least not to the eyes of those who
would care to betray him. Gone to Texas was the general belief--Texas
or some other lawless land, where such crimes are easily condoned. So
spoke the "Puritans" of Arkansas, blind to their own especial blemish.
Even Jerry Rook knew not the whereabouts of his old acquaintance, until
some six years before, when he had come to his cabin under the shadows
of the night, bringing with him a boy whom he hinted at as being his
son, the youth who had that day afforded such fatal sport for his
atrocious tormentors.
The link between the two men could not have been strong, for the hunter,
in taking charge of the boy had stipulated for his "keep," and once or
twice, during the long absence of his father, had shown a disposition to
turn him out of doors. Still more so of late; and doubly more when Lena
showed signs of interference in his favour. Ever, while regarding his
daughter, he seemed to dread the presence of Pierre Robideau, as if the
youth stood between him and some favourite scheme he had formed for her
future.
There need be nothing to fear now--surely not; if Dick Tarleton would
but discharge the debt.
Ah! to suppose this would be to make the grandest of mistakes. The
brain of Jerry Rook was at that moment busy revolving more schemes than
one. But there was one, grand as it was, dire and deadly.
Let our next chapter reveal it.