"How long 've ye been back, Pierre?"
The tone of pretended kindness did not deceive the returned gold-seeker.
"I came into the neighbourhood yesterday," he replied, coldly.
"Have ye seed any one that know'd ye?"
"Not that I am aware of."
"Ye'll excuse me for bein' a leetle rough wi' ye. I war a bit flurried
'beout the gurl bein' out, not knowin' who she wur with. There's a lot
o' fellars arter her, an' it's but right I shed be careful."
Pierre could not object to this.
"Of course," pursued Jerry, after another pause of reflection, "ye heerd
all that passed atween me an' that lot o' diggers?"
"Every word of it."
"An' I suppose you know who they war?"
"Yes; I have good reason."
"Yu're right thar. Ye'll be knowin' then why this chile ain't livin'
any more in the ole shanty, but in a good, comftable frame-house, wi' a
clarin' roun' it?"
"Yes, Jerry Rook, I think I understand that matter."
"Yur won't wonder, then, why I tuk so much pains, six years ago, to send
yur out o' the way? No doubt yur did wonder at that?"
"I did; I don't now. It is all clear enough!"
"An' I reck'n it'll be equally clar to ye, thet yur comin' back ain't a
gwine to do _me_ any good. Jest ruinates me, that's all."
"I don't see that, Jerry Rook."
"Ye don't! But this chile do. The minute any o' them six sets eyes on
yur my game's up, an' thar's nothin' more left but clear out o' this,
an' take to the trees agin. At my time o' life that ere'll be
pleasant."
"You mean that by my showing myself you would lose the six hundred
dollars per annum I've heard you make mention of."
"Not only thet, but--I reckin I may as well tell yer--I am in debt to
Alf Brandon, an' it war only by his believin' in your death I hev been
able to stave it off. Now, Pierre Robideau!"
In his turn the gold-seeker stood reflecting.
"Well, Jerry Rook," he rejoined, after a time, "as to the black mail
you've been levying on these six scoundrels, I have no particular wish
to see them relieved of it. It is but a just punishment for what they
did to me, and to tell you the truth, it has, to some extent, taken the
sting out of my vengeance, for I had come back determined upon a
terrible satisfaction. While serving yourself you've been doing some
service to me!"
"May be," suggested the old pirate, pleased at the turn matters appeared
to be taking, "maybe Pierre, ye'd like things to go on as they air, an'
let me gi'e you more o' the same sort o' satisfackshun? Thar's a way o'
doin' it, without any harm to yurself. It's only for you _to keep out
o' sight_."
Pierre was again silent, as if reflecting on the answer.
He at length gave it.
"You speak truth, Jerry Rook. There is a way, as you've said; but it
must be coupled with a condition."
"What condishun?"
"Your daughter."
"What o' her?"
"I must have her for my wife."
Rook recoiled at the proposal. He was thinking of Alf Brandon and the
plantation, the grand estate he had so long coveted, and set his heart
upon having.
On the other side were the six hundred dollars a-year. But what was
this in comparison? And coupled with a young man for his son-in-law,
who was not even a full-blooded white--poor, perhaps penniless. No
doubt he had come back without a dollar in his pocket.
Was this certain? He had been to California, the country of gold. From
what could be seen of him in the dim light, he appeared well dressed,
and his speech proclaimed him well instructed. He had certainly changed
much from the time of his departure. He may not have returned either so
fortuneless or friendless.
These conjectures kept Jerry Rook from making any immediate answer.