A SAD HISTORY.
When Neil McGuire returned home from the "Twin Sycamores," disgusted
at the brutality displayed by his neighbors and comrades, he found his
daughter Nora sitting up awaiting him, late as it was, the fearful
suspense and terror she had endured plainly imprinted upon her pale and
worn countenance.
Shocked at the change, and strongly excited by the events of the last
few hours, McGuire told her all, winding up by saying that he feared
the prisoner would not live to see another day dawn. Nora gave one low
cry and swooned, and when she recovered from it a strong fever set in.
There was no doctor nearer than the fort, even if he could be induced
to journey so far, and as old aunt Eunice had gained quite a reputation
as a nurse, she was called in, while the almost distracted father set
out for medical aid. The doctor came, but his aid was not needed, the
fever had been broken, and, strange to say, Nora was up and about the
house in as apparent good health as ever.
But if the worthy farmer was surprised, we, who are in the secret, need
not be. It was, perhaps, owing to a certain message brought by aunt
Eunice, who kindly turned her back while it was being perused, and when
she did look it had disappeared; but from the frequent journeys made by
the invalid's hand to the region of the heart, it is not difficult to
guess where.
The note was from Clay Poynter, briefly detailing the facts of his
escape, stating that he was in a place of safety, and imploring an
interview, leaving the time and place to her, of which he could be
informed by aunt Eunice. Nora did not hesitate about granting the
request, but the return of her father necessitated a postponement,
greatly to the disappointment of the lover, who was disgusted at only
meeting his old housekeeper when he expected a sweetheart.
Neil McGuire was sorely puzzled and disturbed about something, and soon
opened his mind to Nora the day of his return. It was after supper, and
she had brought him his filled pipe, when he bade her sit down--that he
had something to tell her.
"Do you know, pet, that I half-way fear we have been doing Clay Poynter
a great injustice?"
"Oh, father, I knew it all along!"
"Did you, indeed? Well, as I said, I am afraid we have been mistaken,
although I am not quite certain. And the reason I think so is this:
"It was late in the evening when I got to the fort, and as the doctor
would not start out that same night, I went over to the city; as I
could not bear to sit still while thinking of the danger you might
be in. It was raining, and feeling cold and chilly, I stepped into a
saloon to get a drink, when I met a man who was just a-coming out.
"I was so astonished that you could have knocked me down with a
wheat-straw, for I would have sworn he was none other than _John
Dement_! But while I stood there, he slipped out, and when I started
after him, he was gone. I hunted for an hour, but without success; I
could not find him again."
"And there was no mistake?" anxiously asked Nora.
"There _may_ have been. I might have been deceived, and took some other
person for him. If it _was_ Dement, he had his whiskers colored black,
and his hair trimmed, and of the same color. But I caught his full eye,
and you know it is not a common one."
"Yes, it makes me think of a rattlesnake's," shuddered the maiden.
"Well, even if he is innocent about the murder, there is the other
charge," added McGuire.
"But that may be false, too."
"I don't think so. And yet," he added, after a slight pause, "he didn't
act like a guilty man. I thought it was bravado, then, but now it seems
more like the fearlessness of an honest man."
Nora did not answer, although strongly tempted to do so, for fear she
would reveal more than was prudent, and in a short time both retired.
A little after noon, on the next day, had Neil McGuire glanced up from
his work back of the house and looked almost due west, he would have
seen the trim, dainty form of his daughter, as she disappeared in the
woods, accompanied by aunt Eunice. And perhaps his mind would have been
still more perturbed had he witnessed the fervor with which a certain
stalwart, handsome man embraced Nora, while her antiquated duenna
placidly stared at the bushy top of a neighboring tree.
Whatever it was aunt Eunice saw, it must have been very interesting,
for there she stared, and never once looked around until her name
was called. Then she seated herself at a little distance from the
lovers, pulling out from her pocket a huge stocking, that could only
be intended for one person in the settlement, unless worn upon both
feet at once, industriously knitting, as deaf now as she had been blind
before.
Who says she never had been young?
We need record but one passage in the conversation, as the remainder
was foreign to our purpose.
"Well, pet, I will explain what your father meant when alluding to my
leaving Kentucky. It is true, I did leave there to save my life, much
as I fled from here, although matters had not gone quite so far then.
"When I was but a child, my father was accused--falsely, as I ever
will maintain, although I have no proof--of belonging to Sturdevant's
gang of counterfeiters and horse-thieves. He was arrested and thrown
into prison, but he never had a trial. A band of disguised men forced
the jail, and taking him from his cell, proceeded to a grove some four
miles distant, and hung him like a dog!
"It was nearly a month before the remains were found, by a man hunting
cattle, and then, after his burial, my mother sickened, dying within
the same year. I was but eleven years old then, and although so young,
these fearful events made me desperate.
"The neighbors all looked upon me as a sort of outcast, and taught
their children to shun me as though I were a moral pest. This did not
help me much, and as I grew older, I was taunted and hooted at, for my
father's _crime_!
"But, as my muscles grew, they found this fast becoming a dangerous
sport, for I bitterly resented every insult, even from those twice and
thrice my own age. I had no relations, not even a friend to lean upon,
or to whom I could turn for aid or counsel. And thus I grew up.
"I admit being wild and reckless; but I can honestly say that I never
once committed a mean or criminal deed. And yet I was often accused
in whispers, of being both a counterfeiter and a horse-thief! Almost
any one would have left the place in disgust; but I did not. The only
beings that I had ever loved were lying in the little yard back of our
house.
"I often, when my trials had been unusually bitter, have spent the
livelong night beside the graves of my parents, sobbing as if my
heart would break; and it is to those sacred influences alone that I
attribute my remaining clear of a life of crime--that I did not yield
to the temptations presented to me of living a wild, free life.
"Well, I was at length openly arrested, but as I managed to escape
before trial, I never learned who was my accuser. It would have been
almost certain death to remain there then, as I had no friends who
could assist me to clear myself, and so I fled.
"I went to Arkansas, near Merton, and for a time all went well. I
entered a homestead, and for several years I worked diligently on it;
and then sold it for a fair price, intending to open a store. But my
enemies followed me even there, and the same suspicions were noised
about. I was avoided by all respectable persons as though I had the
plague.
"In disgust I left the place, and from that time until I came here,
I wandered far and near, living an aimless life until I thought I
had once more eluded my pursuers. But you have seen how sadly I was
mistaken; and here, just as life was brightest, the same rumors were
whispered abroad, the old charges were brought up against me. I was
seized and flogged like a dog!"
"Poor Clay!" murmured Nora, through the tears called forth by the sad
history of her lover's life, as she clasped his hand in hers, as if to
still further testify her boundless faith in his truth and honesty.
"Yes, but I go no further. I have found _you_, and now I have an
additional incentive to clear myself, and baffle my secret enemy,
whoever he may be. But how?--that is the question."
After some further conversation, and an appointment being made for
another meeting, the lovers separated, Nora and Eunice returning to the
house, while Poynter walked rapidly away toward his own building.