Kitabı oku: «The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover», sayfa 7
Story 1-Chapter XX.
The Tryst under the Tree
Under the canopy of the great cottonwood the tryst of the lovers was to be kept.
Pierre was there first, and stood within the shadow of the tree, expectant.
There had been nothing to interfere with his coming, either to hinder or retard it. He had left the tavern at an early hour, telling them he might not return that night; and slowly sauntering through the woods, had reached the place of appointment some time before that agreed upon.
Having arrived under the tree, and taken a survey of the ground, he regretted having chosen it as a rendezvous.
Better need not have been desired had the night been dark; but it was not; on the contrary, a clear moon was sailing through the sky.
When Pierre Robideau last stood under that tree there was brushwood around it, with a cane-brake along the edge of the creek. Both were now gone; burnt off long ago to enlarge the little clearing that had sufficed for the cabin of the squatter. There were the stumps of other trees still, and a rough rail fence running up to the corner of the house; but with the exception of these, any one approaching from the house side would find no cover to prevent them from being seen.
It occurred to Pierre Robideau that his sweetheart might be watched. He had reason to believe that her father kept a close eye upon her, and might be suspicious of her movements. What he had seen and heard the day before told him how things stood between Jerry Rook and Alf Brandon.
Once under the cottonwood there would be no danger; even the white dress of a woman could not be descried in the deep shadow of the moss-laden branches – at least, not from any distance, and in case of any one passing accidentally near, the young man knew that the tree was hollow – a huge cavity opening into its trunk, capable of holding a horse. More than once, when a boy, had he and little Lena played hide and seek in this capacious tree-chamber.
On the other side, that opposite to the house, the tree could be approached under cover, along the edge of the creek, where a thin strip of wood had been left standing undisturbed. It was through this he had himself come, after crossing the creek some distance above.
Eleven o’clock came, as he knew by a clock striking inside the house, and then a long spell that seemed nearly a day, though it was not quite an hour. Still no sign of his sweetheart, nor of living thing anywhere outside the dwelling of Jerry Rook.
He could see the porch, and one of the windows beyond it; through this came the light of a lamp or candle indistinct under the bright shimmer of the moonbeams.
Upon the window his eyes were habitually kept, and he indulged in conjecture as to who was the occupant of the lighted room. At first he supposed it to be Lena; but as the time passed without the appointment being kept, he began to fancy it might be her father.
He had no knowledge of the interior of the house; but if the lighted window belonged to the kitchen, it was like enough the old hunter was inside, sitting in a huge arm-chair, and smoking his pipe, a habit that Pierre knew him to indulge in days long past. Moreover, he might set very late up into the morning hours, as he had been often accustomed to do in those same days.
The remembrance made Pierre uneasy, especially as the time stole past, and still no appearance of the expected one.
He was beginning to despair of an interview that night, when the light upon which his eyes had been fixed appeared to have been put out, as the glass showed black under the moonbeams.
“It was she, then,” he muttered to himself. “She has been waiting till all were well asleep. She will come now.”
Forsaking the window, his gaze became fixed upon the porch, within whose shadow he expected her to appear.
She did so, but not until another long interval had elapsed – a fresh trial of the lover’s patience.
Before it was exhausted, however, a form became outlined in the dark doorway – the door having been silently opened – and soon after the moon shone down upon the drapery of a woman’s dress.
The white kerchief upon her head would have enabled Pierre Robideau to recognise her. But that was not needed. The direction she took on stepping out of the porch, told him it was she whom he expected.
She came on, but not as one who walks without fear. She kept along the fence, on its shadowy side, and close in to the rails. Now and then she stopped, looked behind, and listened. That she feared was evidently not abroad, but at home. Some serious cause had detained her beyond her time.
Pierre watched her with eager eyes, with heart beating impatiently, until he felt hers beating against it?
Once more they stood breast to breast, with arms entwining.
Why was she so late? What had detained her?
The questions were put with no thought of reproach, only fear as to the answer.
As Pierre had suspected, Jerry Rook had been sitting up late; and, as she suspected, with some idea of watching her. The lighted room was his, and it was he who had extinguished the candle; she had waited after, till he should be well asleep. She had a terrible time of it, both that day and yesterday. Her father had been very angry with her about several things; he had found out that Pierre had been there; he had cross-questioned her, and made her confess it. It was no use denying it, as her father had found his track, and saw the snake that had been shot; and, besides, one of the negroes had heard a man’s voice along with hers among the trees of the orchard. It made it all the worse that she had tried to conceal it, and been found out. Of course she did not say who it was, only a stranger she had never seen before.
“O, Pierre! I told that great lie about you. God forgive me!”
Her father had gone furious; there was something else, too, that made him so – about Alf Brandon, who had come over to see them just after Pierre had gone.
“What was it about Alf Brandon?” asked Pierre, rather calmly, considering that the individual spoken of was a most dangerous rival.
The young girl noticed this, and answered with some pique.
“Oh! nothing much,” she said, relaxing the pressure of her arms. “At least, nothing, I suppose, you would care about.”
“Nay, dear Lena!” he hastily rejoined, noticing the hurt he had unconsciously occasioned, and drawing her back to his breast, “pardon me for the apparent coldness of the question; I only asked it because I wished to tell you that I know all.”
“All what, Pierre?”
“All that occurred between you and Alf Brandon.”
“And who told you?”
“No one. I’m going to make a confession if you’ll promise not to be angry with me.”
“Angry with you, Pierre?”
“Well, then, it was thus: after leaving you yesterday, I came back again, and took stand under cover of the trees, just over the creek there, at the bottom of the garden. Of course, I could see the house, and all in front of it. I got there just as your father was leaving to meet Mr Brandon by the gate, and I not only saw what passed between you two, but heard most of what was said. It was much as I could do to restrain myself from springing across the creek, and laying the fellow at your feet; but I kept back, thinking of the trouble I might get you into, to say nothing of myself, with your father. I own to all this meanness, Lena, without being able to let you know my motive for it. One reason for my returning, was to look again upon you.”
“Oh, Pierre,” said the girl, once more reciprocating the pressure of his embrace, “if I had only known you were there! But, no; perhaps it was better not. I might have done something that would have betrayed us both.”
“True,” he said. “And, from what I know of your father’s designs, I see that we cannot be too cautious. But, promise me, love; promise, before we part, that, no matter what may arise, nor how long it may be before I gain your father’s consent, that you will still keep true to me. Will you promise this?”
“Promise it! How could you doubt me? After six years – more I may say, for I loved you ever since I first knew you, ay, Pierre, when I was only a little bit of a bare-footed girl – after being true all that time, surely you will not doubt me now? Promise it! Anything, Pierre – anything!”
Firmer and faster became the folding of their arms, closer and closer came their lips, till meeting, they remained together in a long, rapturous kiss.
Story 1-Chapter XXI.
The Tree-Cave
A long, rapturous kiss, and a kiss that came nigh betraying them.
Fortunately, it had ended before anyone was near enough to bear witness to it, or blight its sweetness by rude interruption.
The lovers were about taking leave of each other, their arms were once more free, and they were arranging the time and place for another interview, when the quick ear of the young man, attuned to take notice of suspicious sounds, was caught by one that appeared to be of this character.
It was a rustling among the canes that bordered the creek, with now and then their culms crackling together as if something – man or animal – was making way through them.
The sounds proceeded from a point at some distance; but, as the lovers stood listening, they could tell that, whatever made them, was drawing nearer.
And soon they saw that they were not made by an animal, nor yet by a man, but by several men, who, under the clear light of the moon, could be seen approaching the spot.
And it could be seen, too, that they were not coming on openly and boldly, like men bent on an honest errand, but skulking along the edge of the creek, here and there crouching under the cane, whose thin growth only partially concealed them. The noise they made was inadvertent. They were not making more than they could help, and, if there was any talk between them, it must have been in whispers, as no words were heard by the two standing under the tree.
For them it was too late to retreat unobserved.
They might have done so at first; but not now. The skulkers were too near, and any attempt to get away from the spot would expose the lovers under the full light of the moon.
Their only chance to remain undiscovered was to keep within the shadow of the tree.
Not long before, this, too, appeared doubtful; as they now saw that the dark forms advancing along the edge of the stream must pass close to where they stood – so close as to see them in spite of the obscurity.
Who the cautious travellers were, or what their designs, neither had the slightest idea. But it mattered not what. Enough for the lovers to know that they were in danger of being surprised, and under circumstances to cause them chagrin.
What was to be done? The skulkers were coming on. They would soon be under the tree!
The returned gold-seeker had taken the young girl on his arm – partly with the idea of protecting her should any rudeness he attempted, and partly to inspire her with courage.
He was thinking whether it would not be the best for them to step boldly out and show themselves in the open light. It would less expose them to ridicule, though the lateness of the hour – it was now after midnight – would still render them liable to that. A young lady and gentleman – they had markedly this appearance – indulging in a moonlight stroll at nigh one o’clock of the morning, were not likely to escape scandal if seen.
What was to be done?
At this moment a happy thought came up to answer the question. It flashed simultaneously through the minds of both. Both remembered the cavity in the tree; and without a word to one another – both acting under the same impulse – they glided inside, and stood in shadow dark as the dungeon itself!
They had scarce time to compose themselves ere the party of intruders came up, and stopped right under the tree. To their chagrin they saw this. They had hoped that such early travellers might be bent upon some distant journey, and that once past the spot they would be themselves free to continue their affectionate leave-taking.
They soon perceived that this was not to be. The new comers had halted close up to the trunk, directly in front of the cavity, and although enveloped in deep shadow their figures were distinguishable from the deeper shadow that surrounded the two spectators. Either of these could have touched them by stretching forth a hand!
Neither had thoughts of doing this. On the contrary, they stood motionless as marble, both silently striving to keep back their breath.
Six figures there were – six men – several of them carrying implements, at first taken for guns, but which, on more prolonged scrutiny, proved to be spades and shovels. From the way they were manipulating these tools it was evident they intended making use of them, and on the spot!
The occupants of the tree-cave where puzzled by these preparations. For what were they going to dig?
The blood of both ran cold at the thought of its being a grave. And both had it. What else could they have thought? Six men, armed with excavating implements, at that unearthly time of the night!
And a secret grave, too, for the body of some one whom they had murdered! Else why their stealthy movements, and their talking in low tones, scarce louder than a whisper?
Who could they be? And what their purpose?
These were the questions that came before the minds of Pierre Robideau and Lena Rook, only in thought; they dared not interrogate one another even in whispers. They stood silent, watching the development of events.
“Where can the darned thing be?” asked one of the men, stooping down, and apparently searching for something along the grass. “Who of ye remembers the spot?”
“A little farther out, I think,” answered a voice that caused Lena Rook to start, and take hold of Pierre’s hand. “About here. Yes, here it is. I can feel the lumps upon the turf.”
The speaker appeared to be groping the ground with his feet.
“Alf Brandon!” whispered the girl, with her lips close to her companion’s ear.
The others gathered around the spot indicated by Brandon.
Two who carried spades commenced digging, while a like number of shovel-men followed, throwing out the loose earth.
“Wonder how deep the old skunk has buried him?” asked one.
“Not very deep, I reck’n. Jerry Rook’s too lazy to a dug far down. We’ll soon come to it.”
These were the voices of Bill Buck and Slaughter, the hotel-keeper, recognised by Lena Rook, though not by her companion.
“Do you think there’s a coffin?” inquired one who had not yet spoken. It was Spence.
“No,” answered another new speaker, recognised as Lawyer Randall, “I should say not. The old squatter wasn’t likely to take that trouble for such a creature as Choc, and, as the fellow had no other friends, I think you’ll find him in his deerskin shirt – that is, if Jerry harn’t taken the pains to strip him.”
“The shirt wasn’t worth it,” remarked a sixth speaker, who was the store-keeper, Grubbs.
“The six who hanged you, Pierre!” whispered the girl to him by her side. “The very same!”
Pierre made no reply. He was too much occupied in endeavouring to interpret the strange talk, and comprehend the singular scene passing before him.
“It’s getting hard down here,” said one of the spadesmen. “Seems to me I’ve touched bottom.”
“Old Jerry must have tramped him tight down,” remarked another, adding a slight laugh.
“Don’t speak so loud, boys!” commanded Brandon. “Look at the house, ’tisn’t twenty yards off, and there’s a weasel in it that seldom sleeps. If we’re heard, you know what’ll follow. Keep silent, it may save each of you a hundred dollars a-year.”
At this appeal the diggers turned their eyes towards the house; but only to give a cursory glance, and back to the ground again.
Lena Rook looked longer in that direction, for there was the man she most feared – her father.
Intimately acquainted with the precincts of the dwelling, and, of course, better able to tell if anything was stirring, she saw – what had escaped the notice of the body-stealers – the front door standing open! It should have been shut; for, on coming out, she had carefully closed it behind her!
She had scarce made the discovery when she saw a figure in the doorway, that, after standing a moment as if to reconnoitre and listen, stole out into the porch, and then, stealthily descending the steps, glided crouchingly towards the cover of the orchard. Only for a moment was it under the moonlight; but the young girl had no difficulty in recognising the form of her father!
Something in his hands glistened in the moonlight. It appeared to be a gun.
Pierre’s attention is called to it by a significant pressure on his arm. Pierre also saw the flitting figure and knew whose it was.
The weasel, as Alf Brandon termed him, had not been asleep!
And just like a weasel he had acted; in sight only for six seconds, as he shot across the open space between the porch and the peach trees.
Once among these, he was invisible to the only eyes that had seen him, those of his daughter and Pierre Robideau.
But both expected soon to see him again. He had not gone into the orchard for nothing, and his cat-like movements told that he had suspicion of something astir under the cottonwood, and was stealing round by the creek to approach it unobserved.
Whether he yet saw the excavators could not be known, but he must have heard the clinking of their tools as he stood in the doorway.
Not one of them either heard or saw him, as, without pausing, they continued their work, Brandon having once again counselled them to silence.
“Darned if ’taint the bottom! I told you so,” said Bill Buck, striking his spade point against the ground under his feet. “Thar’s been neyther pick nor spade into this not since the days of old Noah, I reckon. There! try for yourself, Alf Brandon!”
Brandon took the implement offered, and struck it upon the space already stripped, and sunk some eighteen inches below the surface. The ring was that of solid earth that had never been disturbed by a spade.
He tried it in several places, all of which gave back the same sound!
“Clear out the loose mould!” commanded he.
This was done, and once more was the test applied.
“There’s no grave there,” remarked Randall.
“Nor body,” said Spence.
“Not so much as a bone,” added Buck; “no, nor never has been. Dog-gone my cats, if old Rook hasn’t been humbuggin’ us!”
“Ha-ha! He – he – he – he!”
The sounds thus represented were intended for a laugh, that came from the other side of the tree, and in a voice that did not belong to any of the excavating party.
Whatever mirth may have been in the man who uttered them, it failed to communicate itself to any of the six grave-diggers, all of whom, startled at the strange noise, stood staring wildly around them.
If the body for which they had been searching had suddenly appeared in their midst, and given utterance to that unearthly cachination, they could not have been more astonished.
And their astonishment lasted until a man, well known to them, stepped from behind the tree, and discovered himself in the clear moonlight.
“Jerry Rook, by the Eternal!”
Story 1-Chapter XXII.
The Diggers Dismissed
“Yes, Jerry Rook, by the Eternal!” exclaimed the old hunter, with another mocking laugh. “An’ why thet, I shed like to know? Do it astonish ye to see a man by the side o’ his own gurden? I reckin this chile hev got more reezun to be surprised at seem you hyar, one an’ all o’ ye. Who air ye anyhow?” he asked, drawing nearer to the party, and pretending to examine their faces. “Ef this chile ain’t mistaken he heard Bill Buck among ye. Yes, Billee, thet’s you, an’ Mr Planter Brandon, an’ as thar’s four more o’ ye, I reckin’ I kin guess who the t’others air. An’ what mout ye a been doin’? Spades and shovels! Ho – ho! ye’ve been a grave-diggin’, hev ye? Wal, I hope ye’ve goed deep enough. You’re a gwine to berry somebidy, air ye?”
There was no reply. The six excavators had thrown down their tools, and stood in sullen silence.
“Maybe ye were arter the other thing. Doin’ a bit of dissinterry as they call it? Wal, I hope ye foun’ what ye hev been rootin’ for?”
Still no response.
“An’ so, Mr Bill Buck, you think thet Jerry Rook hez been a humbuggin’ ye?”
“I do,” replied Buck, doggedly.
“And so do I.”
“Yes; so all of us.”
“Oh! ye’re agreed beout thet, air ye? Wal, ye ain’t a gwine to humbug me as ye’ve been jest now a tryin’. I warn’t sech a precious fool as to put the poor young fellur’s karkiss whar you could kum and scrape it up agin whenever you’d a mind. Ne’er a bit o’t. I’ve got it safer stowed than that, an’ I’ll take care o’t too, till ye refuse to keep to your contract. When any o’ ye do that I’ll then do a bit o’ dissenterry myself, you see ef I don’t.”
The discomfited excavators had once more relapsed into silence. Having nothing to say by which they could justify themselves, they made no attempt. It was no use to deny either what they had been doing, or its design. Jerry Rook saw the one, and guessed the other.
“Ye ’pear very silent beout it,” he continued, jeeringly. “Wal, ef you’ve got nothing to say, I reckin you’d better all go hum to yur beds an’ sleep the thing over. Preehaps some o’ ye may dream whar the body air laid. Ha – ha – ha!”
They were not all silent, though their speech was not addressed to him. There was whispering among themselves, in which Bill Buck and Slaughter took the principal part; and had there been lights enough for Jerry Rook to see the faces of these two men, and the demoniac fire in their eyes, as they glanced at him, and then towards the spades, he might have changed his hilarious tune, and, perhaps, made hasty retreat into the house.
There was a suggestion that the half-dug grave should be deepened, and a body put into it – the body of Jerry Rook! It came from Slaughter, and was backed by Bill Buck. But the others were not plucky enough for such an extreme measure; and the old squatter was spared. Perhaps his rifle had something to do with the decision. They saw that he had it with him, and, although Jerry Rook was a sexagenarian, they knew him to be a sure and deadly shot. He would not be conquered without a struggle.
“What the ole Nick air ye whisperin’ ’beout?” he asked, seeing them with their heads together. “Plotting some kind o’ a conspyracy, air ye? Wal, plot away. Ef ye kin think o’ any way that’ll git ye clear o’ payin’ me your hundred dollars apiece pree-annum, I’d like to hear it. I know a way, myself, maybe you’d like to hear it?”
“Let’s hear it, then!”
“Wal, I am open to a offer, or, I’ll make one to you; whichsomever you weesh.”
“Make it!”
“Durn it, don’t be so short ’beout it. I only want to be accommodatin’. Ef you’ll each an’ all o’ ye pay me five hundred a piece, down on the nail, an’ no darduckshin, I’ll gie you a clar receet, an’ squar up the hul buzness now!”
“We can’t give you an answer now, Jerry Rook,” interposed the planter, without waiting for the others. “We shall consider your proposal, and tell you some other time.”
“Wal, tak’ yur own time; but remember, all o’ ye, thet Saturday nex air the day of the annival settlin’; an’ don’t fail to meet me at the usooal place. I hain’t no spare beds, or I’d ask you all in; but I s’pose ye’ll be a goin’ back wi’ Mr Slaughter thar, an’ havin’ a drink by way o’ night cap? Don’t forgit your spades; they mout git stole ef you left ’em hyar.”
This bit of irony terminated the scene, so far as the disappointed resurrectionists were concerned, who, like, a band of prowling jackals, scared from a carcass, turned in their tracks and sneaked sulkily away.
“He! he! he!” chuckled the old pirate, as he stood watching them. “Out of the field – he! he! he!” he continued, stooping over the fresh turned earth, and examining their work. “They war playin’ a game wi’ poor cards in thar hand – the set o’ cussed greenhorns! Durnation!”
That this last exclamation had no reference to the episode just ended, was evident from the cloud that passed over his countenance while giving utterance to it. Something else had come into his thoughts, all at once changing them from gay to grave.
“Durnation!” he repeated, stamping on the ground, and glancing angrily around him. “I’d most forgotten it! Whar kin the gurl hev gone?
“Ain’t in her bed; nor ain’t a been this night! Ain’t in the house neyther! Whar kin she be?”
“I thort I mout a foun’ her hyar; but this hain’t hed nuthin’ ter do wi’ her. It kedn’t a’ hed.
“Durn me, ef I don’t b’lieve she’s goed out to meet some un’; an’, maybe, that same fellar as shot the snake! Who the red thunder kin he be? By the Eturnal, ef’t be so, I’ll put a eend to his snake shooting!
“Whar kin the gurl be? I shall look all night, or I’ll find her. She ain’t in the orchart, or I’d a seed her comin’ through. An’ shurly she ain’t goed across the crik? Maybe she’s strayed up behint the stable or the corn-cribs? I’ll try thar.”
The hearts of the lovers, so long held in a suspense, almost agonising, began to beat more tranquilly as they saw him pass away from the spot.
It was but a short respite, lasting only the time occupied by Jerry Rook in taking ten steps.
A hound, beating about the field, had strayed up to the tree and poked his snout into the cavity where they stood concealed.
A short, sharp yelp, followed by a growl, proclaimed the presence of something that ought not to be there.
“Yoicks! good dog!” cried the ci-devant hunter, quick harking to the cry. “What you got thar?”
Hastily returning to the tree, and stopping in front of the dark entrance, he continued —
“Somebidy inside thar? Who air it? Lena, gurl, is’t you?”
Silence broken only by the baying of the hound.
“Hush up, you brute!” cried his master, driving off the dog with a kick. “Hear me thar, you inside! ’Tain’t no good playin’ possum. Ef it’s you, Lena gurl, I command ye to come out.”
Thus summoned, the girl saw it would be no use disobeying. It could serve no purpose, and would only end in her father stepping inside the cavity and dragging her angrily forth.
“I’ll go,” she whispered to her companion. “But stay you, Pierre, and don’t stir! He’ll think I’m alone.”
Pierre had no chance to remonstrate, for on speaking the words, she stepped hastily out, and stood face to face with her father.
“So, so! I’ve foun’ you at last, hev I? An’ that’s the hole in which ye war hidin’, is it? Nice place that for a young lady, as ye think yurself, at this time o’ night! An’ a nice party yer been hevin’ clost to ye! Come, gurl! No denial o’ what you’ve been doin’; but give an explanation o’ yurself! How kim ye to be hyar?”
“O, father! I was walking about. It was such a beautiful night, and I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come out into the field and have a stroll down here to the old tree. I was standing under it when I saw them coming up – Alf Brandon and the others – ”
“Wal, go on!”
“I couldn’t get back without their seeing me, and as I was afraid of them, I slipped inside the hollow.”
“An’ ye war thar all the time, war ye?”
“Yes; all the time.”
“Wal, and what did yur hear?”
“A great deal, father. It’ll take time to tell it all. If you’ll come on into the house, I can repeat better what was said by them. I’m so frightened after what I heard, I want to get away from this horrid place.”
It was a commendable stratagem to secure the retreat of her lover. Unfortunately it did not succeed. The old squatter was too cautious to be so easily deceived.
“O, yes,” he said; “I’ll go ’long wi’ ye into the house; but not afore I’ve fust seed whether thar ain’t somethin’ else in the holler o’ this tree.”
His daughter trembled as he gazed towards the entrance, but her trembling turned to a convulsive agony, as she heard the cocking of his rifle, and saw him point it towards the dark cavity in the trunk.
With a wild cry, she sprang forward, placing herself right before the muzzle of the gun.
Then, in the terrible agitation of the moment, forgetting all else, she shouted:
“Come out, Pierre, come out!”
“Pierre!” cried the furious father. “What Pierre?”
“Oh, father, it is Pierre Robideau!”
It was well Lena Rook had grasped the barrel of the rifle and turned it aside, else along with the last speech the bullet would have passed through the body of Pierre, instead of over his head.
But it was now too late, and Jerry Rook saw it.
The young man had sprung out, and was standing by his side.
Any attempt at violence on his part would have ended by his being dashed instantly to the earth. Beside Pierre Robideau he was like an old wasted wolf in the presence of a young, strong panther.
He felt his inferiority, and cowered upon the instant.
He even assumed the counterfeit of friendship.
“Oh, ’tair you, Pierre, is it? I wouldn’t a knowed yer. It’s so long since I’ve seed yer. You kin go in, gurl. I want to hev some talk wi’ Pierre.”
Lena looked as though she would have stayed. It was a look of strange meaning, but it wore off as she reflected that her lover could be in no danger now, and she walked slowly away.
