Matilda Montgomerie; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled

by Major Richardson

  CHAPTER XXV.

  There was a time, when to have met his father's enemy thus would havebeen to have called into activity all the dormant fierceness of Gerald'snature; but since they had last parted, a new channel had been opened tohis feelings, and the deep and mysterious grief in which we have seenhim shrouded had been of so absorbing and selfish a nature, as to leavehim little consideration for sorrows not his own. The rash impetuosityof his former character, which had often led him to act even before hethought, and to resent an injury before it could well be said to havebeen offered, had moreover given place to a self-command, the fruit ofthe reflective habits and desire of concealment which had made himlatterly almost a stranger to himself.

  Whatever his motives for outwardly avoiding all recognition of thesettler, certain it is that, so far from this, he sought sedulously toconceal his own identity, by drawing the slouched hat, which formed aportion of his new equipment, lower over his eyes. Left to do the dutiesof the rude hostelry, Captain Jackson and he now quitted the hut, andleading their jaded, smoking steeds, a few rods off to the verge of theplain they had so recently traversed, prepared to dispose of them forthe night. Gerald had by this time become too experienced in the mode oftravelling through an American wilderness, not to understand, that hewho expects to find a companion in his horse in the morning must dulysecure him with the tether at night. Following, therefore, the exampleof the Aide-de-camp, he applied himself, amid the still pelting rain, tothe not very cleanly task of binding round the fetlock joints of hissteed several yards of untanned hide strips, with which they wereseverally provided for the purpose. Each gave his steed a parting slapon the buttock with the hard bridle. Jackson exclaiming, "Go yeluxurious beasts--ye have a whole prairie of wet grass to revel in forthe night," and then left them to make the best of their dainty food.

  While returning, Grantham took occasion to observe, that he had reasonto think he knew the surly and inhospitable woodsman, by whom however hewas not desirous of being recognised, and therefore begged as a favorthat Captain Jackson would not, in the course of the night, mention hisname, or even allude to him in any way that could lead to an inferencethat he was any other than he seemed, a companion and brother officer ofhis own; promising, in conclusion, to give him, in the course of thenext day's journey, some little history of the man which would fullyexplain his motives. With this request Jackson unhesitatingly promisedcompliance, adding, good-humoredly, that he was not sorry to pledgehimself to anything that would thaw his companion's tongue intosociability, and render himself, for the first time since theirdeparture, a listener. Before entering the hut Gerald further observedin a whisper that, the better to escape recognition, he would, as muchas possible, avoid joining in any conversation which might ensue, andtherefore hoped his companion would not think him rude if he sufferedhim to bear the tax. Jackson again promised to keep the attention of thewoodsman directed as much as possible to himself, observing that hethought Gerald had already, to his cost, discovered he was one noteasily tired out by conversation, should their host be that wayinclined.

  On opening the door of the cabin, they found that the woodsman--or moreproperly the settler, as we shall again term him--making a virtue ofnecessity, had somewhat changed its interior. A number of fine logs,sufficient to last throughout the night had been heaped upon the hearth,and these, crackling and fizzing, and emitting sparks in all the burlyof a hickory wood fire, gave promise of a night of comparative comfort.Ensconced in the farther corner of the chimney, the settler had alreadytaken his seat, and, regardless of the entrance of the strangers, (withhis elbows resting on his knees, and his face buried in his largepalms,) kept his eyes fixed upon the fire, as if with a sullendetermination neither to speak nor suffer himself to be questioned. Butthe Aide-de-camp was by no means disposed to humor him in his fancy. Theidea of passing some eight or ten consecutive hours in company with twofellow beings, without calling into full play the bump of loquacity withwhich nature had largely endowed him, was, in his view, little betterthan the evil from which his perseverance had just enabled him toescape. Making himself perfectly at home, he unbuckled the wet blanketfrom his loins and spreading it, with that of Gerald, to dry upon therude floor before the fire, drew forward a heavy uncouth-looking table,(which, with two or three equally unpolished chairs, formed the whole ofthe furniture,) and deposited thereon the wallet or haversack in whichremained a portion of provision. He then secured the last vacant chair,and taking up a position on the right of the table which lay betweenhimself and Gerald, let it fall upon the dry clay hearth, with aviolence that caused the settler to quit his attitude of abstraction forone of anger and surprise.

  "Sorry to disturb you, friend," he said, "but these chairs of yours areso cursed heavy, there's no handling them decently; 'specially with coldfingers."

  "Beggars, I reckon, have no right to be choosers," returned the settler;"the chairs is quite good enough for me--and no one axed you to sit on'em."

  "I'll tell you what it is, old cock," continued the Aide-de-camp, edginghis seat closer, and giving his host a smart friendly slap upon thethigh, "this dull life of yours don't much improve your temper. Why, asI am a true Tennessee man, bred and born, I never set eyes upon such acrab-apple in all my life--you'd turn a whole dairy of the sweetest milkthat ever came from prairie-grass sour in less than no time. I take ityou must be crossed in love, old boy--eh?"

  "Crossed in hell," returned the settler, savagely; "I reckon as how itdon't consarn you whether I look sour or sweet--what you want is anight's lodgin', and you've got it--so don't trouble me no more."

  "Very sorry, but I shall," said Jackson, secretly congratulating himselfthat, now he had got the tongue of his host in motion, he had a fairchance of keeping it so. "I must trouble you for some bread, andwhatever else your larder may afford. I'll pay you honestly for it,friend."

  "I should guess," said the settler, his stern features brightening forthe first time into a smile of irony, "as how a man who had served acampaign agin the Ingins and another agin the British, might contrive todo without sich a luxury as bread. You'll find no bread here, I reckon."

  "What, not even a bit of corn bread? Try, my old cock, and rummage up acrust or two, for hung beef is devilish tight work for the teeth,without a little bread of some sort for a relish."

  "If you'd ha' used your eyes, you'd ha' seen nothin' like a corn patchfor twenty mile round about this. Bread never entered this hut since Ihave been here. I don't eat it."

  "More's the pity," replied Jackson, with infinite drollery; "but thoughyou may not like it yourself, your friends may."

  "I _have_ no friends--I _wish_ to have no friends!" was the sullenreply.

  "More's the pity still," pursued the Aide-de-camp. "But what do you liveon, then, old cock, if you don't eat bread?"

  "Human flesh. Take that as a relish to your hung beef."

  Scarcely had the strange expression escaped the settler's lips, whenJackson, active as a deer, was at the farther end of the hut, one handholding the heavy chair as a shield before him, the other placed uponthe butt of one of his pistols. The former at the same moment quittedhis seat, and stretching his tall and muscular form to its utmostheight, burst into a laugh that sounded more like that of some wildbeast than a human being. The involuntary terror produced in his guestwas evidently a source of exultation to him, and he seemed gratified tothink he had at length discovered the means of making himself lookedupon with something like fear.

  On entering the hut, Gerald had taken his seat at the opposite corner ofthe fire, yet in such a manner as to admit of his features being shadedby the projection of the chimney. The customs of the wilderness,moreover, rendering it neither offensive, nor even worthy of remark,that he should retain his hat, he had, as in the first instance, drawnit as much over his eyes as he conceived suited to his purpose ofconcealment, without exciting a suspicion of his design; and, as thealteration in his dress was calculated to deceive into a belief of hisbeing an American, he had been enabled to observe
the settler withoutmuch fear of recognition in return. A great change had taken place inthe manner of Desborough. Ferocious he still was, but it was a ferocitywholly unmixed with the cunning of his former years, that he nowexhibited. He had evidently suffered much, and there was a stamp ofthought on the heavy countenance that Gerald had never remarked therebefore. There was also this anomaly in the man--that while ten yearsappeared to have been added to his age, his strength was increased inthe same proportion--a change that made itself evident by the attitudein which he stood.

  "Why now I take it you must be jesting," at length exclaimed theAid-de-camp, doubtingly, dropping at the same time the chair upon thefloor, yet keeping it before him as though not quite safe in thepresence of this self-confessed anthropophagos; "you surely don't meanto say you kill and pickle every unfortunate traveller that comes byhere. If so, I must apprehend you in the name of the United StatesGovernment."

  "I rather calculate not, Mister," sneered the settler. "Besides, I don'teat the United States subjects; consequently they've no claim tointerfere."

  "Who the devil do you eat, then?" asked Jackson, gathering courage withhis curiosity, and advancing a pace or two nearer the fire, "or is itall a hum?"

  The settler approached the fire, stooped a little, and applying hisshoulder to the top of the opening, thrust his right hand and arm up thechimney.

  "I reckon that's no hum," he said, producing and throwing upon the tablea piece of dark, dry flesh, that resembled in appearance the upper partof a human arm. "If you're fond of a relisn," he pursued, with a fiercelaugh, "you'll find that mighty well suited to the palate--quite assweet as a bit of smok'd venison."

  "Why, you don't really mean to say that's part of a man?" demandedJackson, advancing cautiously to the table, and turning over theshrivelled mass with the point of his dagger. "Why, I declare, its justthe color of my dried beef."

  "But I do though--and what's more, of my own killin' and dryin'. Purtynaturist you must be, not to see that's off an Ingin's arm!"

  "Oh, an Ingin's only, is it?" returned the Aid-de-camp, whoseapprehension began rapidly to subside, now that he had obtained theconviction that it was not the flesh of a white man. "Well, I'm sure!who'd have thought it? I take it, old cock, you've been in the wars aswell as myself."

  "A little or so, I reckon, and I expect to be in them agin shortly--assoon as my stock of food's out. I've only a thigh bone to pick afterthis, and then I'm off. But why don't you take your seat at the fire.There's nothin' so out of the way in the sight of a naked arm, is there?I reckon, if you're a soger, you must have seen many a one lopped off inthe wars."

  "Yes, friend," said Jackson, altering the position of the table andplacing it between the settler and himself; "a good many lopped off, asyou say, and in a devil of a stew, but not exactly eaten. However, be sogood as to return this to the chimney, and when I've eaten somethingfrom my bag, I'll listen to what you have to say about it."

  "Jist so, and go without my own supper, I suppose, to please you. Buttarnation, while you're eatin' a bit of your hung beef, I'll try a snackof mine."

  So saying, he deliberately took from the table the dried arm he hadpreviously flung there, and, removing a large clasp knife from a pocketbeneath his coarse hunting frock, proceeded to help himself to severalthin slices, corresponding precisely in appearance with those which theAid-de-camp divided in the same manner.

  Jackson had managed to swallow three or four pieces of his favorite hungbeef with all the avidity of an appetite rendered keen by the absence ofevery other stimulant than hunger; but no sooner did he perceive hishost fastening with a degree of fury on his unnatural food, than, sickand full of loathing, his stomach rejected further aliment, and he wascompelled to desist. During all this time, Grantham, who, although hehad assumed the manner and attitude of a sleeping man, was a watchfulobserver of all that passed, neither moved nor uttered a syllable,except on one occasion to put away from him the food Jackson hadoffered.

  "Sorry to see your ride has given you so poor an appetite," said thesettler, with a look expressive of the savage delight he felt inannoying his visitor, "I reckon that's rather unsavory stuff you've gotthere, that you can't eat it without bread. I say, young man,"addressing Grantham, "can't you find no appetite neither, that you sitthere snorin', as if you never meant to wake agin."

  Gerald's head sunk lower on his chest, and his affectation of slumberbecame more profound.

  "Try a drop of this," said Jackson, offering his canteen, after havingdrank himself, and with a view to distract attention from his companion."You seem to have no liquor in the house, and I take it you requiresomething hot as h--ll, and strong as d--n----n, after that ogre-likerepast of yours."

  The settler seized the can, and raised it to his lips. It contained someof the fiery whiskey we have already described as the common beverage inmost parts of America. This, all powerful as it was, he drained off asthough it had been water, and with the greedy avidity of one who findshimself suddenly restored to the possession of a favorite and longabsent drink.

  "Hollo, my friend!" exclaimed the angry Aid-de-camp, who had watched therapid disappearance of his "traveller's best companion," as he quaintlyenough termed it, down the capacious gullet of the woodman--andsnatching at the same moment the nearly emptied canteen from his hands."I take it, that's not handsome. As I'm a true Tennessee man, bred andborn, it aint at all hospitable to empty off a pint of raw liquor at aspell, and have not so much as a glass of metheglin to offer in return.What the h--ll do you suppose we're to do to-morrow for drink, during acurst long ride through the wood, and not a house of call till nightfallalong the road?"

  The ruffian drew a breath long and heavy in proportion to the draught hehad swallowed, and when his lungs had again recovered their play,answered, blusteringly, in a voice that betokened incipientintoxication:

  "Roar me up a saplin', Mister, but you're mighty stingy of the Wabash. Ireckon as how I made you a free offer of my food, and it warn't no faultof mine if you didn't choose to take it. It would only have been relishfor relish, after all--and that's what I call fair swap."

  "Well, no matter," said Jackson, soothingly; "what's done can't beundone, therefore I take it its no use argufying--however, my old cock,when next you get the neck of a canteen of mine 'twixt your lips, I hopeit may do the cockles of your heart good; that's all. But let's hear howyou came by them pieces of nigger's flesh, and how it is you've taken itinto your head to turn squatter here. You seem," glancing around, "tohave no sleeping room to spare, and one may as well sit up and chat, ashave one's bones bruised to squash on the hard boards."

  "It's a sad tale," said the settler gruffly and with a darkening brow,"and brings bitter thoughts with it; but as the liquor has cheered me upa bit, I don't much mind if I do tell you how I skivered the varmint.Indeed," he pursued savagely, "that always gives me a pleasure to thinkof, for I owed them a desperate grudge--the bloody red skins and imps ofhell. I was on my way to Detroit, to see the spot once more where mypoor boy Phil lay rootin', and one dark night (for I only ventured tomove at night), I came slick upon two Ingins as was lying fast asleepbefore their fire in a deep ravine. The one nearest to me had his faceunkivered, and I knew the varmint for the tall dark Delaweer chief asmade one of the party after poor Phil and me, a sight that made methirst for the blood of the heathens as a child for mother's milk.Well, how do you think I managed them. I calculate you'd never guess.Why, I stole, as quiet as a fox until I got jist atween them, and thenholdin' a cocked pistol to each breast, I called out in a thunderin'voice that made the woods ring agin, Kit-chimocomon, which you know, asyou've been in the wars, signifies long knife or Yankee. You'd a laugh'dfit to split your sides I guess, to see the stupid stare of the devils,as startin' out of their sleep, they saw a pistol within three inches ofeach of 'em. 'Ugh,' says they, as if they did'nt know well whether totake it as a joke or not. 'Yes, 'ugh' and be damn'd to you,' say's I:you may go and 'ugh' in hell next--and with that snap went the triggers,and into their curst c
arcasses went the balls. The one I killed outrightbut t'other, the Delaweer chief, was by a sudden shift only slightlywounded, and he sprung on his feet and out with his knife. But I had aknife too, and all a disappointed father's rage to boot, so at it wewent closin' and strikin' with our knives like two fierce fiends of theforest. It was noble sport sure_ly_. At last the Delaweer fell over thebleedin' body of his warrior and I top of him. As he fell the knifedropped from his hand and he could'nt reach it no how, while I stillgripped mine fast. 'Ugh,' he muttered again, as if askin' to know what Imeant to do next. 'Ugh,' and be damned to you once more, say's I--andthe pint of my long knife was soon buried in his black heart. Then, whenI see them both dead I eat my own meal at their fire, for I wastarnation hungry, and while I was eatin' a thought came across me thatit would be good fun to make smoked meat of the varmint, so when Itucked it in purty considerably, what with hominy and dried bear's meat,moistened with a little Wabash I found in the Delaweer chief's canteen,I set to and regularly quartered them. The trunks I left behind, but thelimbs I packed up in the blankets that had been used to kiver them, Ireckon; and with them slung across my shoulders, like a saddle bagacross a horse, I made tracks through the swamps and the prairies forthis here hut, which I know'd no livin' soul had been nigh for many along year. And now," he concluded with a low drunken laugh, "you've thehistory of the dried meat. There isn't much left but when all is goneI'm off to the wars, for I can't find no peace I reckon without my poorboy Phil." He paused a moment, and then as if suddenly influenced bysome painful recollection, he struck his hand with startling violenceupon the table, and, while every feature of his iron countenance seemedworked up to a pitch of intensity, added with fearful calmness, "MayGod's curse light upon me if I don't have my revenge of them Granthamsyet:--yes," he continued with increased excitement of voice and manner,while he kicked one of the blazing hickory logs in the chimney with allthe savageness of drunken rage, causing a multitude of sparks to spitforth as from the anvil of a smith.--"jist so would I kick them both tohell for having murdered my poor boy."

  "Why, surely, Liftenant Grantham, he can't meant you?" abruptlyquestioned the Aid-de-camp, drawing back his chair and resting the palmsof his hands upon his knees, while he fixed his eye keenly andinquiringly upon Gerald.

  But Gerald had no time to answer him--Scarcely had the name escaped thelips of the incautious Jackson, when a yell of exultation from thewoodman drew him quickly to his feet, and in the next moment he felt onehand of his enemy grappling at his throat, while the fingers of theother were rapidly insinuating themselves into the hair that shadowedone of his temples, with the evident intention to "gouge" him. Weak andemaciated as he was, Gerald was soon made sensible of the disproportionof physical strength thus suddenly brought into the struggle, and as thesavage laugh of the man, as his fingers wound themselves closer andcloser within the clustering hair, proclaimed his advantage, he feltthat his only chance of saving the threatened eye was by having recourseto some sudden and desperate attempt to free himself from the gripe ofhis opponent. Summoning all his strength into one vigorous effort, herushed forward upon his enemy with such force, raising himself at thesame time in a manner to throw the whole weight of his person upon him,that the latter reeled backwards several paces without the power ofresistance, and falling over the table towards which he had beenintentionally propelled, sank with a heavy crash to the floor, stillhowever retaining his firm hold of his enemy, and dragging him afterhim.

  Half throttled, maddened with pain, and even more bitterly stung by asense of the humiliating position in which he found himself, thefeelings of Gerald became uncontrollable, until his anxiety to inflict amortal injury upon his enemy became in the end as intense as that of thesettler. In their fall the table had been overturned, and with it theknife which Desborough had used with his horrid repast. As the lightfrom the blazing fire fell upon the blade, it had once caught theunassailed eye of the officer, and was the next moment clutched in hisgrasp. He raised it with a determination, inspired by the agony heendured, at once to liberate himself and to avenge his father's murder,but the idea that there was something assassin-like in the act assuddenly arrested him, and ere he had time to obey a fresh impulse ofhis agony, the knife was forcibly stricken from his hand. A laugh oftriumph burst from the lips of the half intoxicated Desborough, but itwas scarcely uttered before it was succeeded by a yell of pain, and thehand that had contrived to entwine itself, with resistless force andterrible intent, in the waving hair of the youth, fell suddenly from itsgrasp, enabling its victim at length to free himself altogether andstart once more to his feet.

  Little more than a minute had been passed in the enactment of thisstrange scene. The collision, the overthrow, the upraising of the knifehad followed each other in such rapid succession that, until the lastdesperate intention of Gerald was formed, the Aid-de-camp had not hadtime to interpose himself in any way between the enraged combatants. Hisfirst action had been to strike away the murderous knife with the heavybutt of one of his pistols, the other to plant such a blow upon the"gouging" hand of the settler from the same butt, as effectually tocompel him to relinquish his ferocious clutch. In both objects, as wehave seen, he fully succeeded.

  But although his right hand had been utterly disabled by the blow fromJackson's pistol, the fury of Desborough, fed as it was by the fumes ofthe liquor he had swallowed, was too great to render him heedful ofaught but the gratification of his vengeance. Rolling rapidly over tothe point where the knife had fallen he secured it in his left hand, andthen, leaping nimbly to his feet, gathered himself into a spring uponhis unarmed but watchful enemy. But before the bound could be taken, theactive Aid-de-camp, covering Gerald with his body and presenting acocked pistol, had again thwarted him in his intention.

  "I say now, old cock, you'd much better be quiet I guess, for them sortof tantrums won't suit me. If this here Liftenant killed your son whyhe'll answer for it later, but I can't let you murder my prisoner inthat flumgustious manner. I'm responsible for him to the United StatesGovernment, therefore just drop that knife clean and slick upon thefloor, and let's have no more of this nonsense for the night."

  But even the cocked pistol had not power to restrain the fierce--almostbrutal--rage of the woodman, whose growing intoxication added fuel tothe fire which the presence of his enemy had kindled in his heart.Heedless of the determined air and threatening posture of theAid-de-camp, he made a bound forward, uttering a sound that resembledthe roar of a wild beast rather than the cry of a human being, andstruck over Jackson's shoulder at the chest of the officer. Gerald,whose watchful eye marked the danger, had however time to step back andavoid the blow. In the next moment the Aid-de-camp, overborne by theviolence of the collision, fell heavily backwards upon the rude floor,and in the fall the pistol went off lodging the ball in the sinewy calfof Desborough's leg. Stung with acute animal pain, the whole rage of thelatter was now diverted from Gerald to the aid-de-camp, on whom,assuming the wound to have been intentional, he threw himself with thefury of a tiger, grappling as he closed with him at his throat. But thesailor, in his turn, now came to the rescue of his companion, and thescene for some time, as the whole party struggled together upon thefloor in the broad, red glare of the wood fire, was one of fearful anddesperate character. At length, after an immense effort, and amid themost horrid imprecations of vengeance upon them, the officers succeededin disarming and tying the hands of the settler behind his back, afterwhich, dragging him to a distant corner of the hut, they secured himfirmly to one of the open and mis-shapen logs which composed its frame.This done, Jackson divided the little that had been left of his "Wabash"with his charge, and then stretching himself at his length, with hisfeet to the fire and his saddle for a pillow, soon fell profoundlyasleep.

  Too much agitated by the scene which had just passed, Gerald, althoughfollowing the example of his companion in stretching himself before thecheerful fire, was in no condition to enjoy repose. Indeed, whatever hisinclination, the attempt would have been vain, for so
dreadful were thedenunciations of Desborough throughout the night, that sleep had no roomto enter even into his thoughts. Deep and appalling were the curses andthreats of vengeance which the enraged settler uttered upon all who borethe name of Grantham; and with these were mingled lamentations for hisson, scarcely less revolting in their import than the curses themselves.Nor was the turbulence of the enraged man confined to mere excitement oflanguage. His large and muscular form struggled in every direction tofree himself from the cords that secured him to the logs, and findingthese too firmly bound to admit of the accomplishment of his end, hekicked his brawny feet against the floor with all the fury andimpatience of a spirit, quickened into a livelier sense of restraint bythe stimulus of intoxication. At length, exhausted by the efforts he hadmade, his struggles and his imprecations became gradually less frequentand less vigorous, until finally towards dawn they ceased altogether,and his deep and heavy breathing announced that he slept.

  Accustomed to rise with the dawn, the Aide-de-camp was not long afterits appearance in shaking off the slumber in which he had so profoundlyindulged. The first object that met his eye as he raised himself up in asitting posture from his rude bed, was Gerald stooping over the sleepingDesborough, one hand resting upon his chest, the other holding theknife already alluded to, while every feature of his face was kindledinto loathing and abhorrence of his prostrate and sleeping enemy.Startled by the expression he read there, and with the occurrences ofthe last night rushing forcibly upon his memory, the Aide-de-camp calledquickly out:

  "Hold, Liftenant Grantham. Well, as I'm a true Tennessee man, bred andborn, may I be most especially d----d, if I'd a thought you'd do so foula deed. What! assassinate a sleeping drunken man?"

  "Assassinate, Captain Jackson?" repeated Gerald, raising himself to hisfull height, while a crimson flush of indignation succeeded to thedeadly paleness which had overspread his cheek.

  "Yes--assassinate!" returned the Aide-de-camp, fixing his eye upon thatof his prisoner, yet without perceiving that it quailed under hispenetrating glance; "It's an ugly word, I reckon, for you to hear, as itis for me to speak, but your quarrel last night--your fix just now--thatknife--Liftenant Grantham," and he pointed to the blade which stillremained in the hands of the accused--"surely these things speak forthemselves; and though the fellow has swallowed off all my Wabash, andbe d----d to him, still I shouldn't like to see him murdered in thatsort of way."

  "I cannot blame you, Captain Jackson," said Gerald calmly, his featuresresuming their pallid hue. "These appearances, I grant, might justifythe suspicion, horrible as it is, in one who had known more of me thanyourself but was assassination even a virtue, worlds would not tempt meto assassinate that man--wretch though he be--or even to slay him infair and open combat."

  "Then I calculate one night has made a pretty considerable change inyour feelings, Liftenant," retorted the Aide-de-camp. "You were bothready enough to go at it last night, when I knocked the knife out ofyour fist, and broke the knuckles of his gouging hand."

  "I confess," said Gerald, again coloring, "that excessive pain made mewild, and I should have been tempted to have had recourse to any meansto thwart him in his diabolical purpose. As you have said, however, thepast night has effected a change in my feelings towards the man, anddeath from my hand, under any circumstances, is the last thing he hasnow to apprehend." Gerald sank his head upon his chest, and sighedbitterly.

  "Well," said Jackson, "all this is queer enough; but what were you doingstanding over the man just now with that knife, if it was not to harmhim? And as for your countenance, it scowled so savage and passionate, Iwas almost afraid to look at it myself."

  "My motive for the action I must beg you to excuse my entering upon,"replied Gerald. "Of this, however, be assured, Captain Jackson, that Ihad no intention to injure yon sleeping villain. On the word of anofficer and a gentleman, and by the kindness you have shown me on alloccasions since our journey commenced, do I solemnly assure you this isthe fact."

  "And on the word of an officer, and a true Tennessee man, bred and bornI am bound to believe you," returned the American, much affected. "A manthat could fight so wickedly in the field would never find heart, Ireckon, to stick an enemy in the dark. No, Liftenant Grantham, you werenot born to be an assassin. And now let's be starting--the day hasalready broke."

  "And yet," returned Gerald, with a smile of bitter melancholy, as theyhurried towards the spot where they had left their horses, "if any manever had reason to act so as to merit the imputation of being such, Ihave. In that savage woodsman, Captain Jackson, you have beheld themurderer--the self-acknowledged murderer of my father."

  "God bless my soul!" cried Jackson dropping the saddle which he carriedand standing still with very amazement. "A pretty fix I've got into, tobe sure. Here's one man accuses another of murdering his son, andt'other, by way of quits accuses him, in his turn, of murdering hisfather. Why, which am I to believe?"

  "Which you please, Captain Jackson," said the sailor coolly, yetpainedly; and he moved forward in pursuit of his horse.

  "Nay, Liftenant Grantham," said the Aid-de-camp, who had again resumedhis burden, and was speedily at the side of his companion, "don't beoffended. I've no doubt the thing's as you say; but you must makeallowance for my ideas, never too much of the brightest, beingconglomerated, after a fashion, by what I have seen and heard, since welet loose our horses last night upon this prairie."

  "I am not offended, only hurt," replied Gerald, shaking the hand thatwas cordially tendered to him, "hurt, that you should doubt my word, orattach anything to the assertion of that man beyond the mere ravings ofa savage and diseased spirit. Justice to myself demands that I shouldexplain everything in detail."

  "Now, that's what I call all right and proper," returned theAide-de-camp, "and should be done, both for your sake and mine; but wewill leave it till we get once more upon the road and in sight of atavern, for it's dry work talking and listening without even so much asa gum tickler of the Wabash to moisten one's clay."

  They found their horses not far from the spot where they had been lefton the preceding night, and these being speedily untethered and saddled,the travellers again pursued their route towards the capital of thestate in which they found themselves. As they passed the hut which hadbeen the scene of so much excitement to both, the voice of Desborough,whom they had left fast asleep, was heard venting curses andimprecations upon them both, for having left him there to starve, boundand incapable of aiding himself. Wretch as the settler was, Gerald couldnot reconcile to himself the thought of his being left to perish thusmiserably, and he entreated the Aid-de-camp to enter and divide thecords. But Jackson declared this to be impolitic, urging as a powerfulreason for declining, the probability of his having fire-arms in thehut, with which (if released) he might follow and overtake them in theirroute, and sacrifice one or the other to his vengeance--an object whichit would be easy to accomplish without his ever being detected. However,that the villain might have sustenance until some chance travellershould come later to his assistance, or he could manage to get rid ofhis bonds himself, he consented to place within his reach all the driedmeat that had been left of his Indian foes, together with a pail ofwater--the latter by way of punishment for having swilled away at hisWabash in the ungracious manner he had.

  While Jackson was busied in this office of questionable charity, therage and disappointment of the settler surpassed what it had hithertobeen. Each vein of his dark brow rose distinctly and swelling from itssurface, and he kicked and stamped with a fury that proclaimed thebitter tempest raging in his soul. When the Aide-de-camp had againmounted, his shrieks and execrations became piercing, and for manyminutes after they had entered into the heart of the forest in which thehut was situated, the shrill sounds continued to ring upon their ears inaccents so fearful, that each felt a sensible relief when they wereheard no more.

  On the evening of the third day after this event, Jackson and our hero,between whom a long explanation on the subject of the settler ha
d takenplace, alighted at the door of the principal inn in Frankfort, thecapital of Kentucky, which was their ultimate destination. To mine hostGerald was introduced by his escort with the formality usual on suchoccasions in America, and with the earnest recommendation to that mostrespectable personage, that, as his own friend, as well as that ofCaptain Forrester, every indulgence should be shown to the prisoner thatwas not inconsistent with his position.