CHAPTER VII
DISCOMFITURE
The Englishman drew forth a double eyeglass from a red velvet waistcoat,and mounting it on his broad nose, came nearer to get the full light ofthe candles. I saw him as clearly as I could wish, and, indeed, a greatdeal too clearly; for the more I saw of the man, the more I shrank fromthe thought of being in his power. Not that he seemed to be brutal orfierce, but selfish, and resolute, and hard-hearted, and scornful oflofty feelings. Short dust-colored hair and frizzly whiskers framedhis large, thick-featured face, and wearing no mustache, he showed theclumsy sneer of a wide, coarse mouth. I watched him with all my eyes,because of his tone of authority about myself. He might even be myguardian or my father's nearest relation--though he seemed to be tooill-bred for that.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Colonel," he went on, in a patronizing tone,such as he had assumed throughout. "Here it is. Now prick your ears up,and see if these candid remarks apply. I am reading from a printed form,you see:
"'George Castlewood is forty-eight years old, but looks perhaps tenyears older. His height is over six feet two, and he does not stoop orslouch at all. His hair is long and abundant, but white; his eyes aredark, piercing, and gloomy. His features are fine, and of Italian cast,but stern, morose, and forbidding, and he never uses razor. On the backof his left hand, near the wrist, there is a broad scar. He dresses inhalf-mourning always, and never wears any jewelry, but strictly shunsall society, and prefers uncivilized regions. He never stays long inany town, and follows no occupation, though his aspect and carriage aremilitary, as he has been a cavalry officer. From time to time he hasbeen heard of in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and is now believed to be inAmerica.
"'His only surviving child, a girl of about fifteen, has been seen withhim. She is tall and slight and very straight, and speaks French betterthan English. Her hair is very nearly black, and her eyes of unusualsize and lustre. She is shy, and appears to have been kept under, andshe has a timid smile. Whether she knows of her father's crime or not isquite uncertain; but she follows him like a dog almost.'
"There now, Colonel," cried the Englishman, as he folded the papertriumphantly; "most of that came from my information, though I never seteyes upon the child. Does the cap fit or not, Brother Jonathan?"
Mr. Gundry was leaning back in his own corner, with a favorite pipe,carved by himself, reposing on his waistcoat. And being thus appealedto, he looked up and rubbed his eyes as if he had been dozing, thoughhe never had been more wide awake, as I, who knew his attitudes, couldtell. And my eyes filled with tears of love and shame, for I knew by themere turn of his chin that he never would surrender me.
"Stranger," he said, in a most provoking drawl, "a hard day's worktells its tale on me, you bet. You do read so bootiful, you read me hardasleep. And the gutturals of that furrin English is always a little hardto catch. Mought I trouble you just to go through it again? You likesthe sound of your own voice; and no blame to you, being such a swateun."
The Englishman looked at him keenly, as if he had some suspicion ofbeing chaffed; but the face of the Sawyer was so grave and the bend ofhis head so courteous that he could not refuse to do as he was asked.But he glanced first at the whiskey bottle standing between thecandlesticks; and I knew it boded ill for his errand when Uncle Sam, themost hospitable of men, feigned pure incomprehension of that glance. Theman should have no more under that roof.
With a sullen air and a muttered curse, at which Mr. Gundry blew awreath of smoke, the stranger unfolded his paper again, and saying, "NowI beg you to attend this time," read the whole of his description, withmuch emphasis, again, while the Sawyer turned away and beat timeupon the hearth, with his white hair, broad shoulders, and red earsprominent. The Englishman looked very seriously vexed, but went throughhis business doggedly. "Are you satisfied now?" he asked when he hadfinished.
"Wal, now, Squire," replied Uncle Sam, still keeping up his provokingdrawl, but turning round and looking at the stranger very steadfastly,"some thin's is so pooty and so ilegantly done, they seems a'most asgood as well-slung flapjacks. A natteral honest stomick can't nohow haveenough of them. Mought I be so bold, in a silly, mountaneous sort of away, as to ax for another heerin' of it?"
"Do you mean to insult me, Sir?" shouted the visitor, leaping up with aflaming face, and throwing himself into an attitude of attack.
"Stranger, I mought," answered Mr. Gundry, standing squarely before him,and keeping his hands contemptuously behind his back--"I mought so do,barrin' one little point. The cutest commissioner in all the West wouldhave to report 'Non compos' if his orders was to diskiver somethin'capable of bein' insulted in a fellow of your natur'."
With these words Uncle Sam sat down, and powerfully closed his mouth,signifying that now the matter was taken through every phase ofdiscussion, and had been thoroughly exhausted. His visitor stared at himfor a moment, as if at some strange phenomenon, and then fell back intoself-command, without attempting bluster.
"Colonel, you are a 'cure,' as we call it on our side of the herringpond. What have I done to 'riz your dander,' as you elegantly express ithere?"
"Britisher, nothing. You know no better. It takes more than that to putmy back up. But forty years agone I do believe I must 'a heaved you outo' window."
"Why, Colonel, why? Now be reasonable. Not a word have I said reflectingeither upon you or your country; and a finer offer than I have made cannot come to many of you, even in this land of gold. Ten thousand dollarsI offer, and I will exceed my instructions and say fifteen, all paid onthe nail by an order on Frisco, about which you may assure yourself. Andwhat do I ask in return? Legal proof of the death of a man whom we knowto be dead, and the custody of his child, for her own good."
"Squire, I have no other answer to make. If you offered me all the golddug in these mountains since they were discovered, I could only say whatI have said before. You came from Sylvester's ranch--there is time foryou to get back ere the snow begins."
"What a hospitable man you are! Upon my word, Gundry, you deserve tohave a medal from our Humane Society. You propose to turn me out ofdoors to-night, with a great fall of snow impending?"
"Sir, the fault is entirely your own. What hospitality can you expectafter coming to buy my guest? If you are afraid of the ten-mile ride,my man at the mill will bed you. But here you must not sleep, becauseI might harm you in the morning. I am apt to lose my temper sometimes,when I go on to think of things."
"Colonel, I think I had better ride back. I fear no man, nor his temper,nor crotchets. But if I were snowed up at your mill, I never mightcross the hill-foot for months; but from Sylvester's I can always get toMinto. You refuse, then, to help me in any way?"
"More than that. I will do every thing in my power to confound you. Ifany one comes prowling after that young lady, he shall be shot."
"That is most discouraging. However, you may think better of it. Writeto this address if you do. You have the girl here, of course?"
"That is her concern and mine. Does your guide know the way right well!The snow is beginning. You do not know our snows, any more than you knowus."
"Never mind, Mr. Gundry. I shall do very well. You are rough in yourways, but you mean to do the right; and your indignation is virtuous.But mark my words upon one little point. If George Castlewood had beenliving, I have such credentials that I would have dragged him back withme in spite of all your bluster. But over his corpse I have no control,in the present condition of treaties. Neither can I meddle with hisdaughter, if it were worth while to do so. Keep her and make the best ofher, my man. You have taken a snake in the grass to your bosom, if thatis what you are up for. A very handsome girl she may be, but a badlot, as her father was. If you wish the name of Gundry to have its duerespect hereafter, let the heir of the sawmills have nothing to do withthe Honorable Miss Castlewood."
"Let alone, let alone," Uncle Sam said, angrily. "It is well for youthat the 'heir of the saw-mills' hath not heard your insolence. Firm isa steady lad; but he knoweth well which f
oot to kick with. No fearof losing the way to Sylvester's ranch with Firm behind you. But,meddlesome as you be, and a bitter weed to my experience, it shall notbe said that Sampson Gundry sent forth a fellow to be frozen. Drink aglass of hot whiskey before you get to saddle. Not in friendship, mindyou, Sir, but in common human nature."
That execrable man complied, for he began to be doubtful of the drivingsnow, now huddling against the window-frames. And so he went out; andwhen he was gone, I came forth into the fire-light, and threw my armsround the Sawyer's neck and kissed him till he was ashamed of me.
"Miss Rema, my dear, my poor little soul, what makes you carry on so?"
"Because I have heard every word, Uncle Sam, and I was base enough todoubt you."
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 7