Melville's purchase comprised not only the cottage, but its contents,pictures and books included. This was fortunate, for though Herbert,who was strong, and fond of outdoor sports, such as hunting and fishing,could have contented himself, Melville was easily fatigued, and spent atleast half of the day in the cabin. The books, most of which were new tohim, were a great and unfailing resource.
Among the articles which Falkland left behind him were two guns, ofwhich Herbert and Melville made frequent use. Herbert had a naturaltaste for hunting, though, at home, having no gun of his own, he hadnot been able to gratify his taste as much as he desired. Often afterbreakfast the two sallied forth, and wandered about in the neighboringwoods, gun in hand. Generally Melville returned first, leaving Herbert,not yet fatigued, to continue the sport. In this way our hero acquired askill and precision of aim which enabled him to make a very respectablefigure even among old and practiced hunters.
One morning, after Melville had returned home, Herbert was led, by theardor of the chase, to wander farther than usual. He was aware of this,but did not fear being lost, having a compass and knowing his bearings.All at once, as he was making his way along a wooded path, he wasstartled by hearing voices. He hurried forward, and the scene upon whichhe intruded was dramatic enough.
With arms folded, a white man, a hunter, apparently, stood erect, andfacing him, at a distance of seventy-five or eighty feet, was an Indian,with gun raised, and leveled at the former.
"Why don't you shoot, you red rascal!" said the white man. "You've gotthe drop on me, I allow, and I am in your power."
The Indian laughed in his guttural way; but though he held the gunpoised, he did not shoot. He was playing with his victim as a cat playswith a mouse before she kills it.
"Is white man afraid?" said the Indian, not tauntingly, but with realcuriosity, for among Indians it is considered a great triumph ifa warrior can inspire fear in his foe, and make him show the whitefeather.
"Afraid!" retorted the hunter. "Who should I be afraid of?"
"Of Indian."
"Don't flatter yourself, you pesky savage," returned the white man,coolly, ejecting a flood of tobacco juice from his mouth, for though hewas a brave man, he had some drawbacks. "You needn't think I am afraidof you."
"Indian shoot!" suggested his enemy, watching the effect of thisannouncement.
"Well, shoot, then, and be done with it."
"White man no want to live?"
"Of course I want to live. Never saw a healthy white man that didn't. IfI was goin' to die at all, I wouldn't like to die by the hands of a redrascal like you."
"Indian great warrior," said the dusky denizen of the woods,straightening up, and speaking complacently.
"Indian may be great warrior, but he is a horse thief, all the same,"said the hunter, coolly.
"White man soon die, and Indian wear his scalp," remarked the Indian, ina manner likely to disturb the composure of even the bravest listener.
The hunter's face changed. It was impossible to reflect upon such a fatewithout a pang. Death was nothing to that final brutality.
"Ha! White man afraid now!" said the Indian, triumphantly--quick toobserve the change of expression in his victim.
"No, I am not afraid," said the hunter, quickly recovering himself; "butit's enough to disgust any decent man to think that his scalp willsoon be dangling from the belt of a filthy heathen like you. However, Isuppose I won't know it after I'm dead. You have skulked and dogged mysteps, you red hound, ever since I punished you for trying to steal myhorse. I made one great mistake. Instead of beating you, I should haveshot you, and rid the earth of you once for all."
"Indian no forget white man's blows. White man die, and Indian berevenged."
"Yes, I s'pose that's what it's coming to," said the hunter, in a toneof resignation. "I was a 'tarnal fool to come out this mornin' withoutmy gun. If I had it you would sing a different song."
Again the Indian laughed, a low, guttural, unpleasant laugh, whichHerbert listened to with a secret shudder. It was so full of malignity,and cunning triumph, and so suggestive of the fate which he reserved forhis white foe, that it aggravated the latter, and made him impatient tohave the blow fall, since it seemed to be inevitable.
"Why don't you shoot, you red savage?" he cried. "What are you waitingfor?"
The Indian wished to gloat over the mental distress of his foe. He likedto prolong his own feeling of power--to enjoy the consciousness that, atany moment, he could put an end to the life of the man whom he hatedfor the blows which he felt had degraded him, and which he was resolvednever to forget or forgive. It was the same feeling that has often ledthose of his race to torture their hapless victims, that they may, aslong as possible, enjoy the spectacle of their agonies. For this reasonhe was in no hurry to speed on its way the fatal bullet.
Again the Indian laughed, and, taking aim, made a feint of firing, butwithheld his shot. Pale and resolute his intended victim continued toface him. He thought that the fatal moment had come, and braced himselfto meet his fate; but he was destined to be disappointed.
"How long is this goin' to last, you red hound?" he demanded. "If I'vegot to die, I am ready."
"Indian can wait!" said the savage, with a smile of enjoyment.
"You wouldn't find it prudent to wait if I were beside you," said thehunter. "It's easy enough to threaten an unarmed man. If some friendwould happen along to foil you in your cowardly purpose---"
"White man send for friend!" suggested the Indian, tauntingly.
Herbert had listened to this colloquy with varying emotions, and hisanger and indignation were stirred by the cold-blooded cruelty of thesavage. He stood motionless, seen by neither party, but he held hisweapon leveled at the Indian, ready to shoot at an instant's warning.Brought up, as he had been, with a horror for scenes of violence, and afeeling that human life was sacred, he had a great repugnance to use hisweapon, even where it seemed his urgent duty to do so. He felt that onhim, young as he was, rested a weighty responsibility. He could save thelife of a man of his own color, but only by killing or disabling ared man. Indian though he was, his life, too, was sacred; but when hethreatened the life of another he forfeited his claim to consideration.
Herbert hesitated till he saw it was no longer safe to do so--till hesaw that it was the unalterable determination of the Indian to kill thehunter, and then, his face pale and fixed, he pulled the trigger.
His bullet passed through the shoulder of the savage. The latter uttereda shrill cry of surprise and dismay, and his weapon fell at his feet,while he pressed his left hand to his wounded shoulder.
The hunter, amazed at the interruption, which had been of such essentialservice to him, lost not a moment in availing himself of it. He boundedforward, and before the savage well knew what he purposed, he had pickedup his fallen weapon, and, leveling it at his wounded foe, fired.
His bullet was not meant to disable, but to kill. It penetrated theheart of the savage, and, staggering back, he fell, his face distortedwith rage and disappointment.
"The tables are turned, my red friend!" said the hunter, coolly. "It'syour life, not mine, this time!"
At that moment Herbert, pale and shocked, but relieved as well, pressedforward, and the hunter saw him for the first time.
"Was it you, boy, who fired the shot?" asked the hunter, in surprise.
"Yes," answered Herbert.
"Then I owe you my life, and that's a debt Jack Holden isn't likely toforget!"
CHAPTER XXXI. JACK HOLDEN ON THE INDIAN QUESTION.
Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune Page 30