Читать книгу The Bandits of the Osage - Emerson Bennett - Страница 6

Table of Contents

THE LOVERS—THE WARNING—THE CAPTURE.

We must now go back in our narrative, to a short time previous to its opening in the first chapter. On the same road already mentioned as leading on through the ravine, about ten miles to the northeast of the place described in the foregoing chapter, and on the same day the events just recorded took place, were two personages, well mounted on a couple of beautiful horses, riding along at a leisure pace. Of the two, one was a young man, apparently about twenty years of age, of a fine form and manly bearing. His countenance was well shaped, open, frank and noble, and of a high intellectual cast; while his bright, hazel eye sparkled with a true poetic expression. His forehead was smooth, broad and high, surmounted by dark brown hair, which hung in graceful curls far down his neck, giving to him a somewhat feminine, though not unpleasing, appearance. He was well dressed—uncommonly so for this section of the country—in a fine suit of black; the lower extremity of his pantaloons being encased in fine buckskin leggins, while his head was covered by a beautiful cap of dark silk velvet, on either side of which a couple of gold mounted buttons shone conspicuously. He rode his high mettled steed in that easy, graceful, dignified manner, which sets forth the rider to so much advantage, and which is only acquired by constant practice, together with a knowledge of the rules of horsemanship.

His companion was a female, elegantly attired in a riding suit, and likewise rode very gracefully. Of years she had seen some eighteen, was medium in stature, and beautifully formed. Her countenance, strictly speaking, could scarce be account ed handsome, for her features were not entirely regular; yet there was something so noble, so intelligent in the expression, her dark blue eyes were so lit up with the fires of an earnest soul, that ten to one you would pronounce her beautiful, ere the form of her features was distinctly recognised; thus unconsciously awarding another proof of the mind's immortal triumph over matter. Her hair was a glossy auburn, the front of which was neatly braided, brought down with a graceful curve below her ears, and fastened behind. Her checks were slightly dimpled, and around her mouth lingered one of those pleasing expressions—a sort of half smile—which, combined with a bright flashing eye, invariably wins upon the beholder in spite of himself, and leads us to fancy there is an influence of a Mesmeric nature connected therewith.

The country through which the two were traveling, was mostly level, and heavily shaded by thick, dark woods, stretching far away on either hand, occasionally broken a little in places by the clearing up of some settler, whereby the beams of the sun poured gently in, refreshing to the eyes of civilization, as the cool springs of water to the thirsty traveler of the Arabian Desert.

It was an exceedingly warm day, and the travelers would have suffered much, had they not been so well protected from the rays of the sun, which already far advanced toward the western horizon, threw the shade of the lofty trees directly across their path. Still the air was hot and sultry, unaccompanied by any cooling breeze, and although jogging along at a very moderate pace, both horse and rider perspired freely.

"Ah! how refreshing!" exclaimed the lady, as a cool breeze fanned for an instant her heated brow, rustling the leaves with that pleasing sound so delightful in a forest. "See, even my noble Fanny pricks up her ears, and seems greatly rejoiced."

"Ay, and so does Sir Harry," returned her companion. "It is delightful truly, after this intense and almost suffocating heat. Ah! it dies away again; I would it were to continue."

"Well, Edward, let us be thankful for a little, you know that is my motto."

"True, Emily, and I agree with all my heart."

"All?" enquired Emily with emphasis, casting her head a little one side, and throwing on him one of her peculiar, fascinating glances; "with all your heart, Edward?"

"That is, all there is left me," replied Edward, with a meaning smile, gracefully bowing to the lady.

"Ay, that indeed! well put in, Sir Knight! but a little late withal. However, better late than never, says the adage, and I trust you will be a little more circumspect of speech hereafter."

"I will do any thing you require, Emily," returned Edward gallantly; "you have only to command to be obeyed."

"Indeed, Sir Knight! you are very proficient in promises; you have yielded to a hard task-master, and I fear me if put to the test, your actions would much belie your words."

"Nay, indeed, Emily, you are in error; only give me the trial, and see if I do not produce the proof."

"Well, sir, since you require it, please ride forward and announce to the good inhabitants—if you should chance to meet any—that a lady is approaching, in the person of Emily Novance, whose gallant by her orders goes before as a herall.— What? you hesitate! is this the way I am to be obeyed? Go, sir! it is my command!"

"Nay, but Emily, this is unfair."

"So, then, you question my orders, do you? Ah! I fear you are like all the rest of your sex— full of promises, which doubtless you all fulfil, when the fulfilment proves agreeable to yourselves; but when otherwise, ah me! for our sex;" and the speaker shook her head with an arch look.

"Now, now, Emily; but I see you are determined to carry the point your own way, so I will fain give in, lest I get worsted by argument."

"Ay, do if you please, Sir Knight! and you will oblige me much, very much."

For some minutes after this both rode along in silence, when the conversation was again opened by Edward.

"I say, Emily," began he, at length, "to one of your refined taste, does not this country life, so tone, so solitary, in the woods as it were, seem very irksome? Methinks to one of your light turn of mind, that had been used to the gay crowds which throng the city, it must be very tiresome, full of sameness, causing ennvi and discontent."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the lady, a slight flush singing her fair noble features, while her eyes sparkled with more than wonted brilliancy. "Indeed! think you so? then have I given you more credit for discernment than you really possess, if thus you judge the heart of Emily Nevance! What are the gay crowds of the city, of which you speak? Of what are they composed, but of fops and fools—apes of fashion—walking advertisements for tailors and milliners—whose mirrors are their prophets, and themselves the only God they worship!—whose very souls are confined within the trappings of dress, and know as little of what human beings should be, as the insects that crawl beneath our feet! And do you think I sigh for their society? No! give me Nature in her wildest, grandest, seul-inspiring moods!— away from the haunts of men, let me contemplate her in silence, and in awe! 'Tis then, far from loncliness, I feel I hold communion with the All Pervading Spirit! I look around me, and behold the works of One, compared with whom, I sink into utter insignificance. Ay! away with dusty cities! Give me the hills, the dales, the rocky steeps, the level plains, the tall, majestic, sighing forests, with the music of their creating— the laughing, rippling, sunay streams, that dance along in childish glee—and with a soul pure, sinless in the sight of God, I will rest content to spend my days in holy contemplation."

"Spoken like yourself, Emily!—my sentiments, for the world!" exclaimed Edward, with a bright, enthusiastic animation of countenance that told the feelings within more eloquently far than words "I was but jesting, dear Emily."

"Well, I am glad to hear you say that, at all events. I should be sorry to have you form such an opinion of me as you first expressed." This was said in a sad, almost mournful tone of voice, while the speaker bent her head forward, and appeared to be examining some of the trappings of the saddle.

"Nay, never fear, dear Emily, that I will think aught of you but what is most worthy," replied Edward, in that deep, earnest tone of voice which invariably carries conviction with it the speaker is sincere. "But why," continued he, after a pause of some moments, during which each seemed buried in some deep study, "why, dearest Emily, when every thing concurs to prove us so fitly adapted to each other, why will you withhold your consent to be mine? O, if you did but know the deep, ardent passion I possess for you, methinks you would not turn so deaf an ear to all my pleadings!"

"There, Edward, you do me wrong," replied Emily; "I am not deaf to your pleadings, far from it; nor do I in the least doubt the passion of which you speak; but Edward, as I told you before, we are both as yet young, and I would rather, ere you bind yourself by a solemn promise, that you look more about you, lest by too hasty nuptials you do an act which you may repent the remainder of your days. Besides, you know you are wealthy; I am not; and your parents will, perchance, object to your wedding one so far beneath you."

"Ah! Emily," sighed Edward, "that is the unkindest word of all. Beneath me," cried he suddenly, "by heavens! it were not well for any to utter that in my presence, save Emily Nevance! Beneath me, indeed! and in what am I your superior? In gold! And did not you yourself despise it but now, and all its idle votaries?"

"But then, Edward, you know the world—"

"Pshaw! what care I for the world? The world — nonsense! I am a man, and I stand on my own opinions, in matters of my own concern! Surely I would be mad, or worse than mad, to sacrifice my own happiness to please the world!"

"But then, Edward, you know your parents may think differently in regard to the opinions of the world."

For some minutes Edward, mused thoughtfully, before making a reply. He knew that Emily was correct in her surmises, for his parents were both rich and proud—his father more especially—and he knew too that the latter, in his own mind, had already disposed of his hand, to one he had never seem, simply because she was a personage of wealth; and consequently, that it would be a difficult matter, even if done at all, to gain their consent to his union with another, and furthermore too, when that other was poor; but still he loved Emily sincerely, deeply, and was fully determined not to sacrifice his own happiness to gratify the caprices of others, even were those others his parents.

"Well, Emily," he at length replied, "depend upon it, whatever my parents may think, my views and sentiments shall, at least, ever remain unaltered; and since you will not now sacredly promise to become mine, I will live on the joyful hope of some day winning your consent— some day calling you so, with the sanction of the laws of both God and man."

"And I," rejoined Emily, in a low sweet tone, with her eyes cast down, "I will live on in the sincere hope, that should that day ever come, I may be worthy of you."

"Ah, then you admit—"

"No! for the present I admit nothing. But see! the sun is already nearing the western horizon, where black clouds are looming up in sullen majesty, and we have a goocly distance yet to ride. Let us put our horses to the spur."

"Ay, you are right," returned Edward; "time flies so rapidly when with those we love we scarcely head it. But we must make amends for our delay in this instance, as I like not the looks of yonder claud, and methought but now I heard the distant sound of thunder."

Accordingly putting spurs to the noble animals, they rode forward at a fast gallop. Half an hour of good riding brought them to an humble cottage, where, finding the storm was likely to prove detrimental if they continued their journey, they concluded to await its termination. Alighting, Edward secured the horses under a sort of shed, and then led the way into the hovel, which was a rough, homely fabric, composed of logs, put together in the rude, half-civilized manner common to the first settlers of the West. At the door, or entrance, they were met by a female—the hostess—a woman somewhat past the middle age, of rather an unprepossessing appearance, who gave them a cold salutation, and learning the object of their visit, civilly bade them enter. She was dressed in the simplest, coarsest garb of the day, and wore a stern, haughty, or rather an angry look, which made her person appear to her guests anything but agreeable. The room which they entered waslow, dark, and dirty; the ground—for it could not boast of a floor—being strewed with damp, filthy straw. In one corner was some of a fresher, cleanlier appearance; used, undoubtedly, as a place of rest for the occupants. Several rough benches promiscuously standing about, together with a plain deal table, a few pots and kettles, apparently completed the stock of furniture.

"You're jest in time," remarked the hostess, retreating within, and pointing our travelers to one of the benches; "you haint bin a minnet too quick; for sich a guster as we're goin' to have, arn't seen in these diggins often."

"Do you think, madam, we shall have a severe shower?" enquired Edward, casually.

"Think!" cried she contemptuously, drawing herself up, her small black eyes flashing angrily, "I arn't one to think, sir! I knows! Thar's goin' to happen one of the greatest gusters as ever was knowd on, sir! The tall big trees ar' going to snap like pipe stems! Listen! The thunder growls like a savarageous lion! The lightning dances like mad! Think, indeed! Hetty Brogan what tells fortunes, arn't one as thinks much, I reckon Thar! d'ye hear that?" screamed she, as a tremendous crash of thunder broke over their heads. "That ar's the speret o' the storm, cheering it on! Hist! d'ye hear that ar' roarin? I tell ye its comin'. Young folks, bewar'! thar's danger in your way! I see it—the storm—the woods!" and she strode to and fro the apartment, her eyes turned upward, apparently fixed on some distant object, gesticulating, the while, in that wild manner, which led our travelers to believe her touched with insanity. Suddenly stretching out her long bony arm, pausing, and pointing with her finger in the direction she was gazing, while with the other she seemed to brush a mist from before her eyes, she exclaimed with vehemence, "I see it again! the woods!—the ambush—all—all! Young folks bewar'! thar's danger in your way!—be—" a vivid flash of lightning, followed instantaneously by another crash of thunder, that made the old cabin tremble, here cut her speech short. "Well, enough," muttered she to herself, "if Jack and Bill only manage to play their parts, I'll git more credit for witcheraft."

The storm now howled in all its fury, making the rough old timbers of the cabin creak and tremble, as though about to be demolished, while a thick, heavy darkness shut in every object, save when relieved by the lurid glare of lightaing. Edward and Emily sat mute, gazing upon the scene with that sense of awe, which intelligent and sensitive minds ever experience, when brought by the fierce combat of the elements into the presence of the Almighty Spirit of the Universe.

Something less than two hours served to clear away the storm, when our travelers prepared to leave. The horses were found safe, though the saddles were rendered disagreeable from being saturated with the rain. This, however, being of minor importance, they mounted, thanked the hostess for her accommodation, and rode away—she the while repeating: "Bewar', thar's danger on yer way!" so long as they were within hearing.

"What think you of that old woman?" enquired Emily, as they rode along, carefully picleing their way, it still being dark, while here and there a tree felled directly across their path, warned them to move cautiously.

"Why, I scarcely gave her a thought, except to think her a little deranged," answered Edward.

"But if what she vaguely hinted should prove true—"

"Poh! Emily," interrupted Edward, "do not give it a thought. Surely, you are not frightened at the idle outpourings of such an illiterate old woman as that?"

"I scarcely know, Edward, whether I am or not. But something weighs heavily on my spirits, and I feel a strange foreboding of some coming ill."

"O, the effect of the storm no doubt; it will soon pass away; come, come, do not be down-hearted, the moon will be up presently, and then we can move forward with greater facility."

They now rode on for some time in silence, occasionally venturing their horses into a trot, whenever the road appeared a little more open, until they entered the ravine, where the trees being of much smaller growth, of a swampy nature, had made little or no obstruction to their progress, when giving their steeds the reins, they moved forward at a much faster pace. The Maramee, running along to their left, being much swolen by the late rains, now rolled on with that sullen, gloomy, monotonous sound, which the turbulent waters of a flood will invariably produce.

"Oh, how gloomy!" began Emily, breaking the silence they had for some time maintained; "I shall feel much relieved when we pass this lonely place, for here every sound seems to send a chill to my heart."

"And my spirits," returned Edward, "from some cause, are less buoyant than is common with me. I wonder if that old woman could have any secret meaning in what she said? But no! pshaw! what a foolish idea;" and he tried to laugh, as if to shake off his thoughts, but the attempt ended in a hollow tone, that sounded strange and unnatural.

"I fear, Edward, there was more in her words than you are willing to eredence. But here we are, thank Heaven! at the foot of the hill: now then, we shall leave this—" what more she would have added was interrupted by a scream, as two figures, springing from either side of the path, grasped the bridles of both Edward's horse and her own. The next moment Emily felt herself seized by one of the raffians, who instantly mounted behind her—saw her companion felled to the ground—saw two more figures rush forward— heard the report of a pistol—a groan, and uttering another wild scream of fear and despair, she was rapidly borne away into the dark ravine.

In the execution of this nefarious design, Curdish was less successful than Riley; for having struck Edward from his horse, and just as his foot was placed in the stirrup to mount, a shot from the pistol of Bernard disabled him, and he was immediately taken prisoner. At this juncture Edward, recovering from the stunning effects of the blow, sprang to his feet, and learning from Tyrone how matters were, in an agitated voice of deep emotion, said:

"Gentlemen, you are both strangers to me, but you have acted like men, and from my heart I thank you. Some five miles from here, on this road, you will find a cottage occupied by one Webber, where you can confine this villain, and take such measures as you may think proper. Inform Webber of the circumstances, and say that Edward Merton has gone in pursuit of his ward."

"His ward!" echoed Bernard and Tyrone in a breath.

"Even so; adieu!" and mounting his horse, which stood by him, while speaking, he drove the spurs into his sides, and dashed on in pursuit of the kidnapper, with that wild, reckless daring, that uncertainty of purpose, which hot-brained youth ever exhibits, ere subdued by the stern, calm teachings of experience.

"Heavens!" exclaimed Tyrone, as Merton rode away, ere he was fully aware of his purpose; "his rashness may spoil all. But come, Bernard, let us take this cut-throat along, and forward to Webber's as soon as possible."

"Wal, that's to my notion exactly," returned Bernard. "So, Mr. Jack Curdish, you didn't quite come it this ere time, I guess, did ye? Pre'aps you'll have better luck agin you git another such a chance. If I's you, I wouldn't holler and laugh quite so loud next time; I'd du it all a great deal more stiller like; I would, I swow, that's a fact."

"Curses on ye!" growled Curdish between his clenched teeth. "I'll pay ye some day, hang me if I don't!"

"O, you needn't cuss and squirm, 'cause 't wont be o' no use, not a darned bit. I guess I've seen chaps afore to-day git cured, when they got a little obstropulous, mighty tarnal quick too; so come along with ye;" and taking hold of one arm, while Tyrone walked on the other side, the arm of which was broken by the shot of Bernard, they proceeded in the direction of Webber's, where they arrived in about an hour and a half, and where for the present we shall leave them.