Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 136 — page 27: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a ee ee The Outlaw Hunter. hand and foot, into the carriage. Then the procession set off, with the torch-bearers at the head and sides, and soon disappeared behind the hedges and houses of the little town, which commenced at this spot. CHAPTER XV. THE PURSUER AND THE PURSUED, Tus evening, intended as a feast of joy at Lischke’s house, was turned into sorrow and bitter grief. Old Lischke stood in the middle of the room, with both hands upon the table, his hat still pressed upon bis brow exactly as it had been when he entered, and he gazed in silence at the ground, His daughter hung upon her mother’s neck, sobbing in shame and repentance, and seeking to conceal her face on the maternal bosom. . Christian went to the door, and returned in a few minutes, followed by Lieutenant Walker. ‘Excuse my disturbing you,” said the lieu- tenant; “I wished to see Dr. Schreiber upon very urgent business.” On hearing the strange voice, old Lischke looked up and said: ‘‘ He is not at home, but we expect him every minute. He promised to be back by nine o’clock at the latest.” ‘“ Will you allow me to wait for him in his room?’ ‘Pray, Christian,” said the old man, with- out rising from bis chair, ‘‘tell the girl to take the gentleman to Dr, Schreiber’s room, and light his lamp.” ‘‘T am much obliged to you. Good-evening, gentlemen!” said the stranger, as he left the room with Christian. _ The pastor regarded for a few seconds. the almost broken-hearted father; he went up to him, and, laying his band on his shoulder, said, in a kind voice: “T leave you now alone with your God. But consider that you are a father; that it was your daughter whose foot slipped from the path of virtue. It is your duty to hold out your hand to her that she may not fall,” Having uttered this, the pastor quitted the room, and, soon after, accompanied by his wife and Christian, left the house of sorrow. Lieutenant Walker sat at the window of M'Donald’s room, with his arms crossed on his breast, and looking up in silence and medita- tion at the Southern Cross, which shone brightly im the firmament. Time passed rapidly—an hour be remained in his posture, without giv- ing a sign of impatience. Below all was silent, and most of the lights which had first cast their rays on the fences, were put out. Nothing stirred—the stillness of death reigned in the house, and nothing was heard but the monoto- nous ticking of an old German clock, which, with its regular and loud motions seemed to cut time into small pieces. The lamp, covered with a dark shade, shed a subdued light over the room. Suddenly steps were heard in the street. The lieutenant lis- tened; they came nearer, and stopped before the house. He could distinctly hear the key in the lock, the door open and shut again, and the steps of some one passing through the dark passage and ascending the stairs. The lieutenant stood up, but remained by the window. A hand was laid on the latch— the door opened, and M’Donald entered. He looked pale and fatigued, but perfectly ealm, and, without perceiving the stranger, went to the lamp, lifted the shade, and raised the wick. ‘* Good-evening, M’Donald,” said the deep and sonorous voice of Lieutenant Walker; and M’Donald, on hearing these sounds, started back, as if stung by an adder. The surprise lasted only a moment. With bis left hand he turned the shade of the lamp so as to throw the full light upon the countenance of his an- tagonist, and with the right he drew a double- barreled pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and said, in a quiet voice, but choked with sup- pressed emotion: ‘Lieutenant Walker, you have attained your aim; but probably in a sense different from that you expect. You have ventured within the power of a desperate man and must bear the consequence, For my own part I am tired ef this life. Hunted, pursued like a wild beast, with the blood-hounds on its track, night and day—who would wish to live thus?” Lieutenant Walker listened to him quietly, with his arms stili crossed upon his breast, At last he said: 2 ‘‘ What if I did not come as an enemy—if I brought you peace and quietness, M’Donald?”’ ‘Those are only to be found in the grave!” the unfortunate man replied, in a_ hollow voice. ‘‘Put down your weapon, sir,” continued Walker, in an almost friendly voice. ‘‘I am alone; my men are not in the neighborhood, al- though they were lying in ambush round the house for an bour or two.” ‘* Betrayed, after all, then,” said. M’Donald, with a bitter smile. ‘You have no cause to complain of that,” replied Walker, laughing. ‘‘Do not look at me so gloomily. If my heart were not at this moment light.and glad—if I brought you only imprisonment and fresh tortures—I should cer- tainly not be laughing. But, to-morrow’s sun will find you ahappier man. I bring you life and liberty.” ** You?’ exclaimed M’Donald, with astonish- ment, yet not without suspicion, “It may appear strange to you,”. said Walker, laughing, ‘‘that a lieutenant of the police should engage in such, I might say, nega- tive occupations; but such is the case, never- theless. But—” he added, suddenly, in a frank manner, “be assured, M’Donaid, that, from the day when we fought side by side against the blacks, I felt you were a different man from what ‘the world supposed. From that day it was with reluctance that I fulfilled my duty. I certainly endeavored to execute it because it was my duty.” **T do not understand you,” said M’Donald, astonished at the extraordinary conduct of the man, . “‘T will no longer keep you in suspense. Let us sit down!” he added, as, unbuckling his sa- . ber, he placed it in a corver, drew a chair to the table, and sat down. M’Donald, who still held the pistol in his hand, laid it upon a chest of drawers, locked the door, to guard against any surprise, and also sat down to the table, “Still suspicious!” observed Walker, laugh- ing. ‘‘But—you are right. I have hitherto done nothing to entitle me to your confidence, Listen to me quietly; the sequel of my short narration will perhaps give you a better opin- ion of me, : “We met yesterday for the second time, in company,” the lieutenant commenced, with a smile; ‘‘and I must confess the blue spectacles and your German entirely deceived me, I had no notion you were so well acquainted with a foreign tongue, although your figure and appearance seemed familiar to me. This morning an old acquaintance of eurs, allured by the hundred pounds’ reward offered for your apprehension, disclosed to me that Dr. Schreiber at Lischke’s, was no other than the notorious Jack Loudon,” ‘““Red John!” exclaimed M’Donald, with a smile of contempt, ‘‘Not exactly, although I have since heard that gentleman hada handin the affair. We caught him this evening, and he will soon get his richly-merited reward—the gallows. No; the informer was once a hut-keeper upon Mr, Powell’s station, who was known there under the name of Miller, but whose real name is Hohburg.” ‘* Hohburg!” exclaimed M’Donald, starting from his chair with horror. ‘‘ That. was Miller! Now I understand why that face seemed so familiar to me, and the strange and inexplicable feeling which always came over me when I looked into those eyes!” ‘* Pray sit still!” said the lieutenant; ‘ you will hear things stranger still. The fellow looked horrible, with bis matted hair, pale face, deep-sunken eyes, and trembling limbs— indeed, the very image of one ruined by drink. I was bound to make use of the information, M’Donald; but I give you my word that I would sooner have struck the informer to the ground than arrest you. I therefore issued my orders, sent a constabla here in disguise to in- quire after you, and surrounded the house, which was to have been searched by my men somewhere about this time. IL committed to my sergeant the execution of the enterprise, as I did not wish to have anything further to do with it myself.” “ And now?” **T have sent my men to their quarters, and come to talk over with you the events of this day. Listen. I thought you were under the penalty of law, but I also thought that you were not to be classed with ordinary criminals. Not wishing to see you after you had been ar- rested, toward evening I rode out of Saaldorf, = “comic in order to pay a visit to the magistrate of the next town, intending to return to-morrow morning, when all should, as I hoped, be over. On my way, at ashort distance off, I passed a small house, which stands alone by the road- side, nestling in the bush. Hearing wild and heart-rending cries, I stopped my horse, The next instant the thought struck me that my men had maintained; they had come upon the tracks of Red John in ‘this neighborhoed. The ery of terror inside was perhaps, I thought, his work; and, turning my horse, I sprung out of the saddle, threw the reins over a bush, took the pistols out of the holsters, and rushed to the door of tbe but. I found my weapons were not wanted, but my presehce was the more opportune. ‘In the middle of the poor but clean room a man was stretched out upon a mattress. This was Miller, or Hohburg, in a state of madness. A pale woman sat in the corner of the room, with clasped hands and fixed looks, and a man, the captain of a German ship in the port of Adelaide, was kneeling by bis side. The woman did not even nolice my sudden entrance with pistols in my bands. Her +¢yes wandered meaningless past me, and were again fixed upon the ground, The captain seemed delighted at my arrival, and, in a fearful state of agita- tion, be took bold of m¥ band and led me to the couch of the unfortunate man. ‘*M Donald,” continued ‘Walker, after a short pause, during which he appeared agita- ted in an unusual manner, “I will no longer keep you on the rack. You were transported for the murder of an Lrish gentleman, Do not. interrupt me—I this evening took the de- positions of the real murderer, who acknowl- edged his crime,” ‘‘ Hohburg!” cried M’ Donald, borror-stricken. ‘ Good God!” “Stung with remorse,’”’ Walker continued, with emotion, ‘‘and feeling the approach of death, hé acknowledged in my presence and that of the German, his crime, and—your in- nocence, Then he tried to rise, to go to Adelaide and give bimself up to justice; but his enfeebled body was completely exhausted. He sunk back upon the couch and died, utter- ing ctrses, in the arms of the captain.” ‘‘Horrible!” exclaimed M’Donald, covering his. face with his hands. ‘ “The monster, who in cold blood brought ruin and misery upon you, does not deserve your ¢gompassion,” Walter said gloomily. “The dewoa drink, to which he devoted him- self, has saved him from the gallows, which he deserved a thousand times more than even that tenfold assassia, Red John.” ‘‘ And the poor, poor womaa—” “She may thank God that she is delivered from the bonds which bound her to such a wretch. She is now in sefe bands. The kind captain has charge of her and the child. He tells me he is well acquainted with her family, and that he intends to take her back to Ger- many. He requested me to ask you not to go and see her im her present state. The last fear- - ful scene has produced such an impression upon her that any new emotion, which your presence could not fail to- excite, might prove highly prejudicial, Leave her to time and to the captain’s care. Besides,” he added, with a smile, ‘I sbould think the favorable change that has taken place in your own affairs will afford you sufficient occupation.” “‘Tt seems like adream to me. My head turns dizzy when I tlLink of it,” said M’Donala, | pressing his temples with his bands, “Then I will think for you,” sai!’ Walker, laughing. ‘‘ You must first of all accompany me to Sydney, to which place I shall return by the first ship, as my mission here is per- formed. The sergeant: will return with the troop overland through Melbourne,” ‘‘To prison!” M’Donald exolaimed in an- guish, ‘‘In very easy custody,” replied the officer, with a smile. ‘‘ Captain Helger, as he is called, will, I think, touch at Syduey with his ship, and our joint testimony will be sufficient to obtain your liberation on parole, until an an- swer can arrive from England. There can now be no doubt that an immediate pardon will be granted. Then,” he added, with a smile, when that is done, I shall be ready to give the free man any satisfaction he may like to demand for the trick I was obliged to play him on the Murray.” “Walker!” exclaimed M’Donald, jumping up from his cbair, and seizing the lieutenant’s hand, “ you are a man of honor, and my hand JOOKS * ‘ \ _ . 7! i C