Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

eet ‘ber-colored hair the only shawl u indifference was at. an end: I beheld one of the loveliest apparitions ever made manifest in female form, or need I scarcely add, in any other. It was a young girl—certainly not over sixteen years of age—but with a contour close verging upon womanhood. Her beauty was of that character which cannot be set forth by a detailed description in words. In true loveliness there is a harmony of the features that will not suffer them to be con- sidered apart; nor does the eye take note of an one, to regard it as unique or characteristic. It satisfied with the covp d’ wilof the whole—if I mer be permitted the expression. Real beauty n not.to be considered; it is acknowledged at a glance; eye and heart, im eae with it at the same instant, search not to study its details. . And this fair creature was costumed in the sim- a manner—almost coarsely clad, A sleeved ress of homespun with a yellowish stripe, loosely worn, and open at the breast. A cotton sun-bonnet was the only covering for her head—her bright am- n her shoulders, over which it fellin ample luxuriance. A string of pearls around ber neck—false ones I could see—was the sole effort that vanity seemed to have made; for there was no other article of adornment. ven shoes and stockings were wanting; but the most costly chaussure could not have added to the ele- ance of those mignon feet, that, daintily protruding low the skirt of her dress, rested along the flank the horse. More commonplace even than her homespun frock was the steed that carried her—a sorry-look- ing anima], that resembled the skeleton of a horse with the skin left on! There was no saddle—searce the semblance of one. A piece of bear-skin, strapped over the back with a rough thong, did service for a saddle; and the little feet hung loosely down with- out step or stirrup. The girl kept her seat, partly b balancing, but as much by holding on to the hig bony withers of the horse, that rose above his shoulders like the hump of a dromedary. The scant mane, wound around her tiny fingers, scarce- ly covered them; while with the other hand she clasped the black reins of an old dilapidated bridle. The want of saddle and stirrup did not hinder her from poising herself gracefully upon the piece of bear-skin; but hers was a figure that could not be ungraceful in any. attitude; and, as the old horse hobbled along, the rude movement all the more pal- ably displayed the magnificent molding of her dy and limbs. e contrast between horse and rider was ridicu- lously striking: the former SPPenr ing a burlesque on the most beautiful of quadrupeds, while the lat- ter was the very impersonation of the loveliest of biped forms. ‘ CHAPTER X. A SERIES OF CONTRE-TEMPS. At sight of this charming equestrian, all thoughts ef leaping the log were driven out of my mind; and I rode quietly forward, with the intention of going round it. It might be that I timed the pace of my horse—mechanically, no doubt—but however that may have been, I arrived at the prostrate tree, just as the young girl reached it from the opposite side. We were thus brought face to face, the log-barrier between us. I would have spoken; but, for the life of me, I could not think of something graceful to say; and to have used the hackneyed phraseology of ‘* Fine morning, miss!’ would, in those beautiful blue eyes that glistened under the shadow of the sun-bonuet, have rendered me as commonplace as the remark. I felt certainit would; and therefore said Bonne Some acknowledgment, however, was necessary j eler., a and, lifting the forage-cap from my forehead, bowed slightly. My salutation was acknowledged by a nod, and, as [ fancied, a smile. Either was grace enough for me to e t; but, whether the smile was the offspring cf a feeling in my favor, or at my expense, 1 was unable at the moment to de- termine. I should have an opportunity of repeating the bow, as we met again in going round the tree. Then I should certainly s to her; and, as [ turned my horse's head to the path, I set about thinking of oer, to say. Thad taken the path leading to the right, that which passed round the root of the tree, Of the two ways this appeared to be the shorter and the more used. What was my chagrin, when, in glancing over my arm, I perceived that I had made a most grievous mistake; the girl was going inthe Ms gems direction! Yes—she had chosen to ride round the branching by of the dead-wood—by all the gods, a much wider circuit! Was it accident, or design? It had the appearance of the latter. I fancied so, and fell many degrees in my own estimation. Her choosing what was evidently the round-about direction, argued unwillingness that we should meet again, since the Inazy movement we were now performing precluded all chance of a second encounter, except with the great log still between us. Even then we should be no longer vis a-risas before, but «/0s-a-oe, almost on the instant of our approaching! To in- sure even this poor privilege, I rode rapidly round the great buttress of roots, that for a moment con- cealed the fair equestrian from my sieht. I did this with the intention of getting forward in time. So rapidly did # pass, and so absorbed was Lin the idea of another sweet salutation, that I saw not the fear- ful creature that lay basking upon the log—on the sunny side of the upheaved mass of earth Once on the other side I discovered thatT had made a third mistake—equally as provoking ag the second—I had arrived too soon! Golden-hair was away up aon the tangle of the tree-tops. I could see her bright face gleaming through the branches, now and then hidden by the broad leaves of the big- nonias that laced them together. To make me still more miserable, I fancied that she was moving with a studied slowness. I had already reached that point where the path parted from the log. I dared not pause: there was no excuse for it. Not the ow of one could I think of; and, with a linger- ing look toward that glittering attraction, I reluc- tantly headed my horse to the forest. A last glance over my shoulder disclosed no improvement in m situation. She was still behind the trellised leaf- work of the bignonias, where she had stayed per- hang to Qjuck a flower. vith one circumstance I now reproached myself: why had I been so shy with this forest damsel? The \ 4 _ The Wild Huntress. ee ee we ee ae eee very way to secure her indifference. Why had I not spoken to her if only in common-place? Even **Good-day’’ would have promised me a response; and the result could not have been more unfavor- able. ak the deuce had I not bidden her ‘ Good- day?’ I should have heard her voice—no doubt an additional charm—for I never yet saw a beautiful woman with a harsh voice; and I fear the inverse proposition is equally true. Why passed I without speaking? Perhaps it was my very a eg she was sm at? ‘Sdeath! what a simpleton— Ho! what do lhear? A woman’s voice—a cry?—of ter- ror? There again!—a scream! the words, ‘‘ Help! Oh, help!” Turning my horse with a wrench, I ed him back along the path. I was scarcely yet a dozen lengths from the log—for the reflections above detailed were but the thoughts, of a moment: Half a dozen bounds cf mys brought me back to the edge of a standing timber—where I pulled up, to ascertain the purport of this singular summons that had reached me. I made no inguiry—no explanation was needed. The scene explained itself: for at the moment of my emerging from the shadowy path I hadatableau under my eyes expressive as it was terrifying. The girl was upon the other side of the log, and near the oint where she should have turned off from it; but nstead of advancing I saw that she had come toa halt—her attitude expressing the wildest terror, as if some fearful object was before her. The jade too showed affright by snorting loudly—his head raised high in the air and his long ears pointing forward. The young girl was dragging mechanically on the bridle—as if to head him away from the spot. But this was impossible: another log, overlapping the first, formed an avenue so narrow as to leave not the slightest chance of a horse being able to turn in it. Into this the animal had backed. There was no way of his getting from between the two trunks but by going straight forward or backward. Forward he Gare not go, and backward he was moving as fast as the nature of the place would permit. My astonishment was of short duration. Effect and cause came under my eye almost at the same in- stant. The latter I saw apes the log in hideous form—the form of a cougar Slowly advancing along the dead-wood—not by bounds or paces, but with the stealthy tread of a cat—his long red body stretched out to its full ex- tent—the beast more resembled a gigantic caterpil- lar than a quadruped. I could scarcely detect the movement of his limbs, so closely did the monster crawl; but his great tail, tapering three feet behind a 5 CHAPTER XI. SWEET AND BITTER. SLOWLY and reluctantly, I turned back from the stream, and once more entered amid the wreck of the hurricane. Along the sunny fe the flowers appeared to kle with a fresher brithancy—imbu- ing the air with sweet odors, wafted from many a perfumed chalice. The birds sung with clearer mel- ody; and the hum of the — ee rung through the glades more harmoniously than ever. The coo- coo-co of the doves blending with the love-call of the squirrel, betokened that both were inspired by the tenderest of passions. Pensando de amor, as the Spanish phrase finely expresses it; for at that mo- ment, the beautiful words of the southern poet were in my thoughts and upon my lips: Aunque las fieras En sus guaridas Enternecidas Pensan de amor! Even the fierce beasts in their forest lairs become gentle under the influence of this all-pervading pas- sion! I rode on slowly and in silence—my whole ab- sorbed in the contemplation of that fair aes whose image seemed still before my eyes—palpa le as if present. On arriving at the scene of m turn was given to my thoughts. it had been a scene of otenee, and deserved commemoration. The body of the panther lay across the path. His shin- ing skin was a trophy not to be despised; and, dis- mounting on the spot, with my hunting-knife I se- cured it. In a few minutes, it was folded uP, and strapped over the cantle of my saddle: and, with this odd addition to my equipage, I once more plunged into the forest-path. For the next mile, the trace led through heavy bottom timber, such as we had traversed, after leaving the settlement of Swampville. The black late adventure, a earth, of alluvial origin, was covered deeply with deeayed vegetation; and the track of horses and cattle had converted the path into mud. At inter- vals, it was intersected by embayments of wet | morass—the projecting arms of a greatswamp, that _appeared to run parallel with the creek. Through these, my horse, unused to such footing, passed with dificulty—often floundering up to his flanks in the mud. Though it was but the kour of noor, it more resembled night, or the late gloaming of twi- | light—so dark were the shadows under this umbra- him, was seen vibrating from side to side, or at in- | tervals moving with quick jerks—expressive of the enjoyment he was receiving in the contemplation of his prey—for such he deemed the helpless maiden before him. , With a glance I had sg ge pron the situation; indeed, at the first glance I understood it perfectly. My delay in acting only arose from the necessity of preparing for action; and that did not take long. My rifle was resting across the pommel of my sad- eous wood. Asif to strengthen the iJlusion, I could ear the ery of the bittern, and the screech of the owl, echoing through the aisles of the forest~sounds elsewhere suggestive of nightand darkness. Now and then, light sLone upon the path—the light that indicates an opening in the forest: but it was not led. It was but the work of amoment to get the piece | ready. The pressure of the muzzle against my | horse’s ear, was a signal well understood; and at once rendered him as immobile as if made of bronze. Many years of practice—during which I had often aimed at higher game—had sieeled my nerves and straightened my sight. sufficiently true for the destruction of the cougar. Quick after the crack, I saw his red body roll back from the log; and, when the smoke thinned off, I could see the animal writhing upon the ground. Why the cougar had fallen to my side, I could not tell: for he was fairly on the ridge of the dead-wood when I fired. Perhaps, on receiving the shot, he had fancied that it came from the only enemy vis- ible to him; and, by an instinct impelling him to es- cape, had tumbled off in the opposite direction. I perceived that he was not yet dead. He was still wriggling about among the branches; but it was out of him. e bullet had passed through his spine, crashing the column in twain. After playin upon him with my revolving pistol, until I ha emptied three or four of its chambers, I had the ore Sabie of seeing him give his last spasmodic What followed, I leave to the imagination of my reader, Suffice it to say, that the incident proved my friend. The ice of indifference was broken; and I was rewarded for my sleight-of-hand prowess by something more than smiles—by words of praise that rung melodiously in my ear—words of gratitude spoken with the free innocent naivete of childhood —revealing, on the part of her who gave utterance to them, a truly grateful heart, I rode back with my fair protegee across the track of fallen timber—I could have gone with her to the end of the world! The tortuous path hindered me from holding much converse with her: only, now and then, was there opportunity for a word. I re- member little of what was said—on my side, no doubt, much that was na pred Bo, but even her observations I can recall but confusedly. The power of love was upon me, alike absorbing both soul and sense—engrossing every thought in the contemplation of the divine creature by my side I arb not to talk—enough for me to look and sten. I did not think of questioning her as to whence she had come, Even her name was neither asked nor ascertained! Thither she was going was re- vealed by the accident of conversation. She was on her way to visit some one who lived on the other side of the creek—some friend of her father. Would that I could have claimed to be her father’s friend —his relative—his son! We reached a ford: it was the crossing-place. The house, for which her visit was designed, stood not far off, on the other side; and I must needs leave her. Emboldened by what had passed, I caught hold of that little hand. It was a rare lib- erty; but I was no longer master of myself. There was no resistance; but I could perceive that the tiny fingers trembled at my touch. The o into the stream; and we were parted, Lingering upon the bank, J gazed upon her reced- ing form—wlth my eyes, followed it through the forest aisle: and then, saw it only at intervals— until by a sudden turning in the path, it was taken from my sight. . birds. that of a friendly clearing. Only the break caused by some dismal lagoon, amidst whose dank stagnant waters even the cypress can- not grow —the habitat of black water - snakes and mud-turtles—of cranes, herons, and Qua Hundreds of these I saw perched upon the rotting half-submerged trunks—upon the cy- press knees that rose like brown obelisks around the edge of the water; or winged their slow flight _ through the murky gloom, and filling the air with Both proved — a clear that the piece of lead had taken the spring | ae ab their deafening screams. On both sides of the trace towered gigantic trees, flanked at their bases with huge projections that appeared like the battlements of a fortress. These singular protuberances rose far above the hight of my horse—radiating from the trunks on every side, and often causing’the path to take a circuitous direction. In the deep gloom the traek would have been difficult to follow, but for an occasional blaze appearing upon the smooth bark of the sycamores. The scene was by no means suggestive of pleasant reflections—the less so, since I had ascertained, from my host of yesternight, that the greater portion of was of just such a character; and that there was scarcely a spot upon it fit for a home- stead, except the one already occupied! ‘Such an incumbrance on my estate,’ reflectedI. “is worse than the heaviest mortgage; and I should have been willing at that moment to part with the timber at a very low valuation. But I well knew the value of such a commodity. On the Thames or the Mersey, amine of wealth—on Mud Creek, it would not have ——— been taken as 4 gift! My spirits fell as I rode for- ward — partl fluenced by the somber scenes through which I was passing—partly by the natural reaction which ever follows the hour of sweet en- joyment—and partly, no doubt, from some un- ee presentiments that were once more shap- B seer rey inmy mind. . p to this time, I had scarcely given thought to my errand, or its object. First the gay hues of the morning, and then the romantic incidents of the hour, had occupied my thoughts, and hindered me from dwelling on future plans or purposes, Now however, that I was cr ogy | close to the clearing of the squatter, I began to feel, that I was also ap- proaching a crisis. CHAPTER XII. A RUDE RESPONSE, An opening of about two acres in extent, of irregu- lar semi-circular shape, with the creek for its chord, and a worm-fence zig-zagging around its are—searce- ly a clearing; since trees bleached and barkless _ stand thickly over it: a log shanty, with clapboard roof, in the center of the COMA TET flanked on one side by a rude horse shed, on the other, by a corn-crib of split rails; ail three—shed, shanty and crib—like the tower of Pisa, threatening to tumble down; near the shanty a wood-pile, with an old ax | ; ' d horse, with provoking impatience, plunged | upon the chop-block; by the shed and erib a ter of white shucks and cobs; in front, among the stumps and girdled trees, a ibin straggle of withered corn-stalks, shorn of their leafy tops—some stand- ing, some trampled down: such was the picture be- fore my eyes, a8, with my horse breast up the fence, I looked into’ the clearing of Squatter Holt! T had ridden quis Bp io the fence, but could see no gate. A set of , however, between twe | roughly mortised uprights, indicated an entrance to the inclosure. The top bar was out. Not feeling inclined to dismount, 1 sprung my horse over the others, and then trotted forward iv front of the shanty. The door stood wide open. I had hopes (E cS IJOO €om (E()