Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

8 that she was not herself observed, she suddenly faced round, and came running toward me! Taken by surprise—a surprise mingled with sweet satisfaction—I rose to my feet; and stood silently but respectfully awaiting her approach. I had acted with prudence in not speaking; for I saw by her manner that the*movement was a stolen one. More- over, the finger, raised for an instant to her lips, _ admonished me to silence. I understood the signal, so piquantly given; and obeyed it. In another in- stant she was near—near enough for me to hear her words—delivered in a half-whisper. She had paused before me in an attitude that betokened the tear of interruption; and, before speaking, again cast be- hind her another of those unquiet looks. “Brave stranger!’ said she, in a hurried under- tone, ‘‘I know you are not afraid of my father; but oh, sir! for mercy’s sake, do not fight with him!” “For your sake,” I said, interrupting her, and speaking in a low but impressive tone—‘“ for your sake, fair Lilian, Ishall not ficht with him. Trust rey there is no fear. I shall bear anything, rather than—" ‘* Hush!” said she, again motioning mea to silence, at the satne time glancing furtively behind her. “You must not speak; you may be heard! Only listen to me. I know w y you are here. I came ‘out to tell you something.’ ‘*T listen.” ‘Father does not now wish to quarrel with you: he has changed his mind. I have just heard what they said. He intends to make you a proposal. Oh, sir! if you can, please agree to it; for then there will be no trouble. I hope there will be none!” “For you, fair Lilian, I shall agree to it—what- ever the conditions be. Can you tell me what pro- posal he intends making me?” ‘*T heard him say he would sel]— Oh, mercy! they are coming—if I am seen—”’ The murmuring words were drowned by the loud- er voices of the men—who were now heard return- ing round the angle of the wall. Fortunately, be- fore they had reeched the front of the cabin, the young girl had glided back into the gy 6 and no suspicion appeared to be entertained by either of the clandestine visit just paid me. On rounding the corner, the stranger ok The squatter continued to advance, until within a few paces of where I stood. Then halting, he erected his gigantic form to its full hight; and, for a moment, confronted me without speaking. I no- ticed that his countenance no longer bore signs of angry passion: but, on the contrary, betrayed some traces of a softer feeling—as of regret and contri- tion. “Strenger!” said he at length. “I’ve two things to propose to ye; an’ ef you'll agree to them, thur’s no need why you an’I shed quarrel—leest-of all plug one another wi’ bullets, as we wur agwine to do a minnit ago.” **Name your conditions!” rejoined I, “ andif they are not impossible for me to accept, 1 promise you they shall be agreed to."’ With Lilianin my thoughts, they would be hard indeed if | could not square with whatever terms he might propose. “They ain’t unpossible—neyther o’ ‘em; thur only just an’ fair.’ * Let me hear them; and believe me, Hickman Holt, I shall judge them most liberally.’ “Fust, then, you called me a coward, Do you take thet back?’ ' “Willingly I do.” - “So fur good; an’ now for t’other proposal I hev to make. Idon’t acknowledge y’ur right to this ‘arin’. I’ve made it; an’ call it my own, as a sove- reign citizen of these United States: an’ I don’t care a cuss for pre-emption right, since I don’t believe in any man’s right to move me off o’ the groun’ I've cl’ared. But I ain’t so durned pertickler “bout this hyur bit. Another ‘ll answer my bizness equally as well—maybe better—an’ ef ye’ll pay me for my imm- provements, ye can take both cl’arin’ an cabin, an’ hev no more muss about it. Them’s my proposals.”’ “How much do you expect for these improve- ments? At what sum do you value them? I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor urse felt light as it lay against my bosom—far fishter than the heart within: though that had been heavier but an hour before, I knew that the sack contained less than two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters’ Bank; and I feared that such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter. “Waal, strenger,”’ replied he after a pause, “ thur - worth a good wheen o’ dollars; but I shan t valley *em myself. I'll leave that part o’ the bizness to a third individooal—my friend as stands thur; an’ who's a just man, an’s been some’at o’ a lawyer too. He'll say what’s fair atween us. Won't ye, Josh?” I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of the squatter, toward his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrained from showing my astonishment. “Oh, yes,"’ replied the other, “Tl value the ee with pleasure—that is, if the gentleman esires me to do so.” ‘How much do you think it worth?’ T inquired with nervous anxiety. “Weil, I should say that, for the improvements Mr. Holt has made, a hundred dollars would be a fair compensation.”’ “A hundred dollars?’’ “Yes—in cash, of course, I mean.”’ ‘Will you be satisfied with that sum?” said I, turning to Holt for the answer. . ‘* Porfitly satisfied—so long’s it’s in cash.” ‘**T agree to give it then.” “All right, strenger; a bargain’sa bargain. You kin shell out the dollars, and I'll gi’e ye pursession afore this gentleman, who'll witness it in writin’, ef you like.” ;: “I want no writing. I can trust to your word.” It was no flattery. I felt at the moment that the yr pong em rudely as he had acted—was still possessed of an honorable principle: and I knew that, under the circumstances, his word would not only be as moe as his bond, but better, I made no’ hesitation, refore; but counting out the money, placed it upon the stump, alongside that curious document impaled there by the blade of the squatter’s knife, ‘When ’u'd ye like to take pursession?”’ asked the eutgoing tenant. “At your convenience,”’ I replied, wishing to dSehave as courteously as possible, a a re a ec ae The Wild Ffuntress. “Tt won't take me long to move. My furniter ain't very cumbersome, an’ I k’u’d let ye in to- ‘morrow, ef’t wa’n’t that I hev some unexpected biz- ness with my friend hyur. Say day arter the morrow? Ef ye’ll kum then, ye'll find me ready to deliver ap, Will that answer for ye?” ‘* Admirably !”? was my reply. * All right, then! I'd ask ye in, but thur’s nothin’ to gi’e you, 'ceptin’ that piece o’ deer meat, an’ it’s raw. Besides, strenger, I've some partickler bizness jest now, that I'm "bleeged to see to.” “Oh, never mind! I shall not need any refresh- ment till I reach Swampville.”’ : *Waa!, then, I'll bid you good-mornin’, at the same time wishin’ you luck o’ your barg’in.”’ “Thanks; eg Saget? I leaped into the saddle, and turned my horse's head toward the entrance of theinclosure. I should have given him the t»uch to go forward with more reluctance, had I not perceived the fair Lilian gliding out of the cabin, and hog eines in the same direc- tion. Two or three of the bars had been replaced by the clerical visitor; and she had gone, apparently to remove them. Was it simple courtesy, or a pre- tense to speak with me? My heart heaved with tumultuous joy, as I fancied that the latter might be her motive. When I reached the entrance the bars were down, and the young girl stood leaning against one of the uprights; her round white arm embracing the post. Envied piece of timber! ‘*Promise me we shall meet again?” said I, bend- ing down, and speaking in a half-whisper. She looked back toward tho cabin with a timid glance. We were not observed. The two men had gone into the horse-shed. In her fingers I noticed the flowers of a bignonia. She had taken it from among the golden tresses of her hair. Her cheek rivaled the crimson of its corolla, as she flung the blossom upon the saddle-bow. ‘* Promise me!” I repeated in a more earnest tone. ‘* Yes—yes!’’ she replied in a soft, low voice, that resembled the whisper of an angel; and then, hear- ing noises from the house, she passed hurriedly away. CHAPTER XVIII. AN ERRAND OF LOVE. Tus second purchase and payment rendered necessary a communication with my Nashville friend. Fortunately, Swampville had a mail; and to avail myself of it, I rode direct for the settlement. On my return, I found the river-town, figuratively speaking, on fire. Short as had been the period of my absence, it had been marked by an incident of no ordinary character, That morning’s mail had conveyed to the settle- ment the intelligence of a rare and interesting event —the discovery of the gold placers of California. I had heard rumors of this before—only half-believed, and not yet reaching to Swampville. Returned emizrants from California were now report ed as having arrived in St. Louis and other frontier towns, bringing with them, not only the full account of the old discovery, but its confirmation, in the shape of arge chunks of gold-bearing quartz, and bags of the yellow dust itself. The marvelous tale was no longer questioned, or doubted, The mail had brought newspapers from New Orleans and St. Louis, giving detailed accounts of the digging of Sutter’s mill-race by the disbanded soldiers of the Mormon battalion; of the crevasse caused by the water, which had laid open the won- derful auriferous deposits, and describing also the half-frantic excitement which the news had pro- duced in these populous cities, In this Swampville had not been slow to imitate them, I found the little village on the qua vive, not only the idlers showing an interest in the extraordi- nary intelligence, but the business men of the place being equally startled out of their sobriety. A “company” was already projected, in which many well-to-do men had registered their names, and even Colonel Kipp talked of transporting his penctes across the great plains and swinging the Jackson sign upon the shores of the Pacific. Swampville was smitten with a golden mania, that seemed to prom- ise its speedy depopulation. Though many of my old camara’os of the Mexican campaign found fresh vent for their energies in this new field of enterprise, for me it had no attractions whatever. I therefore resisted the solicitations of the Swampvillians to “jine thar company ”’—in which I was offered the compliment of a command. On that day, and at that hour, not for all the gold in California would I have forsaken my new home in the forest—under whose “ boundless contiguity of shade ” sparkled, in my eyes, ‘‘ a metal more atirac- tive.” Instead of longing for the far shores of the Pacific, I longed only to return to the banks of Mud Creek, and chafed at the necessary delay that hindered me from gratifying my wish. Even the generous hos- pitality of Colonel Kipp—amiable under the influence of golden dreams—even the smiles of the simpering Alvina, and the more brave coquetry of Car’line— now become a decided admirer of my yellow buttons wt ty not sufficient to preserve my spirits from ennui, Only at meals did I make my appearance atthe hotel—at all other times seeking to soothe the impas- sioned pulsations of my heart In the dark depths of the forest. There I would wander for hours, not listing where I went, but ever finding myself, as if by some instinct, upon the path that condueted in the direction of the creek! If was some solace to listen to the notes of the wild woods—the songs of birds and bee—for these had become associated in my mind with the melodious tones of Lilian’s voice— to look upon the forest flowers, more especially upon the encarmined blossom of the bignonia--now to me a symbol of the sweetest sentiment. The one most prized of all I had carefully preserved. In a glass I had placed it on the dressing-table of my chamber, with its peduncle immersed in Water. My zealous care only procured me a chagrir. On returning from one of my rambles I found the flower upon the floor, crushed by some spiteful heel. Was it thy heel, Caroline Kipp? In ifs place was a bunch of hideous gilly-flowers and yellow daffodils of the dimensions of a drum- head cabbarce—placed there either to mock my re- gard or to elicit my admiration. In either case I re- solved non a reranche. By its wound, the bignonia sinelled sweeter than ever; and though I could not —_————— ——, - ——--——_ + ——— ee ee eee S annniadeieetiante te ee —_——_ -- - ———_—- ee restore the pretty blossom to its graceful campanu- late shape, from that time forward it auvedred tn my button-hole—to the slight torture, [ fancied, of the backwoods coquette. On the morning of the third day, as I] mounted m horse and turned his head in the direc:ion of Helt's clearing, it was not with any design of ¢ ispossessing the squatter. Occupied with sweet love-dreams, I had as given no thought to the ruder realities of life. Ihad formed no plan for colonizing--neither toward entering upon possession nor extending the “improvement ’’ I had twice purchased. Notwithstanding both purchase and payment, the squatter might still continue to hold his cabin and clearing and share with me the disputed land. Wel- come should [ make him on one condition—the con- dition of becoming his guest—constant or occasional —in either way, so long asI might have the oppor- tunity of enjoying the presence of his fair daughter, and to herdemonstrating my heart's devotion. Some such idea, vaguely conceived, flitted across my mind as I entéred upon my second journey to Mud Creek. My ostensible object was to take formal possession of an estate and turn out its original owner. But my heart was in no unison with such an end. It re- coiled from, or rather had it forgotten, its grote’ Its throbbings were directed to a different object guiding me on a more joyful and auspicious errand -—-theerrandoflove! ———__ CHAPTER XIX. A RED-SKINNED SIBYL. Nota sound came from the forest to disturb my sweet musings. Silent was the of the Indian summer—soft and balm-laden its breeze. The trees stirred not; the branches seemed extended in the stillness of repose; even the leaves of the tremuloides hanging on their compressed petioles, were scarcely seen to quiver. The rustling heard at intervals, was but the pb of bright wings amid the foliage; or the rushing of some mountebank squirrel in reck- less evolution among the branches—sounds harmopn- izing with the scene. Not till I had entered the glade was I aroused from my reverie—at first gently, by the sudden emergence from shade into light; but afterward in a more sensible manner on sight of a human form—at a glance recognized as that of the Indian maiden. She was seated, or rather reclining, against the blanched log; her brown arm embracing an out- stretched limb; half supported on one leg—the other crossed carelessly over it in an attitude of re; ose Beside her on the log lay a wicker pannier, filled with odds and ends of Indian manufacture, Though J had ridden close up to the girl, she vonch- snfed no acknowledgment of my presence. I ob- served no motion—not even of the eyes; which, directed downward. seemed fixed in: steadfast gaze upon the ground, Nothing about her appeared to move—save the coruscation of metallic ornaments that glittered in the sun, as though her body were enveloped in scale-armor. Otherwise, she m‘eht have been mistaken for a statue in bronze. Tio attitude was in every way graceful; and displayed to perfection the full bold contour of the maiden’s form. Her well-rounded arm entwining the branch with her large body and limbs outlined in alto-rediere against the entablature of the white trunk, presented a picture that a sculptor would have loved to copy; and that even the inartistic eye could not look upon without admiration. Instinctively I checked my horse, and halted in front of this singular apparition. I can se tell why I did so, since neither’by look nor gesture was Linvited to take such a liberty. On the con- trary, I could perceive that my movement was re- — ed with displeasure. ere was no change in he statuesque ‘attitude; even The eyes were not raised from the earth; but & frown was distinctly traceable on the features of the girl. Thus repulsed, I should have ridden on; and wonld have done so, but for that’sense of awkwardness, which one feels in similar situations. By pausing in the marked manner_I had done, and so potntediy at the girl, I hed committed an act of ill- reeding-~-of which I now felt sensible. Indian though she was, she was evidently no com- mon squaw; but gifted with certain noble traits, of which many @ maiden With white skin might have envied her the possession, Just then, I had myself no cause to fear an unre- quited love—no n to be ungenerous or selfish— and could, therefore, afford to extend my sympathy to the sufferings of dnother. It was some vague prompting of this kind, that had caused me to draw up—some idea of offering consolation. The repel- ling reception was altogether unexpected, and placed me in a predicament. How was I to ee from it? By holding my tongue, and riding on 0; this would be an acknowledgment of having committed an act of gaucherie—to which man’s vanity rarely accedes, or oe with extreme reluc- tance. I had rushed inconsiderately into the mire, and must plunge deeper to get through. become worse to make our title good.” So reflecting, or rather without reflecting at all, I resolved to “hecome worse’’—with the risk of making a worse out of it. ‘“ Perhaps,” thought I ‘*she does not recognize me?’ She had not looked at meas yet. “If she would only raise her eyes, she would remember me as the friend of the White Eagle. That might initiate a conversation, and cause her to ‘interpret "more ey my epparent rudeness, Ishall speak to her at hazards.” ** Su-wa-nee!"’ The dark Indian eye was raised upon me with an angry flash; but no other reply was vouchsafed, “Su-wa-nee!"? I repeated in the most conciliatory tone, **Do you not remember me? Iam the friend of the White Eagle.”’ “And what is that to Su-wa-nee? words for you—you may fo on!” This decided repulse: instead of bettering cay po- sition, rendered it still more complicated. Some- what confusedly, I rejoined: “Iam on the way te visit the White Earle. I thought—perhaps--you might—that possibly you might have some message for him.” . **Su-wa-nee has no message for the White Engle!" replied she, interrupting me, in an indignant tone, and with a contemptuous toss of her head. “If she had, she would not choose a false pale-face like him- self, to be its bearer. You fancy, white man, yeu * We must She has no JOO: com (E SCO! —s 4 =<“. oe ae |