Read Ebook: The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness by Reid Mayne

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The purposes of my travelling companion differed slightly from mine, and were, perhaps, a little more definite. His leading idea was a settlement of old scores with Stebbins, for wrongs done to him--which he now more particularly detailed to me. They were sufficiently provocative of revenge; and, from the manner of my comrade, and the vows he occasionally uttered, I could perceive that he would be as eager in the pursuit as myself. In all probability, an encounter with the migrating party would bring about an important change in their programme: since the young hunter was determined, as he expressed himself, "to force the durned skunk into a fight."

Inspired by such motives, we pressed on to the end of our journey; and reached the mouth of the Obion, after a long and wearisome ride. It was midnight when we arrived upon the shore of the Mississippi--at its point of confluence with the Tennessean stream. The land upon which we stood was scarcely elevated above the surface of the water; and covered, every foot of it, with a forest of the cotton-wood poplar, and other water-loving trees. These extending along the marshy borders of both streams, hindered us from having a view of their channels. To obtain this, it was necessary to climb one of the trees; and my comrade being disabled, the task devolved upon me. Dismounting, I chose one that appeared easiest of ascent; and, clambering up it as high as I could get, I fixed myself in a fork, and commenced duty as a vidette.

My position could not have been better chosen. It afforded me a full view, not only of the Obion's mouth, but also of the broad channel into which it emptied--at their confluence, forming an expanse of water that, but for its rolling current; might have been likened to a vast lake. There was moonlight over the whole surface; and the erratic ripples were reflected in sparkling coruscations--scarcely to be distinguished from the gleaming of the "lightning bugs," that hovered in myriads along the hedges of the marsh. Both banks of the lesser stream were draped to the water's edge with an unbroken forest of cotton-woods--the tops of which exhibiting their characteristic softness of outline, were unstirred by the slightest breeze. Between rolled the brown waters of the Obion, in ruder, grander flow, and with channel extended by the freshet. Every inch of it, from side to side, was under my observation--so completely, that I could distinguish the smallest object that might have appeared upon its surface. Not even the tiniest waif could have escaped me--much less a canoe freighted with human beings; and containing that fairer form, that would be certain to secure the keenest and most eager glances of my eye.

I congratulated myself on reaching this perch. I perceived that a better post of observation could not have been chosen. It was complete for the purpose; and, if I could only have felt sure that we had arrived in time, all would have been satisfactory. Time alone would determine the point; and, turning my eyes up stream, I entered upon my earnest vigil.

THE WHITE FOG.

Vain vigil it proved. I shall not tire the reader with details. Suffice it to say, that we kept watch till morning's dawn; and then, profiting by the daylight, sought out a more convenient post of observation, where we continued our surveillance--watching and sleeping in turn. Throughout the following day, and into the second, was our vigil extended: until no longer able to hope against hope, we agreed finally to abandon it. But for one circumstance, we might have felt surprise at the result. We were both convinced that we had reached the river's mouth in good time: since, by our calculations, the canoe could not possibly have "headed" us. But for the same circumstance, we might have believed, that they had not yet come down the Obion; and perhaps would have remained at our post a day longer.

From that time, my comrade and I were uncertain; and this, uncertainty will explain the absence of our surprise at not seeing the canoe, and why we waited no longer for its coming. The most probable conjectures were that it had passed us in the fog; that the apparition was real; and they that occupied the canoe were now far-away on the Mississippi--no longer trusting to such a frail craft, but passengers on one of the numerous steam-boats, that by night as by day, and in opposite directions, we had seen passing the mouth of the Obion.

THE PROMISED EPISTLE.

Under any circumstances, a return to Swampville would have been necessary: certain pecuniary requirements called me back to that interesting village. A journey, even across the desert, cannot be made without money; and the hundred dollars I had paid to Holt, with hotel and other incidental outlays, had left me with a very light purse. It would have taken three times as much as I was master of, to provide us with the scantiest equipment required for a prairie journey; and toward this the young hunter, willing to give his all, was able to contribute nothing. He would cheerfully have parted with his patrimony--as I with my purchase--for a very slender consideration; but, at that crisis, the Californian speculation demanded all the specie in circulation; and neither his clearing nor mine would have sold for a single dollar, had the payment been required in cash. A credit sale could not have served us in any way; and we were forced to hold on to our depreciated property--upon which not a single cent could be borrowed.

Never stood I in more need of my Nashville friend; and my appeal, already made, was promptly responded to--as I expected it would be. On the third day after my despatch, the answer arrived--with a handsome enclosure; enough to carry us across the continent, and back again if need be. We were now ready for the road. We waited only for that other letter, that was to be the index to our destination.

"Stranger!--I hope you got my other letter, and that you were able to read it, for I had no paper, nor pens, nor ink to write it better--only a little bit of a pencil, that was my mother's, and a leaf which father said you tore out of a book. But I think I could have wrote it better, only I was so afraid that they would see me, and scold me for it, and I wrote it in a great hurry, when they were from home, and then left it on the table after both of them had gone down to the creek to get into the canoe. I thought no one would come to the house before you, and I hoped all the morning you might come before we were gone. I would have given a great deal to have been able to see you again; and I think father would have waited till you came, only his friend would not let him stay longer, but hurried us away. But I hope you got the letter, and that you will not be offended at me for writing this one I send you, without your leave. I promised that if you would allow me, I would write from some place, and tell you the name of the country where we are going; but I forgot that it would be impossible for you to give me leave, as you could not see me, nor yet know where to write it to me. I now know what country it is, for everybody we have seen is talking about it, and saying that it is full of gold, that lies on the ground in pieces as big as hickory nuts; and I hear the name a many a time, over and over again. Father calls it `Californey,' and some `California,' and this, I suppose, is the right way of spelling it. It is near a great sea, or ocean as they call it, which is not the same that comes in at Philadelphia and New York, but far greater and bigger than the Mississippi and the Obion, and all the rivers put together. It must be a very large sea to be bigger than the Mississippi! But I am sure you must know all about it, for I have heard them say you have travelled in these far-away countries, and that you were an officer in the army, and had been fighting there with the Mexicans. I am glad you were not killed, and got safe home again to Tennessee; for if you had been killed, I should never have seen you; but now it is just as bad, if I am never to see you again. O sir! I would write to you from that country when we are settled there; but I fear you will forget me before then, and will not care to hear anything more about us.

"I shall never forget our dear Tennessee. I am very sorry at leaving it, and I am sure I can never be happy in California with all its gold-- for what good can gold be to me? I should so like to hear sometimes from our old home, but father had no friends who could write to us; the only one we knew is gone away like ourselves.

"Maybe, sir, you would not mind writing to us--only a very short letter, to tell us how you get on with the clearing, and whether you have made it much bigger, and built a great house upon it, as I have heard father say you intended to do. I shall always like to hear that you are in good health, and that you are happy.

"I have to tell you of a very strange thing that happened to us. At the mouth of the Obion river, when we were in the canoe at night-time--for we travelled all that night--we heard some one shouting to us, and O Sir! it was so like your voice that I trembled when I heard it, for it appeared as if it came down out of the clouds. It was a thick mist, and we could see no one; but for all that, I would have cried out, but father would not let me speak. It appeared to be right above our heads; and father said it was some wood-cutters who had climbed into a tree. I suppose that must have been it; but it was as like your voice as if it had been you that shouted, and as I knew you could not be there, it made me wonder all the more.

"We arrived at this place yesterday. It is a large town on the Arkansas river: and we came to it in a steam-boat. From here we are to travel in a waggon with a great many other people in what they call a `caravan,' and they say we shall be many months in getting to the end of the journey. It is a long time to wait before I can write again, for there are no towns beyond Van Buren, and no post to carry a letter. But though I cannot write to you, I will not forget to think of the words you said to me, as I am now thinking of them every minute. In one of my mother's books which I brought with me, I have read a pretty piece. It is in poetry; and it is so like what I have been thinking of you, that I have learnt it off by heart. It is so true-like and so pretty a piece that I thought you might like to read it, and hoping it may please you, I write it at the end of my letter, which I fear I have already made too long; but I hope you will have patience to read it all, and then read the poetry:--

"I think of thee when Morning springs From sleep with plumage bathed in dew; And like a young bird lifts her wings Of gladness on the welkin blue. And when at noon the breath of love O'er flower and stream is wandering free, And sent in music from the grove-- I think of thee--I think of thee!

"I think of thee, when soft and wide The Evening spreads her robe of light, And like a young and timid bride, Sits blushing in the arms of Night. And when the moon's sweet crescent springs In light or heaven's deep, waveless sea, And stars are forth like blessed things-- I think of thee--I think of thee!

"O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you, and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live.

"Lilian Holt."

Ah, Lilian! I too think of thee, and thy sweet song! Simple, but suggestive words. Knew I but where to address thee, you should know how responsive to them are the echoes of my heart!

THE CARAVAN.

We rode on to Memphis as rapidly as our horses could travel--far too slow for our desires. Thence a steam-boat carried us to Little Rock, and another to Van Buren. Many days had been consumed while waiting for each boat--so many that on arriving at Van Buren, we found that the caravan had the start of us by full two weeks! Its probable route we ascertained without any difficulty--up along the Arkansas to the Rocky Mountains, through the valley of the Huerfano, and the passes Robideau and Coochetopa--thence across the head waters of the Colorado, and by the old Spanish trail to California. It was principally a caravan of gold-seekers: adventurers of all nations. Even Indians had gone with it--of the half-civilised tribes of the frontier--red and white equally tempted by the yellow attractions spread out for them in California. Though large, it was what is termed a "light train"--having more pack-animals than waggons. On this account, it would make way all the faster; and unless delayed by some accident, we might be a long time in coming up with it. It was not without a large measure of vexation that we learnt how far it had got the start of us.

It would be idle to detail the incidents of a journey across the prairies. Ours differed in no way from hundreds of others that have been made, and described--except, perhaps, that after reaching the buffalo range, we travelled more by night than by day. We adopted this precaution simply to save our scalps--and along with them our lives-- since the buffalo range--especially upon the Arkansas--is peculiarly the "stamping" ground of the hostile savage. Here may be encountered the Pawnee and Comanche, the Kiowa and Cheyenne, the Waco and fierce Arapaho. Though continually engaged in internecine strife among themselves, all six tribes are equally enemies to the pale-faced intruders on their domain. At this time they were said to be especially hostile--having been irritated by some late encounters with parties, of ill-behaved emigrants. It was not without great peril, therefore, that we were passing through their territory; and what we had heard, before leaving Van Buren, had made us fully conscious of the risk we were running.

AN UN-PRAIRIE-LIKE APPARITION.

The incident referred to occurred high up the Arkansas, at the celebrated grove known as the "Big Timbers." We had started about two hours before sundown, and were riding in a due westerly direction, over a "rolling" prairie--the ridges of which, as ill-luck would have it, ran transversely to our course: causing the path to be constantly going upward or downward. It was not this that troubled us; but the fact that, as we crested each swell, we were freshly exposed to observation from a distance; and this recurring so often, kept us continuously on the alert.

Once or twice, we thought of halting again till after the sun had gone down: for we knew that we were treading upon dangerous ground; but, failing to perceive any fresh Indian sign, we gave way to our irresolution, and continued on. We proceeded with caution, however: always ascending in stealthy silence, and peeping carefully over the ridges before crossing them. After reconnoitring the intervening valleys, we would ride rapidly across, to make up the time we had lost in our reconnoissance. In this way we had travelled some eight or ten miles--until the sun was so far down, that his lower limb rested on the horizon. We were ascending a ridge, and had got our eyes on a level with its crest, when upon the face of another ridge--about half a mile further on--we beheld two forms outlined against the declivity. We saw that they were human forms; and that they were Indians was our first thought; but a moment's observation convinced us we were in error. They were afoot--Indians would have been on horseback. There was no floating drapery about their bodies--Indians would have had something of this sort; besides there were other circumstances observable in their figures and movements, that negatived the supposition of their being red-skins. They were singularly disproportioned in size: one appearing at least a foot the taller, while the shorter man had twice this advantage in girth!

"What, in Old Nick's name, kin they be?" inquired my companion--though only in soliloquy, for he saw that I was as much puzzled as himself. "Kin ye make 'em out wi' your glass, capt'n?" I chanced to have a small pocket-telescope. Adopting the suggestion, I drew it forth, and levelled it. In another instant, I had within its field of vision a tableau that astonished me.

In this merry mood, and without any apprehension of danger, we advanced towards the spot where the odd figures had been seen. Some broken ground delayed us; and as half a mile of it had to be passed over, we were a considerable time in reaching the summit of the hill. On arriving there, and looking over the swell, behind which they had disappeared, neither tall nor short man was to be seen. A timbered valley lay beyond: into this they had evidently escaped. The track of the wheelbarrow, where it had pressed down the grass, alone indicated their recent presence upon the spot--as it did also the direction they had taken. Their retreating from us was easily accounted for: they could have seen only the tops of our heads, and had no doubt taken us for Indians!

A FOOT OF THIRTEEN INCHES.

The presence of the wheelbarrow explained a point that had been puzzling us for some days. We had fallen upon its track more than once, and supposed it to have been made by the wheel of a cart; but in no instance being able to find the corresponding one, had given it up as a hopeless enigma. The only explanation we had succeeded in offering ourselves was: that some light cart had accompanied the caravan--the load of which, being badly balanced, had thrown the weight upon one wheel, allowing the other to pass over the ground without making an impression. As it was only on dry grass we had traced it, this explanation had sufficed--though far from being satisfactory. Neither my companion nor myself ever thought of a wheelbarrow. Who would, in such a place?

"In the name o' Old Nick, who kin they be?" asked Wingrove, as we halted on the ridge, where the fugitives had been last seen. "I'm not without my suspicions," I replied, just then thinking of a peculiarity that had but slightly occupied my attention--the cut and colour of their dresses. "If I am not mistaken, the two shy birds that have fled from us are a brace of uncle Sam's eagles."

"Sojers?"

"In all probability, and `old sojers' at that."

"But what 'ud sojers be a doin' out hyar?"

"Travelling to California, like ourselves."

"Desarters, may be?"

"Just what I suspect. No doubt the pair have slipped off from some of the frontier posts; and having no opportunity to provide themselves with a better means of transport, have brought the wheelbarrow with them. It is ludicrous enough, but by no means improbable. There are some queer customers in the service of Uncle Sam."

"I think there be--ha, ha, ha! What shed we do, capt'n? Hedn't we better catch up to 'em?"

"They only seed our heads. I reck'n they tuk us for Injuns?"

"In that case, they'll hide from us all the same--only a little more cunningly."

"Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war as cunnin' as a kupple o' possums, they can't a hide the track o' the berra; an' so long's they keep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck'n I ain't quite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies-- consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt'n! it diz one good to look at 'em!"

The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was a real forest that was before us--a large tract covered with gigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name of forest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarely appeared there. The sight of the "Big Timbers" recalled to him the forests of his own Tennessee--with happy memories of other times. They were not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the change that came stealing over his features.

"We must try to overtake them," said I, without answering to the ebullition. "It is important for us to come up with them. Even if they be deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. They muster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, they know how to handle them. We must follow them: there's no time to be lost."

"Ye're right thar, capt'n! The night's a comin' down fast. It's a'ready gettin' dark; an' I'm afeerd it'll be tough trackin' under the timber. If we're to catch up wi' them the night, we hain't a minnit to spare."

"Let us forward then!"

Crossing the ridge, we descended rapidly on the other side--the track of the wheel guiding us in a direct line to the nearest point of the woods. We could tell that the barrow had been trundled down the hill at top speed--by the manner in which the iron tire had abraded the surface of the slope. We had no difficulty in following the trace as far as the edge of the timber, and for some distance into it: but there, to our great surprise, the wheel-track abruptly ended! It was not that we had lost it by its having passed over dry or rocky ground. On the contrary, around the spot where it so suddenly disappeared, the surface was comparatively soft; and even an empty barrow would have made an impression sufficiently traceable, either by my companion or myself.

After beating about for some time, and extending our circle to the distance of a hundred yards or so, we failed to recover the sign. Certainly the barrow had not gone farther--at all events, not upon its trundle. Instinctively, we turned our eyes upward--not with any superstitious belief that the fugitives had made a sudden ascent into the air. But the idea had occurred to us, that they might have hidden themselves in a tree, and drawn the barrow up into it. A single glance was sufficient to satisfy us that this conjecture was erroneous. The thin foliage of the cotton-woods offered no cover. A squirrel could hardly have concealed itself among their branches.

"How have they managed it?"

"Tuk up the machine on thar shoulders, an' toted it thataway! See! thar's thar own tracks! They've gone out hyar--atween these two trees."

"Right, comrade--that appears to be the way they've done it. Sure enough there is the direction they have taken."

"Well! ef I wan't bothered wi' these hyar animals, I ked follow them tracks easy enough. We'd soon kum upon the wheel agin, I reck'n: they ain't a-goin' to travel fur, wi' a hump like thet on thar shoulders."

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