He went to the tent on our left, while I remained watching the approach of the enemy. I could see them distinctly as they moved from tree to tree. I heard B call in a whisper, Jamison! Jamison! Jamison came out of his tent but without his arms. B told him of our danger, and directed his attention to the Indians in the grove. As he spoke Jamison stretched out his arms and gave a yawn, remarking, These Injuns are mighty unsartin critters; theres no knowing about their motions; crawled into his tent again. B returned; neither of us spoke. We lay down and drew our blankets over us; at length B said:
Harry?
What?
Hoaxed! by thunder!
The whole truth, which had been breaking in upon my mind by degrees, now flashed upon me, and I raised a shout of laughter. At this instant, poor Doings, who had been awake from the commencement, but who was so scared that he had rolled himself under the eaves of the tent, and contracted himself into a space scarcely larger than my arm, and who in his terror would have lain still and had his throat cut without wagging a finger in defence; this poor, miserable Doings exclaimed Haw! haw! haw! I knew it all the time; I never see fellows so scared! This was too bad. However, we had our laugh out, discussed plans for vengeance, went to sleep and had quiet slumbers for the rest of the night.
The next morning we ascertained that the whole story about the Sioux encampment had been fabricated for the purpose of trying our mettle, and that all save B, myself and Doings, were in the secret. The moving objects which I had seen in the grass were Indian dogs prowling around for food, and the Indians in the timber existed only in our excited imaginations.
I may hereafter give an account of the modus operandi of our revenge, and of our mode of hunting the buffalo, in which we met with much success; and of other matters of interest which fell under my observation during the sixty days we spent with this tribe of Indians.
H. T. H.LIFES YOUNG DREAM
There is no Voice in Nature which says Return.
Those envious threads, what do they here,
Amid thy flowing hair?
It should be many a summers day
Ere they were planted there:
Yet many a day ere thou and Care
Had known each others form,
Or thou hadst bent thy youthful head
To Sorrows whelming storm.
Oh! was it grief that blanched the locks
Thus early on thy brow?
And does the memory cloud thy heart,
And dim thy spirit now?
Or are the words upon thy lip
An echo from thy heart;
And is that gay as are the smiles
With which thy full lips part?
For thou hast lived mans life of thought,
While careless youth was thine;
Thy boyish lip has passed the jest
And sipped the sparkling wine,
And mingled in the heartless throng
As thoughtlessly as they,
Ere yet the days of early youth
Had glided swift away.
They say that Nature wooeth back
No wanderer to her arms;
Welcomes no prodigals return
Who once hath scorned her charms.
And ah! I fear for thee and me,
The feelings of our youth
Have vanished with the things that were,
Amid the wrecks of truth.
Oh! for the early happy days
When hope at least was new!
Ere we had dreamed a thousand dreams,
And found them all untrue;
Ere we had flung our life away
On what might not be ours;
Found bitter drops in every cup,
And thorns on all the flowers.
Ye who have yet youths sunny dreams,
Oh guard the treasure well,
That no rude voice from coming years
May break the enchanted spell!
No cloud of doubt come oer your sky
To dim its sunny ray,
Be careless children, while ye can,
Trust on, while yet ye may.
THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE
HARRY HARSON
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST
In the same room from which Craig and Jones had set out on their ill-fated errand, and at the hour of noon on the following day, the latter was crouching in front of the fire-place, which had been so bright and cheery the night before, but which now contained nothing except ashes, and a few half-burned stumps, charred and blackened, but entirely extinguished. Over these Jones bent, occasionally shivering slightly, and holding his hands to them, apparently unconscious that they emitted no heat, and then dabbling in the ashes, and muttering to himself. But a few hours had elapsed since he had left that room a bold, daring, desperate man; yet in that short time a frightful change had come over him. His eyes were blood-red; his lips swollen and bloody, and the under one deeply gashed, as if he had bitten it through; his cheeks haggard and hollow, his hair dishevelled, his dress torn, and almost dragged from his person. But it was not in the outward man alone that this alteration had taken place. In spirit, as well as in frame, he was crushed. His former iron bearing was gone; no energy, no strength left. He seemed but a wreck, shattered and beaten downdown to the very dust. At times he mumbled to himself, and moaned like one in suffering. Then again he rose and paced the room with long strides, dashing his hand against his forehead, and uttering execrations. The next moment he staggered to his seat, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed like a child.
Tim, said he, in a low broken voice, poor old Tim; I killed you, I know I did; but blast ye! I loved you, Tim. But its of no use, now; youre dead, and can never know how much poor Bill Jones cared for you. No, no; you never can, Tim. We were boys together, and now Im alone; no one leftno one, no one!
In the very phrenzy of grief, that succeeded these words, he flung himself upon the floor, dashing his head and hands against it, and rolling and writhing like one in mortal pain. This outbreak of passion was followed by a kind of stupor; and crawling to his seat, he remained there, like one stunned and bereft of strength. Stolid, scarcely breathing, and but for the twitching of his fingers, motionless as stone; with his eyes fixed on the blank wall, he sat as silent as one dead; but with a heart on fire, burning with a remorse never to be quenched; with a soul hurrying and darting to and fro in its mortal tenement, to escape the lashings of conscience. Struggle on! struggle on! There is no escape, until that strong heart is eaten away by a disease for which there is no cure; until that iron frame, worn down by suffering, has become food for the worm, and that spirit and its persecutor stand before their final judge, in the relations of criminal and accuser.
A heavy step announced that some one was ascending the stairs. Jones moved not. A loud knock at the door followed. Still he did not stir. The door was then flung open, in no very gentle manner, for it struck the wall behind it with a noise that made the room echo: but a cannon might have been fired there, and Jones would not have heard it.
The person however who had thus unceremoniously opened the way to his entrance, seemed perfectly indifferent whether his proceedings were agreeable or otherwise. His first movement on entering the room was to shut the door after him and lock it; his next was to look about it to see whether it contained any other than the person of Jones. Having satisfied himself on that score, he walked rapidly up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
A heavy step announced that some one was ascending the stairs. Jones moved not. A loud knock at the door followed. Still he did not stir. The door was then flung open, in no very gentle manner, for it struck the wall behind it with a noise that made the room echo: but a cannon might have been fired there, and Jones would not have heard it.
The person however who had thus unceremoniously opened the way to his entrance, seemed perfectly indifferent whether his proceedings were agreeable or otherwise. His first movement on entering the room was to shut the door after him and lock it; his next was to look about it to see whether it contained any other than the person of Jones. Having satisfied himself on that score, he walked rapidly up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
Jones looked listlessly up at him, and then turning away, dabbled in the ashes, without uttering a word.
Hello! Bill Jones, said the stranger, after waiting a moment or two in evident surprise, what ails you?
The man made no reply.
Are you sulky? demanded the other; Well, follow your own humor; but answer me one question: wheres Craig?
Jones shuddered; and his hand shook violently. Rising up, half tottering, he turned and stood face to face with his visiter.
Good day to ye, Mr. Grosket, said he, with a ghastly smile, and extending his hand to him. Good day to ye. Its a bright day, on the heels of such a night as the last was.
Good God! what ails you, man? exclaimed Grosket, recoiling before the wild figure which confronted him; and then taking his hand, he said: Your hand is hot as fire, your eyes blood-shot, and your face covered with blood. What have you been at? What ails you?
Jones passed his hand feebly across his forehead, and then replied: Im sick at heart!
He turned from Grosket, and again crouched upon the hearth, mumbling over his last words, Sick at heart! sick at heart!nor did he appear to recollect Groskets question respecting Craig. If he did, he did not answer it, but with his arms locked over his knees, he rocked to and fro, like one in great pain.
Are you ill, man, or are you drunk? demanded Grosket, pressing heavily on his shoulder. Speak out, I say: what ails you? If you dont find your tongue, Ill find it for you.
Jones, thus addressed, made an effort to rally, and partially succeeded; for after a moment he suddenly rose up erect, and in a clear, bold voice, replied:
Im not drunk, Mr. Grosket, but I am ill; God knows whats the matter with me. Look at me! he continued, stepping to where the light was strongest; Look at me well. Wouldnt you think Id been on my back for months?
You look ill enough; was the blunt reply.
Well, then, what do you want? demanded Jones, in a peevish tone; why do you trouble me? I cant bear it. Go away; go away.
I will, when youve answered my question. Wheres Craig?
I dont know. He was here last night; but he went out, and hasnt been here since.
Where did he go?
Jones shook his head: He didnt say.
Was he alone?
No, replied the other, evidently wincing under these questions; No; there was a man with him, nigh about my size. He went with him. Thats all I know about either of them. There, there; get through with your questions. They turn my head, said he, in an irritable tone.
Why did he take a stranger? demanded Grosket, without paying the least attention to his manner. You forget that I know you and he generally hunt in couples.
It might have been the cold of the room striking through to his very bones that had so powerful an effect on Jones, but he shook from head to foot, as he answered:
Look at me! God! would you have a man out in such a night as that was, when hes almost ready for his winding-sheet?
Groskets only reply was to ask another question.
What was the name of the man who went with him?
I dont know.
What did they go to do?
Jones hesitated, as if in doubt what answer to make, and then, as if adopting an open course, he said: Ive knowd you a good while, Mr. Grosket, and you wont blab, if I tell you what I suspect, will ye? Its only guess-work, after all. Promise me that; I know your word is good.
Grosket paused a moment before he made the promise; and then said: Well, Ill keep what you tell me to myself. Now then.
It was a house-breaking business, said Jones, sinking his voice. They took pistols with them; and I heard Tim tell the other one to take the crow-bar and the glim. Thats all I know. I was too much down to listen. There; go away now. Ive talked till my head is almost split. Talking drives me mad. Go away.
Grosket stood perfectly still in deep thought. The story might be true; for the city was ringing with the news of the burglary, and of the death of one of the burglars by the hands of his comrade. It was rumored too, that the dead man had been identified by some of the officers of the police, and that his name was Craig. It was this, taken in connection with the facts that the attempt had been made on Harsons house; that an effort had been made to carry off a child who lived with him, and of its being known to Grosket that Rust had often employed these two men in matters requiring great energy and few scruples, that had induced him thus early to visit their haunt, to ascertain the truth of his suspicions; and to endeavor, if possible, to ferret out the plans of their employer. The replies of Jones, short and abrupt as they were, convinced him that his suspicions respecting Craig were correct; but who could the other man be?
Engrossed with his own thoughts, he appeared to forget where he was and who was present; for he commenced walking up and down the room; then stopped; folded his arms, and talked to himself in low, broken sentences. Again he walked to the far end of the room and stopped there.
Jones, in the mean time, to avoid farther questioning, seated himself; and leaning his elbows on his knees, hid his face in his hand. He was disturbed, however, by feeling himself shaken roughly by the shoulder. What youve just been telling me, is a lie! said Grosket, sternly. You should know me well enough not to run the risk of trifling with me. I want the truth and nothing else. Where were you last night?
Jones looked up at him and then answered in a sullen tone: Ive told you once; I was here.
Grosket went to a dark corner of the room and brought back Jones great-coat, completely saturated with water. This room scarcely leaks enough to do that, said he, throwing it on the floor in front of Jones. Ha! whats that in the pocket?
He thrust in his hand and drew out a pistol. The hammer was down, the cap exploded, and the inside of the muzzle blackened by burnt powder.
Fired off! said he. You told the truth. The man who went with Craig did look like you. I know the rest. Tim Craig is dead, and you shot him.
An expression of strange meaning crossed the face of the burglar as he returned the steady look of his visiter without making any reply. But Grosket was not yet done with him; for he said in a slow, savage tone: Now mark me well. If you lie in what you tell me, Ill hang you. Who employed you to do this job?
Jones eyed him for a moment, and then turned away impatiently and said, I dont know what youre talking about. Dont worry me. Im sick and half crazy. Get away, will ye!
This to me! to me! exclaimed the other, stepping back, his eyes flashing fire; you forget yourself.