Face to face, with flashing eyes, their bosoms rising and falling as if under one impulse the two stood eyeing each other.
Each believed the other successful: for Louise had not heard the words, that would have given her comfort those words yet ringing in the ears, and torturing the soul, of Isidora!
It was an attitude of silent hostility. Not a word was exchanged between them.
It ended by Louise Poindexter turning round upon the doorstep, and gliding off to regain her saddle. The hut of Maurice Gerald was no place for her!
Isidora too came out, almost treading upon the skirt of the others dress. The same thought was in her heart perhaps more emphatically felt. The hut of Maurice Gerald was no place for her!
The grey horse stood nearest the mustang farther out. Isidora was the first to mount the first to move off; but as she passed, her rival had also got into the saddle, and was holding the ready rein.
The retreat of her rival quick and unexpected held Louise Poindexter, as if spell-bound. She had climbed into the saddle, but remained in a state of indecision bewildered by what she saw.
What was she to think of her rivals sudden desertion? Why that took of spiteful hatred? Why not the imperious confidence, that should spring from a knowledge of possession?
In place of giving displeasure, Isidoras looks and actions had caused her a secret gratification. Instead of galloping after, or going in any direction, Louise Poindexter once more slipped down from her saddle, and re-entered the hut.
At sight of the pallid cheeks and wild rolling eyes, the young Creole for the moment forgot her wrongs.
Maurice wounded dying! Who has done this?
There was no reply: only the mutterings of a madman.
Maurice! Maurice! speak to me! Do you not know me? Louise! Your Louise! You have called me so? Say it again!
Ah! you are very beautiful, you angels here in heaven! Very beautiful. Yes, yes; you look so to the eyes. But dont say there are none like you upon the Earth; for there are there are. I know one that excels you all, you angels in heaven! Heaven would be a pleasant place, if she were here.
Maurice, dear Maurice! Do you remember her name?
She bent over him with ears upon the strain with eyes that marked every movement of his lips.
Her name is
Is?
Louise Louise Louise. Why should I conceal it from you you up here, who know everything thats down there? Surely you know her Louise? You should: you could not help loving her ah! with all your hearts, as I with all mine all all!
Again were soft kisses lavished upon that fevered brow upon those pale lips; but this time by one who had no need to recoil after the contact.
When after a while Phelim entered the hut, he was very surprised at seeing Louise there.
But what does it all mean? said he, returning to the unexplained puzzle of the transformation. Wheres the young lady? Didnt you see nothing of a woman, Miss Poindexter?
Yes yes.
Oh! you did. And where is she now?
Gone away, I believe.
Gone away! She hasnt remained long. I left her here in the cabin not ten minutes ago. She said she was a friend of the master, and wanted to nurse him. Gone, you say? Well, Im not sorry to hear it. Im glad to see you, miss; and sure so would the master, if
Dear Phelim! tell me all that has happened. Has any one else been to this place?
Phelim said that there had been plenty of people of all sorts. He told her about the rider without a head who looked liked Master Mauricewith his horse under him, and his Mexican blanket about his shoulders, and everything just as the young master looks, when hes mounted.
Louise assumed that the strange horseman was someone playing a trick upon Phelim.
A trick, miss! Truth thats just what old Zeb said.
He has been here, then?
Yes but not till long after the others.
What others?
Why the Indians, to be sure a whole tribe of them. But whats that?
What?
Didnt you hear something? Hush! There it is again! Its the tramping of horses! Theyre just outside.
Phelim rushed towards the door.
The place is surrounded with men on horseback. Theres a thousand of them!
Mon Dieu! cried the Creole, It is they! My father, and I here! How shall I explain it? Holy Virgin, save me from shame!
Instinctively she sprang towards the door, closing it, as she did so. But a moments reflection showed her how idle was the act.
Besides, her own steed was in front that spotted creature not to be mistaken. By this time they must have identified it!
But there was another thought that restrained her from attempting to retreat.
He was in danger from which even the unconsciousness of it might not shield him! Who but she could protect him?
Let my good name go! thought she. Father friends all but him, if God so wills it! Shame, or no shame, to him will I be true!
Phelim, rushing out from the door, is saluted by a score of voices that summon him to stop.
Pull up, damn you! Its no use trying to escape. Pull up, I say!
Sure, gentlemen, I had no such intentions. I was only going to
Run off, if youd got the chance. Youd made a good beginning. Here, Dick Tracey! half-a-dozen turns of your trail-rope round him. Lend a hand, Shelton!
Ho! whats this? inquires Woodley Poindexter, at this moment, riding up, and seeing the spotted mare. Why it its Looeys mustang!
It is, uncle, answers Cassius Calhoun, who has ridden up along with him.
I wonder whos brought the beast here?
Loo herself, I reckon.
Nonsense! Youre jesting, Cash?
No, uncle; Im in earnest.
You mean to say my daughter has been here?
Has been still is, I take it. Look yonder!
The door has just been opened. A female form is seen inside.
Good God, Louise what means this? A wounded man! Is it he Henry?
Before an answer can be given, his eye falls upon a cloak and hat Henrys!
It is; hes alive! Thank heaven! He runs towards the couch.
The joy of an instant is in an instant gone. The pale face upon the pillow is not that of his son. The father staggers back with a groan.
Great God! gasps the planter; what is it? Can you explain, Louise?
I cannot, father. Ive been here but a few minutes. I found him as you see. He is delirious.
Louise tells her father that Mr Gerald was alone when she entered. She couldnt stay at home alone and endure the uncertainty any longer. She came to the hut because she thought she might find Henry there.
But how did you know of this place? Who guided you? You are by yourself!
Oh, father! I knew the way. You remember the day of the hunt when the mustang ran away with me. It was beyond this place I was carried. On returning with Mr Gerald, he told me he lived here. I fancied I could find the way back.
Poindexters look of perplexity does not leave him, though another expression becomes blended with it. His brow contracts; the shadow deepens upon it.
Poindexters look of perplexity does not leave him, though another expression becomes blended with it. His brow contracts; the shadow deepens upon it.
A strange thing for you to have done, my daughter. Imprudent indeed dangerous. You have acted like a silly girl. Come away! This is no place for a lady. Get to your horse, and ride home again. Someone will go with you. There may be a scene here, you should not be present at. Come, come! The father strides forth from the hut, the daughter following with reluctance scarce concealed; and, with like unwillingness, is conducted to her saddle.
The searchers, now dismounted, are upon the open ground in front. They stand in groups some silent, some conversing. A larger crowd is around Phelim who lies upon the grass, tied in the trail-rope. His tongue is allowed liberty; and they question him, but without giving much credit to his answers.
On the re-appearance of the father and daughter, they face towards them.
Most of them know the young lady by sight all by fame, or name. They feel surprise almost wonder at seeing her there alone. The sister of the murdered man under the roof of his murderer!
Mount, Louise! Mr Yancey will ride home with you.
But, father! protests the young lady, why should I no wait for you? You are not going to stay here?
It is my wish, daughter, that you do as I tell you. Let that be sufficient.
The searchers were no longer in scattered groups; but drawn together into a crowd, in shape roughly resembling a circle.
Inside it, some half-score figures were conspicuous among them the tall form of the Regulator Chief. Woodley Poindexter was there, and by his side Cassius Calhoun.
It was a trial for Murder a trial before Justice Lynch[49]with a jury composed of all the people upon the ground all except the prisoners.
Of these there are two Maurice Gerald and his man Phelim.
They are inside the ring, both prostrate upon the grass; both fast bound in ropes, that hinder them from moving hand or foot.
Only one of the prisoners is arraigned on the capital charge; the other is but doubtfully regarded as an accomplice.
The trial has lasted scarce ten minutes; and yet the jury have come to their conclusion.
In the minds of most already predisposed to it there is a full conviction that Henry Poindexter is a dead man, and that Maurice Gerald is answerable for his death.
Every circumstance already known has been reconsidered; while to these have been added the new facts discovered at the jacale the ugliest of which is the finding of the cloak and hat.
The explanations given by Phelim, confused and incongruous, carry no credit. Why should they? They are the inventions of an accomplice.
There are some who will scarce stay to hear them some who impatiently cry out, Let the murderer be hanged!
As if this verdict had been anticipated, a rope lies ready upon the ground, with a noose at its end. It is only a lazo; but for the purpose its a perfect piece of cord.
The vote is taken viva voce.[50]
Eighty out of the hundred jurors express their opinion: that Maurice Gerald must die.
And yet the sentence is not carried into execution. No one seems willing to lay hold of the rope!
Why is the sentence of death not carried out?
For want of that unanimity, that stimulates to immediate action for want of the proofs to produce it.
There is a minority not satisfied that with less noise, but equally earnest emphasis, have answered No.