Part 54 (1/2)
The cup was again called into requisition; and once more a portion of the contents of the demijohn were transferred to it--to be poured immediately after down the insatiable throat of the unsatisfied connoisseur.
Whether he eventually decided in favour of the cup, or whether he retained his preference for the jar, is not known. After the fourth potation, which was also the final one, he appeared to think he had tasted sufficiently for the time, and laid both vessels aside.
Instead of returning to his stool, however, a new idea came across his mind; which was to go forth from the hut, and see whether there was any sign to indicate the advent of his master.
”Come, Tara!” cried he, striding towards the door. ”Let us stip up to the bluff beyant, and take a look over the big plain. If masther's comin' at all, he shud be in sight by this. Come along, ye owld dog!
Masther Maurice 'll think all the betther av us, for bein' a little unazy about his gettin' back.”
Taking the path through the wooded bottom--with the staghound close at his heels--the Galwegian ascended the bluff, by one of its sloping ravines, and stood upon the edge of the upper plateau.
From this point he commanded a view of a somewhat sterile plain; that stretched away eastward, more than a mile, from the spot where he was standing.
The sun was on his back, low down on the horizon, but s.h.i.+ning from a cloudless sky. There was nothing to interrupt his view. Here and there, a stray cactus plant, or a solitary stem of the arborescent yucca, raised its hirsute form above the level of the plain. Otherwise the surface was smooth; and a coyote could not have crossed it without being seen.
Beyond, in the far distance, could be traced the darker outline of trees--where a tract of chapparal, or the wooded selvedge of a stream stretched transversely across the _llano_.
The Galwegian bent his gaze over the ground, in the direction in which he expected his master should appear; and stood silently watching for him.
Ere long his vigil was rewarded. A horseman was seen coming out from among the trees upon the other side, and heading towards the Alamo.
He was still more than a mile distant; but, even at that distance, the faithful servant could identify his master. The striped serape of brilliant hues--a true Navajo blanket, which Maurice was accustomed to take with him when travelling--was not to be mistaken. It gleamed gaudily under the glare of the setting sun--its bands of red, white, and blue, contrasting with the sombre tints of the sterile plain.
Phelim only wondered, that his master should have it spread over his shoulders on such a sultry evening instead of folded up, and strapped to the cantle of his saddle!
”Trath, Tara! it looks quare, doesn't it? It's hot enough to roast a stake upon these stones; an yit the masther don't seem to think so. I hope he hasn't caught a cowld from stayin' in that close crib at owld Duffer's tavern. It wasn't fit for a pig to dwill in. Our own shanty's a splindid parlour to it.”
The speaker was for a time silent, watching the movements of the approaching horseman--by this time about half a mile distant, and still drawing nearer.
When his voice was put forth again it was in a tone altogether changed.
It was still that of surprise, with an approach towards merriment. But it was mirth that doubted of the ludicrous; and seemed to struggle under restraint.
”Mother av Moses!” cried he. ”What can the masther mane? Not contint with havin' the blankyet upon his showldhers, be j.a.pers, he's got it over his head!
”He's playin' us a thrick, Tara. He wants to give you an me a surproise. He wants to have a joke agaynst us!
”Sowl! but it's quare anyhow. It looks as if he _had_ no head. In faix does it! Ach! what cyan it mane? Be the Howly Virgin! it's enough to frighten wan, av they didn't know it was the masther!
”_Is_ it the masther? Be the powers, it's too short for him! The head?
Saint Patrick presarve us, whare is it? It cyan't be smothered up in the blankyet? Thare's no shape thare! Be Jaysus, thare's somethin'
wrong! What does it mane, Tara?”
The tone of the speaker had again undergone a change. It was now close bordering upon terror--as was also the expression of his countenance.
The look and att.i.tude of the staghound were not very different. He stood a little in advance--half cowering, half inclined to spring forward--with eyes glaring wildly, while fixed upon the approaching horseman--now scarce two hundred yards from the spot!
As Phelim put the question that terminated his last soliloquy, the hound gave out a lugubrious howl, that seemed intended for an answer.
Then, as if urged by some canine instinct, he bounded off towards the strange object, which puzzled his human companion, and was equally puzzling him.