Part 86 (1/2)
”Run off, if ye'd got the chance. Ye'd made a good beginning. Here, d.i.c.k Tracey! half-a-dozen turns of your trail-rope round him. Lend a hand, Shelton! d.a.m.ned queer-looking curse he is! Surely, gentlemen, this can't be the man we're in search of?”
”No, no! it isn't. Only his man John.”
”Ho! hilloa, you round there at the back! Keep your eyes skinned. We havn't got him yet. Don't let as much as a cat creep past you. Now, sirree! who's inside?”
”Who's insoide? The cyabin div yez mane?”
”d.a.m.n ye! answer the question that's put to ye!” says Tracey, giving his prisoner a touch of the trail-rope. ”Who's inside the shanty?”
”O Lard! Needs must whin the divvel dhrives. Wil, then, thare's the masther for wan--”
”Ho! what's this?” inquires Woodley Poindexter, at this moment, riding up, and seeing the spotted mare. ”Why--it--it's Looey's mustang!”
”It is, uncle,” answers Ca.s.sius Calhoun, who has ridden up along with him.
”I wonder who's brought the beast here?”
”Loo herself, I reckon.”
”Nonsense! You're jesting, Cash?”
”No, uncle; I'm in earnest.”
”You mean to say my daughter has been here?”
”Has been--still is, I take it.”
”Impossible?”
”Look yonder, then!”
The door has just been opened. A female form is seen inside.
”Good G.o.d, it is my daughter!”
Poindexter drops from his saddle, and hastens up to the hut--close followed by Calhoun. Both go inside.
”Louises what means this? A wounded man! Is it he--Henry?”
Before an answer can be given, his eye falls upon a cloak and hat-- Henry's!
”It is; he's alive! Thank heaven!” He strides 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.
Calhoun seems equally affected. But the cry from him is an exclamation of horror; after which he slinks cowed-like out of the cabin.
”Great G.o.d!” gasps the planter; ”what is it? Can you explain, Louise?”
”I cannot, father. I've been here but a few minutes. I found him as you see. He is delirious.”
”And--and--Henry?”