Part 24 (1/2)
One day a golden opportunity occurred. It was a day of unusual beauty, when autumn seemed to be smiling upon the earth with her brightest smiles before pa.s.sing away. In a word, it was Indian summer. The beauty of the weather had tempted Old Hurricane to ride to the county seat on particular business connected with his ward herself.
Capitola, left alone, amused herself with her tasks until the afternoon; then, calling a boy, she ordered him to saddle her horse and bring him around.
”My dear, what do you want with your horse? There is no one to attend you; Wool has gone with his master,” said Mrs. Condiment, as she met Capitola in the hall, habited for her ride.
”I know that; but I cannot be mewed up here in the old house and deprived of my afternoon ride,” exclaimed Capitola decidedly.
”But, my dear, you must never think of riding out alone,” exclaimed the dismayed Mrs. Condiment.
”Indeed I shall, though--and glad of the opportunity,” added Cap, mentally.
”But, my dear love, it is improper, imprudent, dangerous.”
”Why so?” asked Cap.
”Good gracious, upon every account! Suppose you were to meet with ruffians; suppose--oh, heaven!--suppose you were to meet with--Black Donald!”
”Mrs. Condiment, once for all do tell me who this terrible Black Donald is? Is he the Evil One himself, or the Man in the Iron Mask, or the individual that struck Billy Patterson, or--who is he?”
”Who is Black Donald? Good gracious, child, you ask me who is Black Donald!”
”Yes; who is he? where is he? what is he? that every cheek turns pale at the mention of his name?” asked Capitola.
”Black Donald! Oh, my child, may you never know more of Black Donald than I can tell you. Black Donald is the chief of a band of ruthless desperadoes that infest these mountain roads, robbing mail coaches, stealing negroes, breaking into houses and committing every sort of depredation. Their hands are red with murder and their souls black with darker crimes.”
”Darker crimes than murder!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Capitola.
”Yes, child, yes; there are darker crimes. Only last winter he and three of his gang broke into a solitary house where there was a lone woman and her daughter, and--it is not a story for you to hear; but if the people had caught Black Donald then they would have burned him at the stake!
His life is forfeit by a hundred crimes. He is an outlaw, and a heavy price is set upon his head.”
”And can no one take him?”
”No, my dear; at least, no one has been able to do so yet. His very haunts are unknown, but are supposed to be in concealed mountain caverns.”
”How I would like the glory of capturing Black Donald!” said Capitola.
”You, child! You capture Black Donald! You are crazy!”
”Oh, by stratagem, I mean, not by force. Oh, how I should like to capture Black Donald!--There's my horse; good-by!” and before Mrs.
Condiment could raise another objection Capitola ran out, sprang into her saddle and was seen careering down the hill toward the river as fast as her horse could fly.
”My Lord, but the major will be hopping if he finds it out!” was good Mrs. Condiment's dismayed exclamation.
Rejoicing in her freedom, Cap galloped down to the water's edge, and then walked her horse up and down along the course of the stream until she found a good fording place. Then, gathering up her riding skirt and throwing it over the neck of her horse she plunged boldly into the stream, and, with the water splas.h.i.+ng and foaming all around her, urged him onward till they crossed the river and climbed up the opposite bank.
A bridle-path lay before her, leading from the fording place through a deep wood. That path attracted her; she followed it, charmed alike by the solitude of the wood, the novelty of the scene and her own sense of freedom. But one thought was given to the story of Black Donald, and that was a rea.s.suring one:
”If Black Donald is a mail robber, then this little bridle-path is far enough off his beat.”
And, so saying, she gayly galloped along, singing as she went, following the narrow path up hill and down dale through the wintry woods. Drawn on by the attraction of the unknown, and deceiving herself by the continued repet.i.tion of one resolve, namely--”When I get to the top of the next hill, and see what lies beyond, then I will turn back”--she galloped on and on, on and on, on and on, until she had put several miles between herself and her home; until her horse began to exhibit signs of weariness, and the level rays of the setting sun were striking redly through the leafless branches of the trees.