Part 40 (1/2)
”Marian dead?”
”Yes--poor girl, she never lived to see that Salt Lake city--whar the cussed varmint war takin' her. She died on the way out, an' war berryed som'rs on the paraireys. I wish I knew whar--I'd go to see her grave.”
”Ha! ha! ha! Whose story is this?”
My companion looked at me in amazement. The laugh, at such a time, must have sounded strange to his ears.
”The Injun heerd it from Lil,” replied Wingrove, still puzzled at my behaviour. ”Stebbins had told it to Holt, an' to her likeways. Poor young creetur! I reck'n he'll be a wantin' her too--now thet he's lost the other. Poor little Lil!”
”Cheer, comrade, cheer! Either Su-wa-nee or Stebbins has lied--belike both of them, since both had a purpose to serve: the Mormon to deceive the girl's father--the Indian to do the same with you. The story is false, Marian Holt is _not_ dead.”
”Marian ain't dead?”
”No, she lives--she has been true to you. Listen.”
I could no longer keep from him the sweet secret. The reaction-- consequent on the bitter pang I had just experienced, while under the momentary belief that it was Lilian who was dead--had stirred my spirit, filling it with a wild joy. I longed to impart the same emotions to my suffering companion; and, in rapid detail, I ran over the events that had occurred since our parting. To the revelations which the Mexican had made, Wingrove listened with frantic delight--only interrupting me with frenzied exclamations that bespoke his soul-felt joy. When I had finished, he cried out:
”She war _forced_ to go! I thort so! I knew it! Whar is she, capt'n!
Oh, take me to her! I'll fall on my knees. I'll axe her a thousand times to pardon me. 'Twar the Injun's fault. I'll swar it war the Chicasaw. She's been the cuss o' us both. Oh! whar is Marian? I love her more than iver! Whar is she?”
”Patience!” I said; ”you shall see her presently. She must be down the valley, among the Indian women. Mount your horse, and follow me!”
CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO.
MARANEE.
We had ridden around the b.u.t.te, and were in sight of the crowd of wailing women, when one on horseback was seen emerging from their midst, and turning head towards us. The habiliments of the rider told that she was a woman. I recognised the Navajo scarf, and plumed circlet, as those worn by the wild huntress. It was she who had separated from the crowd! Had I needed other evidence to identify her, I saw it in the wolf-like animal that was bounding after her, keeping pace with the gallop of her horse.
”Behold!” I said. ”Yonder is Marian--your own Marian!”
”It air, as I'm a livin' man! I mightn't a know'd her in that queer dress; but yon's her dog. It's Wolf: I kud tell him, any whar.”
”On second thoughts,” suggested I, ”perhaps, I had better see her first, and prepare her for meeting you! What say you?”
”Jest as you like, capt'n. P'raps it mout be the better way.”
”Bide behind the waggon, then! Stay there till I give you a signal to come forth.”
Obedient to the injunction, my companion trotted back, and disappeared behind the white tilt. I saw the huntress was coming towards the mound; and, instead of going forth to meet her, I remained upon the spot where we had halted. A few minutes sufficed to bring her near; and I was impressed more than ever with the grand beauty of this singular maiden.
She was mounted in the Indian fas.h.i.+on, with a white goatskin for a saddle, and a simple thong for a stirrup; while the bold style in which she managed her horse, told that, whatever had been her early training, she of late must have had sufficient practice in equestrian manoeuvres.
The steed she bestrode was a large chestnut-coloured mustang; and as the fiery creature reared and bounded over the turf, the magnificent form of its rider was displayed to advantage. She still carried her rifle; and was equipped just as I had seen her in the morning; but now, sharing the spirit of her steed--and further animated by the exciting incidents, still in the act of occurrence--her countenance exhibited a style of beauty, not the less charming from the wildness and _braverie_ that characterised it. Truly had she merited the praises which the young backwoodsman had oft lavished upon her. To all that he had said the most critical connoisseur would have given his accord. No wonder that Wingrove had been able to resist the fascinations of the simpering syrens of Swampville--no wonder that Su-wa-nee had solicited in vain!
Truly was this wild huntress an attractive object--in charms far excelling the G.o.ddess of the Ephesians. Never was there such mate for a hunter! Well might Wingrove rejoice at the prospect before him!
”Ho, stranger!” said she, reining up by my side, ”you are safe, I see!
All has gone well?”
”I was in no danger: I had no opportunity of entering into the fight.”