The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness. Reid Mayne

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СКАЧАТЬ a red-flannel shirt serves him also for a vest. His huge limbs are encased in pantaloons of blue Kentucky “jeans;” but these are scarcely visible – as the skirt of his ample coat drapes down so as to cover the tops of a pair of rough horse-skin boots, that reach upwards to his knees. The costume is common enough on the banks of the Mississippi; the colossal form is not rare; but the fierce, and somewhat repulsive countenance – that is more individual.

      Is this father of Marian and Lilian? Is it possible from so rude a stem could spring such graceful branches – flowers so fair and lovely? If so, then must the mothers of both have been beautiful beyond common! It is even true, and true that both were beautiful – were for they are gone, and Hickman Holt is twice a widower. Long ago, he buried the half-blood mother of Marian; and at a later period – though still some years ago – her gentle golden-haired successor was carried to an early grave.

      The latter event occurred in one of the settlements, nearer to the region of civilised life. There was a murmur of mystery about the second widowhood of Hickman Holt, which only became hushed on his “moving” further west – to the wild forest where we now find him. Here no one knows aught of his past life or history – one only excepted – and that is the man who is to-day his visitor.

      Contrasting the two men – regarding the superior size and more formidable aspect of the owner of the cabin, you would expect his guest to make some show of obeisance to him. On the contrary, it is the squatter who exhibits the appearance of complaisance. He has already saluted his visitor with an air of embarrassment, but ill-concealed under the words of welcome with which he received him. Throughout the scene of salutation, and afterwards, the schoolmaster has maintained his characteristic demeanour of half-smiling, half-sneering coolness. Noting the behaviour of these two men to one another, even a careless observer could perceive that the smaller man is the master!

      Chapter Six

      An Apostolic Effort

      The morning needed no fire, but there were embers upon the clay-hearth – some smouldering ends of faggots – over which the breakfast had been cooked. On one side of the fireplace the squatter placed a stool for his visitor; and then another for himself, as if mechanically on the opposite side. A table of rough-hewn planks stood between. On this was a bottle containing maize-corn whiskey – or, “bald face,” as it is more familiarly known in the backwoods – two cracked cups to drink out of; a couple of corn-cob pipes; and some black tobacco. All these preparations had been made beforehand; and confirmed, what had dropped from the lips of Lilian, that the visitor had been expected. Beyond the customary phrases of salutation, not a word was exchanged between the host and guest, until both had seated themselves. The squatter then commenced the conversation.

      “Yev hed a long ride, Josh,” said he, leaning towards the table and clutching hold of the bottle: “try a taste o’ this hyur rot-gut– ’taint the daintiest o’ drink to offer a man so genteelly dressed as you air this morning; but thur’s wuss licker in these hyur back’oods, I reckun. Will ye mix? Thur’s water in the jug thar.”

      “No water for me,” was the laconic reply. “Yur right ’bout that. Its from old Hatcher’s still – whar they us’ally put the water in afore they give ye the licker. I s’pose they do it to save a fellur the trouble o’ mixing – Ha! ha! ha!” The squatter laughed at his own jest-mot as if he enjoyed it to any great extent, but rather as if desirous of putting his visitor in good-humour. The only evidence of his success was a dry smile, that curled upon the thin lip of the saint, rather sarcastically than otherwise.

      There was silence while both drank; and Holt was again under the necessity of beginning the conversation. As already observed, he had noticed the altered style of the schoolmaster’s costume; and it was to this transformation that his next speech alluded. “Why, Josh,” said he, attempting an easy off-hand style of talk, “ye’re bran new, spick span, from head to foot; ye look for all the world jest like one o’ them ere cantin’ critters o’ preechers I often see prowlin’ about Swampville. Durn it, man! what dodge air you up to now. You hain’t got rileegun, I reck’n?”

      “I have,” gravely responded Stebbins.

      “Hooraw! ha, ha, ha! Wal – what sort o’ thing is’t anyhow?”

      “My religion is of the right sort, Brother Holt.”

      “Methody?”

      “Nothing of the kind.”

      “What then? I thort they wur all Methodies in Swampville?”

      “They’re all Gentiles in Swampville – worse than infidels themselves.”

      “Wal – I know they brag mightily on thur genteelity. I reckon you’re about right thur – them, storekeepers air stuck-up enough for anythin’.”

      “No, no; it’s not that I mean. My religion has nothing to do with Swampville. Thank the Lord for his mercy, I’ve been led into a surer way of salvation. I suppose, Brother Holt, you’ve heard of the new Revelation?”

      “Heern o’ the new rev’lation. Wal, I don’t know as I hev. What’s the name o’t?”

      “The book of Mormon?”

      “Oh! Mormons! I’ve hearn o’ them. Hain’t they been a fightin’ a spell up thur in Massouray or Illinoy, whar they built ’em a grandiferous temple? I’ve hearn some talk o’t.”

      “At Nauvoo. It is even so, Brother Holt the wicked Gentiles have been persecuting the Saints: just as their fathers were persecuted by the Egyptian Pharaohs.”

      “An’ hain’t they killed their head man – Smith he wur called, if I recollex right.”

      “Alas, true! Joseph Smith has been made a martyr, and is by this time an angel in heaven. No doubt he is now in glory, at the head of the angelic host.”

      “Wal – if the angels are weemen, he’ll hev a good wheen o’ ’em about him, I reck’n. I’ve hearn he wur at the head of a putty consid’able host o’ ’em up thur in Massoury – fifty wives they said he hed! Wur that ere true, Josh?”

      “Scandal, Brother Holt – all scandal of the wicked enemies of our faith. They were but wives in the spirit. That the Gentiles can’t comprehend; since their eyes have not been opened by the Revelation.”

      “Wal, it ’pears to be a tol’able free sort o’ rileegun anyhow. Kind o’ Turk, aint it?”

      “Nothing of the kind. It has nothing in common with the doctrines of Mohammedanism.”

      “But whar did you get it, Josh Stebbins? Who gin it to you?”

      “You remember the man I brought over here last fall?”

      “Sartint I do. Young he wur – Brig Young, I think, you called him.”

      “The same.”

      “In coorse, I remember him well enough; but I reckon our Marian do a leetle better. He tried to spark the gurl, an’ made fine speeches to her; but she couldn’t bar the sight o’ him for all that. Ha! ha! ha. Don’t ye recollex the trick that ar minx played on him? She unbuckled the girt o’ his saddle, jest as he wur a-goin’ to mount, and down he kim – saddle, bags, and all – cawollup to the airth! ha! ha! Arter he wur gone, I larfed till I wur like to bust.”

      “You did wrong, Hickman Holt, to encourage your daughter in her sauciness. Had you known the man —that СКАЧАТЬ