The Headless Horseman (Horror Classic). Майн Рид

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СКАЧАТЬ as much impatience as when he believed his cousin to be in serious peril. “Come on, Mr Stump! Let us get back as speedily as possible!”

      “Not so fast, if you pleeze,” rejoined Zeb, permitting himself to slide leisurely out of his saddle, and then drawing his knife from his sheath. “I’ll only want ye to wait for a matter o’ ten minutes, or thereabout.”

      “Wait! For what?” peevishly inquired Calhoun.

      “Till I kin strip the hide off o’ this hyur sorrel. It appear to be a skin o’ the fust qualerty; an oughter fetch a five-dollar bill in the settlements. Five-dollar bills ain’t picked up every day on these hyur purayras.”

      “Damn the skin!” angrily ejaculated the impatient Southerner. “Come on, an leave it!”

      “Ain’t a goin’ to do anythin’ o’ the sort,” coolly responded the hunter, as he drew the sharp edge of his blade along the belly of the prostrate steed. “You kin go on if ye like, Mister Calhoun; but Zeb Stump don’t start till he packs the hide of this hyur stellyun on the krupper o’ his old maar. Thet he don’t.”

      “Come, Zeb; what’s the use of talking about my going back by myself? You know I can’t find my way?”

      “That air like enough. I didn’t say ye ked.”

      “Look here, you obstinate old case! Time’s precious to me just at this minute. It ’ll take you a full half-hour to skin the horse.”

      “Not twenty minutes.”

      “Well, say twenty minutes. Now, twenty minutes are of more importance to me than a five-dollar bill. You say that’s the value of the skin? Leave it behind; and I agree to make good the amount.”

      “Wal—that air durned gin’rous, I admit—dog-goned gin’rous. But I mussent except yur offer. It ’ud be a mean trick o’ me—mean enuf for a yeller-bellied Mexikin—to take yur money for sech a sarvice as thet: the more so es I ain’t no stranger to ye, an myself a goin’ the same road. On the t’other hand, I kan’t afford to lose the five dollars’ worth o’ hoss-hide which ud be rotten as punk—to say nuthin’ o’ it’s bein’ tored into skreeds by the buzzarts and coyoats—afore I mout find a chance to kum this way agin.”

      “’Tis very provoking! What am I to do?”

      “You air in a hurry? Wal—I’m sorry to discommerdate ye. But—stay! Thur’s no reezun for yur waitin’ on me. Thur’s nuthin’ to hinder ye from findin’ yur way to the waggon. Ye see that tree stannin’ up agin the sky-line—the tall poplar yonner?”

      “I do.”

      “Wal; do you remember ever to hev seed it afore? It air a queery lookin’ plant, appearin’ more like a church steeple than a tree.”

      “Yes—yes!” said Calhoun. “Now you’ve pointed it out, I do remember it. We rode close past it while in pursuit of the wild mares?”

      “You dud that very thing. An’ now, as ye know it, what air to hinder you from ridin’ past it agin; and follering the trail o’ the maars back’ard? That ud bring ye to yur startin’-peint; where, ef I ain’t out o’ my reck’nin’, ye’ll find yur cousin, Miss Peintdexter, an the hul o’ yur party enjoying themselves wi’ that ’ere French stuff, they call shampain. I hope they’ll stick to it, and spare the Monongaheela—of which licker I shed like to hev a triflin’ suck arter I git back myself.”

      Calhoun had not waited for the wind-up of this characteristic speech. On the instant after recognising the tree, he had struck the spurs into the sides of his chestnut, and gone off at a gallop, leaving old Zeb at liberty to secure the coveted skin.

      “Geeroozalem!” ejaculated the hunter, glancing up, and noticing the quick unceremonious departure. “It don’t take much o’ a head-piece to tell why he air in sech a durned hurry. I ain’t myself much guv torst guessin’; but if I ain’t doggonedly mistaken it air a clur case o’ jellacy on the trail!”

      Zeb Stump was not astray in his conjecture. It was jealousy that urged Cassius Calhoun to take that hasty departure—black jealousy, that had first assumed shape in a kindred spot—in the midst of a charred prairie; that had been every day growing stronger from circumstances observed, and others imagined; that was now intensified so as to have become his prevailing passion.

      The presentation and taming of the spotted mustang; the acceptance of that gift, characteristic of the giver, and gratifying to the receiver, who had made no effort to conceal her gratification; these, and other circumstances, acting upon the already excited fancy of Cassius Calhoun, had conducted him to the belief: that in Maurice the mustanger he would find his most powerful rival.

      The inferior social position of the horse-hunter should have hindered him from having such belief, or even a suspicion.

      Perhaps it might have done so, had he been less intimately acquainted with the character of Louise Poindexter. But, knowing her as he did—associating with her from the hour of childhood—thoroughly understanding her independence of spirit—the braverie of her disposition, bordering upon very recklessness—he could place no reliance on the mere idea of gentility. With most women this may be depended upon as a barrier, if not to mésalliance, at least to absolute imprudence; but in the impure mind of Cassius Calhoun, while contemplating the probable conduct of his cousin, there was not even this feeble support to lean upon!

      Chafing at the occurrences of the day—to him crookedly inauspicious—he hurried back towards the spot where the pic-nic had been held. The steeple-like tree guided him back to the trail of the manada; and beyond that there was no danger of straying. He had only to return along the path already trodden by him.

      He rode at a rapid pace—faster than was relished by his now tired steed—stimulated by bitter thoughts, which for more than an hour were his sole companions—their bitterness more keenly felt in the tranquil solitude that surrounded him.

      He was but little consoled by a sight that promised other companionship: that of two persons on horseback, riding in advance, and going in the same direction as himself, upon the same path. Though he saw but their backs—and at a long distance ahead—there was no mistaking the identity of either. They were the two individuals that had brought that bitterness upon his spirit.

      Like himself they were returning upon the trail of the wild mares; which, when first seen, they had just struck, arriving upon it from a lateral path. Side by side—their saddles almost chafing against each other—to all appearance absorbed in a conversation of intense interest to both, they saw not the solitary horseman approaching them in a diagonal direction.

      Apparently less anxious than he to rejoin the party of picknickers, they were advancing at a slow pace—the lady a little inclining to the rear.

      Their proximity to one another—their attitudes in the saddle—their obvious inattention to outward objects—the snail-like pace at which they were proceeding—these, along with one or two other slighter circumstances observed by Calhoun, combined to make an impression on his mind—or rather to strengthen one already made—that almost drove him mad.

      To gallop rapidly up, and rudely terminate the tête-à-tête, was but the natural instinct of the chivalric Southerner. In obedience to it he spitefully plied the spur; and once more forced his jaded chestnut into an unwilling canter.

      In a few СКАЧАТЬ