The Headless Horseman
“Go, go!” she shouted to the former, while struggling to restrain the infuriated youth. “My brother is deceived by appearances. Leave me to explain. Away, Maurice! away!”
“Henry Poindexter,” said the young Irishman, as he turned to obey the friendly command, “I am not the sort of villain you have been pleased to pronounce me. Give me but time, and I shall prove, that your sister has formed a truer estimate of my character than either her father, brother, or cousin. I claim but six months. If at the end of that time I do not show myself worthy of her confidence — her love — then shall I make you welcome to shoot me at sight, as you would the cowardly coyoté, that chanced to cross your track. Till then, I bid you adieu.”
Henry’s struggle to escape from his sister’s arms — perhaps stronger than his own — grew less energetic as he listened to these words. They became feebler and feebler — at length ceasing — when a plunge in the river announced that the midnight intruder into the enclosed grounds of Casa del Corvo was on his way back to the wild prairies he had chosen for his home.
It was the first time he had recrossed the river in that primitive fashion. On the two previous occasions he had passed over in the skiff; which had been drawn back to its moorings by a delicate hand, the tow-rope consisting of that tiny lazo that had formed part of the caparison presented along with the spotted mustang.
“Brother! you are wronging him! indeed you are wronging him!” were the words of expostulation that followed close upon his departure. “Oh, Henry — dearest Hal, if you but knew how noble he is! So far from desiring to do me an injury, ’tis only this moment he has been disclosing a plan to — to — prevent — scandal — I mean to make me happy. Believe me, brother, he is a gentleman; and if he were not — if only the common man you take him for — I could not help what I have done — I could not, for I love him!”
“Louise! tell me the truth! Speak to me, not as to your brother, but as to your own self. From what I have this night seen, more than from your own words, I know that you love this man. Has he taken advantage of your — your — unfortunate passion?”
“No — no — no. As I live he has not. He is too noble for that — even had I — Henry! he is innocent! If there be cause for regret, I alone am to blame. Why — oh! brother! why did you insult him?”
“Have I done so?”
“You have, Henry — rudely, grossly.”
“I shall go after, and apologise. If you speak truly, sister, I owe him that much. I shall go this instant. I liked him from the first — you know I did? I could not believe him capable of a cowardly act. I can’t now. Sister! come back into the house with me. And now, dearest Loo! you had better go to bed. As for me, I shall be off instanter to the hotel, where I may still hope to overtake him. I cannot rest till I have made reparation for my rudeness.”
So spoke the forgiving brother; and gently leading his sister by the hand, with thoughts of compassion, but not the slightest trace of anger, he hastily returned to the hacienda — intending to go after the young Irishman, and apologise for the use of words that, under the circumstances, might have been deemed excusable.
As the two disappeared within the doorway, a third figure, hitherto crouching among the shrubbery, was seen to rise erect, and follow them up the stone steps. This last was their cousin, Cassius Calhoun.
He, too, had thoughts of going after the mustanger.
Chapter XXXV. An Uncourteous Host
“The chicken-hearted fool! Fool myself, to have trusted to such a hope! I might have known she’d cajole the young calf, and let the scoundrel escape. I could have shot him from behind the tree — dead as a drowned rat! And without risking anything — even disgrace! Not a particle of risk. Uncle Woodley would have thanked me — the whole settlement would have said I had done right. My cousin, a young lady, betrayed by a common scamp — a horse, trader — who would have said a word against it? Such a chance! Why have I missed it? Death and the devil — it may not trump up again!”
Such were the reflections of the ex-captain of cavalry, while at some paces distance following his two cousins on their return to the hacienda.
“I wonder,” muttered he, on re-entering the patio, “whether the blubbering baby be in earnest? Going after to apologise to the man who has made a fool of his sister! Ha — ha! It would be a good joke were it not too serious to be laughed at. He is in earnest, else why that row in the stable? ’Tis he bringing but his horse! It is, by the Almighty!”
The door of the stable, as is customary in Mexican haciendas opened upon the paved patio.
It was standing ajar; but just as Calhoun turned his eye upon it, a man coming from the inside pushed it wide open; and then stepped over the threshold, with a saddled horse following close after him.
The man had a Panama hat upon his head, and a cloak thrown loosely around his shoulders. This did not hinder Calhoun from recognising his cousin Henry, as also the dark brown horse that belonged to him.
“Fool! So — you’ve let him off?” spitefully muttered the ex-captain, as the other came within whispering distance. “Give me back my bowie and pistol. They’re not toys suited to such delicate fingers as yours! Bah! Why did you not use them as I told you? You’ve made a mess of it!”
“I have,” tranquilly responded the young planter. “I know it. I’ve insulted — and grossly too — a noble fellow.”
“Insulted a noble fellow! Ha — ha — ha! You’re mad — by heavens, you’re mad!”
“I should have been had I followed your counsel, cousin Cash. Fortunately I did not go so far. I have done enough to deserve being called worse than fool; though perhaps, under the circumstances, I may obtain forgiveness for my fault. At all events, I intend to try for it, and without losing time.”
“Where are you going?”
“After Maurice the mustanger — to apologise to him for my misconduct.”
“Misconduct! Ha — ha — ha! Surely you are joking?”
“No. I’m in earnest. If you come along with me, you shall see!”
“Then I say again you are mad! Not only mad, but a damned natural-born idiot! you are, by Jesus Christ and General Jackson!”
“You’re not very polite, cousin Cash; though, after the language I’ve been lately using myself, I might excuse you. Perhaps you will, one day imitate me, and make amends for your rudeness.”
Without adding another word, the young gentleman — one of the somewhat rare types of Southern chivalry — sprang to his saddle; gave the word, to his horse; and rode hurriedly through the saguan.
Calhoun stood upon the stones, till the footfall of the horse became but faintly distinguishable in the distance.
Then, as if acting under some sudden impulse, he hurried along the verandah to his own room; entered it; reappeared in a rough overcoat; crossed back to the stable; went in; came out again with his own horse saddled and bridled; led the animal along the pavement, as gently as if he was stealing him; and once outside upon the turf, sprang upon his back, and rode rapidly away.
For a mile or more he followed the same road, that had been taken by Henry Poindexter. It could not have been with any idea of overtaking the latter: since, long before, the hoofstrokes of Henry’s horse had ceased to be heard; and proceeding at a slower pace, Calhoun did not ride as if he cared about catching up with his cousin.
He had taken the up-river road. When about midway between Casa del Corvo and the Fort, he reined up; and, after scrutinising the chapparal around him, struck off by a bridle-path leading back toward the bank of the river. As he turned into it he might have been heard muttering to himself —
“A chance still left; a good one, though not so cheap as the other. It will cost me a thousand dollars. What of that, so long as I get rid of this Irish curse, who has poisoned every hour of my existence! If true to his promise, he takes the route to his home by an early hour in the morning. What time, I wonder. These men of the prairies call it late rising, if they be abed till daybreak! Never mind. There’s yet time for the Coyote to get before him on the road! I know that. It must be the same as we followed to the wild horse prairies. He spoke of his hut upon the Alamo. That’s the name of the creek where we had our pic-nic. The hovel cannot be far from there! The Mexican must know the place, or the trail leading to it; which last will be sufficient for his purpose and mine. A fig for the shanty itself! The owner may never reach it. There may be Indians upon the road! There must be, before daybreak in the morning!”