The Death Shot Part 36

Indeed he knows all about them, now knowing their cause. Only through the Natchez newspapers was he first made aware of that secret correspondence between his daughter and Clancy. But since she has confessed all--how her heart went with her words; is still true to what she then said. The last an avowal not needed: her pallid cheeks proclaiming it. The frank confession, instead of enraging her father, but gives him regret, and along with it self-reproach. But for his aristocratic pride, with some admixture of cupidity, he would have permitted Clancy's addresses to his daughter. With an open honourable courts.h.i.+p, the end might have been different--perhaps less disastrous.

It could not have been more.

He can now only hope, that time, the great soother of suffering hearts, may bring balm to hers. New scenes in Texas, with thoughts arising therefrom, may throw oblivion over the past. And perchance a new lover may cause the lost one to be less painfully remembered. Several aspirants have already presented themselves; more than one of the younger members of the colony having accompanied it, with no view of making fortunes by the cultivation of cotton, but solely to be beside Helen Armstrong.

Her suitors one and all will be disappointed. She to whom they sue is not an ordinary woman; nor her affections of the fickle kind. Like the eagle's mate, deprived of her proud lord, she will live all her after life in lone solitude--or die. She has lost her lover, or thinks so, believing Clancy dead; but the love still burns within her bosom, and will, so long as her life may last. Colonel Armstrong soon begins to see this, and despairs of the roses ever again returning to the cheeks of his elder daughter.

It would, no doubt, be different were the blighted heart that of his younger. With her the Spanish proverb, "_un clavo saca otro clavo_,"

might have meaning. By good fortune, Jessie needs no nail to drive out another. Her natural exuberance of spirits grown to greater joy from the hopes that now halo her young life, is flung over the future of all.

Some compensation for her sister's sadness--something to cheer their common father. There is also the excitement attendant on the industries of the hour--the cares of the cotton-planting, with speculations about the success of the crop--these, with a hundred like thoughts and things, hinder him from so frequently recurring to, or so long dwelling on, that which can but cruelly distress.

It is the night succeeding that in which the mestizo made his private pyrotechnic display; and Colonel Armstrong with his future son-in-law is seated in the former refectory of the mission, which they have converted into a decent dining-room.

They are not alone, or, as in French phraseology better expressed, _chez eux memes_. Six or seven of their fellow-colonists of the better cla.s.s share the saloon with them--these being guests whom they have invited to dinner.

The meal is over, the hour touching ten, the ladies have retired from the table, only the gentlemen remain, drinking choice claret, which Dupre, a sort of Transatlantic Lucullus, has brought with him from his Louisiana wine bins.

Armstrong himself, being of Scotch ancestry, has the national preference for whisky punch; and a tumbler of this beverage--the best in the world--stands on the table before him. His gla.s.s has been filled three times, and is as often emptied.

It need not be said, at this moment he is not sad. After three tumblers of whisky toddy no man can help being hilarious; and so is it with Colonel Armstrong. Seated at the head of his dining-table, the steaming punch before him, he converses with his guests, gay as the gayest. For a time their conversation is on general topics; but at length changes to one more particular. Something said has directed their attention to a man, who waited upon them at table, now no longer in the room.

The individual thus honoured is Dupre's confidential servant Fernand; who, as already said, is house-steward, butler, _factotum_ of affairs generally.

As is usual with such grand dignitaries, he has withdrawn simultaneously with the removal of the tablecloth, leaving a deputy to look to the decanting of the wine. Therefore, there is nothing remarkable in his disappearance; nor would aught be observed about it, but for a remark made by one of the guests during the course of conversation. A young surgeon, who has cast in his lot with the new colony, is he who starts the topic, thus introducing it:--

"Friend Dupre, where did you get that fellow Fernand? I don't remember having seen him on your Louisiana plantation."

"I picked him up in Natchitoches while we were organising. You know I lost my old major-domo last fall by the yellow fever. It took him off while we were down in New Orleans. Fernand, however, is his superior in every sense; can keep plantation accounts, wait at table, drive a carriage, or help in a hunt. He's a fellow of wonderful versatility; in short, a genius. And what is rare in such a combination of talents, he is devoted to his duties--a very slave to them."

"What breed may your admirable Crichton be?" asks another of the guests, adding: "He looks a cross between Spaniard and Indian."

"Just what he is," answers the young planter; "at least says so. By his own account his father was a Spaniard, or rather a Mexican, and his mother an Indian of the Seminole tribe. His real name is Fernandez; but for convenience I've dropped the final syllable."

"It's a bad sort of mixture, that between Spaniard and Seminole, and not improved by the Spaniard being a Mexican," remarks he who made the inquiry.

"I don't like his looks," observes a third speaker.

Then all around the table wait to hear what Wharton, the young surgeon, has to say. For it is evident, from his way of introducing the subject, he either knows or suspects something prejudicial to the character of the major-domo. Instead of going on to explain, he puts a second interrogatory--

"May I ask, M. Dupre, whether you had any character with him?"

"No, indeed," admits the master. "He came to me just before we left Natchitoches asking for an engagement. He professed to know all about Texas, and offered to act as a guide. As I had engaged guides, I didn't want him for that when he said any other place would do. Seeing him to be a smart sort of fellow, which he certainly has proved, I engaged him to look after my baggage. Since, I've found him useful in other ways, and have given him full charge of everything--even to entrusting him with the care of my modest money chest."

"In doing that," rejoins the surgeon, "I should say you've acted somewhat imprudently. Excuse me, M. Dupre, for making the observation."

"Oh, certainly," is the planter's frank reply. "But why do you say so, Mr Wharton? Have you any reason to suspect his honesty?"

"I have; more than one."

"Indeed! Let us hear them all."

"Well; in the first place I don't like the look of the man, nor ever did since the day of our starting. Since I never set eyes on him before, I could have had no impression to prejudice me against him. I admit that, judging by physiognomy, any one may be mistaken; and I shouldn't have allowed myself to be led by that. In this case, however, a circ.u.mstance has contributed to shaping my judgment; in fact, deciding me in the opinion, that your fellow Fernand is not only dishonest, but something worse than a thief."

"Worse than a thief!" is the simultaneous echo from all sides of the table, succeeded by a universal demand for explanation.

"Your words have a weighty sound, doctor," is Colonel Armstrong's way of putting it. "We are anxious to hear what they mean."

"Well," responds Wharton, "you shall know why I've spoken them, and what's led me to suspect this fellow Fernand. You can draw your own conclusions, from the premises I put before you. Last night at a late hour--near midnight--I took a fancy into my head to have a stroll towards the river. Lighting a weed, I started out. I can't say exactly how far I may have gone; but I know that the cigar--a long 'Henry Clay'--was burnt to the end before I thought of turning back. As I was about doing so, I heard a sound, easily made out to be the footsteps of a man, treading the firm prairie turf. As it chanced just then, I was under a pecan-tree that screened me with its shadow; and I kept my ground without making any noise.

"Shortly after, I saw the man whose footfall I had heard, and recognised him as M. Dupre's head-servant. He was coming up the valley, toward the house here, as if returning from some excursion. I mightn't have thought much of that, but for noticing, as he pa.s.sed me, that he didn't walk erect or on the path, but crouchingly, among the trees skirting it.

"Throwing away the stump of my cigar, I set out after him, treading stealthily as he. Instead of entering by the front, he went round the garden, all the way to its rear; where suddenly I lost sight of him. On arriving at the spot where he had disappeared, I saw there was a break in the wall. Through that, of course, he must have pa.s.sed, and entered the mission-building at the back. Now, what are we to make of all this?"

"What do you make of it, doctor?" asks Dupre.

"Give us your own deductions!"

"To say the truth, I don't know what deductions to draw, I confess myself at fault; and cannot account for the fellow's movements; though I take you'll all acknowledge they were odd. As I've said, M. Dupre, I didn't from the first like your man of versatile talents; and I'm now more than ever distrustful of him. Still I profess myself unable to guess what he was after last night. Can any of you, gentlemen?"

No one can. The singular behaviour of Dupre's servant is a puzzle to all present. At the same time, under the circ.u.mstances, it has a serious aspect.

Were there any neighbouring settlement, the man might be supposed returning from a visit to it; entering stealthily, from being out late, and under fear of rebuke from his master. As there are no such neighbours, this theory cannot be entertained.

On the other hand, there has been no report of Indians having been seen in proximity to the place. If there had, the mestizo's conduct might be accounted for, upon an hypothesis that would certainly cause apprehension to those discussing it.

But no savages have been seen, or heard of; and it is known that the Southern Comanches--the only Indians likely to be there encountered--are in treaty of peace with the Texan Government. Therefore, the nocturnal excursion of the half-blood could not be connected with anything of this kind.

His singular, and seemingly eccentric, behaviour, remains an unsolved problem to the guests around the table; and the subject is eventually dropped their conversation changing to other and pleasanter themes.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

OPPOSITE EMBLEMS.

Pleasure has not been the sole purpose for which Colonel Armstrong is giving his little dinner party, else there would have been ladies invited along with the gentlemen. It is rather a re-union to talk over the affairs of the colony; hence the only ladies present were the daughters of the host. And, for the same reason, these have retired from the table at an early hour, betaking themselves to the _sala_ of the old monastery, their sitting and drawing-room. This, though an ample apartment, is anything but a pleasant one; never much affected by the monks, who in their post-prandial hours, preferred sticking to the refectory. A hasty attempt has been made to modernise it; but the light furniture of French Creole fabric, brought along from Louisiana, ill accords with its heavy style of architecture, while its decayed walls and ceilings _lezardee_, give it a gloomy dismal look, all the more from the large room being but dimly lit up. As it is not a drawing-room party, the ladies expect that for a long while, if not all evening, they will be left alone in it. For a time they scarce know how to employ themselves. With Helen, amus.e.m.e.nt is out of the question. She has flung herself into a _fauteuil_, and sits in pensive att.i.tude; of late, alas! become habitual to her.

Jessie, taking up her guitar, commences a song, the first that occurs to her, which chances to be "Lucy Neal," a negro melody, at the time much in vogue on the plantations of the South. She has chosen the pathetic strain without thought of the effect it may produce upon her sister.

Observing it to be painful she abruptly breaks off, and with a sweep of her fingers across the guitar strings, changes to the merrier refrain of "Old Dan Tucker." Helen, touched by the delicate consideration, rewards it with a faint smile. Then, Jessie rattles on through a _melange_ of negro ministrelsy, all of the light comical kind, her only thought being to chase away her sister's despondency.

Still is she unsuccessful. Her merry voice, her laughter, and the cheerful tinkle of the guitar strings, are all exerted in vain. The sounds so little in consonance with Helen's thoughts seem sorely out of place in that gloomy apartment; whose walls, though they once echoed the laughter of roystering friars, have, no doubt, also heard the sighs of many a poor _peon_ suffering chastis.e.m.e.nt for disobedience, or apostacy.

At length perceiving how idle are her efforts, the younger sister lays aside her guitar, at the same time starting to her feet, and saying:--"Come, Helen! suppose we go outside for a stroll? That will be more agreeable than moping in this gloomsome cavern. There's a beautiful moonlight, and we ought to enjoy it."

"If you wish, I have no objections. Where do you intend strolling to?"

"Say the garden. We can take a turn along its walks, though they are a little weedy. A queer weird place it is--looks as if it might be haunted. I shouldn't wonder if we met a ghost in it--some of the old monks; or it might be one of their victims. 'Tis said they were very cruel, and killed people--ay, tortured them. Only think of the savage monsters! True, the ones that were here, as I've heard, got killed themselves in the end--that's some satisfaction. But it's all the more reason for their ghosts being about. If we should meet one, what would you do?"

"That would depend on how he behaved himself."