Guy Rivers Part 45

"You shall not stay with me, sir! What! am I so low as this, that I may not be permitted to be alone when I will? Will my subordinates fly in my face, and presume to disobey my commands? Go, Dillon--have I not said that you _must_ fly--that I no longer need your services? Why linger, then, where you are no longer needed? I have that to perform which requires me to be alone, and I have no further time to spare you.

Go--away!"

"Do you really speak in earnest, captain?" inquired the lieutenant, doubtingly, and with a look of much concern.

"Am I so fond of trifling, that my officer asks me such a question?" was the stern response.

"Then I am your officer still--you will go with me, or I shall remain."

"Neither, Dillon. The time is past for such an arrangement. You are discharged from my service, and from your oath. The club has no further existence. Go--be a happy, a better man, in another part of the world.

You have some of the weaknesses of your better nature still in you. You had no mother to change them into scorn, and strife, and bitterness.

Go--you may be a better man, and have something, therefore, for which to live. I have not--my heart can know no change. It is no longer under the guidance of reason. It is quite ungovernable now. There was a time when--but why prate of this?--it is too late to think of, and only maddens me the more. Besides, it makes not anything with you, and would detain you without a purpose. Linger no longer, Dillon--speed to the west, and, at some future day, perhaps you shall see me when you least expect, and perhaps least desire it."

The manner of the outlaw was firm and commanding, and Dillon no longer had any reason to doubt his desires, and no motive to disobey his wishes. The parting was brief, though the subordinate was truly affected. He would have lingered still, but Rivers waved him off with a farewell, whose emphasis was effectual, and, in a few moments, the latter sat once more alone.

His mood was that of one disappointed in all things, and, consequently, displeased and discontented with all things--querulously so. In addition to this temper, which was common to him, his spirit, at this time, labored under a heavy feeling of despondency, and its gloomy sullenness was perhaps something lighter to himself while Dillon remained with him.

We have seen the manner in which he had hurried that personage off. He had scarcely been gone, however, when the inconsistent and variable temper of the outlaw found utterance in the following soliloquy:--

"Ay, thus it is--they all desert me; and this is human feeling. They all fly the darkness, and this is human courage. They love themselves only, or you only while you need no love; and this is human sympathy. I need all of these, yet I get none; and when I most need, and most desire, and most seek to obtain, I am the least provided. These are the fruits which I have sown, however; should I shrink to gather them?

"Yet, there is one--but one of all--whom no reproach of mine could drive away, or make indifferent to my fate. But I will see her no more.

Strange madness! The creature, who, of all the world, most loves me, and is most deserving of my love, I banish from my soul as from my sight.

And this is another fruit of my education--another curse that came with a mother--this wilful love of the perilous and the pa.s.sionate--this scorn of the gentle and the soft--this fondness for the fierce contradiction--this indifference to the thing easily won--this thirst after the forbidden. Poor Ellen--so gentle, so resigned, and so fond of her destroyer; but I will not see her again. I must not; she must not stand in the way of my anxiety to conquer that pride which had ventured to hate or to despise me. I shall see Munro, and he shall lose no time in this matter. Yet, what can he be after--he should have been here before this; it now wants but little to the morning, and--ah! I have not slept. Shall I ever sleep again!"

Thus, striding to and fro in his apartment, the outlaw soliloquized at intervals. Throwing himself at length upon a rude couch that stood in the corner, he had disposed himself as it were for slumber, when the noise, as of a falling rock, attracted his attention, and without pausing, he cautiously took his way to the entrance, with a view to ascertain the cause. He was not easily surprised, and the knowledge of surrounding danger made him doubly observant, and more than ever watchful.

Let us now return to the party which had pursued the fugitives, and which, after the death of the landlord, had, as we have already narrated, adopting the design suggested by his dying words, immediately set forth in search of the notorious outlaw, eager for the reward put upon his head. Having already some general idea of the whereabouts of the fugitive, and the directions given by Munro having been of the most specific character, they found little difficulty, after a moderate ride of some four or five miles, in striking upon the path directly leading to the Wolf's Neck.

At this time, fortunately for their object, they were encountered suddenly by--our old acquaintance, Chub Williams, whom, but little before, we have seen separating from the individual in whose pursuit they were now engaged. The deformed quietly rode along with the party, but without seeming to recognise their existence--singing all the while a strange woodland melody of the time and region--probably the production of some village wit:--

"Her frock it was a _yaller_, And she was _mighty sprigh_ And she bounced at many a _feller_ Who came _a-fighting shy_.

"Her eye was like a _sarpent's eye_.

Her cheek was like a flower, But her tongue was like a pedler's clock, 'Twas a-striking every hour.

"And wasn't she the gal for me, And wasn't she, I pray, sir, And I'll be _drot_, if you say not, We'll fight this very day, sir.

We'll fight this very day, sir."

Having delivered himself of this choice morsel of song, the half-witted fellow conceitedly challenged the attention of the group whom he had not hitherto been disposed to see.

"'Spose you reckon I don't see you, riding 'longside of me, and saying nothing, but listening to my song. I'm singing for my own self, and you oughtn't to listen--I didn't ax you, and I'd like to know what you're doing so nigh Chub's house."

"Why, where's your house, Chub?" asked one of the party.

"You ain't looking for it, is you? 'cause you can't think to find it a-looking down. I lives in the tree-top when weather's good like to-night, and when it ain't, I go into the hollow. I've a better house than Guy Rivers--he don't take the tree at all, no how."

"And where is his house, Chub?" was the common inquiry of all the party.

The dwarf looked at them for a few moments without speech, then with a whisper and a gesture significant of caution, replied--

"If you're looking for Guy, 'tain't so easy to find him if he don't want to be found, and you must speak softly if you hunt him, whether or no.

He's a dark man, that Guy Rivers--mother always said so--and he lives a long way under the ground."

"And can't you show us where, Chub? We will give you money for your service."

"Hain't you got 'tatoes? Chub's hungry--hain't eat nothing to-night. Guy Rivers has plenty to eat, but he cursed Chub's mother."

"Well, show us where he is, and we'll give you plenty to eat. Plenty of potatoes and corn," was the promise of the party.

"And build up Chub's house that the fire burnt? Chub lives in the tree now. Guy Rivers' man burnt Chub's house, 'cause he said Chub was sa.s.sy."

"Yes, my boy, we'll build up your house, and give you a plenty to go upon for a year. You shall have potatoes enough for your lifetime, if you will show us how to come upon Guy Rivers to-night. He _is_ a bad fellow, as you say; and we won't let him trouble you any more, if you'll only show us where he is to be found."

"Well--I reckon I can," was the response, uttered in a confidential whisper, and much more readily given than was the wont of the speaker.

"Chub and Guy talked together to-night, and Guy wanted Chub to go with him into his house in Wolf's Neck. But Chub don't love the wolf, and he don't love the Wolf's Neck, now that Miss Lucy's gone away from it. It's a mighty dark place, the Wolf's Neck, and Chub's afear'd in the dark places, where the moon and stars won't s.h.i.+ne down."

"But you needn't be afraid now, little Chub. You're a good little fellow, and we'll keep with you and follow close, and there shall be no danger to you. We'll fight Guy Rivers for you, so that he can't hurt you any more."

"You'll fight Guy! You! Guy kin fight to kill!"

"Yes, but we'll kill _him;_ only you show us where he is, so that we can catch him and tie him, and he'll never trouble Chub any more."

"What! you'll tie Guy? How I'd like to see anybody tie Guy! You kain't tie Guy. He'd break through the ropes, he would, if he on'y stretched out his arms."

"You'll see! only show us how to find him, and we'll tie him, and we'll build you a new house, and you shall have more potatoes and corn than you can shake a stick at, and we'll give you a great jug of whiskey into the bargain."

"Now will you! And a jug of whiskey too, and build a new house for Chub's mother--and the corn, and the 'tatoes."

"All! you shall have all we promise."

"Come! come! saftly! put your feet down saftly, for Guy's got great white owls that watch for him, and they hoot from the old tree when the horses are coming. Saftly! saftly!"

There is an idiocy that does not lack the vulgar faculty of mere shrewdness--that can calculate selfishly, and plan coolly--in short, can show itself cunning, whenever it has a motive. Find the motive for the insane and the idiotic, always, if you would see them exercise the full extent of their little remaining wits.

Chub Williams had a sagacity of this sort. His selfishness was appealed to, and all his faculties were on the alert. He gave directions for the progress of the party--after his own manner, it is true--but with sufficient promptness and intelligence to satisfy them that they might rely upon him. Having reached a certain lonely spot among the hills, contiguous to the crag, or series of crags, called the Wolf's Neck, Chub made the party all dismount, and hide their horses in a thicket into which they found it no easy matter to penetrate. This done, he led them out again, cautiously moving along under cover, but near the margin of the road. He stept as lightly himself as a squirrel, taking care, before throwing his weight upon his foot, to feel that there was no rotting branch or bough beneath, the breaking of which might occasion noise.

"Saftly! saftly!" he would say in a whisper, turning back to the party, when he found them treading hurriedly and heavily upon the brush.

Sometimes, again, he ran ahead of all of them, and for a few moments would be lost to sight; but he usually returned, as quickly and quietly as he went, and would either lead them forward on the same route with confidence, or alter it according to his discoveries. He was literally feeling his way; the instincts and experience of the practised scout finding no sort of obstacle in the deficiency of his reasoning powers.

His processes did not argue any doubts of his course; only a choice of direction--such as would promise more ease and equal security. Some of his changes of movement, he tried to explain, in his own fas.h.i.+on, when he came back to guide them on other paths.

"Saftly back--saftly now, this way. Guy's in his dark house in the rock, but there's a many rooms, and 't mout be, we're a walking jest now, over his head. Then he mout hear, you see, and Guy's got ears like the great owl. He kin hear mighty far in the night, and see too; and you mustn't step into his holes. There's heap of holes in Guy's dark house. Saftly, now--and here away."

Briefly, the rocky avenues were numerous in the Wolf's Neck, and some of them ran near the surface. There were sinks upon the surface also, covered with brush and clay, into which the unthinking wayfarer might stumble, perhaps into the very cavern where the outlaw at that moment housed himself. The group around the idiot did not fail to comprehend the reasons for all his caution. They confided to his skill implicitly; having, of themselves, but small knowledge of the wild precincts into which they desired to penetrate.

Having, at length, brought them to points and places, which afforded them the command of the avenues to the rock, the next object of their guide was to ascertain where the outlaw was at that moment secreted. It was highly important to know _where_ to enter--where to look--and not waste time in fruitless search of places in which a single man might have a dozen blind seekers at his mercy. The cunning of the idiot conceived this necessity himself.

His policy made each of the party hide himself out of sight, though in a position whence each might see.

All arranged as he desired, the urchin armed himself with a rock, not quite as large as his own head, but making a most respectable approach to it. This, with the aid of coat and kerchief he secured upon his back, between his shoulders; and thus laden, he yet, with the agility of the opossum, her young ones in her pouch, climbed up a tree which stood a little above that inner chamber which Guy Rivers had appropriated for himself, and where, on more occasions than one, our idiot had peeped in upon him. Perched in his tree securely, and shrouded from sight among its boughs, the urchin disengaged the rock from his shoulders, took it in both his hands, and carefully selecting its route, he pitched it, with all his might, out from the tree, and in such a direction, that, after it had fairly struck the earth, it continued a rolling course down the declivity of the rocks, making a heavy clatter all the way it went.