It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 140

"No; others might, but not me. We are being hunted," said Robinson, sternly. "George, I am sick of this, let us end it. Let us show these fellows they are hunting lions and not sheep. Is your revolver loaded?"

"Yes."

"Then come on!" And he set off to run, following the old tracks. George ran by his side, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with excitement. They came to the brook. Robinson showed. George that their pursuer had taken some steps down the stream. "No matter," said he, "don't lose time, George, go right up the bank to our path. He will have puzzled it out, you may take your oath."

Sure enough they found another set of footsteps added to their own.

Robinson paused before entering the wood. He put fresh caps on his revolver. "Now, George," said he, in a low voice, "we couldn't sleep in this wood without having our throats cut, but before night I'll be out of danger or in my grave, for life is not worth having in the midst of enemies. Hus.h.!.+ hus-s-s.h.!.+ You must not speak to me but in a whisper."

"No!" whispered George.

"Nor rustle against the boughs."

"No, I won't," whispered George. "But make me sensible, Tom. Tell me what all this caution is to lead to. What are you doing?"

"I AM HUNTING THE HUNTER!" hissed. Robinson, with concentrated fury. And he glided rapidly down the trodden path, his revolver c.o.c.ked, his ears p.r.i.c.ked, his eye on fire, and his teeth clinched.

George followed, silent and cautious, his revolver ready c.o.c.ked in his hand. As they glided thus, following their own footsteps, and hunting their hunter with gloomy brows, and nerves quivering, and hearts darkening with anger and bitterness, sudden a gloom fell upon the wood--it darkened and darkened. Meantime a breeze chill as ice disturbed its tepid and close air, forerunner of a great wind which was soon heard, first moaning in the distance, then howling and rus.h.i.+ng up, and sweeping over the tall trees and rocking them like so many bulrushes. A great storm was coming.

CHAPTER LXVII.

THIS very afternoon Mr. Levi came to inquire for George Fielding. Unable to find him, he asked of several diggers where the young man was; he could get no information till Jem saw him, and came and told him.

Now when he heard they were gone, and not expected back for some days, Isaac gave quite a start, and showed a degree of regret and vexation that Jem was puzzled to account for.

On reflection he begged Jem to come to his tent; there he sat down and wrote a letter.

"Young man," said he, "I do entreat you to give this to George Fielding the moment he returns to the camp. Why did he go without coming to see me? my old heart is full of misgivings."

"You needn't have any, sir," said Jem, surprised at the depth of feeling in the old Jew's face and voice. "He shall have the letter, you may depend."

Levi thanked him.

He then said to Nathan: "Strike the tents, collect our party, and let us be gone."

"What! going to leave us, sir?"

"Yes! young man, this very hour."

"Well now, I am sorry for that, and so will the captain be, and his pal that you think so much of."

"We shall not be long parted," said the old man, in his sweet musical Eastern accent, "not very long, if you are faithful to your trust and give the good young man my letter. May good angels hover round him, may the G.o.d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob guard him!"

"Amen!" said rough Jem; for the reverend face glowed with piety, and the voice was the voice of prayer.

Suddenly an unpleasant reflection occurred to Jem.

"Well, but if you go, who is to buy our gold-dust?"

"The Christian merchants," said Isaac, with an indifferent air.

"But they are such Jews," cried Jem, inadvertently. "I mean--I mean----"

And rough as he was, he looked as if he could have bitten his tongue off.

"I know what you mean," said Isaac, sadly. He added: "Such as they are, they are all you have now. The old Jew was hunted and hooted and insulted in this place yesterday; here then he trades no more; those who set no value on him can of course supply his place."

"The blackguards," cried Jem, "the ruffians, I wish I had seen them.

Come, Mr. Levi, that was not the mine; that was only the riffraff; you might forgive us that."

"I never forgive," was the calm reply.

CHAPTER LXVIII.

A TREMENDOUS snow-storm fell upon the mine and drove Jem into his tent, where he was soon after joined by Jacky, a circ.u.mstance in itself sufficient to prove the violence of the storm, for Jacky loathed indoors, it choked him a good deal.

The more was Jem surprised when he heard a lamentable howl coming nearer and nearer, and a woman burst into his tent, a mere pillar of snow, for she was covered with a thousand flakes each as big as a lady's hand.

"Ochone! ochone! ochone!" cried Mary McDogherty, and, on being asked what was the matter, she sat down and rocked herself and moaned and cried, "Ochone--och, captain, avick, what will I do for you? an' who will I find to save you? an' oh, it is the warm heart and the kind heart ye had to poor Molly McDogherty that ud give her life to save yours this day."

"The captain," cried Jem, in great alarm. "What is wrong with the captain?"

"He is lying could and stiff in the dark, b.l.o.o.d.y wood. Och, the murthering villains! och, what will I do at all! och, captain, avick, warm was your heart to the poor Irish boys, but it is could now. Ochone!

ochone!"

"Woman," cried Jem, in great agitation, "leave off blubbering and tell me what is the matter."

Thus blandly interrogated, Mary told him a story (often interrupted with tears and sighs) of what had been heard and seen yester eve by one of the Irish boys--a story that turned him cold, for it left on him the same impression it had left on the warmhearted Irishwoman, that at this moment his good friend was lying dead in the bush hard by.

He rose and loaded Robinson's double-barreled gun; he loaded it with bullets, and, as he rammed them fiercely down, he said angrily: "Leave off crying and wringing your hands; what on earth is the use of that?

here goes to save him or to revenge him."

"An' och, James, take the wild Ingine wid ye; they know them b.l.o.o.d.y, murthering woods better than our boys, glory be to G.o.d for taching them that same."

"Of course I shall take him. You hear, Jacky, will you show me how to find the poor dear captain and his mate if they are in life?"

"If they are alive, Jacky will find them a good deal soon--if they are dead, still Jacky will find them."

The Irishwoman's sorrow burst out afresh at these words. The savage then admitted the probability of that she dreaded.

"And their enemies--the cowardly villains--what will you do to them?"

asked Jem, black with rage.

Jacky's answer made Mary scream with affright, and startled even Jem's iron nerves for a moment. At the very first word of the Irishwoman's story, the savage had seated himself on the ground with his back turned to the others, and, unnoticed by them, had rapidly painted his face with the war-paint of his tribe. Words cannot describe the ghastly terrors, the fiendish ferocity these traditional lines and colors gave his countenance. This creature, that looked so like a fiend, came erect into the middle of the tent with a single bound, as if that moment vomited forth by h.e.l.l, and yet with a grander carriage and princelier presence than he had worn in time of peace; and even as he bounded he crossed his tomahawk and narrow wooden s.h.i.+eld, to signify that his answer was no vulgar a.s.severation, but a vow of sacred war.

"KALINGALUNGA WILL KILL THEM, AND DRINK THEIR BLOOD."