Майн Рид
The Death Shot: A Story Retold
In the struggle Clancy has let go his gun, and now vainly gropes for it in the darkness. But two others are behind, with barrels that bear upon the retreating horseman. In an instant all would be over with him, but for Clancy himself; who, rushing between, strikes up the muzzles, crying: —
“Don’t shoot, Sime! Hold your fire, Heywood! His life belongs to me!”
Strange forbearance; to the backwoodsmen, incomprehensible! But they obey; and again Richard Darke escapes chastisement for two great crimes he intended, but by good fortune failed to accomplish.
Chapter Sixty Three.
An oath to be kept
No pen could portray the feelings of Helen Armstrong, on recognising her rescuer. Charles Clancy alive! Is she dreaming? Or is it indeed he whose arms are around, folding her in firm but tender embrace? Under the moonbeams, that seem to have suddenly become brighter, she beholds the manly form and noble features of him she believed dead, his cheeks showing the hue of health, his eyes late glaring in angry excitement, now glowing with the softer light of love. Yes: it is indeed her lover long mourned, living, breathing, beautiful as ever!
She asks not if he be still true, that doubt has been long since dissipated. It needs not his presence there, nor what he has just done, to reassure her.
For a time she asks no questions; neither he. Both are too absorbed with sweet thoughts to care for words. Speech could not heighten their happiness, in the midst of caresses and kisses.
On his side there is no backwardness now; on hers no coyness, no mock modesty. They come together not as at their last interview, timid sweethearts, but lovers emboldened by betrothal. For she knows, that he proposed to her; as he, that her acceptance was sent, and miscarried. It has reached him nevertheless; he has it upon his person now – both the letter and portrait. About the last are his first words. Drawing it out, and holding it up to the light, he asks playfully:
“Helen; was it meant fo’ me?”
“No,” she evasively answers, “it was meant for me.”
“Oh! the likeness, yes; but the inscript – these pleasant words written underneath?”
“Put it back into; our pocket, Charles. And now tell me all. Am I dreaming? Or is it indeed reality?”
No wonder she should so exclaim. Never was transformation quicker, or more complete. But a few seconds before she was, as it were, in the clutches of the devil; now an angel is by her side, a seraph with soft wings to shelter, and strong arms to protect her. She feels as one, who, long lingering at the door of death, has health suddenly and miraculously restored, with the prospect of a prolonged and happy life.
Clancy replies, by again flinging his arms around, and rapturously kissing her: perhaps thinking it the best answer he can give. If that be not reality, what is?
Jessie has now joined them, and after exchanged congratulations, there succeed mutual inquiries and explanations. Clancy has commenced giving a brief account of what has occurred to himself, when he is interrupted by a rough, but kindly voice; that of Sime, saying: —
“Ye kin tell them all that at some other time, Charley; thar aint a minnit to be throwed away now.” Then drawing Clancy aside, speaking so as not to be heard by the others. “Thar’s danger in dallyin’ hyar. I’ve jest been puttin’ thet jail bird, Bosley, through a bit o’ catechism; an’ from what he’s told me the sooner we git out o’ hyar the better. Who d’ye spose is at the bottom o’ all this? I needn’t ask ye; ye’re boun to guess. I kin see the ugly brute’s name bulgin’ out yur cheeks.”
“Borlasse!”
“In course it’s he. Bosley’s confessed all. Ked’nt well help it, wi’ my bowie threetenin’ to make a red stream run out o’ him. The gang – thar’s twenty o’ ’em all counted – goed up to the Mission to plunder it – a sort o’ burglarious expedishun; Borlasse hevin’ a understandin’ wi’ a treetur that’s inside – a sort o’ sarvint to the Creole, Dupray, who only late engaged him. Wal; it seems they grupped the gurls, as they war makin’ for the house – chanced on ’em outside in the garden. Bosley an’ the other hev toated ’em this far, an’ war wait in for the rest to come on wi’ the stolen goods. They may be hyar at any minnit; an’, wi’ Jim Borlasse at thar head, I needn’t tell ye what that means. Four o’ us agin twenty – for we can’t count on Harkness – it’s ugly odds. We’d hev no show, howsomever. It ’ud end in their again grabbin’ these pretty critters, an’ ’s like ’s not end our own lives.”
Clancy needs no further speech to convince him of the danger. After what has occurred, an encounter with the robbers would, indeed, be disastrous. Richard Darke, leagued with Jim Borlasse, a noted pirate of the prairies; their diabolical plans disclosed, and only defeated by the merest accident of circumstances.
“You’re right, Sime. We mustn’t be caught by the scoundrels. As you say, that would be the end of everything. How are we to avoid them?”
“By streakin’ out o’ hyar quick as possible.”
“Do you propose our taking to the timber, and lying hid till they go past?”
“No. Our better plan ’ll be to go on to the Mission, an’ get thar soon’s we kin.”
“But we may meet them in the teeth?”
“We must, ef we take the main road up tother side – pretty sure to meet ’em. We shan’t be sech fools. I’ve thought o’ all that, an’ a way to get clear of the scrape.”
“What way?”
“That road we kim in by, ye see, leads on’ard up the bank this side. I reckin’ it goes to the upper crossin’, the which air several miles above the buildin’s. We kin take it, an’ foller it without any fear o’ encounterin’ them beauties. I’ve sent Jupe and Harkness to bring up the hosses. Ned’s tother side the tree in charge o’ Bosley.”
“You’ve arranged it right. Nothing could be better. Take the trail up this side. I can trust you for seeing them safe into their father’s arms – if he still live.”
Woodley wonders at this speech. He is about to ask explanation, when Clancy adds, pointing to the elder sister —
“I want a word with her before parting. While you are getting ready the horses – ”
“Before partin’!” interrupts Sime with increased surprise, “Surely you mean goin’ along wi’ us?”
“No, I don’t.”
“But why, Charley?”
“Well, I’ve something to detain me here.”
“What somethin’?”
“You ought to know without my telling you.”
“Dog-goned ef I do.”
“Richard Darke, then.”
“But he’s goed off; ye don’t intend follerin’ him?”
“I do – to the death. If ever I had a fixed determination in my life, ’tis that.”
“Wal, but you won’t go all by yerself! Ye’ll want some o’ us wi’ ye?”
“No.”
“Not me, nor Ned?”
“Neither. You’ll both be needed to take care of them.”
Clancy nods towards the sisters, adding: —
“You’ll have your hands full enough with Bosley and Harkness. Both will need looking after – and carefully. Jupe I’ll take with me.”
Woodley remonstrates, pointing out the danger of the course his comrade intends pursuing. He only yields as Clancy rejoins, in a tone of determination, almost command: —
“You must do as I tell you, Sime; go on to the Mission, and take them with you. As for me, I’ve a strong reason for remaining behind by myself; a silly sentiment some might call it, though I don’t think you would.”
“What is’t? Let’s hear it, an’ I’ll gie ye my opeenyun strait an’ square.”
“Simply, that in this whole matter from first to last, I’ve een making mistakes. So many, it’s just possible my courage may be called in question; or; if not that, my ability. Now, do you understand me?”
“Darned ef I do.”
“Well; a man must do something to prove himself worthy of the name; at least one deed during his lifetime. There’s one I’ve got to do – must do it, before I can think of anything else.”
“That is?”
“Kill Richard Darke, As you know, I’ve sworn it, and nothing shall come between me and my oath. No, Sime, not even she who stands yonder; though I can’t tell how it pains me to separate from her, now.”
“Good Lord! that will be a painful partin’! Poor gurl! I reckin her heart’s been nigh broke arready. She hasn’t the peach colour she used to hev. It’s clean faded out o’ her cheeks, an’ what your goin’ to do now aint the way to bring it back agin.”
“I cannot help it, Sime. I hear my mother calling me. Go, now! I wish it; I insist upon it!”
Saying this, he turns towards Helen Armstrong to speak a word, which he knows will be sad as was ever breathed into the ear of woman.
Chapter Sixty Four.
A wild farewell
On Clancy and the hunter becoming engaged in their serious deliberation, the sisters also exchange thoughts that are troubled. The first bright flash of joy at their release from captivity, with Helen’s added gratification, is once more clouded over, as they think of what may have befallen their father. Now, knowing who the miscreants are, their hearts are heavy with apprehension. Jessie may, perhaps, feel it the more, having most cause – for her dread is of a double nature. There is her affianced, as well as her father!
But for Helen there is also another agony in store, soon to be suffered. Little thinks she, as Clancy coming up takes her hand, that the light of gladness, which so suddenly shone into her heart, is to be with like suddenness extinguished; and that he who gave is about to take it away. Gently leading her apart, and leaving Jessie to be comforted by Sime, he says —
“Dearest! we’ve arranged everything for your being taken back to the Mission. The brave backwoodsmen, Woodley and Heywood, will be your escort. Under their protection you’ll have nothing to fear. Either would lay down his life for you or your sister. Nor need you be uneasy about your father. From what this fellow, Bosley, says, the ruffians only meant robbery, and if they have not been resisted it will end in that only. Have courage, and be cheered; you’ll find your father as you left him.”
“And you?” she asks in surprise. “Do you not go with us?”
He hesitates to make answer, fearing the effect. But it must be made; and he at length rejoins, appealingly:
“Helen! I hope you won’t be aggrieved, or blame me for hat I am going to do.”
“What?”
“Leave you.”
“Leave me!” she exclaims, her eyes interrogating his in wild bewilderment.
“Only for a time, love; a very short while.”
“But why any time? Charles; you are surely jesting with me?”
“No, indeed. I am in earnest. Never more in my life, and never more wishing I were not. Alas! it is inevitable!”
“Inevitable! I do not understand. What do you mean?”
With her eyes fixed oh his, in earnest gaze, she anxiously awaits his answer.
“Helen Armstrong!” he says, speaking in a tone of solemnity that sounds strange, almost harsh despite its gentleness; “you are to me the dearest thing on earth. I need not tell you that, for surely you know it. Without you I should not value life, nor care to live one hour longer. To say I love you, with all my heart and soul, were but to repeat the assurance I’ve already given you. Ah! now more than ever, if that were possible; now that I know how true you’ve been, and what you’ve suffered for my sake. But there’s another – one far away from here, who claims a share of my affections – ”
She makes a movement interrupting him, her eyes kindling up with an indescribable light, her bosom rising and falling as though stirred by some terrible emotion.
Perceiving her agitation, though without suspecting its cause, he continues:
“If this night more than ever I love you, this night greater than ever is my affection for her. The sight of that man, with the thought I’ve again permitted him to escape, is fresh cause of reproach – a new cry from the ground, commanding me to avenge my murdered mother.”
Helen Armstrong, relieved, again breathes freely. Strange, but natural; in consonance with human passions. For it was jealousy that for the moment held sway in her thoughts. Ashamed of the suspicion, now known to be unworthy, she makes an effort to conceal it, saying in calm tone —
“We have heard of your mother’s death.”
“Of her murder,” says Clancy, sternly, and through set teeth. “Yes; my poor mother was murdered by the man who has just gone off. He won’t go far, before I overtake him. I’ve sworn over her grave, she shall be avenged; his blood will atone for her’s. I’ve tracked him here, shall track him on; never stop, till I stand over him, as he once stood over me, thinking – . But I won’t tell you more. Enough, for you to know why I’m now leaving you. I must – I must!”
Half distracted, she rejoins: —
“You love your mother’s memory more than you love me!”
Without thought the reproach escapes – wrung from her in her agony. Soon as made, she regrets, and would recall it. For she sees the painful effect it has produced.
He anticipates her, saying: —
“You wrong me, Helen, in word, as in thought. Such could not be. The two are different. You should know that. As I tell you, I’ve sworn to avenge my mother’s death – sworn it over her grave. Is that not an oath to be kept? I ask – I appeal to you!”
Her hand, that has still been keeping hold of his, closes upon it with firmer grasp, while her eyes become fixed upon him in look more relying than ever.
The selfishness of her own passion shrinks before the sacredness of that inspiring him, and quick passes away. With her love is now mingled admiration. Yielding to it, she exclaims:
“Go – go! Get the retribution you seek. Perhaps ’tis right. God shielding you, you’ll succeed, and come back to me, true as you’ve been to your mother. If not, I shall soon be dead.”
“If not, you may know I am. Only death can hinder my return. And now, for a while, farewell!”
Farewell! And so soon. Oh! it is afflicting! So far she has borne herself with the firmness derived from a strong, self-sustaining nature. But hearing this word – wildest of all – she can hold out no longer. Her strength gives way, and flinging herself on his breast, she pours forth a torrent of tears.
“Come, Helen!” he says, kissing them from her cheeks, “be brave, and don’t fear for me. I know my man, and the work cut out for me. By sheer carelessness I’ve twice let him have his triumph over me. But he won’t the third time. When we next meet ’twill be the last hour of his life. Something whispers this – perhaps the spirit of my mother? Keep up your courage, sweet! Go back with Sime, who’ll see you safe into your father’s arms. When there, you can offer up a prayer for my safety, and if you like, one for the salvation of Dick Darke’s soul. For sure as I stand here, ere another sun has set it will go to its God.”
With these solemn words the scene ends, only one other exchanged between them – the wild “Farewell!”
This in haste, for at the moment Woodley comes forward, exclaiming: —
“Be quick, Charley! We must git away from hyar instanter. A minuit more in this gleed, an’ some o’ us may niver leave it alive.”
Jupiter and Harkness have brought up the horses, and are holding them in readiness. Soon they are mounted, Heywood taking Jessie on his croup, Helen having a horse to herself – that late belonging to Bosley – while the latter is compelled to share the saddle with Harkness.
Heywood leads off; the suspected men ordered to keep close after; while Woodley reserves the rear-guard to himself and his rifle. Before parting, he spurs alongside Clancy, and holds out his hand, saying: —
“Gi’e me a squeeze o’ yur claws, Charley. May the Almighty stan’ your frien’ and keep you out o’ Ole Nick’s clutches. Don’t hev’ any dubiousness ’bout us. Tho’ we shed kum across Satan hisself wi’ all his hellniferous host, Sime Woodley ’ll take care o’ them sweet gurls, or go to grass trying.” With this characteristic wind-up, he puts the spur to his horse, and closes upon the rest already parted from the spot.
Alone remain under the live-oak, Clancy and the mulatto, with horse, hound, and mule.
Varied the emotions in Clancy’s mind, as he stands looking after; but all dark as clouds coursing across a winter’s sky. For they are all doubts and fears; that most felt finding expression in the desponding soliloquy.
“I may never see her again!”
As the departing cavalcade is about to enter among the trees, and the floating drapery of her dress is soon to pass out of sight, he half repents his determination, and is almost inclined to forego it.
But the white skirt disappears, and the dark thought returning, becomes fixed as before. Then, facing towards Jupiter, he directs: —
“Mount your mule, Jupe. We’ve only one more journey to make; I hope a short one. At its end we’ll meet your old master, and you’ll see him get what he deserves – his death shot!”
Chapter Sixty Five.
For the rendezvous
Stillness is again restored around the crossing of the San Saba, so far as it has been disturbed by the sound of human voices. Nature has resumed her reign, and only the wild creatures of her kingdom can be heard calling, in tones that tell not of strife.
But for a short while does this tranquillity continue. Soon once more upon the river’s bank resound rough voices, and rude boisterous laughter, as a band of mounted men coming from the Mission side, spur their horses down into its channel, and head to go straight across. While under the shadow of the fringing timber, no one could tell who these merry riders are; and, even after they have advanced into the open moonlight, it would be difficult to identify them. Seeing their plumed heads with their parti-coloured complexions, a stranger would set them down as Indians; while a Texan might particularise their tribe, calling them Comanches. But one who is no stranger to them – the reader – knows they are not Indians of any kind, but savages who would show skins of a tripe colour, were the pigment sponged off. For it is the band of Borlasse.
They have brought their booty thus far, en route for their rendezvous.
Gleeful they are, one and all. Before them on their saddle-bows, or behind on the croups, are the boxes of silver coin; enough, as they know, to give them a grand spree in the town of San Antonio, whither they intend proceeding in due time.
But first for their lair, where the spoil is to be partitioned, and a change made in their toilet; there to cast off the costume of the savage, and resume the garb of civilisation.
Riding in twos across the river, on reaching its bank they make halt. There is barely room for all on the bit of open ground by the embouchure of the ford road; and they get clumped into a dense crowd – in its midst their chief, Borlasse, conspicuous from his great bulk of body.
“Boys!” he says, soon as all have gained the summit of the slope, and gathered around him, “it ain’t no use for all o’ us going to where I told Quantrell an’ Bosley to wait. The approach to the oak air a bit awkward; therefore, me an’ Luke Chisholm ’ll slip up thar, whiles the rest o’ ye stay hyar till we come back. You needn’t get out of your saddles. We won’t be many minutes, for we mustn’t. They’ll be a stirrin’ at the Mission, though not like to come after us so quick, seeing the traces we’ve left behind. That’ll be a caution to them, I take it. And from what our friend here says,” Borlasse nods to the half-blood, Fernand, who is seen seated on horseback beside him, “the settlers can’t muster over forty fightin’ men. Calculatin’ there’s a whole tribe o’ us Comanches, they’ll be too scared to start out all of a suddint. Besides, they’ll not find that back trail by the bluff so easy. I don’t think they can before mornin’. Still ’twont do to hang about hyar long. Once we get across the upper plain we’re safe. They’ll never set eyes on these Indyins after. Come, Luke! let you an’ me go on to the oak, and pick up the stragglers. An’ boys! see ye behave yourselves till we come back. Don’t start nail, or raise lid, from any o’ them boxes. If there’s a dollar missin’, I’ll know it; an’ by the Eternal – well, I guess, you understan’ Jim Borlasse’s way wi’ treeturs.”
Leaving this to be surmised, the robber chief spurs out from their midst, with the man he has selected to accompany him; the rest, as enjoined, remaining.
Soon he turns into the up-river trace, which none of those who have already travelled it, knew as well as he. Despite his greater size, neither its thorns, nor narrowness, hinders him from riding rapidly along it. He is familiar with its every turn and obstruction, as is also Chisholm. Both have been to the big oak before, time after time; have bivouacked, slept under it, and beside booty. Approaching it now for a different purpose, they are doomed to disappointment. There is no sign of creature beneath its shade – horse, man, or woman!
Where is Quantrell? Where Bosley? What has become of them, and their captives?
They are not under the oak, or anywhere around it. They are nowhere!
The surprise of the robber chief instantly changes to anger. For a suspicion flashes across his mind, that his late appointed lieutenant has played false to him.
He knows that Richard Darke has only been one of his band by the exigency of sinister circumstances; knows, also, of the other, and stronger lien that has kept Clancy’s assassin attached to their confederacy – his love for Helen Armstrong. Now that he has her – the sister too – why may he not have taken both off, intending henceforth to cut all connection with the prairie pirates? Bosley would be no bar. The subordinate might remain faithful, and to the death; still Quantrell could kill him.
It is all possible, probable; and Borlasse, now better acquainted with the character of Richard Darke, can believe it so. Convinced of his lieutenant’s treachery, he rages around the tree like a tiger deprived of its prey.
Little cares he what has become of Darke himself, or Helen Armstrong. It is Jessie he misses; madly loving her in his course carnal fashion. He had hoped to have her in his arms, to carry her on to the rendezvous, to make her his wife in the same way as Darke threatened to do with her sister.
Fortunately for both, the sky has become clouded, and the moon is invisible; otherwise he might see that the ground has been trodden by a half-dozen horses, and discover the direction these have taken. Though Simeon Woodley, with his party, is now a good distance off, it would still be possible to overtake them, the robbers being well mounted and better knowing the way. Woe to Helen and Jessie Armstrong were the moon shining, as when they parted from that spot!
Neither Borlasse nor his confederate have a thought that any one has been under the oak, save Quantrell, Bosley, and the captives. How could they? And now they think not that these have been there; for, calling their names aloud, they get no response. Little do the two freebooters dream of the series of exciting incidents that in quick succession, and so recently, have occurred in that now silent spot. They have no suspicion of aught, save that Bosley has betrayed his trust, Phil Quantrell instigating him, and that both have forsaken the band, taking the captives along.
At thought of their treachery Borlasse’s fury goes beyond bounds, and he stamps and storms.
To restrain him, Chisholm says, suggestingly, “Like as not, Cap’, they’re gone on to head-quarters. I guess, when we get there we’ll find the whole four.”
“You think so?”
“I’m good as sure of it. What else could they do, or would they? Quantrell darn’t go back to the States, with that thing you spoke of hangin’ over him. Nor is he like to show himself in any o’ the settlements of Texas. And what could the two do by themselves out on the wild prairie?”
“True; I reckon you’re about right, Luke. In any case we musn’t waste more time here. It’s getting well on to morning and by the earliest glint of day the settlers ’ll take trail after us. We must on to the upper plain.”
At this he heads his horse back into the narrow trail; and, hurrying along it, rejoins his followers by the ford.
Soon as reaching them, he gives the command for immediate march; promptly obeyed, since every robber in the ruck has pleasant anticipation of what is before, with ugly recollection of what is, and fears of what may be, behind him.
