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The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

Chapter Eighty Three
Old Memories awakened

The rein dropped from her fingers – the rifle fell upon the neck of her horse, and she sat gazing at me in speechless surprise. At length, in a low murmur, and as if mechanically, she repeated the words:

“My sister Lilian?”

“Yes, Marian Holt – your sister.”

“My name! how can you have become acquainted with it? You know my sister?”

“Know her, and love her – I have given her my whole heart.”

“And she – has she returned your love?”

“Would that I could say surely yes! Alas! I am still in doubt.”

“Your words are strange. O sir, tell me who you are! I need not question what you have said. I perceive that you know my sister – and who I am. It is true: I am Marian Holt – and you? you are from Tennessee?”

“I have come direct from it.”

“From the Obion? perhaps from – ”

“From your father’s clearing on Mud Creek, Marian.”

“Oh! this is unexpected – what fortune to have met you, sir! You have seen my sister then?”

“I have.”

“And spoken with her? How long ago?”

“Scarcely a month.”

“So lately! And how looks she? She was well!”

“How looks she? – Beautiful, Marian, like yourself. She was well, too, when I last saw her.”

“Dear Lilian! – O sir! how glad I am to hear from her! Beautiful I know she is – very, very beautiful. Ah me! – they said I was so too, but my good looks have been lost in the wilderness. A life like that I have been leading soon takes the softness from a girl’s cheeks. But, Lilian! O stranger! tell me of her! I long to hear of her – to see her. It is but six months, and yet I think it six years, since I saw her. Oh! how I long to throw my arms around her! to twine her beautiful golden-hair around my fingers, to gaze into her blue innocent eyes!” My heart echoed the longings.

“Sweet little Lilian! Ah – little – perhaps not, sir? She will be grown by this? A woman like myself?”

“Almost a woman.”

“Tell me, sir – did she speak of me? Oh, tell me – what said she of her sister Marian?”

The question was put in a tone that betrayed anxiety. I did not leave her to the torture of suspense; but hastily repeated the affectionate expressions which Lilian had uttered in her behalf.

“Good kind Lil! I know she loves me as I love her – we had no other companions – none I may say for years, only father himself. And father – is he well?”

There was a certain reservation in the tone of this interrogatory, that contrasted strangely with that used when speaking of her sister. I well knew why.

“Yes,” I replied, “your father was also in good health when I saw him.”

There was a pause that promised embarrassment – a short interval of silence. A question occurred to me that ended it. “Is there no one else about whom you would desire to hear?”

I looked into her eyes as I put the question. The colour upon her cheeks went and came, like the changing hues of the chameleon. Her bosom rose and fell in short convulsive breathings; and, despite an evident effort to stifle it, an audible sigh escaped her. The signs were sufficient. I needed no further confirmation of my belief. Within that breast was a souvenir, that in interest far exceeded the memories of either sister or father. The crimson flush upon her cheek, the quick heaving of the chest, the half-hindered sigh, were evidences palpable and pronounced. Upon the heart of Marian Holt was the image of the handsome hunter – Frank Wingrove – graven there, deeply and never to be effaced.

“Why do you ask that question?” at length she inquired, in a voice of assumed calmness. “Know you anything of my history? You appear to know all. Has any one spoken of me?”

“Yes – often – one who thinks only of you.”

“And who, may I ask, takes this single interest in a poor outcast maiden?”

“Ask your own heart, Marian! or do you wish me to name him?”

“Name him!”

“Frank Wingrove.”

She did not start. She must have expected that name: since there was no other to be mentioned. She did not start, though a sensible change was observable in the expression of her countenance. A slight darkling upon her brow, accompanied by a pallor and compression of the lips, indicated pain.

“Frank Wingrove,” I repeated, seeing that she remained silent. “I know not why I should have challenged you to name him,” said she, still preserving the austere look. “Now that you have done so, I regret it. I had hoped never to hear his name again. In truth, I had well-nigh forgotten it.”

I did not believe in the sincerity of the assertion. There was a slight tincture of pretence in the tone that belied the words. It was the lips alone that were speaking, and not the heart. It was fortunate that Wingrove was not within earshot. The speech would have slain him.

“Ah, Marian!” I said, appealingly, “he has not forgotten yours.”

“No – I suppose he mentions it – with boasting!”

“Say rather with bewailing.”

“Bewailing? Indeed! And why? That he did not succeed in betraying me?”

“Far otherwise – he has been true to you!”

“It is false, sir. You know not, perhaps, that I was myself witness of his base treachery. I saw him – ”

“What you saw was a mere accidental circumstance; nor was it of his seeking. It was the fault of the Chicasaw, I can assure you.”

“Ha! ha! ha! An accidental circumstance!” rejoined she, with a contemptuous laugh; “truly a rare accident! It was guilt, sir. I saw him with his arms around her – with my own eyes I saw this. What farther proof needed I of his perfidy?”

“All that you saw, I admit, but – ”

“More than saw it: I heard of his faithlessness. Did not she herself declare it – in Swampville? elsewhere! – boasted of it even to my own sister! More still: another was witness to his vile conduct – had often seen him in her company. Ha! little dreamed he, while dallying in the woods with his red-skinned squaw, that the earth has ears and the trees have tongues. The deceiver did not think of that!”

“Fair Marian, they are foul calumnies; and whoever has given utterance to them did so to deceive you. Who, may I ask, was that other witness who has so misled you!”

“Oh! it matters not now – another villain like himself – one who – O God! I cannot tell you the horrid history – it is too black to be believed.”

“Nay, you may tell it me. I half know it already; but there are some points I wish explained – for your sake – for Wingrove’s – for the sake of your sister – ”

“My sister! how can it concern her? Surely it does not? Explain your meaning, sir.”

I endeavoured to avoid the look of earnest inquiry that was turned upon me. I was not yet prepared to enter upon the explanation. “Presently,” I said, “you shall know all that has transpired since your departure from Tennessee. But first tell me of yourself. You have promised me? I ask it not from motives of idle curiosity. I have freely confessed to you my love for your sister Lilian. It is that which has brought me here – it is that which impels me to question you.”

“All this is mystery to me,” replied the huntress, with a look of extreme bewilderment. “Indeed, sir, you appear to know all – more than I – but in regard to myself, I believe you are disinterested, and I shall willingly answer any question you may think proper to ask me. Go on! I shall conceal nothing.”

“Thanks!” said I. “I think I can promise that you shall have no reason to regret your confidence.”

Chapter Eighty Four
Playing Confessor

I was not without suspicion as to the motive of her complaisance: in fact, I understood it. Despite the declamatory denial she had given to its truth, my defence of Wingrove, I saw, had made an impression upon her. It had no doubt produced pleasant reflections; and rendered myself indirectly an object of gratitude. It was natural that such kindness should be reciprocated.

My own intent in “confessing” the girl was twofold. First, on Wingrove’s account: for, notwithstanding all that had been said and done, her love for him might have passed. If so, instead of that happy reunion of two loving hearts, which I had anticipated bringing about, I should be the witness of a most painful interview.

Without further delay, I entered upon the theme. My interrogatories were answered with candid freedom. The answers proved that what the Mexican had told me was true to the letter.

“And did your father force you to this marriage?”

The reply was given hesitatingly. It was in the affirmative. “He did.”

“For what reason did he so?”

“I could never tell. The man had some power over him; but how or in what way, I knew not then, nor do I now. My father told me it was a debt – a large sum which he owed him, and could not pay. I know not whether it was that. I hope it was.”

“You think, then, that Stebbins used some such means to force your father’s consent?”

“I am sure of it. My father told me as much. He said that by marrying Stebbins I could save him from disgrace, and entreated, rather than forced me to it. You know, sir, I could not ask why: he was my father. I do think that it was not his wish that I should have that man; but something threatened him.”

“Did your father know it was a false marriage?”

“No, no; I can never think so. I am sure the villain deceived him in that, as he did me. Oh! father could never have done so! People, I believe, thought him wicked, because he was short with them, and used rough language. But he was not wicked. Something had crossed him; and he drank. He was at times unhappy, and perhaps ill-tempered with the world; but never with us. He was always kind to sister and myself – never scolded us. Ah! no, sir; I can never think he knew that.”

“He was aware that Stebbins was a Mormon – was he not?”

“I have tried to believe that he was not – though Stebbins afterwards told me so.” I well knew that he was aware of it, but said nothing.

“His saying so,” continued she, “proves nothing. If father did know of his being a Mormon, I am sure he was ignorant of the wickedness of these people. There were stories about them; but there were others who contradicted these stories, and said they were all scandal – so little does the world know what is true from what is false. I learnt afterwards that the very worst that was said of them was even less than the truth.”

“Of course, you knew nothing of Stebbins being a Mormon?”

“Oh! sir, how could I? There was nothing said of that. He pretended he was emigrating to Oregon, where a good many had gone. Had I known the truth, I should have drowned myself rather than have gone with him!”

“After all, you would not have obeyed your father’s will in the matter, had not something else arisen. At his solicitation, you gave your consent; but were you not influenced by the incident that had occurred in the forest-glade?”

“Stranger! I have promised you I would conceal nothing; nor shall I. On discovering the falsehood of him who had told me he loved me, I was more than mad – I was revengeful. I will not deny that I felt spite. I scarcely cared what became of me – else how could I have consented to marry a man for whom I had neither love nor liking? On the contrary, I might almost say that I loathed him.”

“And you loved the other? Speak the truth, Marian! you have promised to do so – you loved Frank Wingrove?”

“I did.”

A deep-drawn sigh followed the confession.

“Once more speak the truth – you love him still?”

“Oh! if he had been true – if he had been true!”

“If true, you could love him still?”

“Yes, yes!” replied she, with an earnestness not to be mistaken.

“Love him, then, Marian! love him still! Frank Wingrove is true!” I detailed the proofs of his loyalty from beginning to end. I had learnt every circumstance from Wingrove himself, and was able to set them forth with all the circumstantiality of truth itself. I spoke with as much earnestness as if I had been suing in my own cause; but I was listened to with willing ears, and my suit was successful. I even succeeded in explaining that sinister kiss, that had been the cause of so much misfortune.

Chapter Eighty Five
Further Reflections

I might, without blame, have envied them those sweet throbbings of the heart, so different from my own. Widely different, since mine beat with the most painful pulsations. The cloud which had fallen upon it through the revelations of the Mexican, had been further darkened by the details that confirmed them; and now that the excitement, of the conflict was over, and I had an opportunity to reflect upon the future with comparative coolness, the agony of my soul became more concentrated and keen. I scarcely felt joy that my life was saved; I almost wished that I had perished by the hands of the Indians!

The strange story of the trapper, now fully corroborated by its own heroine – with the additional facts obtained from herself – were only partially the cause of the horrid fancies that now shaped themselves in my imagination. I could have but one belief about the intention of Stebbins. That was, that the base wretch was playing procurator to his despot master, doubtless to serve some ends of self-advancement: since I well knew that such were the titles to promotion in the Mormon hierarchy. With the experience of her sister fresh before my eyes, I could have no other belief than that Lilian, too, was being led to a like sacrifice. And how was this sacrifice to be stayed? How was the sad catastrophe to be averted? It was in the endeavour to answer these interrogatories that I felt my feebleness – the utter absence of strength. Had it been a mere question of overtaking the caravan, there would have been no need for the slightest uneasiness. It would still be many days – weeks, indeed – before the north-going train could, arrive at its destination; and if my apprehensions about the designs of Stebbins were well founded, Lilian would be in no danger until after her arrival in the so-called “Mormon city.” It was there – within the walls of that modern Gomorrah – upon a shrine consecrated to the mockery of every moral sentiment, that the sacrifice of virtue was to be offered up – there was it that the wolf awaited the lamb for his victim-bride!

I knew, if no obstacle should be encountered – such as that which had just delayed us – that we could easily come up with the Mormon emigrants. We had no longer a similar obstacle to dread. The whole country beyond the mountains was Utah territory; and we could count upon these Indians as friends. From that quarter we had nothing to apprehend; and the caravan might easily be overtaken. But what then? Even though in company with it, for my purpose I should be as powerless as ever. By what right should I interfere with either the squatter or his child? No doubt it was their determination to proceed with the Mormons, and to the Mormon city – at least the father’s determination. This was no longer a matter of doubt; and what could I urge to prevent his carrying it out? I had no argument – not the colour of a claim – for interference in any way! Nay, it was more than probable that to the migrating Mormons I should be a most unwelcome apparition – to Stebbins I certainly should, and perhaps to Holt himself. I might expect no very courteous treatment at their hands. With Stebbins for their leader – and that fact was now ascertained – I might find myself in danger from his Danites– of whom no doubt there would be a party “policing” the train.

Such considerations were not to be disregarded. I knew the hostility which, even under ordinary circumstances, these fanatics are accustomed to feel towards outsiders to their faith; but I had also heard of their display of it, when in possession of the power. The “Sectary” who sets foot in the city of Latter-day Saints, or travels with a Mormon train, will be prudent to keep his dissent to himself. Woe to him if he proclaim it too boastingly!

Not only with difficulties then, but with dangers was my purpose beset; though the difficulties caused me far more concern than the actual dangers. Had Holt been upon my side – had I been certain of his consent – I should have cared little for the dangers of an abduction: for this was the plan to which my thoughts now pointed. Even had I been sure that Lilian herself would agree to such a thing, I should have deemed all danger light, and still have entertained a hope of its accomplishment. The contingencies appeared fearfully unfavourable: the father would not consent – the daughter might not? It was this last doubt that gave the darkest hue to my reflections. I continued them – turning the subject over and over – viewing it from every point. Surely Holt would not contribute to the ruin of his daughter – for in no other light did I regard her introduction to the society of the Mormon city? There was manhood in the man – somewhere down near the bottom of his heart – perhaps some remnants of rough virtue. This I had myself proved; and, if filial testimony were to be trusted, he was not so abandoned a character as he appeared. Was it possible he could be aware of the real intentions of the churl who was leading him and his to ruin? After all, he might not. It is true he was aware that Stebbins was a Mormon; but as Marian had suggested – in her efforts to justify him, poor girl – he might be ignorant of the true character of these sanctified forbans.

The story that Marian had died on her way out, showed that Holt was being grossly deceived in relation to that matter. It also gave colour to the idea, that he might be equally the victim of deception about the other. It was in the hope of being able to hold him guiltless I had so closely questioned Marian: for instinct had already whispered me that in his hands, more than in aught else, rested my hope or my ruin. For that reason had I been so eager to ascertain his inclinings.

That he was under some obligation to the pseudo-apostle was perfectly clear. More than a mere obligation; something that produced a condition of awe: as I had myself been a witness. Some dark secret, no doubt, was shared between them. But were it ever so dark even were it black murder – it might not be, on the part of Holt, a voluntary endurance: and Marian had hinted at something of this sort. Here – out in the midst of the wild desert – far from justice and from judges – punishment for an old offence might be less dreaded; and a man of the bold stamp of this Tennesseean squatter might hopefully dream of escaping from the ties of terror by which his spirit had so long been enthralled? Conjectures of this nature were chasing one another through my brain; and not without the effect of once more giving a brighter tinge to the colour of my mental horizon. I naturally turned my eyes upon Marian. In her I beheld an ally of no ordinary kind – one whose motive for aiding me to rescue her sister, could be scarce less powerful than my own.

Poor girl! she was still in the enjoyment of those moments of bliss! She knew not the misery that was yet in store for her. Wingrove had my directions to be silent upon that theme – the more easily obeyed in the fulness of his own happiness. It was no pleasant task to dash from their lips, the cup of sweet joy; but the time was pressing, and as the sacrifice must come, it might as well come at once. I saw that the Utahs had given up the pursuit. Most of them had returned to the scene of their short conflict; while others, singly or in squads, were moving towards the butte. The women, too, were approaching – some with the wounded – some carrying the bodies of the slain warriors – chaunting the dismal death-song as they marched solemnly along. Casting a glance at the wailing multitude, I leaped down from the rock, and rapidly descended to the plain.

Chapter Eighty Six
A true Tigress

I walked out towards the stream. The lovers met me halfway. As I looked in their eyes, illumined and sparkling with the pure light of love, I hesitated in my intent. “After all,” thought I, “there will not be time to tell her the whole story. The Indians will soon be on the ground. Our presence will be required in the council; and perhaps it will be better to postpone the revelation till that is over? Let her enjoy her new-found happiness for an hour longer.”

I was thus hesitating – at the same time looking the beautiful huntress in the face – when, all of a sudden, I saw her start, and fling from her the hand she had been hitherto holding in her fond clasp! The look of her lover – mine as well – was that of bewildered astonishment. Not so hers. Her cheek turned pale – then red – then paled again; while a glance of proud anger shot forth from her eyes! The glance was directed outwards to the plain, back upon Wingrove, and then once more quick and piercing towards the plain. Equally puzzled by her look and behaviour, I faced round in the direction indicated by her glance. I had the explanation at once.

The chief, Wa-ka-ra, had arrived at the butte; and sat halted upon his war-steed by the side of the waggon. There were three or four other Indians around him, mounted and afoot; but one on horseback was entirely unlike the rest. This one was a woman. She was not bound, yet it was easy to see she was a captive. That could be told by the way she was encircled by the Indians, as well as by their treatment of her. She was on horseback, as already stated, and near to the Utah chief – in front of him. Neither Wingrove nor I had any difficulty in identifying the captive. It was Su-wa-nee, the Chicasaw. The eye of jealousy had found her equally easy of identification: since it was by it she was first recognised. It was upon her that Marian was directing those lightning glances. It was her presence that had caused that convulsive start, and those fearful emotions, that now proclaimed themselves in the countenance of the huntress-maiden.

The storm soon burst. “Perjured hypocrite! this is the love you have sworn – with the oath still burning upon your lips? Once more betrayed! O man! Once more betrayed! O God! would that I had left you to your fate!”

“I declar’, Marian – ”

“Declare nothing more to me! Enough – yonder is your attraction – yonder! Oh! to think of this outrage! Here – even here to the wild desert has he brought her; she who has been the cause of all, my unhappy – Ha! she is coming up to you! Now, sir, meet her face to face – help her from her horse – wait upon her! Go! villain, go!”

“I swar’ Marian, by the livin’ – ”

His speech was interrupted. At that moment Su-wa-nee, who had shot her horse clear from the entourage, of her guards, came galloping upon the ground. I was myself so surprised at this proceeding, that I could not stir from the spot; and not until the Chicasaw had passed directly in front of us and halted there, could I believe that I was otherwise than dreaming. Wingrove appeared equally the victim of a bewildered surprise. As Su-wa-nee drew up, she gave utterance to a shrill scream; and flinging herself from her horse, rushed onward in the direction of Marian. The latter had turned away at the conclusion of her frantic speech; and was now close to the bank of the stream, with her back towards us. There was no mistaking the intention of the Chicasaw. The hideous expression of her face – the lurid fire burning in her oblique eyes – the white teeth shining and wolf-like – all betrayed her horrid design; which was further made manifest by a long knife seen glittering in her grasp! With all my voice I raised a warning shout! Wingrove did the same – so, too, the Utahs, who were following their captive. The shout was heard, and heeded. Fortunately it was so: else in another instant warning would have been too late, and the vengeful Chicasaw would have launched herself upon her unconscious victim. The huntress faced round on hearing the cry. She saw the approaching danger; and, with the subtle quickness of that Indian nature common to both, she placed herself in an attitude of defence. She had no weapon. Her late love scene needed none. Her rifle had been left by the butte, and she was without arm of any kind; but, quick as thought, she wound the Mexican serapé about her wrist, and held it to shield her body from the threatened thrust. The Chicasaw paused, as if to make more certain of her aim; and for a moment the two stood face to face – glaring at each other with that look of concentrated hate which jealousy alone can give. It was the enraged tigress about to spring upon the beautiful panther that has crossed her path.

All this action was well-nigh instantaneous – so quick in its occurrence, that neither I nor Wingrove could get up in time to hinder the assailant. We both hastened forward as fast as it was in our power; but we should have been too late, had the thrust been better aimed, or less skilfully avoided. It was given. With a wild scream the Chicasaw bounded forward and dealt the stroke; but, by a dexterous sleight, the huntress received it on the serapé, and the blade glanced harmlessly aside. We hurried onward to get between them; but at that moment a third combatant became mingled in the fray, and the safety of Marian was secured.

It was not the hand of man that had rescued her; but an ally whom, perhaps, she deemed more faithful. It was the dog Wolf! The impetus which the Indian had given to the thrust, and its consequent failure, had carried her past her intended victim. She was turning with the design of renewing the attack, when the dog rushed upon the ground. With a savage growl the animal sprang forward; and, vaulting high into the air, launched himself on the breast of the Chicasaw – at the same instant seizing her by the throat! In this position he clung – holding on by his terrible teeth, and aided by his paws, with which he kept constantly clawing the bosom of the Indian! It was a painful spectacle; and now that Marian was safe, Wingrove and I ran on with the intention of releasing the woman from the grasp of the dog. Before we could get near, both victim and avenger disappeared from our sight! The Indian in her wild terror had been retreating backward. In this way she had reached the bank; and, having lost her footing, had fallen back downward upon the water! As we arrived upon the edge, neither woman nor dog was visible. Both had sunk to the bottom! Almost on the instant they re-appeared on the surface, the dog uppermost; and we saw that his teeth were still fastened upon the throat of his human victim! Half-a-dozen men leaped into the water; and, after a struggle, the savage animal was dragged from his hold. It was too late. The sharp incisors had done their dread work; and, as the body of the wretched woman was raised over the bank, those who lifted it perceived that the last breath had gone out of it. The limbs were supple, and the pulse no longer beat. Su-wa-nee had ceased to live!