Twice Bought, Robert Michael Ballantyne [the false prince series .TXT] 📗

blood of white mans, but the heart of red mans. He have be good to Injins."

"Well, well; it makes no odds to me," returned Stalker, "Come along, an' walk before me, for I won't trust ye behind. As for slippery Paul, I'll find him yet; you shall see. When a man fails in one attempt, all he's got to do is to make another. Now then, redskin, move on!"


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

As widely different as night is from day, summer from winter, heat from cold, are some members of the human family; yet God made them all, and has a purpose of love and mercy towards each! Common sense says this; the general opinion of mankind holds this; highest of all, the Word clearly states this: "God willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live;" and, "He maketh His sun to shine upon the just and on the unjust." Nevertheless, it seemed difficult to believe that the same God formed and spared and guarded and fed the fierce, lawless man Stalker, and the loving, gentle delicate Rose of Oregon.

About the same hour that the former was endeavouring to compass the destruction of Paul Bevan, Betty was on her knees in her little tented room, recalling the deeds, the omissions, and the shortcomings of the past day, interceding alike for friends and foes--if we may venture to assume that a rose without a thorn could have foes! Even the robber-chief was remembered among the rest, and you may be very sure that Tom Brixton was not forgotten.

Having slept the sleep of innocence and purity, Betty rose refreshed on the following day, and, before the Indian village was astir, went out to ramble along a favourite walk in a thicket on the mountain-side. It so fell out that Tom had selected the same thicket for his morning ramble. But poor Tom did not look like one who hoped to meet with his lady-love that morning. He had, under good nursing, recovered some of his former strength and vigour of body with wonderful rapidity, but his face was still haggard and careworn in an unusual degree for one so young. When the two met Tom did not pretend to be surprised. On the contrary, he said:--

"I expected to meet you here, Betty, because I have perceived that you are fond of the place, and, believe me, I would not have presumed to intrude, were it not that I wish to ask one or two questions, the answers to which may affect my future movements."

He paused, and Betty's heart fluttered, for she could not help remembering former meetings when Tom had tried to win her affections, and when she had felt it her duty to discourage him. She made no reply to this rather serious beginning to the interview, but dropped her eyes on the turf, for she saw that the youth was gazing at her with a very mingled and peculiar expression.

"Tell me," he resumed, after a few moments' thought, "do you feel quite safe with these Indians?"

"Quite," replied the girl with a slight elevation of the eyebrows; "they are unusually gentle and good-natured people. Besides, their chief would lay down his life for my father--he is so grateful. Oh yes, I feel perfectly safe here."

"But what does your father think. He is always so fearless--I might say reckless--that I don't feel certain as to his real opinion. Have you heard him speaking about the chance of that rascal Stalker following him up?"

"Yes; he has spoken freely about that. He fully expects that Stalker will search for us, but considers that he will not dare to attack us while we live with so strong a band of Indians, and, as Stalker's followers won't hang about here very long for the mere purpose of pleasing their chief, especially when nothing is to be gained by it, father thinks that his enemy will be forced to go away. Besides, he has made up his mind to remain here for a long time--many months, it may be."

"That will do," returned Tom, with a sigh of relief; "then there will be no need for me to--"

"To what?" asked Betty, seeing that the youth paused.

"Forgive me if I do not say what I meant to. I have reasons for--" (he paused again)--"Then you are pleased with the way the people treat you?"

"Of course I am. They could not be kinder if I were one of themselves. And some of the women are so intelligent, too! You know I have picked up a good deal of the Indian language, and understand them pretty well, though I can't speak much, and you've no idea what deep thinkers some of them are! There is Unaco's mother, who looks so old and dried up and stupid--she is one of the dearest old things I ever knew. Why," continued the girl, with increasing animation, as she warmed with her subject, "that old creature led me, the other night, into quite an earnest conversation about religion, and asked me ever so many questions about the ways of God with man--speculative, difficult questions too, that almost puzzled me to answer. You may be sure I took the opportunity to explain to her God's great love to man in and through Jesus, and--"

She stopped abruptly, for Tom Brixton was at that moment regarding her with a steady and earnest gaze.

"Yes," he said, slowly, almost dreamily, "I can well believe you took your opportunity to commend Jesus to her. You did so once to me, and--"

Tom checked himself, as if with a great effort. The girl longed to hear more, but he did not finish the sentence. "Well," he said, with a forced air of gaiety, "I have sought you here to tell you that I am going off on--on--a long hunting expedition. Going at once--but I would not leave without bidding you good-bye."

"Going away, Mr Brixton!" exclaimed Betty, in genuine surprise.

"Yes. As you see, I am ready for the field, with rifle and wallet, firebag and blanket."

"But you are not yet strong enough," said Betty.

"Oh! yes, I am--stronger than I look. Besides, that will mend every day. I don't intend to say goodbye to Westly or any one, because I hate to have people try to dissuade me from a thing when my mind is made up. I only came to say good-bye to you, because I wish you to tell Fred and your father that I am grateful for all their kindness to me, and that it will be useless to follow me. Perhaps we may meet again, Betty," he added, still in the forced tone of lightness, while he gently took the girl's hand in his and shook it; "but the dangers of the wilderness are numerous, and, as you have once or twice told me, we `know not what a day or an hour may bring forth.'" (His tone had deepened suddenly to that of intense earnestness)--"God bless you, Betty; farewell."

He dropped her hand, turned sharply on his heel, and walked swiftly away, never once casting a look behind.

Poor Tom! It was a severe wrench, but he had fought the battle manfully and gained the victory. In his new-born sense of personal unworthiness and strict Justice, he had come to the conclusion that he had forfeited the right to offer heart or hand to the Rose of Oregon. Whether he was right or wrong in his opinion we do not pretend to judge, but this does not alter the fact that a hard battle with self had been fought by him, and a great victory won.

But Tom neither felt nor looked very much like a conqueror. His heart seemed to be made of lead, and the strength of which he had so recently boasted seemed to have deserted him altogether after he had walked a few miles, insomuch that he was obliged to sit down on a bank to rest. Fear lest Fred or Paul should follow up his trail, however, infused new strength into his limbs, and he rose and pushed steadily on, for he was deeply impressed with the duty that lay upon him--namely, to get quickly, and as far as possible, away from the girl whom he could no longer hope to wed.

Thus, advancing at times with great animation, sitting down occasionally for short rests, and then resuming the march with renewed vigour, he travelled over the mountains without any definite end in view, beyond that to which we have already referred.

For some time after he was gone Betty stood gazing at the place in the thicket where he had disappeared, as if she half expected to see him return; then, heaving a deep sigh, and with a mingled expression of surprise, disappointment, and anxiety on her fair face, she hurried away to search for her father.

She found him returning to their tent with a load of firewood, and at once told him what had occurred.

"He'll soon come back, Betty," said Paul, with a significant smile. "When a young feller is fond of a lass, he's as sure to return to her as water is sure to find its way as fast as it can to the bottom of a hill."

Fred Westly thought the same, when Paul afterwards told him about the meeting, though he did not feel quite so sure about the return being immediate; but Mahoghany Drake differed from them entirely.

"Depend on't," he said to his friend Paul, when, in the privacy of a retired spot on the mountain-side, they discussed the matter--"depend on't, that young feller ain't made o' butter. What he says he will do he'll stick to, if I'm any judge o' human natur. Of course it ain't for me to guess why he should fling off in this fashion. Are ye sure he's fond o' your lass?"

"Sure? Ay, as sure as I am that yon is the sun an' not the moon a-shinin' in the sky."

"H'm! that's strange. An' they've had no quarrel?"

"None that I knows on. Moreover, they ain't bin used to quarrel. Betty's not one o' that sort--dear lass. She's always fair an' above board; honest an' straight for'ard. Says 'zactly what she means, an' means what she says. Mister Tom ain't given to shilly-shallyin', neither. No, I'm sure they've had no quarrel."

"Well, it's the old story," said Drake, while a puzzled look flitted across his weather-beaten countenance, and the smoke issued more slowly from his unflagging pipe, "the conduct o' lovers is not to be accounted for. Howsever, there's one thing I'm quite sure of--that he must be looked after."

"D'ye think so?" said Paul. "I'd have thought he was quite able to look arter himself."

"Not just now," returned the trapper; "he's not yet got the better of his touch o' starvation, an' there's a chance o' your friend Stalker, or Buxley, which d'ye call him?"

"Whichever you like; he answers to either, or neither, as the case may be. He's best known as Stalker in these parts, though Buxley is his real name."

"Well, then," resumed Drake, "there's strong likelihood o' him prowlin' about here, and comin' across the tracks o' young Brixton; so, as I said before, he must be looked after, and I'll take