The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness. Reid Mayne
far if I had never seen her!” was the reflection that occurred to me, as I entered the gloomy shadow of the trees – less gloomy than my own thoughts.
With one circumstance I now reproached myself: why had I been so shy with this forest damsel? The very way to secure her indifference. Why had I not spoken to her, if only in commonplace? Even “Good-day” would have promised me a response; and the result could not have been more unfavourable. Why the deuce had I not bidden her “Good-day”? I should have heard her voice – no doubt an additional charm – for I never yet saw a beautiful woman with a harsh voice; and I fear the inverse proposition is equally true. Why passed I without speaking? No doubt, she deems me a yokel! Perhaps it was my very shyness she was smiling at? S’death! what a simpleton – Ho! what do I hear? A woman’s voice – a cry? – of terror? There again! – a scream! the words, “Help, oh! help!” Is it she who is calling? Yes – yes it is she! By such strange sounds were my reflections interrupted. Turning my horse with a wrench, I urged him back along the path. I was yet scarcely a dozen lengths from the log – for the reflections above detailed were but the thoughts of a moment. Half-a-dozen bounds of my steed brought me back to the edge of a standing timber – where I pulled up, to ascertain the purport of this singular summons that had reached me.
I made no inquiry – no explanation was needed. The scene explained itself: for, at the moment of my emerging from the shadowy path, I had a tableau under my eyes, expressive as it was terrifying. The girl was upon the other side of the log, and near the point where she should have turned off from it; but, instead of advancing, I saw that she had come to a halt – her attitude expressing the wildest terror, as if some fearful object was before her! The jade, too, showed affright, by snorting loudly – his head raised high in the air, and his long ears pointing forward. The young girl was dragging mechanically on the bridle – as if to head him away from the spot. But this was impossible: another log, overlapping the first, formed an avenue, so narrow as to leave not the slightest chance of a horse being able to turn in it. Into this the animal had backed. There was no way of his getting from between the two trunks, but by going straight forward or backward. Forward he dared not go; and backward he was moving, as fast as the nature of the place would permit: now halting with his hips against one of the logs; then with a quick rush backing against the other, that, but for the support thus obtained, would have brought him upon his haunches! The retrograde movement on the part of the horse was evidently the result of terror, at the sight of some object in front. It was aided also by the half-mechanical action of the rider: who, pulling continuously on the bridle, and repeating her cries for help, appeared equally to suffer from affright! My astonishment was of short duration. Effect and cause came under my eye almost at the same instant. The latter I saw upon the log in hideous form – the form of a couguar!
Slowly advancing along the dead-wood – not by bounds or paces, but with the stealthy tread of a cat – his long red body stretched out to its full extent – the beast more resembled a gigantic caterpillar than a quadruped. I could scarcely detect the movement of his limbs, so closely did the monster crawl; but his great tail, tapering three feet behind him, was seen vibrating from side to side, or at intervals moving with quick jerks – expressive of the enjoyment he was receiving in the contemplation of his prey – for such he deemed the helpless maiden before him.
I saw not the couguar’s face – hideous sight at such a moment – nor yet his eyes. Both were turned from me, and fixed steadfastly upon his intended victim. The fierce beast did not perceive my approach – perhaps a fortunate circumstance. Once or twice I saw him pause, as if crouching for a spring. Luckily, the old horse, making a fresh retrogression, caused the couguar again to advance along the log, in the same creeping attitude as before. With a glance, I had comprehended the situation: indeed, at the first glance I understood it perfectly. My delay in acting only arose from the necessity of preparing for action; and that did not take long.
It was habitual with me to carry my rifle over my shoulder, or rested across the pommel of my saddle: in either case, always in hand. It was but the work of a moment to get the piece ready. The pressure of the muzzle against my horse’s ear, was a signal well understood; and at once rendered him as immobile as if made of bronze. Many years of practice – during which I had often aimed at higher game – had steeled my nerves and straightened my sight. Both proved sufficiently true for the destruction of the couguar. Quick after the crack, I saw his red body roll back from the log; and, when the smoke thinned off, I could see the animal writhing upon the ground. Why the couguar had fallen to my side, I could not tell: for he was fairly on the ridge of the dead-wood when I fired. Perhaps, on receiving the shot, he had fancied that it came from the only enemy visible to him; and, by an instinct impelling him to escape, had tumbled off in the opposite direction. I perceived that he was not yet dead. He was still wriggling about among the branches; but it was clear that the piece of lead had taken the “spring” out of him. The bullet had passed through his spine, crashing the column in twain. After playing upon him with my revolving pistol, until I had emptied three or four of its chambers, I had the satisfaction of seeing him give his last spasmodic “kick.”
What followed, I leave to the imagination of my reader. Suffice it to say, that the incident proved my friend. The ice of indifference was broken; and I was rewarded for my sleight-of-hand prowess by something more than smiles – by words of praise that rang melodiously in my ear – words of gratitude spoken with the free innocent naïvété of childhood – revealing, on the part of her who gave utterance to them, a truly grateful heart.
I rode back with my fair protégée across the track of fallen timber – I could have gone with her to the end of the world! The tortuous path hindered me from holding much converse with her: only, now and then, was there opportunity for a word. I remember little of what was said – on my side, no doubt, much that was commonplace; but even her observations I can recall but confusedly. The power of love was upon me, alike absorbing both soul and sense – engrossing every thought in the contemplation of the divine creature by my side I cared not to talk – enough for me to look and listen.
I did not think of questioning her as to whence she had come. Even her name was neither asked nor ascertained! Whither she was going was revealed only by the accident of conversation. She was on her way to visit some one who lived on the other side of the creek – some friend of her father. Would that I could have claimed to be her father’s friend – his relative – his son!
We reached a ford: it was the crossing-place. The house, for which her visit was designed, stood not far off, on the other side; and I must needs leave her. Emboldened by what had passed, I caught hold of that little hand. It was a rare liberty; but I was no longer master of myself. There was no resistance; but I could perceive that the tiny fingers trembled at my touch.
The old horse, with provoking impatience, plunged into the stream; and we were parted. I watched her while crossing the creek. The crystal drops sparkled like pearls upon her naked feet. Some of them, dashed higher by the hoofs of the horse, were sprinkled upon her cheek, and clung to the carmined skin as if kissing it! I envied those diamond drops!
Lingering upon the bank, I gazed upon her receding form – with my eyes, followed it through the forest aisle; and then, saw it only at intervals – moving like some bright meteor among the trees – until by a sudden turning in the path, it was taken from my sight.
Chapter Twenty
Sweet and Bitter
Slowly and reluctantly, I turned back from the stream, and once more entered amid the wreck of the hurricane. Along the sunny path, the flowers appeared to sparkle with a fresher brilliancy – imbuing the air with sweet odours, wafted from many a perfumed chalice. The birds sang with clearer melody; and the hum of the honey-bee rang through the glades more harmoniously than ever. The “coo-coo-oo” of the doves blending with the love-call of the squirrel, betokened that both were inspired by the tenderest of passions. “Pensando de amor,” as the Spanish phrase finely expresses it; for at that moment, the beautiful words of the southern poet were in my thoughts, and upon my lips:
Aunque las fieras
En sus guaridas
Enternecidas
Pensan