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Wild Huntress

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Five.</h3> <h4>The Duel Delayed.</h4> Full five minutes passed, and not one of the vultures showed signs of stirring—five minutes of prolonged and terrible suspense. It was odd that the birds had not at once swooped down upon the piece of venison: since it lay conspicuously upon the ground—almost under the tree where they were perched! A score of them there were—ranged along the dead limbs—each with an eye keen of sight as an eagle’s! Beyond doubt, they observed the object—they would have seen it a mile off, and recognised it too—why, then, were they disregarding it—a circumstance so contradictory of their natural instincts and habits, that, even in that dread hour, I remarked its singularity? The cause might have been simple enough: perhaps the birds had already glutted themselves elsewhere? Some wild beast of the woods—more likely, some straying ox—had fallen a victim to disease and the summer heats; and his carcase had furnished them with their morning’s meal? There was evidence of the truth of this, in their blood-stained beaks and gorged maws, as also the indolent attitudes in which they roosted—many of them apparently asleep! Others at intervals stretched forth their necks, and half spread their wings; but only to yawn and catch the cooling breeze. Not one of all the listless flock, showed the slightest disposition to take wing. There were several already in the air, wheeling high aloft; and two or three had just joined their companions—increasing the cluster upon the tree. These had arrived, after we had taken our stand; and others were constantly coming down. But the signal mutually agreed to was mutually understood: it was the departure of one of the birds—not its arrival—that was to give the cue of entrée to the tragic act—the signal for the scene of death. Those five minutes to me appeared fifty—ah! far more than that: for, brief as was the actual time, a world of thoughts passed through my mind during its continuance. The past and future were alike considered. The memory of home, kindred, and friends; the probability that all such ties were to be severed now and for ever; some regret that laurels lately won were to be so briefly worn; the near prospect of life’s termination; of a death inglorious—perhaps scarcely to be recorded; vague visions of a future world; doubts not unmingled with dread, about the life to come: such were the thoughts that whirled confusedly through my brain. And the proximate past had also its share in my reflections—perhaps occupying the largest space of all. That thing of light and gold—that but an hour ago had filled my heart to overflowing—was still there, mingling with its last emotions! Was I never more to look upon that radiant form? never more behold that face so divinely fair? never more listen to that melodious voice? Never more! The negative answer to these mental interrogatives—though only conjectural—was the bitterest reflection of all! Still stir not the vultures: only to preen their black plumes with fetid beak; or, extending their broad wings, to shadow the sunbeam from their bodies. It is the hour of noon; and the sun, shining down from the zenith, permeates the atmosphere with his sultriest rays. The birds droop under the extreme heat. It imbues them with a listless torpor. Carrion itself would scarce tempt them from their perch. Five minutes have elapsed; and not one moves from the tree—neither to swoop to the earth, nor soar aloft in the air! I no longer wish them to tarry. The suspense is terrible to endure—the more so from the ominous stillness that reigns around. Since the last angry challenge, not a word has been exchanged between my adversary and myself. In sullen silence, we eye each other, with scintillating glances watching for the signal. <hr /> The situation was more than unpleasant. I longed for the finale. My antagonist also showed signs of impatience. No longer preserving his statue-like pose, his body began to sway from side to side; while at intervals, he stamped the ground with his heavy heel. From the increasing anger that betrayed itself in his looks, I expected an explosion. It came at length. “Durn them buzzarts!” cried he, with a hurried gesture, “thar agwine to keep us stannin’ hyur till sundown. Durn the sleepy brutes! we can’t wait no longer on ’em. I dare ye—” The challenge thus commenced was never completed—at all events, I did not hear its conclusion; and know not to this hour what he meant to have proposed. His speech was interrupted, and his voice drowned, by the shrill neighing of my horse—who seemed startled at some sound from the forest. Almost at the same instant, I heard a responsive neigh, as if it were an echo from behind me. I heeded neither the one nor the other. I saw that the birds were aroused from their lethargic attitude. Some of them appeared as if pressing upon their limbs to spring upwards from the tree. The deadly moment had come! With my rifle raised almost to the level, I glanced rapidly towards my antagonist. His piece was also raised; but, to my astonishment, he appeared to be grasping it mechanically, as if hesitating to take aim! His glance, too, showed irresolution. Instead of being turned either upon myself or the vultures, it was bent in a different direction, and regarding with fixed stare some object behind me! I was facing round to inquire the cause, when I heard close at hand the trampling of a horse; and, almost at the same instant, an exclamation, uttered in the silvery tones of a woman’s voice. This was followed by a wild scream; and, simultaneously with its utterance, I beheld a female form springing over the bars! It was that of a young girl, whom I recognised at a glance. It was she I had encountered in the forest! I had not time to recover from my surprise before the girl had glided past me; and I followed her with my eyes, as she ran rapidly over the space that separated me from the squatter. Still mute with surprise, I saw her fling herself on the breast of my antagonist—at the same time crying out in a tone of passionate entreaty: “Father, dear father! what has he done? Mercy! O mercy!” Good God! her father? Holt her father? “Away, Lil!” cried the man in a peremptory tone, removing her arms from his neck. “Away, gurl! git ye from, hyur!” “No, father! dear father! you will not? What does it mean? What has he done? Why are you angry with him?” “Done! gurl? He’s called me coward; an’ ’ud drive us out o’ house an’ home. Git ye gone, I say! Into the house wi’ ye!—away!” “Mercy! O father, have mercy! Do not kill him. He is brave—he is beautiful! If you knew—” “Brave! beautiful?—gurl, yur ravin’! What do you know about him? Ye’ve niver seed him afore?” “Yes, dear father! only an hour ago. If you but knew—it was he who saved me. But for him—Father! he must not—he shall not die!” “Saved ye? What do ye mean, gurl?” “Hilloo! what’s all this rumpus?” The familiar ejaculation, and its adjunct interrogatory, admonished me that a new personage had appeared upon the scene. The voice came from behind. On turning, I beheld the unexpected speaker—a man on horseback, who had ridden up to the bars; and having halted there was craning his neck into the enclosure—gazing upon the scene that was being enacted there, with a singular half-comic, half-satirical expression of countenance! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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