She did not even show sign of being surprised.
What was spoken already had prepared her for the revelation.
Her rejoinder was a single word, pronounced in a tone of defiance.
“Well!”
“Well!” echoed Calhoun, chagrined at the slight effect his speeches had produced; “I suppose you understand me?”
“Not any more than ever.”
“You wish me to speak further?”
“As you please, sir.”
“I shall then.
I say to you, Loo, there’s but one way to save your father from ruin—yourself from shame.
You know what I mean?”
“Yes; I know that much.”
“You will not refuse me now?”
“Now more than ever!”
“Be it so!
Before this time to-morrow—and, by Heaven! I mean it—before this time to-morrow, you shall stand in the witness-box?”
“Vile spy! Anywhere but in your presence!
Out of my sight!
This instant, or I call my father!”
“You needn’t put yourself to the trouble.
I’m not going to embarrass you any longer with my company—so disagreeable to you.
I leave you to reflect.
Perhaps before the trial comes on, you’ll see fit to change your mind.
If so, I hope you’ll give notice of it—in time to stay the summons.
Good night, Loo!
I’ll sleep thinking of you.”
With these words of mockery upon his lips—almost as bitter to himself as to her who heard them—Calhoun strode out of the apartment, with an air less of triumph than of guilt.
Louise listened, until his footsteps died away in the distant corridor.
Then, as if the proud angry thoughts hitherto sustaining her had become suddenly relaxed, she sank into a chair; and, with both hands pressing upon her bosom, tried to still the dread throbbings that now, more than ever, distracted it.
Chapter Eighty Six. A Texan Court.
It is the dawn of another day.
The Aurora, rising rose-coloured from the waves of a West Indian sea, flings its sweetest smile athwart the savannas of Texas.
Almost on the same instant that the rosy light kisses the white sand-dunes of the Mexican Gulf, does it salute the flag on Fort Inge, nearly a hundred leagues distant: since there is just this much of an upward inclination between the coast at Matagorda and the spurs of the Guadalupe mountains, near which stand this frontier post.
The Aurora has just lighted up the flag, that at the same time flouting out from its staff spreads its broad field of red, white, and blue to the gentle zephyrs of the morning.
Perhaps never since that staff went up, has the star-spangled banner waved over a scene of more intense interest than is expected to occur on this very day.
Even at the early hour of dawn, the spectacle may be said to have commenced.
Along with the first rays of the Aurora, horsemen may be seen approaching the military post from all quarters of the compass.
They ride up in squads of two, three, or half a dozen; dismount as they arrive; fasten their horses to the stockade fences, or picket them upon the open prairie.
This done, they gather into groups on the parade-ground; stand conversing or stray down to the village; all, at one time or another, taking a turn into the tavern, and paying their respects to Boniface behind the bar.
The men thus assembling are of many distinct types and nationalities. Almost every country in Europe has furnished its quota; though the majority are of that stalwart race whose ancestors expelled the Indians from the “Bloody Ground;” built log cabins on the sites of their wigwams; and spent the remainder of their lives in felling the forests of the Mississippi.
Some of them have been brought up to the cultivation of corn; others understand better the culture of cotton; while a large number, from homes further south, have migrated into Texas to speculate in the growth and manufacture of sugar and tobacco.
Most are planters by calling and inclination; though there are graziers and cattle-dealers, hunters and horse-dealers, storekeepers, and traders of other kinds—not a few of them traffickers in human flesh!
There are lawyers, land-surveyors, and land-speculators, and other speculators of no proclaimed calling—adventurers ready to take a hand in whatever may turn up—whether it be the branding of cattle, a scout against Comanches, or a spell of filibustering across the Rio Grande.
Their costumes are as varied as their callings.
They have been already described: for the men now gathering around Fort Inge are the same we have seen before assembled in the courtyard of Casa del Corvo—the same with an augmentation of numbers.
The present assemblage differs in another respect from that composing the expedition of searchers. It is graced by the presence of women—the wives, sisters, and daughters of the men.
Some are on horseback; and remain in the saddle—their curtained cotton-bonnets shading their fair faces from the glare of the sun; others are still more commodiously placed for the spectacle—seated under white waggon-tilts, or beneath the more elegant coverings of “carrioles” and “Jerseys.”
There is a spectacle—at least there is one looked for.
It is a trial long talked of in the Settlement.
Superfluous to say that it is the trial of Maurice Gerald—known as Maurice the mustanger.