Not much should I care, if I were sure of his caring for me.
How provoking his indifference!
And to me—Louise Poindexter! Par dieu!
Let it proceed much further, and I shall try to escape from the toils if—if—I should crush my poor heart in the attempt!”
It need scarce be said that the individual, whose esteem was so coveted, was not Zeb Stump.
Her next speech, however, was addressed to Zeb, as he reined up in front of the hacienda.
“Dear Mr Stump!” hailed a voice, to which the old hunter delighted to listen. “I’m so glad to see you.
Dismount, and come up here!
I know you’re a famous climber, and won’t mind a flight of stone stairs.
There’s a view from this housetop that will reward you for your trouble.”
“Thur’s suthin’ on the house-top theear,” rejoined the hunter, “the view o’ which ’ud reward Zeb Stump for climbin’ to the top o’ a steamboat chimbly; ’an thet’s yurself, Miss Lewaze.
I’ll kum up, soon as I ha’ stabled the ole maar, which shall be dud in the shakin’ o’ a goat’s tail.
Gee-up, ole gal!” he continued, addressing himself to the mare, after he had dismounted,
“Hold up yur head, an may be Plute hyur ’ll gie ye a wheen o’ corn shucks for yur breakfist.”
“Ho—ho!
Mass ’Tump,” interposed the sable coachman, making his appearance in the patio. “Dat same do dis nigga—gub um de shucks wi’ de yaller corn inside ob dem.
Ho—ho!
You gwup ’tairs to de young missa; an Plute he no ’gleck yar ole mar.”
“Yur a dod-rotted good sample o’ a nigger, Plute; an the nix occashun I shows about hyur, I’ll fetch you a ’possum—wi’ the meat on it as tender as a two-year old chicken.
Thet’s what I’m boun’ ter do.”
After delivering himself of this promise, Zeb commenced ascending the stone stairway; not by single steps, but by two, and sometimes three, at a stride.
He was soon upon the housetop; where he was once more welcomed by the young mistress of the mansion.
Her excited manner, and the eagerness with which she conducted him to a remote part of the azotea, told the astute hunter, that he had been summoned thither for some other purpose than enjoying the prospect.
“Tell me, Mr Stump!” said she, as she clutched the sleeve of the blanket coat in her delicate fingers, and looked inquiringly into Zeb’s grey eye—“You must know all.
How is he?
Are his wounds of a dangerous nature?”
“If you refar to Mister Cal-hoon—”
“No—no—no. I know all about him.
It’s not of Mr Calhoun I’m speaking.”
“Wall, Miss Lewasse; thur air only one other as I know of in these parts thet hev got wownds; an thet air’s Maurice the mowstanger.
Mout it be thet ere individooal yur inquirin’ abeout?”
“It is—it is!
You know I cannot be indifferent to his welfare, notwithstanding the misfortune of his having quarrelled with my cousin.
You are aware that he rescued me—twice I may say—from imminent peril.
Tell me—is he in great danger?”
Such earnestness could no longer be trifled with.
Zeb without further parley, made reply:—
“Ne’er a morsel o’ danger.
Thur’s a bullet-hole jest above the ankle-jeint. It don’t signerfy more’n the scratch o’ a kitting.
Thur’s another hev goed through the flesh o’ the young fellur’s left arm.
It don’t signerfy neyther—only thet it drawed a good sup o’ the red out o’ him.
Howsomdever, he’s all right now; an expecks to be out o’ doors in a kupple o’ days, or tharabout.
He sez that an hour in the seddle, an a skoot acrosst the purayra, ’ud do him more good than all the docters in Texas.
I reckon it wud; but the docter—it’s the surgint o’ the Fort as attends on him—he won’t let him git to grass yit a bit.”
“Where is he?”
“He air stayin’ at the hotel—whar the skrimmage tuk place.”
“Perhaps he is not well waited upon?
It’s a rough place, I’ve heard.
He may not have any delicacies—such as an invalid stands in need of?
Stay here, Mr Stump, till I come up to you again.