“Peace!” said Ishmael, stretching his heavy hand towards his kinsman, in a manner that instantly silenced the speaker. “Your voice is like a raven’s in my ears.
If you had never spoken, I should have been spared this shame.”
“Since then you are beginning to lose sight of your errors, and to see the truth,” said Middleton, “do not things by halves, but, by the generosity of your conduct, purchase friends who may be of use in warding off any future danger from the law—”
“Young man,” interrupted the squatter, with a dark frown, “you, too, have said enough.
If fear of the law had come over me, you would not be here to witness the manner in which Ishmael Bush deals out justice.”
“Smother not your good intentions; and remember, if you contemplate violence to any among us, that the arm of that law you affect to despise, reaches far, and that though its movements are sometimes slow, they are not the less certain!”
“Yes, there is too much truth in his words, squatter,” said the trapper, whose attentive ears rarely suffered a syllable to be utterly unheeded in his presence. “A busy and a troublesome arm it often proves to be here, in this land of America; where, as they say, man is left greatly to the following of his own wishes, compared to other countries; and happier, ay, and more manly and more honest, too, is he for the privilege!
Why do you know, my men, that there are regions where the law is so busy as to say, In this fashion shall you live, in that fashion shall you die, and in such another fashion shall you take leave of the world, to be sent before the judgment-seat of the Lord!
A wicked and a troublesome meddling is that, with the business of One who has not made His creatures to be herded, like oxen, and driven from field to field, as their stupid and selfish keepers may judge of their need and wants.
A miserable land must that be, where they fetter the mind as well as the body, and where the creatures of God, being born children, are kept so by the wicked inventions of men who would take upon themselves the office of the great Governor of all!”
During the delivery of this pertinent opinion, Ishmael was content to be silent, though the look, with which he regarded the speaker, manifested any other feeling than that of amity.
When the old man was done, he turned to Middleton, and continued the subject which the other had interrupted.
“As to ourselves, young Captain, there has been wrong on both sides.
If I have borne hard upon your feelings, in taking away your wife with an honest intention of giving her back to you, when the plans of that devil incarnate were answered, so have you broken into my encampment, aiding and abetting, as they have called many an honester bargain, in destroying my property.”
“But what I did was to liberate—”
“The matter is settled between us,” interrupted Ishmael, with the air of one who, having made up his own opinion on the merits of the question, cared very little for those of other people; “you and your wife are free to go and come, when and how you please.
Abner, set the Captain at liberty; and now, if you will tarry until I am ready to draw nigher to the settlements, you shall both have the benefit of carriage; if not, never say that you did not get a friendly offer.”
“Now, may the strong oppress me, and my sins be visited harshly on my own head, if I forget your honesty, however slow it has been in showing itself,” cried Middleton, hastening to the side of the weeping Inez, the instant he was released; “and, friend, I pledge you the honour of a soldier, that your own part of this transaction shall be forgotten, whatever I may deem fit to have done, when I reach a place where the arm of government can make itself felt.”
The dull smile, with which the squatter answered to this assurance, proved how little he valued the pledge that the youth, in the first revulsion of his feelings, was so free to make.
“Neither fear nor favour, but what I call justice, has brought me to this judgment,” he said, “do you that which may seem right in your eyes, and believe that the world is wide enough to hold us both, without our crossing each other’s path again!
If you ar’ content, well; if you ar’ not content, seek to ease your feelings in your own fashion.
I shall not ask to be let up, when you once put me fairly down.
And now, Doctor, have I come to your leaf in my accounts.
It is time to foot up the small reckoning, that has been running on, for some time, atwixt us.
With you, I entered into open and manly faith; in what manner have you kept it?”
The singular felicity, with which Ishmael had contrived to shift the responsibility of all that had passed, from his own shoulders to those of his prisoners, backed as it was by circumstances that hardly admitted of a very philosophical examination of any mooted point in ethics, was sufficiently embarrassing to the several individuals, who were so unexpectedly required to answer for a conduct which, in their simplicity, they had deemed so meritorious.
The life of Obed had been so purely theoretic, that his amazement was not the least embarrassing at a state of things which might not have proved so very remarkable had he been a little more practised in the ways of the world.
The worthy naturalist was not the first by many, who found himself, at the precise moment when he was expecting praise, suddenly arraigned, to answer for the very conduct on which he rested all his claims to commendation.
Though not a little scandalised, at the unexpected turn of the transaction, he was fain to make the best of circumstances, and to bring forth such matter in justification, as first presented itself to his disordered faculties.
“That there did exist a certain compactum, or agreement, between Obed Batt, M.D., and Ishmael Bush, viator, or erratic husbandman,” he said, endeavouring to avoid all offence in the use of terms, “I am not disposed to deny.
I will admit that it was therein conditioned, or stipulated, that a certain journey should be performed conjointly, or in company, until so many days had been numbered.
But as the said time has fully expired, I presume it fair to infer that the bargain may now be said to be obsolete.”
“Ishmael!” interrupted the impatient Esther, “make no words with a man who can break your bones as easily as set them, and let the poisoning devil go!
He’s a cheat, from box to phial.
Give him half the prairie, and take the other half yourself.
He an acclimator!
I will engage to get the brats acclimated to a fever-and-ague bottom in a week, and not a word shall be uttered harder to pronounce than the bark of a cherry-tree, with perhaps a drop or two of western comfort.
One thing ar’ a fact, Ishmael; I like no fellow-travellers who can give a heavy feel to an honest woman’s tongue, I—and that without caring whether her household is in order, or out of order.”
The air of settled gloom, which had taken possession of the squatter’s countenance, lighted for an instant with a look of dull drollery, as he answered—
“Different people might judge differently, Esther, of the virtue of the man’s art.
But sin’ it is your wish to let him depart, I will not plough the prairie to make the walking rough.
Friend, you are at liberty to go into the settlements, and there I would advise you to tarry, as men like me who make but few contracts, do not relish the custom of breaking them so easily.”
“And now, Ishmael,” resumed his conquering wife, “in order to keep a quiet family and to smother all heart-burnings between us, show yonder Red-skin and his daughter,” pointing to the aged Le Balafre and the widowed Tachechana, “the way to their village, and let us say to them—God bless you, and farewell, in the same breath!”
“They are the captives of the Pawnee, according to the rules of Indian warfare, and I cannot meddle with his rights.”
“Beware the devil, my man!
He’s a cheat and a tempter, and none can say they ar’ safe with his awful delusions before their eyes!
Take the advice of one who has the honour of your name at heart, and send the tawny Jezebel away.”
The squatter laid his broad hand on her shoulder, and looking her steadily in the eye, he answered, in tones that were both stern and solemn—
“Woman, we have that before us which calls our thoughts to other matters than the follies you mean.
Remember what is to come, and put your silly jealousy to sleep.”