Wal, wal; but let it stan over till ye kum back from Kaliforny. I tell, ye, Dick, ye kin do nuthin now, ceptin to git yur neck into a runnin rope. The old lot are as bitter agin you now as they war that day when they had ye stannin under a branch, wi the noose half tightened round your thrapple; and ef ye hadnt got out o thar clutches, why, then thard a been an end ot. Ef you war to show here agin, it wud be jest the same thing, an no chance o yur escapin a second time. Therefar, go to Kaliforny. Gather as many o them donicks, an as much o the dust as ye kin lay yur claws on. Kum back, an maybe then I mout do someat ter sist ye to the satisfacshin ye speak o.
Tarleton stands silent, seeming to reflect. Strange that in all he has said, there is no tone of sorrow only anger. The grief he should feel for his lost son where is it?
Has it passed away so soon? Or is it only kept under by the keener agony of revenge?
With some impatience, his counsellor continues:
Ive gin you good reezuns for goin, an if you dont take my device, Dick, youll do a durned foolish thing. Cut for Kaliforny, an get gold gold fust, an let the revenge kum arter.
No, answers Tarleton, with an emphasis telling of fixed determination. The reverse, Jerry Rook, the reverse. For me, the revenge first, and then California! Im determined to have satisfaction; and, if the law wont give it
It wont, Dick, it wont.
Then, this will.
There is just light enough from the fire-flies to show Jerry Rook the white ivory handle of a large knife, of the sort quaintly called Arkansas tooth-pick, held up for a moment in Tarletons hand.
But there is not enough to show Tarleton the dark cloud of disappointment passing over the face of the old hunter, as he perceives by that exhibition that his counsel had been spoken to no purpose.
And now, said the guest, straightening himself up as if about to make his departure, Ive business that takes me to Helena. I expect to meet that fellow Ive been telling you of who gave me the gold. Hes to come there by an up-river boat, and should be there now. As you know, Ive to do my travelling between two days. You may expect me back before sunrise. I hope you wont be disturbed by my early coming?
Come an go when you like, Dick. Thar aint much saramony beout my shanty. All hours air the same to me.
Tarleton buttons up his coat, in the breast of which is concealed the before-mentioned tooth-pick, and, without saying another word, strikes off for the road leading towards the river and the town of Helena. It is but little better than a bridle trace; and he is soon lost to sight under the shadows of its overhanging trees.
Jerry Rook keeps his place, standing close to the trunk of the cottonwood. When his guest has gone beyond reach of hearing, an exclamation escapes through his half-shut teeth, expressive of bitter chagrin.
Story 1-Chapter XI. Dick Tarleton
between two daysRichard Tarleton was, in early life, one of those wild spirits by no means uncommon along the frontier line of civilisation. By birth and breeding a gentleman; idleness, combined with evil inclinations had led him into evil ways, and these, in their turn, had brought him to beggary. Too proud to beg, and too lazy to enter upon any industrious calling, he had sought to earn his living by cards and other courses equally disreputable.
Vicksburg and other towns along the Lower Mississippi furnished him with many victims, till, at length, he made a final settlement in the
state of Arkansas, at that time only a territory, and, as such, the safest refuge for all characters of a similar kind. The town of Helena became his head-quarters.
In this grand emporium of scamps and speculators there was nothing in Dick Tarletons profession to make him conspicuous. Had he confined himself to card-playing, he might have passed muster among the most respectable citizens of the place or its proximity, many of whom, like himself, were professed sportsmen. But, Dick was not long in Helena until he began to be suspected of certain specialities of sport, among others, that of nigger-running . Long absences unaccounted for, strange company in which he was seen in strange places both the company and the places already suspected with, at times, a plentiful supply of money drawn from unknown sources, at length fixed upon Dick Tarleton a stigma of a still darker kind than that of card-playing or even sharping. It became the belief that he was a negro-stealer , a crime unpardonable in all parts of planter-land Arkansas not excepted.
Along with this belief, every other stigma that might become connected with his name was deemed credible, and no one would have doubted Dick Tarletons capability of committing whatever atrocity might be charged to him.
Bad as he was, he was not so bad as represented and believed. A professed sportsman, of wild and reckless habits, he knew no limits to dissipation and common indulgence. Immoral to an extreme degree, it was never proved that he was guilty of those dark crimes with which he stood charged or suspected; and the suspicions, when probed to the bottom, were generally found to be baseless.