The ordinary sports exhausted, something else is sought for. A new kind of gymnastics suggest itself or is suggested, by the stout branch of a cottonwood, stretching horizontally into the glade. It is nearly nine feet from the ground. Who can spring up, seize hold of it, and hang on longest?
Alf Brandon pulls out his gold repeater, formed with a moment hand, and the trial is attempted.
All six succeeded in reaching the limb, and clutching it. All can hang for a time; but in this Bill Buck beats his companions, Brandon showing chagrin. Who can hang longest with one hand? The trial is made, and the planters son is triumphant.
Bah! cries the defeated Buck. Who can hang longest by the neck? Dare any of you try that?
A yell of laughter responds to this jeu desprit of the young jean-clad squatter.
Story 1-Chapter II. Two Travellers
Who comes from Helena?
The question has scarce shaped itself when the answer also assumes shape. There are two upon the trace the foremost, a youth of about eighteen, the other, a girl, at least two years younger.
They are not like enough to be brother and sister. They may be of the same mother, but not father. If their father be the same, they must have come from two mothers.
Both are of interesting personal appearance, strikingly so. The youth is tall, tersely and elegantly formed, with features cast in a mould that reminds one of the Romagna; the same facial outline, the prominent nose and chin, the eagle eye, that in childhood has glanced across the Teverino, or the Tiber, and a complexion equally suggestive of Italian origin, a tinge of olive in the skin, slightly damasked upon the cheeks, with, above all, a thick chevelure , black as the plumage of a buzzard. While different in mien, this youth is dressed altogether unlike any of the young hunters who regard him from the glade. He is in true hunter costume, slightly partaking of the garb more especially affected by the Indian. His feet are in mocassins, his limbs encased in leggings of green-baize cloth, a calico hunting shirt covers his shoulders; while, instead of cap or hat, he wears the toque, or turban, long since adopted by the semi-civilised tribes of the frontier. He is equipped with powder-horn and bullet-pouch, slung crossways under his arm, armed with a long pea-rifle resting negligently over his left shoulder.
His companion has been spoken off as a girl. The designation stands good; but to describe her will require less minuteness of detail. Sixteen in countenance; older to judge by the budding
promise of her beauty; clad in a gown of common homespun, copperas-dyed, ill stitched, and loosely adjusted; a skin soft as velvet, and ruddy as rude health can make it; hair to all appearance unacquainted with combs; yet spreading as the sun through a southern window; eyes like stars clipped from the blue canopy of the sky. Such was she who followed, or rather accompanied, the youth in the calico hunting shirt.
A sudden fire flashes into the eyes of Alf Brandon. It is the expression of a spirit not friendly to one of the new comers, which may be easily guessed, for the girl is too young and too fair to have excited hostility in the breast of any one. It is her companion against whom the son of the planter feels some secret resentment.
He shows it more conspicuously on a remark made by Bill Buck.
That skunk is always sneaking about with old Rooks gal. Wonder her dad dont show more sense than let her keep company wi a nigger. She aint a goslin any more she aint.
Bucks observation displays an animus ill concealed. He, too, has not failed to note the hidden beauty of this forest maiden, who is the daughter of an old hunter of rude habits, living in a cabin close by.
But the sentiments of the horse-dealers son, less refined, are also less keenly felt. His remarks add fuel to the fire already kindled in the breast of Brandon.
The nigger thinks entirely too much of himself. I propose, boys, we take the shine out of him, said Brandon, who makes the malicious challenge.
Do the nigger good, chimes in Slaughter.
But is he a nigger? asks Spence, to whom the strange youth has been hitherto unknown. I should have taken him for a white.
Three-quarters white the rest Indian. His mother was a half-bred Choctaw. Ive often seen the lot at our store.
It is Grubbs who gives this information.
Injun or nigger, whats the difference? proceeded the brutal Buck. Hes got starch enough for either; and, as you say, Alf Brandon, lets take it out of him. All agreed, boys?
All! all!
What do you say, Judge Randall! Youve not spoken yet, and as youre a judge we wait for your decision.
Oh, if theres fun to be had, Im with you. What do you propose doing with him?
Leave that to me, says Brandon, turning to the quarter-bred, who at this moment has arrived opposite the camp fire. Hilloa Choc! Whats the hurry? Weve been having a trial of strength here who can hang longest by one arm to this branch? Suppose you put in too, and see what you can do?