Copyright 1889—By the Author. CHAPTER IV.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 432, 28 December 1889, Page 3

Copyright 1889— By the Author. CHAPTER IV.

Then followed days and weeks that seemed to Clarence as a dream. At first an inter* val of hushed and awed restraint when he and Susy wore kept apart— a strange and artificial interest taken little note of by him, but afterwards remembered when others had forgotten it ; the burial of Mrs Silsbee beneath a cairn of stones with some ceremonies that, simple though they were, seemed to usurp the pacred rights of grief from him and Susy, and leave them cold and frightened ; days ot frequent and incoherent childish outbursts from Susy — growing fainter and rarer as time went on until they ceased, he knew not when ; the haunting by night of that morning vision of the three or four heaps of ragged clothes upon the ground, and a half regret that he had not examined them more closely ; a recollection of the awful loneliness and desolation of the broken and abandoned waggon left behind on its knees as if praying mutely when the train went on and left it ; the trundling behind of the fateful waggon in which Mrs Silsbee's body had been found — superstitiously shunned by every one — and when at last turned over to the authorities at an outpost garrison, seeming to drop the last link from the dragging chain of the past. The revelation to the children of a new experience in that brief glimpse of the frontier garrison, the handsome officer in unitorm and belted sword — a heroic, vengeful figure to be admired and imitated hereafter— the sudden importance and respect given to Susy and himself as • survivors ;' the sympathetic questioning *nd kindly exaggerations of their experiences—quickly accepted by Susy — all those, looking back upon them afterwards, seemed to have passed as in a dream. No less strange and visionary to them Beemed the real transitions they noted from the moving train. How one morning they missed the changeless, motionless, low dark line along th& horizon, and before noon found themselves among rocks and trees and a swiftly-rushing river. How there suddenly appeared beside them a few days later a grey cloud-covered ridge of mountains that they were convinced was that same dark line that they had seen so often. How the men laughed at them, and said that for the last three days they had been crossing that line, and that it was hiflher than the great grey-clouded range before them, which ifc had always hidden from their view ! How Suey firmly believed that these changes took place in her sleep, when she always 'kinder felt they were crawlin' up,' and how Clarence, in the happy depreciation of extreme youth, expressed his conviction that they ' weren't* a bit high after all.' How the weather became cold, though it was already summer, and at night the camp fire was a necessity, and there was a stove in the tenb with Susy, and yet how all this faded away, and they were again upon a dazzling, burnt, and sundried plain ! But always as in a dream ! More real were the persons who composed the party — whom they seemed to have always known — and who, in the innocent caprice of children, had become to them more actual than the dead had ever been. There was Mr Peyton, who they now knew owned the train, and who was so rich that he needn't go to California if he didn't want to, and was goiner to buy a great deal of it it he liked it, and who was also a lawyer and ' policeman ' — which was Susy's rendering of • politician ' — and was called ' Squire ' and Judge at the frontier outpost, and could order anybody, to be took up if he wanted to,' and who knew everybody by their Christian names ; and Mrs Peyton, who had been delicate, and was ordered by the doctor to live in the open air for six months, and • never go into a house or a town agin,' and who was going to adopt Susy as soon as hor husband could arrange with Susy's relatives, and draw up the papers ! How * Harry ' was Henry Benham, Mrs Peyton's brother, and a kind of partner of Mr Peyton. And how the | scout's name was G-us Gildersleeve, of the * White Crow,' and Low, through his recognised intrepidity, an attack upon their train was, no doubfc, averted. Then there was 'Bill,' the stock hsrdor.ond 'Texas Jim,' thovaquero — thelatter marvellous and unprecedented in horsemanship. Such were their companions as appeared through the gossip of the train, and their own inexperienced consciousness. To them they were all astounding and important personages. But either from boyish curiosity or some sense of being misunderstood, Clarence was more attracted by the two individuals of the party who were least kind to him— namely, Mr 3 Peyton and her brother ' Harry.' I fear that, after the fashion of most children and some growii-up people, he thought less of the steady kindness of Mr Peyton and the others than of the rare tolerance of Harry or the polite concessions of his sister. Miserably conscious of this at times, he quite convinced himself that if he could Only win a word of approbation from Harry, or a smile from Mrs Peyton,' he would afterwards revenge himself by 'running away.' Whether he would or not, I cannot say. I atn writing of a foolish, growing impressionable boy of eleven, of whose sentiments nothing could be predicted but uncertainty. It was at this time that he became fascinated by another member of the party, whose position had been too humble and unimportant to be included in the group already noted. Of the same appearance as the other teamsters in size," habits, and apparel, he had not at first exhibited to Florence any claim to sympathy. But it appeared' that he was actually a youth of only sixteen — a hopeless, incorrigible of ' St. Joseph, whose" parents 1 .had prevailed on Peyton to allow him to join the party, by 1 way of removing .him from 'evil associations | and as a method of reform. Of this Clarence | was at first ignorant, not from" any' want of t frankness on tbe part of the youth, for that

!in£6nioiisjyo,unß! in£6nioiisjyo,unR gentleman' lateV, ,ihfgl[meU| him that ho had killed three men in StC Louis, two in St. Jo,', and that the officers of justice' Were after him.' But' it was evident that to precocipusihabitsofjdrinking, smoking, chewing, ancLcard playing, this overgrown youth added a strong tendency, to exaggeration of statement.' Indeed 'he was known as * Lying Jim Hooker,' and his various qualities presented a problem to Clarence, that was attractive and inspiring, doubtful, but always fascinating. With the hoarse voice of early wickedness, and a contempt for ordinary courtesy, ho had, a round, perfectly good-humoured face, and a disposition , that, when not called upon to act up to his self-imposed role of reckless wickedness, was not unkindly. It was only a few days after the massacre, and while the children were still wrapped in the gloomy interest and frightened reticence which followed it, that Jim Hooker' first characteristically flashed upon Clarence's perceptions. Hanging half on and half off the saddle of an Indian pony, the lank Jim suddenly made his appearance, dashing violently up and down the track and around the waggon in which Clarence was sitting, tugging desperately at the reins, with every indication of being furiously run away with, and retaining his seat only with the most dauntless courage and skill. Round and round they went, the helpless rider hanging at times by a single-stirrup near the ground, and again recovering himself by— as it seemed to Clarence— almost superhuman effort. Clarence sat open-mouthed with anxiety u and excitement, and yet a few of the dEner" teamsters laughed.- Then the voice of Mr Peyton, from the window of his car, said quietly :—: — ' There, that will do, Jim. Quit it !' The furious horse and rider instantly disappeared. A few moments after the bewildered Clarence saw tho redoubted horseman trotting along quietly in the dust of the rear on the same fiery steed, who in that prosaic light bore an astounding resemblance to an ordinary team horse. Later in the day he sought an explanation from the rider : IYe see,' answered Jim gloomly, ' thar ain't a galoot in this yer crowd ez knows jist what's m that hoss ! And them ez huspecks daren't say ! It wouldn't do for to hey it let out that the Judge hez a Mor-gan-Mexican plug that's killed two men afore he got him, and is bound to kill another afore he gets through ! Why, ony the week afore we kern up to you that tbor h'osa bolted with me at camping ! Bucked and throwd me, but I kept my holt o' the stirrups with my foot — so ! Dragged me a matter of two miles, head down, and me keepin' away rocks with my hand — so !' ' Why didn't you loose your foot and lot go ?' asked Clarence breathlessly. ' You might,' said Jim, with deep scorn, • that aint ony style. I just laid low till we kern to a steep pitched hill, and goin' down when the hoss was, so to speak, kinder below me, I just turned a hand spring so, and that landed mo onter his back again.' This action, although vividly illustrated by Jim's throwing his hands down like feet beneath him and indicating the parabola of a spring in the air, proving althogether too much for Clarence's mind to grasp, he timidly turned to a less difficult detail. • What made the borse bolt, Mr Hooker ? ' Smelt Injins !' said Jim, carelessly expectorating tobacco juice in a curving jet from the back of his mouth — a singularly fascinating accomplishment, peculiarly his own. •'n likely yoztr Injins.' 'But,' argued Clarence, hesitatingly, ' you said it was a week before — and' — • Er Mexican plug kin smell Injins fifty, yes, a hundred miles away,' said Jim, with scornful deliberation, *'n if Judge Jfeyton had took my advice, and hadn't been so mighty feared about the character of his hoss gettin' out, he'd hey played roots on them Injins afore they tetched ye. But, 1 he added, with gloomy dejection, ' there ain't no sand in this yer crowd, thar ain't no vim ; thar ain't nothin ! and thar kant be cz long ez thar'a women and babies, and women and baby fixin's mixed up with it. I'd hey cut the whole blamed gang ef it weren't for ono or two things,' he added darkly. Clarence, impressed by Jim's mysterious manner, for a moment forgot hie contemptuous alluoion to Mr Peyton, and tho evident implication of Snsy and himself, and a sked hurriedly, * What things V Jim, as if forgetful of the boy's prosence in his fitful mood, abstractedly half drew a glittering bowie knife from his boot log, and then slowly put it back again. * Thars one or two old scores,' he continued, in a low voice, although no one was in hearing distance ot them, * one or two private accounts,' he went on tragically, averting his eyes as if watched by some one ; * thet hoy to be wiped out with blood afore I leave. Thars ono or two men too many alive and breathin' in this yer crowd. Mebbee it's Gus Gildersleeve ; meboee it's Harry Benham ; mebbee,' he added, with dark yet noble disinterestedness, 'it's me.' ' Oh, no,' said Clarence, with polite deprecation. Far from placating the erlqomy Jim, this seemed only to awake his suspicions. ' Mebboe,' he said, dancing suddenly away from Clarence, ' mebbee you think I'm lyin'. Mebbee you think because your Colonel Brant's son, yer kin run me with this yer train. Mebbce,' he continued, dancing violently back again, ' ye kalkilate because ye run off 'n stampeded a baby, ye kin tote me round too, Sonn}'. Mebbee,' he went on, executing a double shuffle in tho dust, and alternately striking his hands on the sides of his boots, ' mebboe you're spyin' round and reporfcin' to the Judge.' Firmly convinced'that Jim was working himself up by an Indian war dance to some desperate assault on himself, but resenting tho last unjust accusation, Clarence had recourse to one of his old dogged" silences. Happily at this moment an authoritative voice called out *]Sow then, you Jim Hooker !' and the desperate Hooker, as usual, vanished instantly. Nevertheless he appeared an hour or two later beside the waggon in which Susy and Clarence were seated, with an expression of satiated vengeance and remorseful bloodguiltiness in his face, and his hair combed Indian fashion over hia eyes. As he generously contented himself with only passing a gloomy and disparaging criticism on the game of cards that the children were playing, it struck Clarence for the first time that a great deal of his real wickedness resided in his hair. , This set him to thinking that it was, strange that Mr Peyton did not try to reform him with a pair of scissors, but not until Clarence himself had for at least four days attempted to imitate Jim by combing his own hair in that fashion. A few days later Jim again casually favoured him with a confidential interview. Clarence had been allowed to bestride one of the team leaders nostilion-wiße, and was correspondingly elevated when Jim joined him on the Mexican plug, which appeared — no doubt a part of its wicked art — heavily docile and even slightly lame. 'How much,' 1 said Jim, in a tone of gloomy confidence* '* how much did you reckon to make by' stealin' that gal-baby, 1 sonny V ■ . • Nothing,' ropliec" Clarence with a smile. Perhaps it was' an evidence of the markeel ' influence that Jim ' wa« beginning to exert over him that he already did not attempt

to resent; this ' fascinating implication to grown-up guilt. / » •It orter bin a good job if ', it warn't revenge,' continued Jim moodily. *N,o, .it, wasn't revenge,' said Clarence, hurriedly. r , J ' Then yer kdlkilated to get er hundred dollars reward ef the old man f and old woman hadn'b bin, skelped afore ye got up to 'eni ?' said Jim. '* That's your blamed, dod-gasted - luck'i eh 1 Enyhow, you'll make Mr Peyton plank down suthin 1 if she, adopts the b'abby. Look yey, young feller,' he said, starting suddenly and throwing his face forward ', glaring fiendishly through his matted sidelocks, • D'yo meanter tell me it wasn't a plant — a skin game— the hull thing?' ' A what ?' said Clarence. 'D'ye mean to say' — it was wonderful how gratuitously husky his voice became at this moment — 'd'ye mean ter tell me ye didn't set on them Injina to wipe out the Sil&bees, so that ye could hoy an out an out gal or/en on hand fer Mrs Peyton tor adopt —eh?' But here Clarence was forced to protest — and strongly, although Jim contemptuously ignored it. * Dbn't lie ter me,' he repeated mysteriously. 'I'm fly, I'm dark, young fel. We're cahoobs is this thing V and with this artful suggestion of being in possession of Clarence's guilty secret, he depaited in time to elude the usual objurgation of his superior, 'Phil,' the head teamster. Nor was his baleful fascination exercised ientirely on Clarence. In spite of, Mrs Peyton's jealously affectionate care, Clarence's frequent companionship, and thelibtle circle of admiring courtiers that always surrounded Susy, it became evident that this small Eve had been secretly approached and tempted by the Satanic Jim. She was found one day to have a few heron's feathers in her possession with which she adorned her curls, and at another time was discovered to have rubbed her face and arms with yellow and red ochre, confessedly the free gift of Jim Hooker. It was to Clarence alone that she admitted the significance and purport of these offerings. * Jim gived 'em to me,' she said, 'and Jim's a kind of Injin hisself that won't hurt mo, and when bad Injins come they'll think I'm his Injin baby and run away. And Jim said if I'd just told the Injins when they came to kill papa and mama that I b'longed to him they'd hey runned away.' ' But,' said the practical Clarence, 'you could not ; you know you were with Mrs Peyton all the time.' * Kla'uns,' said Susy, shaking her head and fixing her round blue eyes with calni mendacity on the boy, • don'b you tell me. / was there !' Clarence started back and nearly fell over the waggon in hopeless dismay at this dreadful revelation of Susy's powers of exaggeration. ' But,' he gasped, ' you know, Susy, you and me left before ' * Kla uns,' said Susy calmly, making a little pleat in the skirt of her dress, with her small thumb and fingers. ' Don't you talk to me. I waß there. I's a seriver I The men at the fort said so. And serivers is allus, allus there, and nllus, allus knows every thin. Clarence was too dumbfounded to reply. He had a vague recollection of having noticed beforo that Susy was very much fascinated by the reputation givon to her at Fort Ridge as a * survivor,' and was tryinj? in an infantile way to live up to it. This the wicked Jim had evidently encouraged. For a day or two Clarence felt a little afraid of her, and more lonely than ever. It was in this state, and while he was doggedly conscious that his association with Jim did not prepossess Mrs Peyton or her brother in his favour, and that the former even believed him responsible for Susy's unhallowed acquaintance with Jim, that he drifted into one of those youthful escapades on which elders are apt to sib in severe, but nob always considerate judgment. Believing, like many other children, that nobody cared particularly for him, except to restrain him, discovering, as children do, much sooner than we complacently imagine — that love and preference have no logical connection with desert or character, Clarence became boyishly reckless. But when one day it was rumoured that a herd of buffalos was in the vicinity, and that the train would be delayed the next morning in order that a hunt might be organised by Gildersleeve, Benham, and a few others, Clarence listened willingly to Jim's proposition that they should secretly follow it. To effect their unhallowed purpose required boldness and duplicity. It was arranged that shortly after the departure of the hunting party Clarence should ask permission to mount and exercise one of the team horses — a favour that had been frequently granted him. That in the outskirts of the camp he should pretend that the horse ran away with him, and Jim would Btarb in pursuit. The absence of the shooting party with so large a contingent of homes and men would preclude any further detachment from the camp to assist them. Once clear they would follow the track of the hunters, and, if discovered by them, would offer the same excuse, with the addition that they had lost their way to the camp. Tho plan was successful. The details were carried out with almost too perfect effect ; as it appeared that Jim in order to give dramatic intensity to tho fractiousness of Clarence's horse, had inserted a thorn applo under the neck of his saddle, which Clarence only discovered in time to prevent himself from being unseated. Urged forward by ostentatious ' whoas !' and surreptitious cuts in the rear from Jim, pursuer and pursued presently found themselves safely beyond the half-dry stream and fringe of alder bushes that skirted the camp. They were not followed. Whether the teamsters suspected and winked at this design, 01 believing that the boys could take care of themselves, and ran no risk of being lost in the proximity of the hunting party, there was no general alarm. ( To be Continued. )