CHAPTER XXIII.
THE REFUGEE’S HUT
Oh! Buckingham, beware of yonder dog;
Look, when he fawns he bites. —Shakespeare.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself. —Byron.
Deep in the forest, that stretches, a pathless wilderness, to the south and west of Sweetwater, there stood, at the period of our story, a solitary log-cabin, with about two acres of cleared land surrounding it. On nearly every side it was surrounded with swamps, so that approach to it was almost impossible. Here, an hour or two after the rencontre between Aylesford and Major Gordon, the former drew up his horse.
It was a wild scene, characteristic of the region. Huge pines surrounded the clearing, and towering high into air, almost shut out the light. In the small fields about the house the stumps were still standing. A rude stable, or rather shed, built of logs with the bark left on, stood a few rods from the house, while between the two was a well, with a high swinging pole hung in the crotchet of a young sapling. The atmosphere, even on that sultry morning, was damp and cool from the evaporation; the clearing being situated on a small knoll, which rose like an island in the midst of vast swamps, miles from any village, or even farmhouse. It was a haunt fit for outlaws.
As Aylesford approached, a huge bloodhound started up in front of the house, at whose outcry a short, thick-set man came forth, with a countenance which had never been pleasing, but was now embruited by intemperance and other vices. A dirty red beard, which had not felt a razor for a week, increased the repulsiveness of his appearance.
“What a hole you have, Arrison,” said the visitor, with an oath. “It’s the devil’s own retreat. I was half an hour in finding the blind path, and twice came near being swamped before I succeeded. And now, in the fiend’s name, tell us what’s brought you into these parts, and what you want with me.”
“As many questions as would take a week to answer,” replied the man, coolly, “and asked in a temper that would get anything but a civil return from most persons. You needn’t frown. You know I dont’t care a curse for such things. What’s the matter with you? Out with it, or it will choke you.”
Aylesford looked, for a moment, as if he would have liked to run his sword through the speaker, as well as through Major Gordon. But the man met his angry gaze with cool indifference, turning a quid leisurely in his mouth, and waiting for an answer.
“I came here to question,” said Aylesford, haughtily, “not to be questioned. Again I say,” he added, as he dismounted, “what, in the devil’s name, has brought you here.”