CHAPTER III.
“BEWARE!”
Walter, after being nursed a while by the tender hands of Katie, bid her an affectionate good-evening, and started toward his lonely bachelor-hall, which was situated beyond the cabin of Hans Winkler a mile, and down the stream. Half of the distance home lay through the settlement, while the other was rendered dismal and gloomy by the road’s running through a projecting cape of Dead-Man’s Forest.
It was a lonely, gloomy walk to take in an unsettled country, and through a skirt of such an ill-omened wood. But Walter was sturdy and bold, and thought nothing of it. What danger? had he not a revolver? could he not shoot with the best? Certainly; what had he to fear?
He strode along with his hands in his pockets, musing. His thoughts were partially pleasant and gloomy. He had been unable to avenge an insult offered to the girl he idolized; he had been “knocked out of time” by an effeminate youth; and mauger the salve, his eyes were purple and swollen, and his face was bruised; never mind—he would search out Danforth in the morning.
On the other hand, she had tenderly cried over and tended him; she had shown, without doubt, she devotedly loved him; and in the spring she would be his own loved wife.
What more could a young man, very handsome and intelligent, in the full vigor of early manhood, in possession of a good farm which in a few years would yield him a good living, desire?
“No more,” he said, after a mental calculation.
What! was it possible here was a contented man? No; a lingering drop of gall remained; he was smarting at defeat, and bruised eyes. He would show him to-morrow—that he would.
He passed Hans’ cabin, and noticed it was dark and silent; then he continued, whistling.