The lost hunter: A tale of early times

by John Turvill Adams

"No," said Basset. "What makes you ask?"

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I always think it judgmatical, you see, to choose a man for constable who haint got no family; 'cause, if any accident should happen, 'twouldn't be of so much consequence."

"I don't catch your meaning clear," said Basset.

"You'll catch it clear enough, I guess," answered Gladding, "if Holden gits hold o' ye."

"Now, Tom Gladding, you needn't think you're going to frighten me," cried Basset, on whom the charm was beginning to work.

"I never had sich an idea," said Tom. "But folks does say he's a desperate fighting character. Did you never hear tell of Kidd the pirate, and his treasures, ever so much gold and silver, and rings and watches, and all sorts o' trinkets and notions, buried somewhere along shore, or perhaps on the old fellow's island? Folks does say that when it was kivered, two men was murdered on the spot, so that their sperits should watch it, and hender other folks from gitting on't. But them may be all lies. I heard tell, too," he added, bending down towards the constable, and speaking in a low, confidential tone, as if he wished to be overheard by no one, "that Holden's Kidd himself; but I don't believe a word on't. I tell you this as a friend of your'n, and I advise you to be prudent."

Poor Basset left the shop, with a much less confident air than that with which he had entered it. The truth is, he had in his pocket, all the while, a warrant issued by Squire Miller to arrest Holden, which he now most heartily wished he had never burnt his fingers with. He had heard before, the strange stories in circulation about the Solitary, but had listened to them with only a vague feeling of curiosity, without any personal interest therein, so that no impression of any consequence had been made upon his mind. But now the case was different. The matter was brought home to his own bosom. Here was he, Constable Basset, required and commanded, "by authority of the State of Connecticut," to arrest a man of the most violent character, "for," said Basset to himself, "he must be a dangerous fellow, else how would he venture to insult a whole conference? Tom Gladding's more'n half right, and I must look sharp." Gladly would he have abandoned the whole business, notwithstanding his cupidity was not a little excited by the fees, but he doubted whether the sheriff, his deputy, or any other constable would execute the warrant in his stead; nor did any plausible excuse present itself to account for transferring it to other hands. Thus musing, with fear and avarice contending in his breast, he walked up the street. But it may be necessary to tell how Basset got into the dilemma, and, in order to do so, we must retrace our steps.

The interruption at the conference had not a little offended Davenport. A pompous and conceited man, any slight to himself, any failure to accord a deference he considered his due, he felt sensibly as an injury; much more, then, an open defiance and direct attack. That Holden or any one should have the hardihood, before an assemblage of his friends and acquaintances, to interrupt him and load him with reproaches, wounded his self love to the quick, and he fancied it would affect his reputation and influence in the community were the offence to be passed over without notice. He therefore resolved that something should be done to punish the offender, though unwilling to appear himself in the matter, as that might expose his motives; and all the way home, his mind was engrossed with schemes to accomplish his purpose. It was little attention, then, he be stowed upon the "good gracious" and "massy on us" of his better half, as, with indignation becoming the provocation, she kept herself warm, and shortened the way. But, notwithstanding, he was forced to hear them, and they affected him like so many little stings to urge him to revenge. So excited were his feelings, that it was some time before he fell asleep that night, long after notes other than those of music had announced the passage of Mrs. Davenport to a land of forgetfulness, though not before her husband had matured a plan for the morrow.

Accordingly, after breakfast, Davenport walked round to the office of Mr. Ketchum. Ketchum was a young man, who, but a short time before, had, in the fortunate town of Hillsdale, hung out his professional sign, or shingle, as people generally called it, whereon, in gilt letters, were emblazoned his name and the titles of "Attorney and Counsellor at Law," whereby the public were given to understand that the owner of the aforesaid name and titles was prepared with pen or tongue, or both, to vindicate, à entrance, the rights of all who were able and willing to pay three dollars for an argument before a Justice Court, and in proportion before the higher tribunals. He was a stirring, pushing fellow, whose business, however, was as yet quite limited, and to whom, for that reason, a new case was a bonne bouche on which he sprung with the avidity of a trout.

This gentleman Davenport found apparently lost in the study of a russet sheep-skin covered book. A few other books, bound in like manner, were lying on the table, with pens and loose paper and an ink-stand, among which were mingled files of papers purporting to be writs and deeds. Against the walls were two or three shelves containing some dingy-looking books having a family likeness to the former.