All at once the planter appeared to recoil from his purpose, and looking askant, he spent some time in surveying his intended victim, and as if calculating the chances of a rencontre. Perhaps the stalwart frame and strong vigorous arms of the ci-devant gold-seeker rendered him apprehensive about the issue, and caused him to change his resolution. The protruding breast of Pierre Robideau’s coat told of pistol or other weapon, and should the first fire fail, his own life, and not that of his unsuspecting adversary, might be the forfeit in the affray.
While thus communing with his own mind, a still fouler thought came into it, kindling in his eye with more sinister lights.
Suddenly turning away, as if from some change of design, he patrolled back along the street, entered the stable where he had left his horse, and, mounting inside the stable-yard, rode hastily out of the town.
Story 1--Chapter XXVI.
A Revanche.
About half an hour after the planter had taken his departure from the house, Pierre Robideau paid for the mending of his bridle; and having no other errand to detain him in the town, started homewards afoot as he had come.
The road to Jerry Rook’s house still corresponded with that leading to Little Rock, only that the latter, now much travelled, no longer passed through the well-known glade—a better crossing of Caney Creek having caused it to diverge before it entered the natural clearing.
The old trace, however, was that taken by any one going to Rook’s house, and to it Pierre Robideau was making his return from the town.