“Only till Luna be rested. To say the truth, sir, I had scarce got out of the saddle, as the people came up. See! the poor thing is still panting after our long gallop.”
Yancey does not take notice whether the spotted mustang is panting or no. He is but too pleased to comply with the wishes of its rider.
They stay by the side of the stream.
He is a little surprised to perceive that his companion gives but slight heed, either to the silver fish, or the spotted mustang. He would have liked this all the better, had her attentions been transferred to himself.
But they are not. He can arrest neither her eye nor her ear. The former seems straying upon vacancy; the latter eagerly bent to catch every sound that comes from the clearing.
Despite his inclinations towards her, he cannot help listening himself. He suspects that a serious scene is there being enacted—a trial before Judge Lynch, with a jury of “Regulators.”
Excited talk comes echoing through the tree-trunks. There is an earnestness in its accents that tells of some terrible determination.
Both listen; the lady like some tragic actress, by the side-scene of a theatre, waiting for her cue.
There are speeches in more than one voice; as if made by different men; then one longer than the rest—a harangue.
Louise recognises the voice. It is that of her cousin Cassius. It is urgent—at times angry, at times argumentative: as if persuading his audience to something they are not willing to do.