It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast than that presented in the appearance of these two men. Were we to select two parallel types from the animal world, they would be the sly fox and the grizzly bear—the latter represented by the squatter himself. In Hickman Holt we behold a personage of unwonted aspect: a man of gigantic stature, with a beard reaching to the second button of his coat, and a face not to be looked upon without a sensation of terror—a countenance expressive of determined courage, but at the same time of fierceness, untempered by any trace of a softer emotion. A shaggy sand-coloured beard, slightly grizzled; eyebrows like a chevaux de frise of hogs’ bristles; eyes of a greenish-grey, and a broad livid scar across the left cheek—are component parts in producing this aspect; while a red cotton kerchief, wound turban-like around the head, and pulled low down in front, renders its expression more palpable and pronounced.
A loose surtout of thick green blanket-cloth, somewhat faded and worn, adds to the colossal appearance of the man: while a red-flannel shirt serves him also for a vest. His huge limbs are encased in pantaloons of blue Kentucky “jeans;” but these are scarcely visible—as the skirt of his ample coat drapes down so as to cover the tops of a pair of rough horse-skin boots, that reach upwards to his knees. The costume is common enough on the banks of the Mississippi; the colossal form is not rare; but the fierce, and somewhat repulsive countenance—that is more individual.
Is this father of Marian and Lilian? Is it possible from so rude a stem could spring such graceful branches—flowers so fair and lovely? If so, then must the mothers of both have been beautiful beyond common! It is even true, and true that both were beautiful—were for they are gone, and Hickman Holt is twice a widower. Long ago, he buried the half-blood mother of Marian; and at a later period—though still some years ago—her gentle golden-haired successor was carried to an early grave.
The latter event occurred in one of the settlements, nearer to the region of civilised life. There was a murmur of mystery about the second widowhood of Hickman Holt, which only became hushed on his “moving” further west—to the wild forest where we now find him. Here no one knows aught of his past life or history—one only excepted—and that is the man who is to-day his visitor.
Contrasting the two men—regarding the superior size and more formidable aspect of the owner of the cabin, you would expect his guest to make some show of obeisance to him. On the contrary, it is the squatter who exhibits the appearance of complaisance. He has already saluted his visitor with an air of embarrassment, but ill-concealed under the words of welcome with which he received him. Throughout the scene of salutation, and afterwards, the schoolmaster has maintained his characteristic demeanour of half-smiling, half-sneering coolness. Noting the behaviour of these two men to one another, even a careless observer could perceive that the smaller man is the master!
Chapter Six.
An Apostolic Effort.
The morning needed no fire, but there were embers upon the clay-hearth—some smouldering ends of faggots—over which the breakfast had been cooked. On one side of the fireplace the squatter placed a stool for his visitor; and then another for himself, as if mechanically on the opposite side. A table of rough-hewn planks stood between. On this was a bottle containing maize-corn whiskey—or, “bald face,” as it is more familiarly known in the backwoods—two cracked cups to drink out of; a couple of corn-cob pipes; and some black tobacco. All these preparations had been made beforehand; and confirmed, what had dropped from the lips of Lilian, that the visitor had been expected. Beyond the customary phrases of salutation, not a word was exchanged between the host and guest, until both had seated themselves. The squatter then commenced the conversation.