“I say, stranger!” cried he in a threatening tone. “I say! D’ye see yonder live oak? D’ye see it? It’s the Patriarch, and a finer and mightier one you won’t find in the prairies, I reckon. D’ye see it?”
“I do see it.”
“Ah! you see it,” cried he fiercely. “And what is it to you? What have you to do with the Patriarch, or with what lies under it? I reckon you had best not be too curious that way. If you dare take a step under that tree——” He swore an oath too horrible to be repeated.
“There’s a spectre there,” cried he; “a spectre that would fright you to death. Better keep away.”
“I will keep away,” replied I. “I never thought of going near it. All I want is to get to the nearest plantation or inn.”
“Ah! true, man—the next inn. I’ll show you the way to it. I will.”
“You will save my life by so doing,” said I, “and I shall be ever grateful to you as my deliverer.”
“Deliverer!” repeated he with a wild laugh. “Pooh! If you knew what sort of a deliverer—Pooh! What’s the use of savin’ a life, when—yet I will—I will save yours; perhaps the cursed spectre will leave me then. Will you not? Will you not?” cried he, suddenly changing his scornful mocking tones to those of entreaty and supplication, and turning his face in the direction of the live oak. Again his wildness of manner returned, and his eyes were fixed as he gazed for some moments at the gigantic tree. Then darting away, he disappeared among the trees, whence he had fetched his rifle, and presently emerged again, leading a saddled horse with him. He called to me to mount mine, but seeing that I was unable even to rise from the ground, he stepped up to me, and with the greatest ease lifted me into the saddle with one hand, so light had I become during my long fast. Then taking the end of my lasso, he got upon his own horse and set off, leading my mustang after him.
We rode on for some time without exchanging a word. My guide kept up a sort of muttered soliloquy; but as I was full ten paces in his rear, I could distinguish nothing of what he said. At times he would raise his rifle to his shoulder, then lower it again, and speak to it, sometimes caressingly, sometimes in anger. More than once he turned his head, and cast keen searching glances at me, as though to see whether I were watching him or not.
We had ridden more than an hour, and the strength the whisky had given me was fast failing, so that I expected each moment to fall from my horse, when suddenly I caught sight of a kind of rude hedge, and, almost immediately afterwards, of the wall of a small blockhouse. A faint cry of joy escaped me, and I endeavoured, but in vain, to give my horse the spur. My guide turned round, fixed his wild eyes upon me, and spoke in a threatening tone.