“You must have made devilish stretches when they refused,” said the father, “where are they now?”
“Locked up in the stable loft, fast asleep,” replied Phil, “and ready to swear.”
“It is well,” said Val, “that we have affidavits and information enough for his arrest, independent of theirs. Go in, Phil, and keep yourself steady—Easel must be my own concern, I see that; he shall be arrested this day; I have everything prepared for it.”
“Very well,” said Phil; “with all my heart—I have better game in view,” and he knowingly rubbed his finger along his nose as he spoke.
“If you were sober,” said Val, “I could have wished you to witness the full glut of my vengeance upon M'Loughlin, inasmuch, my excellent son, as it was on your account I received the insult, the injury—why, by h——n, he trampled upon me!—that shall never be forgiven, but which will this day, Phil, meet the vengeance that has been hoarded up here—” and, as he spoke, he placed his hand upon his heart. “The sheriff,” he added, “and his officers are there by this time—for I do assure you, Phil, I will make short work of it. As for those ungrateful scoundrels that refused to send their cars and carts, I know how to deal with them; and yet, the rascals, as matters now stand between Hartley and us, I can't afford to turn them out of the corps.”
“Go ahead, I say,” replied Phil; “I have better game on hands than your confounded corps, or your confounded popish M'Loughlins.”
Raymond, who walked, pari passu, along with him, looked at him from time to time and, as he did, it might be observed that his eyes flashed actual fire—sometimes with an appearance of terrible indignation, and sometimes with that of exultation and delight.
Val now proceeded to execute his great mission of vengeance. As he went along—his heart literally beat with a sense of Satanic triumph and delight; his spirit became exhilarated, and all his faculties moved in a wild tumult of delirious enjoyment. He was at best but a slow horseman, but on this occasion he dashed onward with an unconscious speed that was quite unusual to him. At length he reached M'Loughlin's, whither the carts had been sent, immediately on his return from Deaker's. All there seemed very quiet and orderly; the usual appearance of business and bustle was not of course visible, for, thanks to his own malignant ingenuity and implacable resentment, there were many families in the neighborhood not only thrown out of employment, but in a state of actual destitution. Having knocked at the hall door, it was instantly opened by one of his own retainers, and without either preface or apology he entered the parlor. There was none there but M'Loughlin himself, Gordon Harvey, the excellent fellow of whom we have already spoken, and whom M'Loughlin, in consequence of his manly and humane character, had treated with kindness and respect—and Solomon M'Slime who had arrived only a few minutes before him.
“Gentlemen,” said M'Loughlin, “what have I done, that I am to thank you both for your kindness in honoring a ruined man with this unusual visit.”
Val gave him a long, fixed and triumphant look,—such a look as a savage gives his worst enemy, when he gets him beneath his knee, and brandishes his war-knife, before plunging it in his throat.