Томас Майн Рид - Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

“Oh! I shall nurse him tenderly!”

“If you’re bound to stay then,” rejoined Zeb after a pause, “don’t you mind what he’ll be palavering about. You may hear some queer talk out of him, about a man being murdered, and the like. That’s natural for any one who is delirious. Don’t be scared at it. Beside, you may hear him talking a deal about a woman, as he’s got upon his mind.”

“A woman! What is her name?”

“Well, it is the name of his sister, I reckon. Fact, I’m sure of it being his sister.”

“Oh! Mister Stump. If you are speaking of Master Maurice—”

“Shut up, you damned fool! What is it to you what I’m speaking about? You can’t understand such things. Come along!” he continued, moving off, and motioning Phelim to follow him.

Isidora entered the hut; advanced towards the invalid reclining upon his couch; with fierce fondness kissed his fevered brow, fonder and fiercer kissed his unconscious lips; and then recoiled from them, as if she had been stung by a scorpion!

And yet it was but a word – a little word – of only two syllables!

1) Why did Isidora’s visits to her relations upon the Leona become more frequent?

2) What news made Isidora go to the village hotel? Where did she go after that?

3) What did Zeb Stump decide to do when he saw the headless horseman?

4) What did Zeb tell Isidora before leaving her with Maurice?

5) What word made Isidora recoil from Maurice?

As the shadows of twilight shrouded the grass-covered square of the village, Louise Poindexter was seen upon her spotted mustang, riding silently through the streets, and reining up in front of the hotel – on the same spot occupied but a few hours before by the grey steed of Isidora!

As the men of the place were all absent – some on the track of the assassin, others upon the trail of the Comanche, Oberdoffer was the only witness of her indiscretion. But he thought it was but natural that the sister of the murdered man should be anxious to obtain news.

On hearing she was not the first woman who had that day made inquiries respecting Maurice the mustanger, Louise Poindexter rode back to Casa del Corvo, with a heart writhing under fresh laceration.

A night was spent in the agony of unrest. The morning brought with it a daring determination to ride to the Alamo alone.

There was no one to stay her – none to say no. The searchers out all night had not yet returned. She was sole mistress of the mansion, as of her actions.

She set foot upon the threshold of the jacale; and the quick suppressed scream that came from her lips, was like the last utterance of a heart parting in twain. [48]

There was a woman within the hut!

Like an echo, was the cry from Isidora; as turning, she saw in the doorway that woman, whose name had just been pronounced – the “Louise” so fervently praised, so fondly remembered, amidst the vagaries of a distempered brain. Isidora had been listening too long to the involuntary speeches that told her that she was supplanted, to have any doubt as to their sincerity.

Face to face, with flashing eyes, their bosoms rising and falling as if under one impulse the two stood eyeing each other.

Each believed the other successful: for Louise had not heard the words, that would have given her comfort – those words yet ringing in the ears, and torturing the soul, of Isidora!

It was an attitude of silent hostility. Not a word was exchanged between them.

It ended by Louise Poindexter turning round upon the doorstep, and gliding off to regain her saddle. The hut of Maurice Gerald was no place for her!

Isidora too came out, almost treading upon the skirt of the other’s dress. The same thought was in her heart – perhaps more emphatically felt. The hut of Maurice Gerald was no place for her!

The grey horse stood nearest – the mustang farther out. Isidora was the first to mount – the first to move off; but as she passed, her rival had also got into the saddle, and was holding the ready rein.

The retreat of her rival – quick and unexpected – held Louise Poindexter, as if spell-bound. She had climbed into the saddle, but remained in a state of indecision – bewildered by what she saw.

What was she to think of her rival’s sudden desertion? Why that took of spiteful hatred? Why not the imperious confidence, that should spring from a knowledge of possession?

In place of giving displeasure, Isidora’s looks and actions had caused her a secret gratification. Instead of galloping after, or going in any direction, Louise Poindexter once more slipped down from her saddle, and re-entered the hut.

At sight of the pallid cheeks and wild rolling eyes, the young Creole for the moment forgot her wrongs.

“Maurice – wounded – dying! Who has done this?”

There was no reply: only the mutterings of a madman.

“Maurice! Maurice! speak to me! Do you not know me? Louise! Your Louise! You have called me so? Say it again!”

“Ah! you are very beautiful, you angels here in heaven! Very beautiful. Yes, yes; you look so – to the eyes. But don’t say there are none like you upon the Earth; for there are – there are. I know one – that excels you all, you angels in heaven! Heaven would be a pleasant place, if she were here.”

“Maurice, dear Maurice! Do you remember her name?”

She bent over him with ears upon the strain – with eyes that marked every movement of his lips.

“Her name is—”

“Is?”

“Louise – Louise – Louise. Why should I conceal it from you – you up here, who know everything that’s down there? Surely you know her – Louise? You should: you could not help loving her – ah! with all your hearts, as I with all mine – all – all!”

Again were soft kisses lavished upon that fevered brow – upon those pale lips; but this time by one who had no need to recoil after the contact.

When after a while Phelim entered the hut, he was very surprised at seeing Louise there.

“But what does it all mean?” said he, returning to the unexplained puzzle of the transformation. “Where’s the young lady? Didn’t you see nothing of a woman, Miss Poindexter?”

“Yes – yes.”

“Oh! you did. And where is she now?”

“Gone away, I believe.”

“Gone away! She hasn’t remained long. I left her here in the cabin not ten minutes ago. She said she was a friend of the master, and wanted to nurse him. Gone, you say? Well, I’m not sorry to hear it. I’m glad to see you, miss; and sure so would the master, if—”

“Dear Phelim! tell me all that has happened. Has any one else been to this place?”

Phelim said that there had been plenty of people of all sorts. He told her about the rider without a head who looked liked Master Maurice—”with his horse under him, and his Mexican blanket about his shoulders, and everything just as the young master looks, when he’s mounted”.

Louise assumed that the strange horseman was “someone playing a trick” upon Phelim.

“A trick, miss! Truth that’s just what old Zeb said.”

“He has been here, then?”

“Yes – but not till long after the others.”

“What others?”

“Why the Indians, to be sure – a whole tribe of them. But what’s that?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear something? Hush! There it is again! It’s the tramping of horses! They’re just outside.”

Phelim rushed towards the door.

“The place is surrounded with men on horseback. There’s a thousand of them!”

“Mon Dieu!” cried the Creole, “It is they! My father, and I here! How shall I explain it? Holy Virgin, save me from shame!”