Chapter XI: Hostile Guests

Yes, Nat Bradley had landed from the boat along with her, and was there at the house, apparently a welcome guest!

It was with difficulty I could conceal my chagrin, despite the silliness of my showing it.

I succeeded, however, determined next day to take leave of a hospitality that had hitherto given me pleasure, but henceforth could only cause pain.

Bradley did not stay for the night. He had come ashore there, because there was no landing-place on his own plantation. He had been up to Vicksburg on business, and had availed himself of the steamboat to return.

These particulars I gathered from his conversation with my host. I regarded them as plausible excuses. No doubt he had been up to Vicksburg; but not upon business. He had gone there to meet Cornelia Woodley, and accompany her back in the boat. Nothing could be clearer.

He took his leave, borrowing a horse from my host, and promising to bring him back on the morrow. Before that time I too determined upon being gone.

It was easier to talk of such a determination than to carry it out. It is not often that the singed moth succeeds in escaping from the candle, nor the bird from the serpent that allures it. And with either of these might my case be compared.

My proposal of departure was met by surprise on the part of my planter host. So abrupt! So unexpected! He would not hear of it. It would be such a disappointment to him. He had been organizing a grand hunt--the grandest we had yet had--a bear _battue_ in the canebrakes of the Arkansas side, and all for my especial entertainment. Surely I would not disappoint him?

"You will not?" said his sister, as we were left for a moment alone.

I scarce knew what to say.

"Why do you leave us in such haste?"

Still less could I make answer to this question.

"It is very unkind of you," she continued to urge; "and not very gallant," added she, with a provoking pout. "You appear to have been contented here till I came. I shall think you are running away to avoid me."

There was truth in this, though not in the sense she intended.

I was on the eve of making reply--of reiterating my determination to depart--of telling her why I had taken it--perhaps of speaking some silly reproach.

I was prevented from making this fool of myself by a generosity I little deserved.

"Do stay!" she said, coming near, and almost entreating me. "My brother will be so vexed by your leaving us; and I too. If you go I shall always think it was my presence that had driven you away."

What could be the meaning of that speech? It made me feel that I was either a favored or a flattered man. If the first she who made it was an angel; if the second, a cruel coquette. In which category should I place Cornelia Woodley?

To discover this, was the object of my next remark, the rudeness of which can only be excused by the torture my suspicions were causing me.

"Not your presence, Miss Woodley," I said, "but that of one whose absence would no doubt cause you far greater regret than mine."

The surprise that leaped up into her great gazelle eyes was not unpleasing to me. There was something in it that spoke of innocence. At least, it was not coquetry.

"Of whom do you speak, sir?"

I hesitated to give the name. I may have been wronging her. In any case I had no right to interfere with her predilections. My speech had placed me in a dilemma, from which I would have been too happy to escape without further controversy. Fortunately there was a chance; by her brother at that moment reappearing, to renew his solicitations.

This time they were successful. The short conversation with his sister had caused a change in my sentiments. It had inspired me with fresh hope; under the whisperings of which I was easily persuaded to stay for the grand bear-hunt.

* * * * *

Next day, according to promise, Bradley brought back the horse--one of his negroes riding another.

I felt certain it was only an excuse, as the man could as well have returned the horse without him.

His own was unsaddled and stabled, which told of his intention to make a stay.

Thus brought together, we were necessarily introduced, and for the first time I exchanged speech with a man for whom I had felt an instinctive aversion.

Neither our salutes nor after-communications were cordial; but the presence of our host and his sister relieved us from the necessity of any direct conversation.

I saw that there was a black cloud upon his brow, whenever Miss Woodley appeared to take an interest in any thing I said.

Once I had caught his eye turned upon me with a scowl so sullen and malignant as almost to tempt me to take notice of it.

And yet it rather gratified me to think that _he_ might be jealous.

The situation appeared to be irksome to all the party. Our host did not seem easy with two such ill-assorted guests, and his sister also showed signs of constraint.

Opportunely there came a relief.

My late skiffman, Jake, who had been scouting through the woods, brought in the report that "de pigeons war in clouds after de mas', up on de ridge among de beeches."

I was the only one present who did not clearly comprehend the announcement.

It was soon explained to me. The well-known migratory birds of America--the passenger-pigeons--had arrived among some beechwood that grew upon a ridge in the rear of the plantation. There making pause in their irregular flight, they were filling their crops with the scattered mast.

Small as was the game, and tame the sport of pigeon-shooting, it is one that can not be obtained every day, like the chase of the squirrel. The birds stay but a short time in any particular place--excepting in those grand roosts that are few and far between. Every one can not enjoy the sport of destroying them wholesale at their roosting-places; but in the autumn of the year, those who live in the neighborhood of beechen woods may have a chance to shoot them.

In a region where they but rarely show themselves, even the grand bear-hunter will not disdain to spend a day or two in popping away at pigeons.

Such a district was that in which lay the plantation of our host.

At the word "pigeons," Henry Woodley sprung to his gun, calling upon us to imitate his example.

We could not do otherwise than respond to the call, and all three started forth--our host, Bradley and myself.

Miss Woodley was, for the time, left alone.