University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

Remarkable Pettibone, who had forgotten the
wound received by her pride, in the contemplation
of the ease and comforts of her situation, and who
still retained her station in the family of Judge
Temple, was despatched to the humble dwelling
which Richard styled “the Rectory,” in attendance
on Louisa, who was soon consigned to the arms of
her father.

In the mean time, Marmaduke and his daughter
were closeted for more than an hour, nor shall we
invade the sanctuary of parental love, by relating
the conversation for that period. At its expiration,
when the curtain rises on the reader, the Judge is
seen walking up and down the apartment, with a
tender melancholy in his air, softening the manly
expression of his features, and his child reclining
on a settee, with a flushed cheek, and her dark
eyes seeming to float in crystals.

“It was a timely rescue! it was, indeed, a timely
rescue, my child!” cried the Judge. “Then thou
didst not desert thy friend, my noble Bess?”

“I believe I may as well take the credit of fortitude,”

said Elizabeth, “though I much doubt if
flight would have availed me any thing, had I even
courage to execute such an intention. But I thought
not of the expedient.”

“Of what didst thou think, love? where did thy
thoughts dwell most, at that fearful moment?”

“The beast! the beast!” cried Elizabeth, veiling
her face with her fair hand; “Oh! I saw nothing,
I thought of nothing, but the beast. I tried to think
of better things, but the horror was too glaring, the
danger too much before my eyes.”

“Well, well, thou art safe, and we will converse
no more on the unpleasant subject. I did not think
such an animal yet remained in our forests; but
they will stray far from their haunts when pressed
by hunger, and”—

A loud knocking at the door of the apartment
interrupted what he was about to utter, and he bid
the applicant enter. The door was opened by
Benjamin, who came in with a discontented air, as
if he felt that he had a communication to make that
would be out of season.

“Here is Squire Doolittle below, sir,” commenced
the Major-domo. “He has been standing
off and on in the door-yard, maybe for the
matter of a glass; and he has sum'mat on his
mind that he wants to heave up, d'ye see; but I
tells him, says I, man, would you be coming
aboard with your complaints, said I, when the
Judge has gotten his own child, as it were, out of
the jaws of a lion? But damn the bit of manners
has the fellow any more than if he was one of
them Guineas, down in the kitchen there; and so
as he was shearing alongside, every stretch he
made towards the house, I could do no better than
to let your honour know that the chap was in the
offing.

“He must have business of importance,” said

Marmaduke; “something in relation to his office,
most probably, as the court sits so shortly.”

“Ay, ay, you have it, sir,” cried Benjamin, “it's
sum'mat about a complaint that he has to make of
the old Leather-stocking, who, to my judgment, is
the better man of the two. It's a very good sort
of a man is this Master Bumppo, and he has a way
with a spear, all the same as if he was brought up
at the bow oar of the captain's barge, or was born
with a boat-hook in his hand.”

“Against the Leather-stocking!” cried Elizabeth,
rising from her reclining posture.

“Rest easy, my child,” said the Judge, smiling,
“it is some trifle, I pledge you; I believe I am
already acquainted with its import. Trust me,
Bess, your champion shall be safe in my care.—
Show Mr. Doolittle in, Benjamin.”

Miss Temple appeared satisfied with this assurance,
but fastened her dark eyes on the person of
the architect, who profited by the permission, and
instantly made his appearance.

All the impatience of Hiram seemed to vanish
the instant he entered the apartment. After saluting
the Judge and his daughter, he took the
chair to which Marmaduke pointed, and sat for a
minute, composing his straight black hair, with a
gravity in his demeanour that was intended to
do honour to his official station. At length he
said—

“It's likely, from what I hear, that Miss Temple
had a pretty narrow chance with the painters,
on the mountain.”

Marmaduke made a gentle inclination of his
head, by way of assent, but continued silent.

“I s'pose the law gives a bounty on the scalps,”
continued Hiram, “in which case the Leather-stocking
will make a good job on't.”

“It shall be my care, sir, to see that he is rewarded,”
returned the Judge.

“Yes, yes, I rather guess that nobody hereabouts
doubts the Judge's generosity. Doos he
know whether the Sheriff has fairly made up his
mind to have a reading-desk or a deacon's pew
under the pulpit?”

“I have not heard my cousin speak on that
subject lately,” replied Marmaduke.

“I think it's likely that we will have a pretty
dull court on't, from what I can gather. I hear
that Jotham Riddel and the man who bought his
betterments have agreen to leave their difference
to men, and I don't think there'll be more than two
civil cases in the calendar.”

“I am glad of it,” said the Judge; “nothing
gives me more pain, than to see my settlers wasting
their time and substance in the unprofitable
struggles of the law, I hope it may prove true,
sir.”

“I rather guess 'twill be left out to men,” added
Hiram, with an air equally balanced between doubt
and assurance, but which Judge Temple understood
to mean certainty; “I some think that I am
appointed a referee in the case myself; Jotham as
much as told me that he should take me. The defendant,
I guess, means to take Captain Hollister,
and we two have partly agreen on Squire Jones for
the third man.”

“Are there any criminals to be tried?” asked
Marmaduke.

“There's the counterfeiters,” returned the magistrate;
“as they were caught in the fact, I think
it likely that they'll be indicted, in which case, it's
probable they will be tried.”

“Certainly, sir; I had forgotten these men.
There are no more I hope.”

“Why, there is a threaten to come forrard

with an assault, that happened at the last independence
day; but I'm not sartain that the law'll
take hold on't. There was plaguey hard words
passed, but whether they struck or not I haven't
heern. There's some folks talk of a deer or two
being killed out of season, over on the west side of
the patent, by some of the squatters on the `Fractions.'
”

“Let a complaint be made, by all means,” cried
the Judge; “I am determined to see the law executed,
to the letter, on all such depredators.”

“Why, yes, I thought the Judge was of that
mind; I come, partly, on such a business myself.”

“You!” exclaimed Marmaduke, comprehending,
in an instant, how completely he had been
caught by the other's cunning; “and what have
you to say, Sir?”

“I some think that Natty Bumppo has the carcass
of a deer in his hut at this moment, and a
considerable part of my business was to get a
sarch warrant to examine.”

“You think, sir! do you know that the law
exacts an oath, before I can issue such a precept.
The habitation of a citizen is not to be idly invaded
on light suspicion.”

“I rather think I can swear to it myself,” returned
the immoveable Hiram; “and Jotham is in
the street, and as good as ready to come in and
make oath to the same thing.”

“Then issue the warrant thyself; thou art a
magistrate, Mr. Doolittle; why trouble me with
the matter?”

“Why, seeing it's the first complaint under the
law, and knowing the Judge set his heart on the
thing, I thought it best that the authority to sarch
should come from himself. Besides, as I'm much
in the woods, among the timber, I don't altogether

like making an enemy of the Leather-stocking.
Now the Judge has a weight in the county that
puts him above all fear.”

Miss Temple turned her beautiful face to the
callous architect, with a scornful smile, as she
said—

“And what has any honest person to dread
from so kind a man as poor Bumppo?”

“Why, it's as easy, Miss, to pull a rifle-trigger
on a magistrate as on a painter. But if the Judge
don't conclude to issoo the warrant, I must go
home and make it out myself.”

“I have not refused your application, Sir,” said
Marmaduke, perceiving, at once, that his reputation
for impartiality was at stake; “go into my
office, Mr. Doolittle, where I will join you, and
sign the warrant.”

Judge Temple stopped the remonstrances which
Elizabeth was about to utter, after Hiram had
withdrawn, by laying his hand playfully on her
mouth, and saying—

“It is more terrific in sound than frightful in
reality, my child. I suppose that the Leather-stocking
has shot a deer, for the season is nearly
over, and you say that he was hunting with his
dogs, when he came so timely to your assistance.
But it will be only to examine his cabin, and find
the animal, when you can pay the penalty out of
your own pocket, Bess. Nothing short of the
twelve dollars and a half will satisfy this harpy, I
perceive; and surely my reputation as a Judge is
worth that trifle.”

Elizabeth was a good deal pacified with this assurance,
and suffered her father to leave her, to
fulfil his promise to Hiram.

When Marmaduke left his office, after executing
his disagreeable duty, he met Oliver Edwards,
walking up the gravelled walk in front of the Mansion-house,

with great strides, and with a face agitated
by some powerful passion. On seeing Judge
Temple, the youth turned aside, and with a warmth
in his manner that was not often exhibited to Marmaduke,
he cried—

“I congratulate you, sir; from the bottom of
my soul I congratulate you, Judge Temple. Oh!
it would have been too horrid to have recollected
for a moment! I have just left the hut, where, after
showing me his scalps, old Natty told me of the
escape of the ladies, as a thing to be mentioned
last. Indeed, indeed, sir. no words of mine can
express half of what I have felt”—the youth paused
a moment, as if suddenly recollecting that he was
overstepping prescribed limits, and concluded with
a good deal of embarrassment—“what I have felt,
at this danger to Miss—Grant, and—and your
daughter, sir.”

But the heart of Marmaduke was too much
softened by his recent emotions, to admit of his
cavilling at trifles, and, without regarding the confusion
of the other, he replied—

“I thank thee, thank thee, Oliver; as thou sayest,
it is almost too horrid to be remembered. But
come, let us hasten to Bess, for Louisa has already
gone to the Rectory.”

The young man sprung forward, and, throwing
open a door, barely permitted the Judge to precede
him, when he was in the presence of Elizabeth in
a moment.

The cold distance that often crossed the demeanour
of the heiress, in her intercourse with
Edwards, was now entirely banished, and two
hours were passed by the party, in the free, unembarrassed,
and confiding manner of old and esteemed
friends. Judge Temple had forgotten the
suspicions engendered during his morning's ride,
and the youth and maiden conversed, laughed, and

were sad by turns, as if directed by a common impulse.
At length Edwards, after repeating his intention
to do so for the third time, left the Mansion-house,
to go to the Rectory on a similar errand of
friendship.

During this short period, a scene was passing
at the hut, that completely frustrated the benevolent
intentions of Judge Temple in favour of the
Leather-stocking, and at once destroyed the short-lived
harmony between the youth and Marmaduke.

When Hiram Doolittle had obtained his search-warrant,
his first business was to procure a proper
officer to see it executed. The Sheriff was
absent, summoning, in person, the grand inquest
for the county; the deputy, who resided in the
village, was riding on the same errand, in a different
part of the settlement; and the regular constable
of the township had been selected for his
station from motives of charity, being lame of one
leg, and an invalid. Hiram intended to accompany
the officer as a spectator, but felt no very
strong desire to bear the brunt of the battle. It
was, however, Saturday, and the sun was already
turning the shadows of the pines towards the
east; on the morrow the conscientious magistrate
could not engage in such an expedition at the
peril of his soul; and long before Monday, the
venison, and all vestiges of the death of the deer,
might be secreted or destroyed. Happily, the
lounging form of Billy Kirby met his eye, and
Hiram, at all times fruitful in similar expedients,
saw his way clear at once. Jotham, who was associated
in the whole business, and who had left
the mountain in consequence of a summons from
his coadjutor, but who failed, equally with Hiram,
in the unfortunate particular of nerve, was directed

to summon the wood-chopper to the dwelling of
the magistrate.

When Billy appeared, he was very kindly invited
to take the chair in which he had already
seated himself, and was treated, in all respects, as
if he were an equal.

“Judge Temple has set his heart on putting the
deer law in force,” said Hiram, after the preliminary
civilities were over, “and a complaint has
been laid before him that a deer has been killed.
He has issooed a sarch-warrant, and sent for me to
get somebody to execute it.”

Kirby, who had no idea of being excluded from
the deliberative part of any affair in which he was
engaged, drew up his bushy head in a reflecting
attitude, and, after musing a moment, replied by
asking a few questions.

“The Sheriff is gone out of the way?”

“Not to be found.”

“And his deputy too?”

“Both gone on the skirts of the patent.”

“But I seen the constable hobbling about town
an hour ago.”

“Yes, yes,” said Hiram, with a coaxing smile
and knowing nod, “but this business wants a man
—not a cripple.”

“Why,” said Billy, laughing, “will the chap
make fight?”

“He's a little quarrelsome at times, and thinks
he's the best man in the county at rough-and-tumble.”

“I heerd him brag once,” said Jotham, “that
there wasn't a man 'twixt the Mohawk Flats and
the Pennsylvany line, that was his match at a
close hug.”

“Did you!” exclaimed Kirby, raising his huge
frame in his seat, like a lion stretching in his lair;
“I rather guess he never felt a Varmounter's

to knuckles on his back-bone. But who is the
chap?”

“Why,” said Jotham, “It's”—

“It's ag'in law to tell,” interrupted Hiram,
“unless you'll qualify to sarve. You'd be the very
man to take him, Bill: and I'll make out a spicial
deputation in a minute, when you will get
the fees.”

“What's the fees?” said Kirby, laying his large
hand on the leaves of a statute-book, that Hiram
had opened in order to give dignity to his office,
which he turned over, in his rough manner, as if
he were reflecting on a subject, about which he
had, in truth, already decided; “will they pay a
man for a broken head?”

“They'll be something handsome,” said Hiram.

“Damn the fees,” said Billy, again laughing—
“doos the fellow think he's the best wrestler in the
county, though? what's his inches?”

“He's taller than you be,” said Jotham, “and
one of the biggest”—

Talkers, he was about to add, but the impatience
of Kirby interrupted him. The wood-chopper
had nothing fierce, or even brutal in his appearance;
the character of his expression was that
of good-natured vanity. It was evident he prided
himself on the powers of the physical man, like
all who have nothing better to boast of; and,
stretching out his broad hand, with the palm
downward, he said, keeping his eyes fastened on
his own bones and sinews—

“Come, give us a touch of the book. I'll
swear, and you'll see that I'm a man to keep my
oath.”

Hiram did not give the wood-chopper time to
change his mind, but the oath was administered
without any unnecessary delay. So soon

as this preliminary was completed, the three worthies
left the house, and proceeded by the nearest
road towards the hut. They had reached the
bank of the lake, and were diverging from the
route of the highway, before Kirby recollected
that he was now entitled to the privileges of the
initiated, and repeated his question, as to the name
of the offender.

“Which way, which way, Squire?” exclaimed
the hardy wood-chopper; “I thought it was to
sarch a house that you wanted me, not the woods.
There is nobody lives on this side of the lake, for
six miles, unless you count the Leather-stocking
and old John for settlers. Come, tell me the
chap's name, and I warrant me that I lead you to
his clearing by a straighter path than this, for I
know every sapling that grows within two miles of
Templetown.”

“This is the way,” said Hiram, pointing forward,
and quickening his step, as if apprehensive
that Kirby would desert, “and Bumppo is the
man.”

Kirby stopped short, and looked from one of
his companions to the other in astonishment. He
then burst into a loud laugh, and cried—

“Who! Leather-stocking! he may brag of
his aim and his rifle, for he has the best of both,
as I will own myself, for sin' he shot the pigeon
I knock under to him; but for a wrestle! why, I
would take the divil between my finger and
thumb, and tie him in a bow-knot around my
neck for a Barcelony. Why, Jotham, you could
take him down yourself, as you'd take down a
two-years' pine with an axe. The man is seventy,
and was never any thing particular for
strength.”

“He's a deceiving man,” said Hiram, “like

all the hunters; he is stronger than he seems;—
besides, he has his rifle.”

“That for his rifle!” cried Billy; “he'd no
more hurt me with his rifle than he'd fly. He is
a harmless creater, and I must say that I think he
has as good a right to kill deer as any man on
the patent. It's his main support, and this is a
free country, where a man is privileged to follow
any calling he likes.”

“According to that doctrine,” said Jotham,
“any body may shoot a deer.”

“This is the man's calling, I tell you,” returned
Kirby, “and the law was never made for such
as him.”

“The law was made for all,” observed Hiram,
who began to think that the danger was likely to
fall to his own share, notwithstanding his management;
“and the law is particular in noticing
parjury.”

“See here, Squire Doolittle,” said the reckless
wood-chopper, “I don't kear the valie of a beetle-ring
for you and your parjury too. But as I have
come so far, I'll go down and have a talk with the
old man, and maybe we'll fry a steak of the deer
together.”

“Well, if you can get in peaceably, so much the
better,” said the magistrate. “To my notion, strife
is very unpopular; I prefar, at all times, clever
conduct to an ugly temper.”

As the whole party moved at a great pace, they
soon reached the hut, where Hiram thought it
prudent to halt on the outside of the top of the
fallen pine, which formed a chevaux-de-frize, to
defend the approach to the fortress, on the side
next to the village. The delay was but little
relished by Kirby, who clapped his hands to his
mouth, and gave a loud halloo, that brought the
dogs out of their kennel, and, almost at the same

instant, the scantily-covered head of Natty also
from the door.

“Lie down, you old fool,” cried the hunter;
“do you think there's more painters about you.”

“Ha! Leather-stocking, I've an arrand with
you,” cried Kirby; “here's the good people of
the state have been writing you a small letter, and
they've hired me to ride post.”

“What would you have with me, Billy Kirby?”
said Natty, stepping across his threshold,
and raising his hand over his eyes to screen them
from the rays of the setting sun, while he took a
survey of his visiter. “I've no land to clear; and
Heaven knows I would set out six trees afore I
would cut down one. Down, Hector, I say, into
your kennel with ye.”

“Would you, old boy!” roared Billy; “then
so much the better for me. But I must do my
arrand. Here's a letter for you, Leather-stocking.
If you can read it it's all well, and if you
can't, here's Squire Doolittle at hand, to let you
know what it means. It seems you mistook
the twentieth of July for the first of August, that's
all.”

By this time Natty had discovered the lank
person of Hiram, drawn up under the cover of a
high stump; and all that was complacent in his
manner instantly gave way to marked distrust
and dissatisfaction. He placed his head within
the door of his hut, and said a few words in an
under tone, when he again appeared, and continued—

“I've nothing for ye; so away, afore the evil
one tempts me to do you harm. I owe you no
spite, Billy Kirby, and what for should you trouble
an old man, who has done you no harm?”

Kirby advanced through the top of the pine, to
within a few feet of the hunter, where he seated

himself on the end of a log with great composure,
and began to examine the nose of Hector, with
whom he was familiar, from their frequently meeting
in the woods, where he sometimes fed the dog
from his own basket of provisions.

“You've outshot me, and I'm not ashamed to
say it,” said the wood chopper, “but I don't owe
you a grudge for that, Natty; though it seems, that
you've shot once too often, for the story goes that
you've killed a buck.”

“I've fired but twice to-day, and both times at
the painters,” returned the Leather-stocking; “see!
here's the scalps! I was just going in with them to
the Judge's to ask the bounty.”

While Natty was speaking, he tossed the ears to
Kirby, who continued playing with them, with a
careless air, holding them to the dogs, and laughing
at their movements when they scented the unusual
game.

But Hiram, emboldened by the advance of the
deputed constable, now ventured to approach also,
and took up the discourse with the air of authority
that became his commission. His first measure
was to read the warrant aloud, taking care to give
due emphasis to the most material parts, and concluding
with the name of the Judge in very audible
and distinct tones.

“Did Marmaduke Temple put his name to that
bit of paper!” said Natty, shaking his head;—
“well, well, that man loves the new ways, and his
betterments, and his lands, afore his own flesh
and blood. But I won't mistrust the gal: she
has an eye like a full-grown buck! poor thing,
she didn't choose her father, and can't help it. I
know but little of the law, Mr. Doolittle; what
is to be done, now you've read your commission?”

“Oh! it's nothing but form, Natty,” said Hiram,

endeavouring to assume a friendly aspect.
“Let's go in and talk the thing over in reason. I
dare to say that the money can be easily found,
though I conclude, from what passed, that Judge
Temple will pay it himself.”

The old hunter had kept a keen eye on the
movements of his three visiters, from the beginning,
and had maintained his position, just without
the threshold of his cabin, with a determined
manner, that showed he was not to be easily driven
from his post. When Hiram drew nigher, as
if expecting that his proposition would be accepted,
Natty lifted his hand and motioned for him to
retreat.

“Haven't I told you, more than once, not to
tempt me,” he said. “I trouble no man; why
can't the law leave me to myself? Go back—go
back, and tell your Judge that he may keep his
bounty; but I won't have his wasty ways brought
into my hut.”

This offer, however, instead of appeasing the
curiosity of Hiram, seemed to inflame it the more;
while Kirby cried—

“Well, that's fair, Squire; he forgives the
county his demand, and the county should forgive
him the fine; it's what I call an even trade,
and should be concluded on the spot. I like
quick dealings, and what's fair 'twixt man and
man.”

“I demand entrance into this house,” said Hiram,
summoning all the dignity he could muster
to his assistance, “in the name of the people, and
by vartoo of this warrant, and of my office, and
with this peace-officer.”

“Stand back, stand back, Squire, and dont
tempt me,” said the Leather-stocking, motioning
for him to retire, with great earnestness.

“Stop us at your peril,” continued Hiram—

“Billy! Jotham! close up—I want your testimony.”

Hiram had mistaken the mild but determined
air of Natty for submission, and had already put
his foot on the threshold to enter, when he was
seized unexpectedly by his shoulders, and hurled
over the little bank towards the lake, to the distance
of twenty feet. The suddenness of the
movement, and the unexpected display of strength
on the part of Natty, created a momentary astonishment
in his invaders, that silenced all noises;
but at the next instant Billy Kirby gave vent to his
mirth in loud peals of laughter that he seemed
to heave up from his very soul.

“Well done, old stub!” he shouted; “the Squire
know'd you better than I did. Come, come, here's
a green spot; take it out like men, while Jotham
and I see fair play.”

“William Kirby, I order you to do your duty,”
cried Hiram, from under the bank; “seize
that man; I order you to seize him in the name of
the people.”

But the Leather-stocking now assumed a more
threatening attitude; his rifle was in his hand,
and its muzzle was directed towards the wood-chopper.

“Stand off, I bid ye,” said Natty; “you know
my aim, Billy Kirby; I don't crave your blood,
but mine and yourn both shall turn this green grass
red, afore you put your foot into the hut.”

While the affair appeared trifling, the wood-chopper
seemed disposed to take sides with the
weaker party; but when the fire arms were introduced,
his manner very sensibly changed. He
raised his large frame from the log, and, facing the
hunter with an open front, he replied—

“I didn't come here as your enemy, Leather-stocking;

but I don't vallie the hollow piece of
iron in your hand so much as a broken axe-helve;—so,
Squire, say the word, and keep
within the law, and we'll soon see who's the best
man of the two.”

But no magistrate was to be seen! The instant
the rifle was produced Hiram and Jotham vanished;
and when the wood-chopper bent his eyes
about him in surprise at receiving no answer, he
discovered their retreating figures, moving towards
the village, at a rate that sufficiently indicated
that they had not only calculated the velocity
of a rifle-bullet, but also its probable range.

“You've skeared the creaters off,” said Kirby,
with great contempt expressed on his broad features;
“but you are not a-going to skear me; so,
Mr. Bumppo, down with your gun, or there'll soon
be trouble 'twixt us.”

Natty dropped his rifle, and replied—

“I wish you no harm, Billy Kirby; but I leave
it to yourself, whether an old man's hut is to be run
down by such varmint as them. I won't deny the
buck to you, Billy, and you may take the skin in,
if you please, and show it as a tistimony. The
bounty will pay the fine, and that ought to satisfy
any man.”

“'Twill, old boy, 'twill,” cried Kirby, every
shade of displeasure vanishing from his open brow
at the peace-offering; “throw out the hide, and that
shall satisfy the law.”

Natty entered his hut, and soon re-appeared,
bringing with him the desired testimonial, and
the wood-chopper departed, as thoroughly reconciled
to the hunter as if nothing had happened.
As he paced along the margin of the
lake, he would burst into frequent fits of laughter,
while he recollected the summerset of Hiram;

and, on the whole, he thought the affair a very
capital Joke.

Long before Billy reached the village, however,
the news of his danger, of Natty's disrespect
to the law, and of Hiram's discomfiture, were in
circulation. A good deal was said about sending
for the Sheriff; some hints were given about calling
out the posse comitatus to avenge the insulted
laws; and many of the citizens were collected, deliberating
how to proceed. The arrival of Billy
with the skin, by removing all grounds for a search,
changed the complexion of things materially.
Nothing now remained but to collect the fine, and
assert the dignity of the people; all of which, it
was unanimously agreed, could be done as well
on the succeeding Monday as on a Saturday night,
a time kept sacred by a large portion of the settlers.
Accordingly, all further proceedings were
suspended for six-and-thirty hours.