13. CHAPTER XIII.
I was conscious of a sudden but not unpleasant
concussion. I awakened, opened my eyes, and
found myself upon the ground, with Helen clinging
to me, and plucking at the cord about my
neck,—while the outlaw was contending almost
violently with her father. I understood the affair
in a few moments. Bush Halsey still held in his
grasp the knife with which he had smote the
cord by which I was suspended. I had been
rescued at the last moment—rescued, it was very
evident from what I then saw, without any participation
in the act by the outlaw. He still appeared
resolute upon my death, and, by the
numerous gathering of ruffians by whom he was
surrounded, and who seemed only to await his
final orders, I felt very certain that the dreadful
scene must be renewed. I spare the arguments
and expostulations of Bush Halsey. I say nothing
of the tears and entreaties of Helen.
“Let him submit—let him obey!—let him act
as a man of honor!”—was the final answer of the
outlaw.
“He will—he will submit!” was the cry of
Helen—poor girl—not knowing what was the
requisition.
“Give him time—treat him as a man of honor!”
was the answer of her father.
The tears of Helen—her beauty—the passionate
and unmeasured interest which she expressed
in my fate—no longer restrained by the dread
of her uncle,—the awe of her father, or the natural
apprehension and modesty of her sex—did more
to reconcile me to compliance than did all the
violence of the outlaw!
“Hear me,” I exclaimed, interrupting the dispute;—“hear
me, sir,”—addressing Bud Halsey,
—“had you been more reasonable, and less
violent at first, all would have been easy. I am
willing to marry Helen—nay, should have sought
her, in due time, at the hands of her father. It
was in pursuit of her that I sought out your retreat
in the swamp, and it was in order to obtain
more ready admission that I framed the story of
a crime which I had never committed. My
hands are innocent of blood, and I am no spy
upon you. Under the ardent passion which
brought me here, I should have regarded the
hand of Helen as the dearest blessing which
could be bestowed upon me, and I am only sorry
that your violence, by wounding my pride, should
have prompted me, even for a moment, to reject
such a boon. I do not ask for life—I make no
such prayer to you—I can die, I trust, like a
man—but I am willing to comply with your conditions!”
“Loose him!” was all that Bud Halsey vouchsafed
to say, as he turned off.
“Oh! my Henry!” was the exclamation of
poor Helen, as she swooned away upon my
bosom.
