11. XI.
THE WILD HUNTSMAN.
THE trampling which George had heard all at once
became louder; a hoarse voice hallooed to the
dogs; and in an instant a tall huntsman, mounted
on a fiery animal of great size and muscle, thundered
from a narrow bridle-path into the open space.
The stag had fallen, but, half raised upon one knee, was
goring the dogs with his huge antlers. They strove to
clutch him by the throat, but he foiled them, one and all,
and several of them had already received bad wounds when
the huntsman reached the spot. The sight seemed to arouse
a wild ferocity in him. His cheeks flushed crimson, his eyes
glared, and leaping from his horse, he drew his couteau de
chasse, and threw himself into the midst of the dogs.
The stag made a last desperate effort. He seemed to feel
that all was over. The dangerous antlers were lowered to
pierce the hunter's breast—but all was in vain. The nervous
hand grasping the sharp hunting-knife, darted forward
—the blood spouted forth—and the stag fell to the earth, his
throat cut nearly through and through.
The hunter rose, and calmly wiped the blood from his
knife on his sleeve. Then he turned to the youth. George
had thus an opportunity to scan his appearance. He was a
man of middle age, with a tall, gaunt figure, penetrating eyes,
and lips which seemed to indicate a temperament rather
melancholy and cynical, than happy. He wore a brown peruke,
and otter-skin cap, with a buck's tail stuck in it, and
tall boots with heavy spurs. The remainder of his costume
was rich, but discolored by rain and sun. The coat had
once been profusely laced, and the orange silk waistcoat
still showed traces of gold embroidery; but the suit, like its
wearer, appeared to have “seen better days.” The hunter
had carelessly wiped the blade of his fine French
couteau de
chasse on his cuff, and now scanned with great calmness his
companion.
“A stag of ten, sir,” he said, in a quiet, deep voice; “you
were fortunate to be in at the death.”
“It is bloody sport,” returned the young man, “but wonderfully
exciting. What will you do with the carcass of the
deer, sir?”
“Carry it home with me,” returned the huntsman.
And whistling to his horse, which came slowly to his side,
he raised the ponderous body, and threw it across the front
of the saddle. Then mounting, he said:
“You were going in this direction—were you not, sir?”
George replied in the affirmative; and followed by the
dogs, of whom many limped painfully, they took their way
straight toward the river.
“A day for an emperor!” said the stranger in a deep voice.
Then all at once smiling grimly, he looked at the young man
and added: “but that may seem an improper distinction to
you—you appear to be a Virginian, and the Virginians are all
republicans.”
“I am a loyal subject of his Majesty, George II.,” returned
the boy, “but God made the sunshine for all alike—
did he not, sir?”
A grim smile seemed to deepen on the stranger's face.
“No doubt, no doubt,” was the half indifferent reply, “but
the lion has more right to the forest than the jackal—if not to
the sunshine. You see, sir, that his is the divine right of
kings, and his court of tigers, leopards and panthers, have
their privileges of nobility.”
George looked puzzled. The strange huntsman seemed to
aim at provoking discussion; but it was difficult to reply to
him.
“You dissent,” continued the grim speaker, “but you
don't reply to me. Come, say now, my chance friend—is not
all this proper? Should not the lion rule the forest—the
eagle the air? Should not the beautiful tigers and cougars
be above foxes—hyenas?”
“Oh, assuredly!” said George, “but kings and nobles are
not lions or eagles always—great lords are very often foxes
I have heard. And tell me, is it just, sir, that because the
fox bites the heel of the huntsman, as in the fable, and
saves the life of the lion—is it just that the lion should declare
the foxes throughout all time superior to the higher
class of animals?”
“Good, good!” said the stranger, “you strike hard at
hereditary privilege. You are a republican—you would
overturn class?
“I would raise up worth!” said George with animation; “I
would have the strong and pure, instead of the weak and
corrupt, at the head of affairs. I think when God gives integrity
and powerful brain to a man, he should hold the reins
of power, rather than his inferiors, though his origin be as
obscure as a peasant's. Is not that entirely rational, sir?”
“Hum! hum!” said the stranger with his former smile,
“I was not wrong in declaring you a republican—but that's
no matter. What care we for kings or nobles in the wilds
here? Here's the river.”
And with these laconic words the huntsman pushed his
horse into the water; and, half fording, half swimming, soon
reached the opposite bank. George was there as quickly,
and they again set forward—soon issuing from the forest
into the waving prairie, whose myriads of brilliant flowers
were glittering in the rich light of the sinking sun.
All at once two figures on horseback appeared a quarter
of a mile in advance of them; and these figures plainly descried
them, and awaited their approach.
