For all answer Clara, feigning the temper of Capitola, suddenly wheeled

her horse, elevated her riding whip and galloped upon Wool in a

threatening manner.

Wool dodged and backed his horse with all possible expedition,

exclaiming in consternation: "Dar! dar! Miss Cap, I won't go for to ax you any more questions--no--not

if yer rides straight to Old Nick or Black Donald!"

Whereupon, receiving this apology in good part, Clara again turned her

horse's head and rode on her way.

Wool followed, bemoaning the destiny that kept him between the two

fierce fires of his old master's despotism and his young mistress's

caprice, and muttering: "I know old marse and dis young gal am goin' to be the death of me! I

knows it jes' as well as nuffin at all! I 'clare to man, if it ain't

nuf to make anybody go heave themselves right into a grist mill and be

ground up at once."

Wool spoke no more until they got to Tip Top, when Clara still closely

veiled, rode up to the stage office just as the coach, half filled with

passengers, was about to start. Springing from her horse, she went up

to Wool and said: "Here, man, take this horse back to Hurricane Hall! Tell Major Warfield

that Miss Black remains at the Hidden House in imminent danger! Ask him

to ride there and bring her home! Tell Miss Black when you see her that

I reached Tip Top safe and in time to take the coach. Tell her I will

never cease to be grateful! And now, here is a half eagle for your

trouble! Good-by, and God bless you!" And she put the piece in his hand

and took her place in the coach, which immediately started.

As for Wool! From the time that Clara had thrown aside her veil and

began to speak to him he had stood staring and staring--his consternation

growing and growing--until it had seemed to have turned him into

stone--from which state of petrefaction he did not recover until he saw

the stage coach roll rapidly away, carrying off--whom?--Capitola, Clara

or the evil one?--Wool could not have told which! He presently

astounded the people about the stage office by leaving his horses and

taking to his heels after the stage coach, vociferating: "Murder! murder! help! help! stop thief! stop thief! stop the coach!

stop the coach!"

"What is the matter, man?" said a constable, trying to head him.

But Wool incontinently ran over that officer, throwing him down and

keeping on his headlong course, hat off, coat-tail streaming and legs

and arms flying like the sails of a windmill, as he tried to overtake

the coach, crying: "Help! murder! head the horses! Stop the coach! Old marse told me not

to lose sight of her! Oh, for hebben's sake, good people, stop the

coach!"




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024