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Updated: June 26, 2025
She got riled 'bout that, an' thraitened revenge; an' one night, as I war comin' from Swampville, 'bout this time only 'twar as dark as a pot o' pitch I war jest ridin' out into this very gleed, when all o' a suddint my ole hoss gin a jump forrard, an I feeled somethin' prick me from behind. 'Twar the stab o' some sort o' a knife, that cut me a leetle above the hip, an' made me bleed like a buck.
Assuredly, I had not forgotten that promise, so simply yet sweetly expressed: "If I thought you would like to know where we are gone, I would write to you;" and again: "If you will allow me, I will send a letter to Swampville, from the first place we come to, to tell you where we are going."
And at sight of it the shadow deepens on the brow of Marian. Her sister exhibits no particular emotion. The new-comer is no stranger: it is only Josh Stebbins, the schoolmaster of Swampville. He is their father's friend, and comes often to visit them: moreover, he is that day expected, as Lilian knows.
A "company" was already projected, in which many well-to-do men had registered their names; and even Colonel Kipp talked of transporting his penates across the great plains, and swinging the Jackson sign upon the shores of the Pacific. Swampville was smitten with a golden mania, that seemed to promise its speedy depopulation.
You will find her at Swampville, no doubt, selling her cheap kisses to triflers like yourself. Traitor! we meet no more!" Without waiting for a reply, or even to note the effect of her words, Marian Holt steps back into the forest, and disappears. The young hunter is too stupefied to follow.
He had overheard the concluding part of the conversation; and looked as if pleased at the way in which I had bantered the "colonel," who, as I afterwards learnt from him, was the grand swaggerer of Swampville. A word was sufficient.
Even if it were so, this lord of the hickory-switch is comparatively a stranger in Swampville; and, perhaps, only the best side of his character has been exhibited to the parents and guardians of the settlement. This is of the saintly order; and, as if to strengthen the illusion, a dress of clerical cut has been assumed, as also a white cravat and black boat-brimmed hat.
Thus unresolved, it would have been absurd to proceed further. Our only hope lay in returning to Swampville. And whence this hope? What was to be expected in Swampville? Who was there in that village of golden dreams to guide me upon the track of my lost love? No one no human being. The index of my expectation was not a living thing, but a letter!
One word from me in Swampville, and the hounds of the law would be upon him; ay, and if he could even get clear of them, he could not escape out of my power. I have told you I am an Apostle of the great Mormon Church; and that man would be cunning indeed who could shun the vengeance of our Destroying Angels. Now, Hickman Holt, which is it to be? yes or no?" The pause was ominous for poor Marian.
In this, Swampville had not been slow to imitate them. I found the little village on the qui vive: not only the idlers showing an interest in the extraordinary intelligence; but the business men of the place being equally startled out of their sobriety.
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