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EXHAUSTED by the painful conflict of emotion,
in the scene with Lightfoot, Cannie had quickly
followed his injunctions, and fallen asleep.

When the Half-breed stole, with the stealthy
step of a creeping tiger, into the apartment, the girl was
lying upon her couch of dry grass, and breathing regularly
as she slumbered. The hideous being paused for a moment
upon the threshold; and then, with a cowed and humble
air, approached the group, his eyes fixed on the form of
Miss Argal.

This man, if he may be called such, was one of those
strange and anomalous beings who appear from time to
time on the earth, to falsify, it would seem, every rule and
maxim in relation to human character. Deformed in body
and mind—a revolting monster to the eye, and no less a
repulsive object to the mind—he yet possessed a strange
sensitiveness to beauty and nobility, and cowered before
them as a slave before the whip of the master whom he recognizes.
We have seen that in the interview with Lightfoot,
the Half-breed, in spite of his hatred and jealousy,
was unable to meet the eye of the young chief. The presence
of the son of War Eagle defeated all his calculations—
his influence in the tribe was seriously lessened—the youth
had called him a slave, and what was more terrible still, had
used the word which made his blood boil within him—the
word “lâche!” Yet in spite of all this, in spite of his most
powerful efforts, he had been compelled, by some irresistible
power, to crouch before the youth, and bend his back to the

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lash, and submit his own will to the nobler nature of his
insulter.

This singular submission of the lower nature to the higher,
now influenced him in his feelings for Miss Argal. His
training and previous life had all tended to degrade the female
sex in his mind. Among the Indians they were
scarcely more than beasts of burden, and to say that he
resembled a woman was the most terrible insult that could
be inflicted on a brave. Nevertheless, the young lady ruled
him despotically from the first moment of their meeting.
Her strange and extraordinary beauty, the brilliant fascination
of her eyes, her exquisite grace of attitude, and undulating
movements, all impressed him deeply, and made his
pulses throb. He had killed her father with his own hand,
and quartered the body. It was the Half-breed who stuck
the bleeding head upon the stake, and inflicted a last gash,
as he danced gaily around it, like a goblin of darkness. It
was his iron clutch which had dragged Miss Argal from her
chamber, into the light, and his tomahawk had been lifted
above her head, to dash her brains out.

The tomahawk had not fallen. The torches had no
sooner poured their bloody light upon the beauty of the
young lady, than true to his strange instinct, the Half-breed
recognized his superior. His arm fell—he recoiled, as it
were, before her; and then, thrilling with a vague and
secret pleasure at the thought that she was in his power,
he had protected her from insult and injury, with the fury
of a father who guards the person of his beloved daughter.

At the thought that she was in his power! Such was really
the first reflection of the Half-breed—the flattering unction
which he laid to his fierce and degraded soul. He soon discovered
that their relative positions were reversed. He was
the slave of her beauty and exquisite grace, and like a slave
he applied himself to the task of waiting on his mistress.
The burdens which the tribe had placed upon Miss Argal's
pretty round shoulders, and beneath which she had bent

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down, crying, were indignantly removed. He took them on
his own enormous back, to appease the Indians, and walked
by her side, grinning hideously, and conversing with the
captive.

She had soon discovered the influence which she possessed
over her conqueror, and had applied herself to the
task, throughout the march, of deriving benefit from it.
Fortunately, a falsehood of the Half-breed prevented the
poor girl from being bowed down to the ground by the horrible
recollection of her father's dissevered body. She had
been removed from the building before the Half-breed slew
him; and the monster coolly informed her that he had
escaped in the darkness, and was unhurt. Thus, Miss
Argal, unoppressed by this terrible tragedy, and convinced
that her father, whom she loved dearly, was safe, gave
her attention to the conquest of her captor, without effort.
She had dazzled him with the magnetic lustre of her eyes;
sent a shiver through his deformed and rugged frame, by
touching his huge, knotty hand with her own little white
one, as soft as satin; she had smiled upon the Half-breed,
as she alone knew how to smile; and very soon perfected
her conquest. Before they reached their place of concealment,
she had not only secured for herself every comfort
and convenience, she had also induced her slave to treat
Cannie and Mrs. Butterton without cruelty, even respectfully.
She would pass her arm around Cannie when the
child grew faint, and send the Half-breed to the stream to
procure water for her. He was her captive, and she used her
power to ameliorate the condition of her companions, with
whom she shared every comfort.

And on all this, the strange being had looked with approbation
and a species of pleasure. It evidently delighted
him to humble himself before the beautiful woman. He
seemed thus to approach nearer to her. He was less her
abhorrence when she smiled on him, than when she trembled
before him, and recoiled as his captive. And here we

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notice another trait in this bloody animal. His physical
deformity had been, throughout his life, as sore a point
with him as a clubfoot or a cast in the eye is to a beau or a
fashionable young lady. He had found himself the terror
and horror of the Indian maidens. They retreated hastily
when he approached them and avoided any chance of meeting
him. One and all of them had striven vainly to conceal
the mingled fear and disgust which they felt for his person,
with its crooked, gnarled limbs, its gigantic torse, its low,
flat forehead, wide mouth, and protruding tusks. He had
loved one of these maidens—as he could love—as her slave.
Her beauty had attracted him and he had sued for her hand;
but the maiden had almost fainted when his sallow face approached
her own—when his huge mouth expanded into a
hideous grin of servile admiration. When he took her hand
in his great rugged paw, on which the black veins stood out
like whip-cords, she had shuddered, and drawn it hastily
away. When he pressed her to tell him what her feeling
toward him was, she had replied, with a trembling voice,
that she was afraid of him; but he read in her pale, sick face
that she regarded him with irresistible disgust.

Such had been the weakness, such the fortune of the Half-breed
throughout his life. He had early left the peaceful
home of his tribe, and joined the predatory band of the Catawbas.
On the war-path, in the midst of blood and peril,
his deformity would not be observed. His great strength
and ferocity had soon gained for him a conspicuous position
in the tribe. He became a chief, and was what in other
walks of life we would call a rapidly rising man. But the
recollection of his deformity never left him. He yearned
for some object upon which to expend his pent-up feelings.
What those feelings were he never stopped to inquire, nor
do we feel able to describe them. The Half-breed was a
monster of ferocity and blood, but he was still human, and
not wholly destitute of human emotion. At times his craving
for something—if only an animal—to love him, was

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enormous, irresistible almost. He would remain for days
in his wigwam, scarcely tasting food, brooding over his condition,
and struggling in his benighted and sullen mind to
understand why he had been created, and what his life
would be. When he came forth, and the tribe whispered
and nodded at him, and followed him with their eyes as his
squat figure went by—muttering fearfully that the Yellow
Serpent had been communing with spirits—he would gnash
his teeth with scorn, and despise the shallow fools, and feel
that he was alone in the world. Then he would return to
the war-path with a bloody ardor, which struck terror into
all hearts; he would slay women and children without mercy;
he would reap undying honor from his associates—to
go back and writhe and growl in his den like a wounded
wild animal, whose body is festering with poisonous blood
and corruption.

This was the thorn in the ferocious soul of the Half-breed—
the secret wound which made him mad with pain almost.
He knew his own mental and physical deformity, the disgustingly
hideous body and mind which he possessed; and
he cowered before those who were superior to him. He
crouched in the presence of a pure and noble soul like
Lightfoot's. He obeyed with the alacrity of a slave the
commands of the beautiful woman who was in his power.
He waited upon her, and followed her directions like a servant.
It is true that at times, as he had attempted in the
presence of Lightfoot, he would struggle to assert the supremacy
which he really possessed—the power which he could
exert over the band—his authority; but the endeavor was
vain. True to his instinct, as we have said before, he would
yield in the struggle, bow his head before what he recognized
as above him, and take the position of the slave again,
awaiting the order of his superior.

Thus the Half-Breed was almost delighted when Miss
Argal commanded him to do anything. Her subtle instinct
soon taught her that this was the best manner of treating

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him. The penetrating eyes of the young lady discerned the
secret of her power, and she was not backward in availing
herself of it. His respect and submission seemed to increase
with her arbitary demeanor. There was a strange charm,
too, in thus humbling the master of her fate. As we have
already said, she used her power like a kind, tender woman,
to soften the lot of her companions, especially Cannie. She
had taken a strong fancy to the child indeed, and supplied
her with every comfort she had. She took off her own
wrapping and threw it around the little shoulders, and
seemed really distressed when Cannie would not receive it.
At least the girl should have everything which she could
procure for her, however; and the slave-master, the Half-breed,
was calmly directed to bring this or that object for
Cannie, and attend to all her wants and even wishes. The
savage would grin and hasten to obey. His reward was
the approving smile of his empress—that smile which said
to him, as he basked in it with fierce pleasure, “Others may
think you are hideous and repulsive, but I am fond of you,
because you comply with my wishes.” It was the long
sought balm for his degraded soul—the salve which softened
his festering wound. He could thus forget for a time his
debasement, and submit his fierce head, like a conquered
wild animal, with grumbling delight, to the soft white hand
which caressed it without fear or disgust.

Once arrived at their place of concealment, the Half-breed
had applied himself assiduously to the task of making the
young lady's retreat, and that of her companions, as comfortable
as possible. He had gone to some distance and procured
a large quantity of dry grass for their couches. This
he had arranged in the most convenient manner; and then
he had brought a quantity of the linsey shawls which had
been stolen, to protect them from the cold air of the cavern.
A fire had then been kindled, some supper brought, and the
savage had retired as a servant retires after fulfilling the
commands of his mistress.

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Every arrangement connected with the concealment of
the tribe had been hurried through by the Half-breed—
every trace of their presence obliterated. He had finally
gone to make a last survey of the horizon, before returning
to the magnet which attracted him in the cavern above.
We have seen how he was detained by Lightfoot, how they
conversed for a time, and how the young Indian re-entered
first. When the Half-breed followed him, he found that he
had mounted to the upper cavern where the three females
were; and he stealthily glided up the staircase behind him.
Concealed in a dark nook of the cave he had heard the entire
conversation between Lightfoot and Cannie, had thrilled
with a strange awe as they prayed, and remained in his
place of concealment until the young Indian had retired,
and Cannie, as he knew by her regular breathing, was
asleep.

He then entered and approached Miss Argal.

p507-353

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