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!"