The Demon Trapper of Umbagog: A Thrilling Tale of the Maine ForestsThompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
General
The Demon Trapper of Umbagog: A Thrilling Tale of the Maine Forests
Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Maine -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction
Gaut Gurley, the alarmed prisoner, who at first had appeared greatly
relieved on finding that the announced witness was not the reänimated
young Elwood, as he had feared, now seemed utterly at fault to
conjecture what either of these women could know of his crime. But the
moment the maiden, whom he had seen the previous year, and regarded
with jealous dislike, as the possible rival of his daughter, revealed
herself to his view, his looks grew dark and suspicious; and when
she commenced by mentioning, as she did at the outset, that she was
on a boat excursion along the western shore of the Maguntic, on the
well-remembered day when he consummated his long cherished atrocity,
he seemed to comprehend the drift of what was coming, and his eyes
fastened on her with the livid glare of a tiger; while those demoniac
flashes, before noted as the usual precursor of hellish intent with
him, began to burn up and play over his contracting countenance.
But these suspicious indications had escaped the notice of all,--even
of the watchful hunter, whose looks, with those of the rest, were for
the moment hanging, with intense interest, on the speaking lips of the
fair witness. And she proceeded uninterrupted, till, having described
the position in the thicket on shore, in which she was standing, as
Mark Elwood, followed by Gaut Gurley, both of whom she recognized, came
along, she, nerving herself for the task, raised her voice and said:
“I distinctly saw Mr. Elwood fall, convulsed in death,--heard the fatal
shot, and instantly traced it to Gaut, before he had taken his smoking
rifle from his shoulder,--this same man who now----”
When, as she was uttering the last words, and turning to the prisoner,
she stopped short, recoiled, and uttered a loud shriek of terror. And,
the next instant, the deafening report of a pistol burst from the
corner where the prisoner was sitting, filling the room with smoke, and
bringing every man to his feet, in the amazement and alarm that seized
all at the sudden outbreak.
There was a dead pause for a moment; and then was heard the sudden rush
of men, the sharp, brief struggle, and the heavy fall of the grappled
prisoner, as he was borne overpowered to the floor.
“Thank God!” exclaimed the hunter, the first to reach the bewildered
maiden, and ascertain what had befell from this fiendish attempt to
take her life simply because she was instrumental in bringing a wretch
to justice,--“thank God, she is unhurt! The bullet has only cut the
dress on her side, and passed into the wall beyond.”
“Order in court!” sternly cried the head magistrate. “It is enough! Mr.
Phillips, conduct these ladies to some more suitable apartment. We wish
for no more proof. The prisoner’s guilt is already piled mountain-high.
We commit him to your hands, Mr. Sheriff. Within one hour, let him be
on his way to Lancaster jail, there to await his final trial and doom,
for one of the foulest murders that ever blasted the character of human
kind!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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