It was almost dark as they neared the dam:
He struck the crossing as true as a hair:
For the space of a second the pony swam;
Then shook himself in the chill night air.
In a pine-tree shade on the further shore,
With his pistol cocked, stood Featherstonhaugh.
A splash! an oath! and a rearing horse!
A thread snapped short in the fateful loom!
The tide, unaltered, swept on its course
Though a fellow-creature had met his doom.
Pale and trembling, and struck with awe,
Bluecap stood opposite Featherstonhaugh.
While the creek rolled muddily in between,
The eddies played with the drowned man’s hat.
The stars peeped out in their summer sheen:
A night-bird chirruped across the flat.
Quoth Bluecap, ‘I owe you a heavy score,
And I’ll live to repay it, Featherstonhaugh!’
But he never did; for he ran his race
Before he had time to fulfil his oath:
I can’t think how; but in any case,
He was hung, or drowned—or it may be both;
But whichever it was, he came no more
To trouble the peace of Featherstonhaugh.
