Mr. Yancy awoke from a long dreamless sleep; heavy-lidded, his eyes slid
open. For a moment he struggled with the odds and ends of memory, then
he recalled the fight at the tavern, the sudden murderous attack, the
fierce blows Slosson had dealt him, the knife thrust which had ended
the struggle. Therefore, the bandages that now swathed his head and
shoulders; therefore, the need that he should be up and doing--for where
was Hannibal?
He sought to lift himself on his elbow, but the effort sent shafts of
pain through him; his head seemed of vast size and endowed with a weight
he could not support. He sank back groaning, and closed his eyes. After
a little interval he opened them again and stared about him. There
was the breath of dawn in the air; he heard a rooster crow, and the
contented grunting of a pig close at hand. He was resting under a rude
shelter of poles and bark. Presently he became aware of a slow gliding
movement, and the silvery ripple of water. Clearly he was no longer at
the tavern, and clearly some one had taken the trouble to bandage his
hurts.
At length his eyes rolling from side to side focused themselves on a low
opening near the foot of his shakedown bed. Beyond this opening, and
at some little distance, he saw a sunbonneted woman of a plump and
comfortable presence. She was leaning against a tub which rested on a
rude bench. At her back was another bark shanty similar to the one that
sheltered himself, while on either hand a shoreless expanse of water
danced and sparkled under the rays of the newly risen sun. As his
eyes slowly took in the scene, Yancy's astonishment mounted higher and
higher. The lady's sunbonnet quite hid her face, but he saw that she was
smoking a cob-pipe.
He was still staring at her, when the lank figure of a man emerged from
the other shanty. This man wore a cotton shirt and patched butternut
trousers; he way hatless and shoeless, and his hair stood out from his
head in a great flaming shock. He, too, was smoking a cob-pipe. Suddenly
the man put out a long arm which found its way about the lady's waist,
an attention that culminated in a vigorous embrace. Then releasing her,
he squared his shoulders, took a long breath, beat his chest with the
flat of his hands and uttered a cheerful whoop. The embrace, the deep
breath, and the whoop constituted Mr. Cavendish's morning devotions,
and were expressive of a spirit of thankfulness to the risen sun, his
general satisfaction with the course of Providence, and his homage to
the lady of his choice.
Swinging about on his heel, Cavendish passed beyond Yancy's range of
vision. Again the latter attempted to lift himself on his elbow, but
sky and water changed places before his eyes and he dropped down on his
pillow with a stifled sigh. He seemed to be slipping back into the black
night from which he had just emerged. Again he was at Scratch Hill,
again Dave Blount was seeking to steal his nevvy--incidents of the
trial and flight recurred to him--all was confused, feverish, without
sequence.
Suddenly a shadow fell obliquely across the foot of his narrow bed, and
Cavendish, bending his long body somewhat, thrust his head in at the
opening. He found himself looking into a pair of eyes that for the first
time in many a long day held the light of consciousness.
“How are you, stranger?” he demanded, in a soft drawl.
“Where am I?” the words were a whisper on Yancy's bearded lips.
“Well, sir, you are in the Tennessee River fo' certain; my wife will
make admiration when she hears you speak. Polly! you jest step here.”
But Polly had heard Cavendish speak, and the murmur of Yancy's voice in
reply. Now her head appeared beside her husband's, and Yancy saw that
she was rosy and smiling, and that her claim to good looks was something
that could not well be denied.
“La, you are some better, ain't you, sir?” she cried, smiling down on
him.
“How did I get here, and where's my nevvy?” questioned Yancy anxiously.
“There now, you ain't in no condition fo' to pester yo'self with
worry. You was fished up out of the Elk River by Mr. Cavendish,” Polly
explained, still smiling and dimpling at him.
“When, ma'am--last night?”
“You got another guess coming to you, stranger!” It was Cavendish who
spoke.
“Do you mean, sir, that I been unconscious for a spell?” suggested Yancy
rather fearfully, glancing from one to the other.
“It's been right smart of a spell, too; yes, sir, you've laid like you
was dead, and not fo' a matter of hours either--but days.”
“How long?”
“Well, nigh on to three weeks.”
They saw Yancy's eyes widen with a look of dumb horror.
“Three weeks!” he at length repeated, and groaned miserably. He was
thinking of Hannibal.
“You was mighty droll to look at when I fished you up out of the river,”
continued Mr. Cavendish. “You'd been cut and beat up scandalous!”
“And you don't know nothing about my nevvy?--you ain't seen or heard of
him, ma'am?” faltered Yancy, and glanced up into Polly's comely face.
Polly shook her head regretfully.
“How come you in the river?” asked Cavendish.
“I reckon I was throwed in. It was a man named Murrell and another
man named Slosson. They tried fo' to murder me--they wanted to get my
nevvy--I 'low they done it!” and Yancy groaned again.
“You'll get him back,” said Polly soothingly.
“Could you-all put me asho'?” inquired Yancy, with sudden eagerness.
“We could, but we won't,” said Cavendish, in no uncertain tone.
“Why, la!--you'd perish!” exclaimed Polly.
“Are we far from where you-all picked me up?”
Cavendish nodded. He did not like to tell Yancy the distance they had
traversed.
“Where are you-all taking me?” asked Yancy.
“Well, stranger, that's a question I can't answer offhand. The Tennessee
are a twister; mebby it will be Kentucky; mebby it will be Illinoy, and
mebby it will be down yonder on the Mississippi. My tribe like this way
of moving about, and it certainly favors a body's legs.”
“How old was your nevvy?” inquired Polly, reading the troubled look in
Yancy's gray eyes.
“Ten or thereabouts, ma'am. He were a heap of comfort to me,” and the
whisper on Yancy's lips was wonderfully tender and wistful.
“Just the age of my Richard,” said Polly, her glance full of compassion
and pity.
Mr. Cavendish essayed to speak, but was forced to pause and clear his
throat. The allusion to Richard in this connection having been almost
more than he could endure with equanimity. When he was able to put his
thoughts into words, he said:
“I shore am distressed fo' you. I tried to leave you back yonder where
I found you, but no one knowed you and you looked so near dead folks
wouldn't have it. What parts do you come from?”
“No'th Carolina. Me and my nevvy was a-goin' into west Tennessee to
a place called Belle Plain, somewhere near Memphis. We have friends
there,” explained Yancy.
“That settles it!” cried Cavendish. “It won't be Kentucky, and it won't
be Illinoy; I'll put you asho' at Memphis; mebby you'll find yo' nevvy
there after all.”
“That's the best. You lay still and get yo' strength back as fast as
you can, and try not to worry--do now.” Polly's voice was soft and
wheedling.
“I reckon I been a heap of bother to you-all,” said Yancy.
“La, no,” Polly assured him; “you ain't been.”
And now the six little Cavendishes appeared on the scene. The pore
gentleman had come to--sho! He had got his senses back--sho! he wa'n't
goin' to die after all; he could talk. Sho! a body could hear him plain!
Excited beyond measure they scurried about in their fluttering rags of
nightgowns for a sight and hearing of the pore gentleman. They struggled
madly to climb over their parents, and failing this--under them. But the
opening that served as a door to the shanty being small, and being as it
was completely stoppered by their father and mother who were in no mood
to yield an inch, they distributed themselves in quest of convenient
holes in the bark edifice through which to peer at the pore gentleman.
And since the number of youthful Cavendishes exceeded the number of such
holes, the sound of lamentation and recrimination presently filled the
morning air.
“I kin see the soles of his feet!” shrieked Keppel with passionate
intensity, his small bleached eye glued to a crack.
He was instantly ravished of the sight by Henry.
“You mean hateful thing!--just because you're bigger than Kep!” and
Constance fell on the spoiler. As her mother's right-hand man she
had cuffed and slapped her way to a place of power among the little
brothers.
Mr. Cavendish appeared to allay hostilities.
“I 'low I'll skin you if you don't keep still! Dress!--the whole kit and
b'ilin' of you!” he roared, and his manner was quite as ferocious as his
words.
But the six little Cavendishes were impressed by neither. They instantly
fastened on him like so many leeches. What was the pore gentleman
saying?--why couldn't they hear, too? Then they'd keep still, sure they
would! Did he say he knowed who throwed him in the river?
“I wonder, Connie, you ain't able to do more with these here children.
Seems like you ought to--a great big girl like you,” said Mr. Cavendish,
reduced to despair.
“It was Henry pickin' on Kep,” cried Constance.
“I found a crack and he took it away from me! drug me off by the legs,
he did, and filled my stomach full of slivers!” wailed Keppel, suddenly
remembering he had a grievance. “You had ought to let me see the pore
gentleman!” he added ingratiatingly.
“Well, ain't you been seein' him every day fo' risin' two weeks and
upwards?--ain't you sat by him hours at a stretch?” demanded Mr.
Cavendish fiercely.
Sho--that didn't count, he only kept a mutterin'--sho!--arollin' his
head sideways, sho! And their six tow heads were rolled to illustrate
their meaning. And a-pluckin' at a body's hands!--and they plucked at
Mr. Cavendish's hands. Sho--did he say why he done that?
“If you-all will quit yo' noise and dress, you-all kin presently set by
the pore gentleman. If you don't, I'll have to speak to yo' mother; I
'low she'll trim you! I reckon you-all don't want me to call her? No, by
thunderation!--because you-all know she won't stand no nonsense! She'll
fan you; she'll take the flat of her hand to you-all and make you skip
some; I reckon I'd get into my pants befo' she starts on the warpath. I
wouldn't give her no such special opportunity as you're offerin'!”
Mr. Cavendish's voice and manner had become entirely confidential and
sympathetic, and though fear of their mother could not be said to bulk
high on their horizon, yet the small Cavendishes were persuaded by sheer
force of his logic to withdraw and dress. Their father hurried back to
Yancy.
“I was just thinkin', sir,” he said, “that if it would be any comfort to
you, we'll tie up to the bank right here and wait until you can travel.
I'm powerfully annoyed at having fetched you all this way!”
But Yancy shook his head.
“I'll be glad to go on to Memphis with you. If my nevvy got away from
Murrell, that's where I'll find him. I reckon folks will be kind to him
and sort of help him along. Why, he ain't much mo' than knee high!”
“Shore they will! there's a lot of good in the world, so don't you fret
none about him!” cried Polly.
“I can't do much else, ma'am, than think of him bein' lonesome and
hungry, maybe--and terribly frightened. What do you-all suppose he
thought when he woke up and found me gone?” But neither Polly nor her
husband had any opinion to venture on this point. “If I don't find him
in Memphis I'll take the back track to No'th Carolina, stoppin' on the
way to see that man Slosson.”
“Well, I 'low there's a fit comin' to him when he gets sight of you!”
and Cavendish's bleached blue eyes sparkled at the thought.
“There's a heap mo' than a fit. I don't bear malice, but I stay mad a
long time,” answered Yancy grimly:
“You shouldn't talk no mo',” said Polly. “You must just lay quiet
and get yo' strength back. Now, I'm goin' to fix you a good meal of
vittles.” She motioned Cavendish to follow her, and they both withdrew
from the shanty.
Yancy closed his eyes, and presently, lulled by the soft ripple that
bore them company, fell into a restful sleep.
“When he told us of his nevvy, Dick, and I got to thinkin' of his bein'
just the age of our Richard, I declare it seemed like something got in
my throat and I'd choke. Do you reckon he'll ever find him?” said Polly,
as she busied herself with preparations for their breakfast.
“I hope so, Polly!” said Cavendish, but her words were a powerful
assault on his feelings, which at all times lay close to the surface and
were easily stirred.
Under stress of his emotions, he now enjoined silence on his family,
fortifying the injunction with dire threats as to the consequences that
would descend with lightning--like suddenness on the head of the
unlucky sinner who forgot and raised his voice above a whisper. Then he
despatched a chicken; sure sign that he and Polly considered their guest
had reached the first stage of convalescence.