hid them from view. And no wonder! He was the only man, living or
dead, that the Son of Ben Ali had ever called "Master." Why? Aaron
tried to make the matter clear to his own mind, and while he was
doing his best to unravel the problem he heard buggy wheels rattle
on the hilltop. The horse must have shied at something just then,
for a harsh voice cried out, followed by the sound of a whip falling
cruelly on the creature's back. The wheels rattled louder as the
creature leaped frantically from under the whip. The harsh voice
cried "Whoa!" three times, twice in anger, and the third time in
mortal fear. And then Aaron knew that he had another adventure on his
hands.
IX.
THE UPSETTING OF MR. GOSSETT.
If Aaron had known it was Mr. Gossett's voice he heard and Mr.
Gossett's hand that brought the buggy whip down on the poor horse's
back with such cruel energy, the probability is that he would have
taken to his heels; and yet it is impossible to say with certainty.
The Son of Ben Ali was such a curious compound that his actions
depended entirely on the mood he chanced to be in. He was full of
courage, and yet was terribly afraid at times. He was dignified and
proud, and yet no stranger to humility. His whole nature resented the
idea of serving as a slave, yet he would have asked nothing better
than to be Little Crotchet's slave: and he was glad to call Mr.
Abercrombie master. So that, after all, it may be that he would have
stood his ground, knowing that the voice and hand were Mr. Gossett's
when his ears told him, as they now did, that the horse, made
furious by the cruel stroke of the whip, was running away, coming
down the hill at breakneck speed.
Mr. Gossett had been on a fruitless errand. When his son George
reached home that morning and told him that Mr. Jim Simmons's dogs
had followed the trail to the river and there lost it, Mr. Gossett
remarked that he was glad he did not go on a fool's errand, and he
made various statements about Mr. Simmons and his dogs that were
not at all polite. Later in the day, however (though the hour was
still early), when Mr. Gossett was making the customary round of his
plantation, he fell in with a negro who had been hunting for some
stray sheep. The negro, after giving an account of his movements,
made this further remark:--
"I sholy 'spected you'd be over yander wid Mr. Jim Simmons, Marster.
His dogs done struck a track leadin' inter de swamp, an' dey sho went
a callyhootin'."
"When was that?" Mr. Gossett inquired.
"Not mo' dan two hours ago, ef dat," responded the negro. "I lis'n
at um, I did, an' dey went right spang tor'ds de Swamp. I know'd de
dogs, kaze I done hear um soon' dis mornin'."
Giving the negro some instructions that would keep him busy the rest
of the day if he carried them out, Mr. Gossett turned his horse's
head in the direction of the Swamp, and rode slowly thither. The blue
falcon soared high in the air and paid no attention to Mr. Gossett.
For various reasons that the Swamp knew about the Turkey Buzzard was
not in sight. The Swamp itself was full of the reposeful silence that
daylight usually brought to it. Mr. Gossett rode about and listened;
but if all the dogs in the world had suddenly disappeared, the region
round about could not have been freer of their barking and baying
than it was at that moment.
All that Mr. Gossett could do was to turn about and ride back home.
But he was very much puzzled. If Mr. Simmons had trailed a runaway
into the Swamp and caught him, or if he had made two failures in one
morning, Mr. Gossett would like very much to know it. In point of
fact, he was such a practical business man that he felt it was Mr.
Simmons's duty to make some sort of report to him. In matters of this
kind Mr. Gossett was very precise.
But after dinner he felt in a more jocular mood. He informed his
son George that he thought he would go over and worry Mr. Simmons a
little over his failure to catch Aaron, and he had his horse put to
the buggy, and rode six or seven miles to Mr. Simmons's home, smiling
grimly as he went along.
Mr. Simmons was at home, but was not feeling very well, as his wife
informed Mr. Gossett. Mrs. Simmons herself was in no very amiable
mood, as Mr. Gossett very soon observed. But she asked him in
politely enough, and said she'd go and tell Jimmy that company had
come. She went to the garden gate not very far from the house and
called out to her husband in a shrill voice:--
"Jimmy! Oh, Jimmy! That old buzzard of a Gossett is in the house.
Come see what he wants. And do put on your coat before you come in
the house. And wash your hands. They're dirtier than sin. And hit
that shock of yours one lick with the comb and brush. Come right on
now. If I have to sit in there and talk to the old rascal long I'll
have a fit. Ain't you coming? I'll run back before he ransacks the
whole house."
Mr. Simmons came sauntering in after a while, and his wife made that
the excuse for disappearing, though she went no further than the
other side of the door, where she listened with all her ears, being
filled with a consuming curiosity to know what business brought Mr.
Gossett to that house. She had not long to wait, for the visitor
plunged into the subject at once.
"You may know I was anxious about you, Simmons, or I wouldn't be
here." ("The old hypocrite!" remarked Mrs. Simmons, on the other side
of the door.) "You didn't come by when your hunt ended, and I allowed
maybe that you had caught the nigger and either killed or crippled
him, and--ahem!--felt a sort of backwardness in telling me about
it. So I thought I would come over and see you, if only to say that
whether you caught the nigger or killed him, he's responsible for it
and not you."
"No, Colonel, I'm not in the practice of killing niggers nor
crippling 'em. I've caught a many of 'em, but I've never hurt one
yet. But, Colonel! If you'd 'a' gone through with what I've been
through this day, you'd 'a' done exactly what I done. You'd 'a' went
right straight home without stopping to ask questions or to answer
'em--much less tell tales."
Thereupon Mr. Simmons told the story of his adventure in the Swamp,
varnishing up the facts as he thought he knew them, and adding some
details calculated to make the episode much more interesting from his
point of view. It will be remembered that Mr. Simmons was in total
ignorance of what really happened in the Swamp. He had conceived
the theory that his dogs had hit upon the trail of a wildcat going
from the river to its den in the Swamp, and that, when the dogs had
followed it there, they had been attacked, not by one wildcat, but by
the whole "caboodle" of wildcats, to use Mr. Simmons's expression.
Having conceived this theory, Mr. Simmons not only stuck to it, but
added various incidents that did credit to his imagination. For
instance, he made this statement in reply to a question from Mr.
Gossett:--
"What did I think when I heard all the racket and saw Sound come out
mangled? Well, I'll tell you, Colonel, I didn't know what to think.
I never heard such a terrible racket in all my born days. I says
to myself, 'I'll just ride in and see what the trouble is, and if
there ain't but one wildcat, why, I'll soon put an end to him.' So
I spurred my hoss up, and started in; but before we went anyways,
hardly, the hoss give a snort and tried to whirl around and run out.
"It made me mad at the time," Mr. Simmons went on, his inventive
faculty rising to the emergency, "but, Colonel, it's a mighty good
thing that hoss had more sense than I did, because if he hadn't I'd
'a' never been setting here telling you about it. I tried to make
the hoss stand, but he wouldn't, and, just then, what should I see
but two great big wildcats trying to sneak up on me? And all the
time, Colonel, the racket in the Swamp was getting louder and louder.
Pluto was in there somewheres, and I know'd he was attending to his
business, so I just give the hoss the reins and he went like he was
shot out of a gun.
"I pulled him in, and turned him around, and then I saw Pluto trying
to come out. Now, Colonel, you may know if it was too hot for him it
was lots too warm for me. Pluto tried to come, and he was a-fighting
like fury; but it was no go. The two cats that had been sneaking
up on me lit on him, and right then and there they tore him all to
flinders! Colonel, they didn't leave a piece of that dog's hide
big enough to make a woman's glove if it had been tanned. And as if
that wouldn't do 'em, they made another sally and come at me, tush
and claw. And I just clapped spurs to the hoss and cleaned up from
there. Do you blame me, Colonel?"
[Illustration: THEY TORE HIM ALL TO FLINDERS]
"As I understand it, Simmons," remarked Mr. Gossett, after pulling
his beard and reflecting a while, "you didn't catch the nigger."
("The nasty old buzzard!" remarked Mrs. Simmons, on the other side of
the door. "If I was Jimmy I'd hit him with a cheer.")
"Do you think you'd 'a' caught him, Colonel, taking into account
all the circumstances and things?" inquired Mr. Simmons, with his
irritating drawl.
"I didn't say I was going to catch him, did I?" replied Mr. Gossett.
"I didn't say he couldn't get away from my dogs, did I?"
"Supposing you had," suggested Mr. Simmons, "would you 'a' done it?
I ain't never heard of you walking in amongst a drove of wildcats to
catch a nigger."
"And so you didn't catch him; and your fine dogs are finer now than
they ever were?" Mr. Gossett remarked.
("My goodness! If Jimmy don't hit him, I'll go in and do it myself,"
said Mrs. Simmons, on the other side of the door.)
"Well, Colonel, it's just like I tell you." Mr. Simmons would have
said something else, but just then the door opened and Mrs. Simmons
walked in, fire in her eye.
"You've saved your $30, hain't you?" she said to Mr. Gossett.
"Why--er--yes'm--but"--
"No buts about it," she snapped. "If you ain't changed mightily, you
think a heap more of $30 in your pocket than you do of a nigger in
the bushes. Jimmy don't owe you nothin', does he?"
"Well--er--no'm." Mr. Gossett had been taken completely by surprise.
"No, he don't, and if he did I'd quit him right now--this very
minute," Mrs. Simmons declared, gesticulating ominously with her
forefinger. "And what Jimmy wants to go trolloping about the country
trying to catch the niggers you drive to the woods is more'n I can
tell to save my life. Why, if he was to catch your runaway niggers
they wouldn't stay at home no longer than the minute you took the
ropes off 'em."
Mr. Simmons cleared his throat, as if to say something, but his wife
anticipated him.
"Oh, hush up, Jimmy!" she cried. "You know I'm telling nothing but
the truth. There ain't a living soul in this country that don't know
a Gossett nigger as far as they can see him."
"What are the ear-marks, ma'am?" inquired Mr. Gossett, trying hard
to be jocular. In a moment he was heartily sorry he had asked the
question.
"Ear-marks? Ear-marks? Hide-marks, you better say. Why, they've been
abused and half fed till they are ashamed to look folks in the face,
and I don't blame 'em. They go sneaking and shambling along and look
meaner than sin. And 't ain't their own meanness that shows in 'em.
No! Not by a long sight. I'll say that much for the poor creeturs."
There was something of a pause here, and Mr. Gossett promptly took
advantage of it. He rose, bowed to Mrs. Simmons, who turned her back
on him, and started for the door, saying:--
"Well, Simmons, I just called to see what luck you'd had this
morning. My time's up. I must be going."
Mr. Simmons followed him to the door and out to the gate. Before
Mr. Gossett got in his buggy he turned and looked toward the house,
remarking to Mr. Simmons in a confidential tone:--
"I say, Simmons! She's a scorcher, ain't she?"
"A right warm one, Colonel, if I do say it myself," replied Mr.
Simmons, with a touch of pride. "But, Colonel, before you get clean
away, let's have a kind of understanding about this matter."
"About what matter?" Mr. Gossett stood with one foot on his buggy
step, ready to get in.
"About this talk of Jenny's," said Mr. Simmons, nodding his head
toward the house. "I'll go this far--I'll say that I'm mighty sorry
it wasn't somebody else that done the talkin', and in somebody
else's house. But sence it was Jenny, it can't be holp. If what she
said makes you feel tired--sort of weary like--when you begin to
think about it, jest bear in mind, Colonel, that I hold myself both
personally and individually responsible for everything Jenny has said
to-day, and everything she may say hereafter."
Mr. Gossett lowered his eyebrows and looked through them at Mr.
Simmons.
"Why, of course, Simmons," he said a little stiffly, "we all have to
stand by the women folks. I understand that. But blamed if I'd like
to be in your shoes."
"Well, Colonel, they fit me like a glove."
Mr. Gossett seated himself in his buggy and drove away. Mrs. Simmons
was standing in the door, her arms akimbo, when her husband returned
to the house.
"Jimmy, you didn't go and apologize to that old buzzard for what I
said, did you?"
Mr. Simmons laughed heartily at the idea, and when he repeated what
he had said to Mr. Gossett his wife jumped at him, and kissed him,
and then ran into the next room and cried a little. It's the one way
that all women have of "cooling down," as Mr. Simmons would have
expressed it.
But it need not be supposed that Mr. Gossett was in a good humor.
He felt that Mrs. Simmons, in speaking as she did, was merely the
mouthpiece of public opinion, and the idea galled him. He called
on a neighbor, on his way back home, to discuss a business matter;
and he was in such a bad humor, so entirely out of sorts, as he
described it, that the neighbor hastened to get a jug of dram out of
the cupboard, and, soothed and stimulated by the contents of the jug,
Mr. Gossett thawed out. By degrees his good humor, such as it was,
returned, and by degrees he took more of the dram than was good for
him. So that when he started home, which was not until after sundown,
his toddies had begun to tell on him. His eyes informed him that his
horse had two heads, and he realized that he was not in a condition
to present himself at home, where his son George could see him. The
example would be too much for George, who had already on various
occasions shown a fondness for the bottle.
What, then, was to be done? A very brilliant idea struck Mr. Gossett.
He would not drive straight home; that would never do in the world.
He'd go up the road that led to town until he came to Wesley Chapel,
and there he'd take the other road that led by the Aikin plantation.
This was a drive of about ten miles, and by that time the effects of
the dram would be worn off.
Mr. Gossett carried out this programme faithfully, and that was why
the buggy was coming over the hill as Aaron was going along the road
on his way to the Swamp.
Contrary to Mr. Gossett's expectations the dram did not exhaust
itself. He still felt its influences, but he was no longer
good-humored. Instead, he was nervous and irritable. He began to
brood over the unexpected tongue-lashing that Mrs. Simmons had given
him, and succeeded in working himself into a very ugly frame of mind.
When his horse came to the top of the hill, something the animal
saw--a stray pig, or maybe a cow lying in the fence corner--caused
it to swerve to one side. This was entirely too much for Mr.
Gossett's unstrung nerves. He seized the whip and brought it down
upon the animal's back with all his might. Maddened by the sudden and
undeserved blow, the horse made a terrific lunge forward, causing Mr.
Gossett to drop the reins and nearly throwing him from the buggy.
Finding itself free, the excited horse plunged along the road. The
grade of the hill was so heavy that the animal could not run at top
speed, but made long jumps, flirting the buggy about as though it had
been made of cork.
The swinging and lurching of the buggy added to the animal's
excitement, and the climax of its terror was reached when Aaron
loomed up in the dark before it. The horse made one wild swerve to
the side of the road, but failed to elude Aaron. The sudden swerve,
however, threw Mr. Gossett out. He fell on the soft earth, and lay
there limp, stunned, and frightened. Aaron, holding to the horse,
ran by its side a little way, and soon had the animal under control.
He soothed it a moment, talked to it until it whinnied, fastened the
lines to a fence corner, and then went back to see about the man who
had fallen from the buggy, little dreaming that it was his owner, Mr.
Gossett. But just as he leaned over the man, Rambler told him the
news; the keen nose of the dog had discovered it, though he stood
some distance away.
This caused Aaron to straighten himself again, and as he did so he
saw something gleam in the starlight. It was Mr. Gossett's pistol,
which had fallen from his pocket as he fell. Aaron picked up the
weapon, handling it very gingerly, for he was unused to firearms, and
placed it under the buggy seat. Then he returned with an easier mind
and gave his attention to Mr. Gossett.
[Illustration: THE EXCITED HORSE PLUNGED ALONG]
"Hurt much?" he asked curtly, shaking the prostrate man by the
shoulder.
"More scared than hurt, I reckon," replied Mr. Gossett. "What was
that dog barking at just now?"
"He ain't used to seeing white folks in the dirt," Aaron explained.
"Who are you?" Mr. Gossett inquired.
"One," answered Aaron.
"Well, if I'd seen you a half hour ago I'd 'a' sworn you were Two."
Mr. Gossett made this joke at his own expense, but Aaron did not
understand it, and therefore could not appreciate it. So he said
nothing.
"Put your hand under my shoulder here, and help me to sit up. I want
to see if any bones are broken."
Aided by Aaron Mr. Gossett assumed a sitting posture. While he was
feeling of himself, searching for wounds and broken bones, he heard
his horse snort. This reminded him (for he was still somewhat dazed)
that he had started out with a horse and buggy.
"That's your horse, I reckon. Mine's at home by this time with two
buggy shafts swinging to him. Lord! what a fool a man can be!"
"That's your horse," said Aaron.
"Mine? Who stopped him?"
"Me," Aaron answered.
"You? Why, as near as I can remember, he was coming down this hill
like the dogs were after him. Who are you, anyhow?"
"One."
"Well, you are worth a dozen common men. Give me your hand."
Mr. Gossett slowly raised himself to his feet, shook first one leg
and then the other, and appeared to be much relieved to find that his
body and all of its members were intact. He walked about a little,
and then went close to Aaron and peered in his face.
"Blamed if I don't believe you are my runaway nigger!" Mr. Gossett
exclaimed.
"I smell whiskey," said Aaron.
"Confound the stuff! I never will get rid of it."
Mr. Gossett put his hands in his pocket and walked around again.
"Your name is Aaron," he suggested. Receiving no reply, he said: "If
your name is Aaron you belong to me; if you belong to me get in the
buggy and let's go home. You've been in the woods long enough."
"Too long," replied Aaron.
"That's a fact," Mr. Gossett assented. "Come on and go home with me.
If you're afeard of me you can put that idea out of your mind. I
swear you shan't be hit a lick. You are the only nigger I ever had
any respect for, and I'll be blamed if I know how I came to have any
for you after the way you've treated me. But if you'll promise not to
run off any more I'll treat you right. You're a good hand and a good
man."
Mr. Gossett paused and felt in his pockets, evidently searching for
something. "Have you seen a pistol lying loose anywhere around here?"
he asked.
"It's all safe," replied Aaron.
"You've got it. Very well. I was just going to pull it out and hand
it to you. Come on; it's getting late." Seeing that Aaron made no
movement, Mr. Gossett tried another scheme. "Well, if you won't go
home," he said, "and I think I can promise that you'll be sorry if
you don't, get in the buggy and drive part of the way for me. I'm
afraid of that horse after his caper to-night."
"Well, I'll do that," remarked Aaron.
He helped Mr. Gossett into the buggy, untied the lines, took his seat
by his owner, and the two were soon on their way home.
X.
CHUNKY RILEY SEES A QUEER SIGHT.
There is no doubt that Mr. Gossett was sincere in what he said to
Aaron. There is no doubt that he fully intended to carry out the
promises he had made in the hope of inducing the runaway to return
home with him. Nor can it be doubted that he had some sort of respect
for a slave who, although a fugitive with a reward offered for his
capture, was willing to go to the rescue of his owner at a very
critical moment. Mr. Gossett was indeed a harsh, hard, calculating
man, whose whole mind was bent on accumulating "prop'ty," as he
called it, to the end that he might be looked up to as Addison
Abercrombie and other planters were. But after all, he was a human
being, and he admired strength, courage, audacity, and the suggestion
of craftiness that he thought he discovered in Aaron.
Moreover, he was not without a lurking fear of the runaway, for, at
bottom, Mr. Gossett's was essentially a weak nature. This weakness
constantly displayed itself in his hectoring, blustering, overbearing
manner toward those over whom he had any authority. It was natural,
therefore, that Mr. Gossett should have a secret dread of Aaron, as
well as a lively desire to conciliate him up to a certain point.
More than this, Mr. Gossett had been impressed by the neighborhood
talk about the queer runaway. As long as such talk was confined to
the negroes he paid no attention to it; but when such a sage as Mr.
Jonathan Gadsby, a man of large experience and likewise a justice of
the peace, was ready to agree to some of the most marvelous tales
told about the agencies that Aaron was able to call to his aid,
the superstitious fears of Mr. Gossett began to give him an uneasy
feeling.
The first proposition that Mr. Gadsby laid down was that Aaron was
"not by no means a nigger, as anybody with eyes in their head could
see." That fact was first to be considered. Admit it, and everything
else that was said would follow as a matter of course. Mr. Gadsby's
argument, judicially delivered to whomsoever wanted to hear it,
was this: It was plain to be seen that the runaway was no more like
a nigger than a donkey is like a race-horse. Now, if he wasn't a
nigger what was he trying to play nigger for? What was he up to? Why
couldn't the track dogs catch him? When some one said Mr. Simmons's
dogs hadn't tried, Mr. Gadsby would answer that when Mr. Simmons's
dogs did try they'd make a worse muddle of it than ever. Why? Because
the runaway had on him the marks of the men that called the elements
to help them. Mr. Gadsby knew it, because he had seen their pictures
in the books, and the runaway looked just like them. Mr. Gadsby's
memory was exact. The pictures he had seen were in a book called the
"Arabian Nights."
Mr. Gossett thought of what Mr. Gadsby had said, as he sat with Aaron
in the buggy, and cold chills began to creep up his spine. He edged
away as far as he could, but Aaron paid no attention to his movement.
Once the horse turned its head sidewise and whinnied. Aaron made
some sort of reply that was unintelligible to Mr. Gossett. The horse
stopped still, Aaron jumped from the buggy, went to the animal's
head, and presently came back with a part of the harness in his
hand, which he threw on the bottom of the buggy.
"What's that?" Mr. Gossett asked.
"Bridle. Bit hurt horse's mouth." He then coolly pulled the reins in
and placed them with the bridle.
"Why, confound it, don't you know this horse is as wild as a buck?
Are you fixing to have me killed? What are you doing now?"
Aaron had taken the whip from its thimble, laid the lash gently on
the horse's back, and held it there. In response to his chirrup the
horse whinnied gratefully and shook its head playfully.
When Mr. Gossett saw that the horse was going easily and that it
seemed to be completely under Aaron's control, he remembered again
what Mr. Gadsby had said about people who were able to call the
elements to their aid, and it caused a big lump to rise in his
throat. What was this going on right before his eyes? A runaway
sitting by his side and driving a fractious and easily frightened
horse without bit or bridle? And then another thought crossed Mr.
Gossett's mind--a thought so direful that it caused a cold sweat
to stand on his forehead. Was it the runaway's intention to jump
suddenly from the buggy and strike the horse with the whip? But Aaron
showed no such purpose or desire. Once he leaned forward, peering
into the darkness, and said something to the horse.
[Illustration: HE EDGED AWAY AS FAR AS HE COULD]
"What is it?" Mr. Gossett asked nervously.
"Some buggies coming along," replied Aaron.
"Can you pass them here?"