little Crotchet, for he didn't know how it would succeed. So he sat
by the lad's bedside and drove away the red goblin, Pain, and waited
until George Gossett and his companions had time to make another
visit to the stillhouse. Then he took the big key of the new stable
from the mantel, slipped it on his belt,--a leathern thong that he
always wore around his body,--placed in his wallet the substantial
lunch that the Little Master had saved for him, and prepared to take
his leave. This time he did not snuff out the light, but placed the
candlestick on the hearth.
When Aaron went out at the window, Little Crotchet was sound asleep,
and seemed to be smiling. The Son of Ben Ali was smiling too, and
continued to smile even as he descended the oak.
[Illustration: AARON AND LITTLE CROTCHET]
Rambler was waiting for him, and, instead of being asleep, was
wide awake and very much disturbed. One of the patrollers, no less
a person than George Gossett,--young Grizzly, as Rambler named
him,--had been to the spring for water. This was what disturbed the
dog, and it was somewhat disturbing to Aaron; for the high wines
or low wines, or whatever it was that was dealt out to them at the
stillhouse, might make young Gossett and his companions bold enough
to search the premises, even though Mr. Abercrombie had warned them
that he could take care of his own place and wanted none of their
interference in any way, shape, or form.
If Aaron could get to the stable, where the Black Stallion had his
temporary quarters, all would be well. He could then proceed to carry
out the idea he had in his mind, which was a very bold one, so bold
that it might be said to depend on accident for its success.
The moon was shining brightly, even brilliantly, as Aaron stood
at the corner of the great house and looked toward the horse lot.
He could easily reach the negro quarters, he could even reach the
black-jack thicket beyond, but he would be farther from the lot
than ever, and still have an acre of moonlight to wade through.
What he did was both bold and simple, and its very boldness made it
successful.
He stepped back to the garden gate, threw it wide open, and slammed
it to again. The noise was loud enough to be heard all over the
place. George Gossett heard it and was sure the noise was made by
Mr. Abercrombie. Aaron walked from the house straight toward the
horse lot, whistling loudly and melodiously some catchy air he had
heard the negroes sing. Rambler was whistling too, but the sound
came through his nose, and it was not a tune, but a complaint and a
warning.
Aaron paid no heed to the warning and cared nothing for the
complaint. He went through the moonlight, whistling, and there was
a swagger about his gait such as the negroes assume when they are
feeling particularly happy. Behind a tree, not twenty-five yards
away, George Gossett stood. Rambler caught his scent in the air and
announced the fact by a low growl. But this announcement only made
Aaron whistle the louder.
There was no need for him to whistle, if he had but known it; for
when young Gossett heard the garden gate slammed to and saw what
seemed to be a negro come away from the house whistling, he at once
decided that some one of the hands had been receiving his orders
from Mr. Abercrombie. Thus deciding, George Gossett paid no further
attention to Aaron, but kept himself more closely concealed behind
the tree that sheltered him. He looked at Aaron, and that more than
once; but though the moonlight was brilliant, it was only moonlight
after all.
Aaron disappeared in the deep shadows that fell about the horse lot,
and George Gossett forgot in a few minutes that any one had waded
through the pond of moonlight that lay shimmering between the garden
gate and the lot where Timoleon held sway. Indeed, there was nothing
about the incident to attract attention. As he stood leaning against
the tree, young Gossett could see the negroes constantly passing to
and fro about their cabins. There was no lack of movement. Some of
the negroes carried torches of "fat" pine in spite of the fact that
the moon was shining, and so made themselves more conspicuous. But
this peculiarity was so familiar to the young man's experience that
it never occurred to him to remark it.
He could even hear parts of their conversation, for they made not the
slightest effort to suppress their voices or subdue their laughter,
which was loud and long and frequent. It was especially vociferous
when Turin came to the door of one of the cabins and cried to Uncle
Fountain, who had just gone out:--
"Nigger man! You better not try to slip off to Spivey's dis night."
"How come, I like ter know?" said Uncle Fountain.
"Patterollers on de hill yander," replied Turin.
"How you know?" Uncle Fountain asked.
"I done seed um."
"What dey doin' out dar?"
"Ketchin' grasshoppers, I speck!"
From every cabin came a roar of laughter, and the whole plantation
seemed to enjoy the joke. The calves in the ginhouse lot bleated,
the dogs barked, the geese cackled, and the guinea hens shrieked
"Potrack! run here! go back!" as loud as they could, and a peafowl,
roosting on the pinnacle of the roof of the great house, joined in
with a wailing cry that could be heard for miles.
[Illustration: BEHIND A TREE STOOD GEORGE GOSSETT]
The lack of respect shown by the Abercrombie negroes for the
patrollers irritated George Gossett, but it was a relief to him
to know that if the negroes on his "pap's" place were to make any
reference to the patrollers they would bow their heads and speak in
subdued whispers.
From one of the cabins came the sound of "patting" and dancing, and
the noise made by the feet of the dancer was so responsive to that
made by the hands of the man who was patting that only an expert
ear could distinguish the difference. The dance was followed by a
friendly tussle, and a negro suddenly ran out at the door, pursued by
another. The pursuer halted, however, and cried out:--
"Ef you fool wid me, nigger, I'll make Marster sen' you in de lot dar
an' move dat ar' wil' hoss to his new stable."
"Marster was made 'fo' you wuz de maker," answered the pursued, who
had now stopped running.
"Ding 'em!" said young Gossett in a low tone to himself, "they're
always and eternally frolicking on this place. No wonder they ain't
able to do no more work in the daytime!"
Fretting inwardly, the young man changed his position, and continued
to watch for the runaway. How long he stood there young Gossett could
not say. Whether the spirits he had swallowed at the stillhouse
benumbed his faculties so that he fell into a doze, he did not
know. He could only remember that he was aroused from apparent
unconsciousness by a tremendous clamor that seemed to come from the
hill where he had left the most of his companions. It was a noise
of rushing and running, squealing horses, and the exclamations of
frightened men.
Young Gossett did not pause to interpret the clamor that came to his
ears, but ran back toward the hill as hard as he could go.
XII.
WHAT THE PATROLLERS SAW AND HEARD.
The scheme which Aaron had conceived, and which he proposed to carry
out without delay, was bold, and yet very simple,--simple, that is to
say, from his point of view. It came into his mind while he was in
Little Crotchet's room, and fashioned itself as he went whistling to
the horse lot in full view of George Gossett.
He swung himself over the fence, and made directly for Timoleon's
stable. The Black Stallion heard some one fumbling about the door,
and breathed hard through his nostrils, making a low, fluttering
sound, as high-spirited horses do when they are suspicious or angry.
It was a fair warning to any and all who might dare to open the door
and enter that stable.
"So!" said Aaron; "that is the welcome you give to all who may come
to make you comfortable."
At the sound of that voice, Timoleon snorted cheerfully and whinnied,
saying: "Change places with me, Son of Ben Ali, and then see who will
warn all comers. Why, the ox has better treatment, and the plow mule
is pampered. What am I that my food should be thrown at me through
the cracks? The man that fed me comes no more."
"He is where your teeth and your temper put him, Grandson of
Abdallah. But there is to be a change. This night you go to your new
house, where everything is fresh and clean and comfortable. And you
are to learn to hold a bit in your mouth and a man on your back, as
Abdallah before you did."
"That is nothing, Son of Ben Ali. Then I can gallop, and smell the
fresh air from the fields. What man am I to carry, Son of Ben Ali?"
"Let the White-Haired Master settle that, Grandson of Abdallah. This
night, before you go to your new house, you are to have a run with
me."
Timoleon snorted with delight. He was ready, and more than ready. He
was stiff and sore from standing in the stable.
"But before we start, Grandson of Abdallah, this must be said: No
noise before I give the word; none of the loud screaming that men
call whickering. You know my hand. You are to have a frolic, and a
fine one, but before you begin it, wait for the word. Now, then, we
will go."
With his hand on the horse's withers, Aaron guided Timoleon to the
gate. They went through the lot in which the Black Stallion's new
stable stood, out at the gate through which Buster John and Sweetest
Susan rode years afterward, and into the lane that led to the public
road. But instead of going toward the road, they followed the lane
back into the plantation, until they came to what was called "the
double gates." Going through these, they found themselves in the
pasture that sloped gradually upward to the hill from which Aaron was
in the habit of watching the light in Little Crotchet's window.
The hoofs of the Black Stallion hardly made a sound on the soft turf.
Guided by Aaron, he ascended the hill until they were on a level with
and not far from the fence on which Mr. Gossett, his son George,
and Jim Simmons had carried on their controversy about Addison
Abercrombie. Here Aaron brought Timoleon to a halt, while Rambler
went forward to see what discovery he could make.
He soon found where the horses of the patrollers were stationed.
There were five. Three had evidently been trained to "stand without
tying," as the saying is, while one of the patrollers was sitting
against a tree, holding the other two. All this Rambler knew, for he
went so near that the patroller saw him, and hurled a pine burr at
him. It was a harmless enough missile, but it had not left Rambler in
a good humor. Then it was that Aaron spoke to the horse, and gave him
the word.
"Grandson of Abdallah, the horses and the man are yonder. Give them a
taste of your playfulness. Show them what a frolic is, but cover your
teeth with your lips,--no blood to-night. Spare the horses. They have
gone hungry for hours, but they must obey the bit. Spare the man,
too, but if you can strip him of his coat as he flees, well and good.
You will see other men come running. They will be filled with fear.
Give them also a taste of your playfulness. Let them see the grandson
of Abdallah when he is frolicsome. But mind! No blood to-night,--no
broken bones!"
The situation promised to be so exciting that Timoleon snorted loudly
and fiercely, whereupon one of the horses held by the patroller
answered with a questioning neigh, which was cut short by a cruel
jerk of the bridle rein by the man who held it. The man was dozing
under the influence of Mr. Fullalove's low-wines, and the sudden
neighing of the horse startled and irritated him.
But in the twinkling of an eye terror took the place of irritation,
for the Black Stallion, pretending to himself that the neigh was a
challenge, screamed fiercely in reply and went charging upon the
group with open mouth and eyes that glowed in the dark. The horses
knew well what that scream meant. Those that were not held by the
patroller ran away panic-stricken, snorting, and whickering. The two
that were held by the patroller cared nothing for bits now, but broke
away from the man, after dragging him several yards (for he had the
reins wrapped about his wrist) and joined the others.
They dragged the man right in the Black Stallion's path, and there
left him straggling to his hands and knees, with his right arm so
severely wrenched that he could hardly use it. But, fortunately for
the patroller, Timoleon's eyes were keen, and he saw the man in time
to leap over him, screaming wildly as he did so. The man fell over on
his side at that instant. Glancing upward he saw the huge hulk of the
horse flying over him, and his reason nearly left him. Was it really
a horse, or was it that arch-fiend Beelzebub that he had read about
in the books, and whose name he had heard thundered from the pulpit
at the camp meeting? "Beelzebub is abroad in the land to-day!" the
preacher had cried. Was it indeed true?
The Black Stallion drove the crazed horses before him hither and
yonder, but always turning them back to the point where they had been
standing. The stampede was presently joined by three or four mules
that had been turned in the pasture. The patrollers, who had been
watching and guarding the approaches to the Abercrombie place, came
running to see what the trouble was. George Gossett, being farther
away from the pasture than the rest, was the last to reach the scene,
but he arrived soon enough to see the Black Stallion seize one of his
companions by the coat-tails and literally strip him of the garment.
[Illustration: THE BLACK STALLION]
The terror-stricken horses, when they found an opportunity, ran
toward the double gates where they had entered the pasture. Aaron,
expecting this, had opened the gates, and the five horses, crowding
on one another's heels, went through like a whirlwind, having left
the mules far behind. Aaron closed the gates again, and went running
to where he heard the Black Stallion still plunging about. By this
time the mules were huddled together in a far corner of the field;
but Timoleon had paid no attention to them. He could have caught
and killed them over and over again. He was now in pursuit of the
patrollers. George Gossett, running toward the fence, tripped and
fell, and narrowly escaped the Black Stallion's hoofs. He was not far
from the fence when he fell, and he rolled and scrambled and crawled
fast enough to elude Timoleon, who turned and ran at him again. In
one way and another all the patrollers escaped with their lives,
and, once the fence was between them and the snorting demon, they
made haste to visit Mr. Fullalove's stillhouse, and relate to him the
story of their marvelous adventure, consoling themselves, meanwhile,
with copious draughts of the warm low-wines.
"I believe the thing had wings," said one of the patrollers, "and if
I didn't see smoke coming out of his mouth when he ran at me, I'm
mighty much mistaken. I never shall believe it wasn't Beelzebub."
This was the man who had been set upon so suddenly while watching the
horses and dozing.
Some of the others were inclined to agree with this view of the case;
but George Gossett was sure it was a horse.
"I was right at him," he said, "when he pulled off Monk's coat, and
it was a horse, even to the mane and tail. I was looking at him when
he turned and made for me. Then I tripped and fell, and just did get
to the fence in time to save my neck."
"You hear that, don't you, Mr. Fullalove?" remarked the man who
had been holding the horses. "It pulled Monk's coat off, and then
Gossett just had time to get to the fence to save his neck! Why, it's
as natchul as pig-tracks. Every hoss you meet tries to pull your coat
off, and you have to run for a fence if you want to save your neck.
That's Gossett's idee. If that thing was a hoss, I don't want to see
no more hosses. I'll tell you that."
"Well," said Mr. Fullalove, "there are times and occasions-more
espeshually occasions, as you may say--when a hoss mought take a
notion for to cut up some such rippit as that. You take that black
hoss of Colonel Abercrombie's--not a fortnight ago he got out of his
pen and ketched a nigger and like to 'a' killed him."
"Maybe it's that same hoss in the field yonder," suggested George
Gossett.
"No," replied Mr. Fullalove. "That hoss is penned up so he can't git
out of his stable--much less the lot--if so be some un ain't took and
gone and turned him out and led him to the field. And if that had 'a'
been done you could 'a' heard him squealin' every foot of the way."
"If anybody wants to call the Old Boy a hoss," said the man who had
been first attacked, "they are more than welcome."
"Boys," remarked Mr. Fullalove, "if any of you have got the idee
that the Old Boy was after you, you'd better stay as fur from this
stillhouse as you can, and try to act as if you had souls for to
save. What have you done with your hosses?"
"We couldn't tote 'em, and so we had to leave 'em," Gossett answered,
making a poor effort to laugh. "What I hate about it is that I took a
fool notion and rode pap's horse to-night. He'll be hot as pepper."
"Ain't you going for to make some sorter effort to git your hosses
out of the field?" inquired Mr. Fullalove.
"He can have my hoss and welcome," said the man who insisted on the
Beelzebub theory.
"I wouldn't go in that field, not for forty horses," another
patroller protested.
"I might go there for forty horses," said George Gossett, "but I'll
not go back for one, even though it's pap's."
"Well, it's mighty quiet and serene up there now," suggested Mr.
Fullalove, listening with his hand to his ear.
"He's caught 'em and now he's skinning 'em," said the man who
believed Beelzebub was abroad that night.
The patrollers stayed at the stillhouse until the low-wines gave them
courage, and then they went home with George Gossett. They were bold
enough to go by the double gates, to see if they had been opened, but
the gates were closed tight. They listened a few moments, but not a
sound could be heard, save the loud, wailing cry of the peafowl that
rested on the Abercrombie house. As they went along the road they
found and caught four of the horses. The horse that George Gossett
had ridden was safe at home.
The young men agreed on one thing, namely: That they would give the
Abercrombie place the go-by for some time to come; while the man that
thought he had seen Beelzebub said that he was sick of the whole
business and would have no more of it, being more firmly convinced
than ever that the scenes they had witnessed were supernatural. Even
George Gossett declared that he intended to advise "pap" to sell the
runaway, "if he could find anybody fool enough to buy him."
It must not be forgotten that though Gossett and his companions were
the only ones that witnessed the terrifying spectacle presented by
the Black Stallion as he ran screaming about the pasture, they were
not the only ones that heard the uproar that accompanied it. The
negroes heard it, and every ear was bent to listen. Randall had his
hand raised over his head and held it there, as he paused to catch
the drift and meaning of the fuss. Big Sal was reaching in a corner
for her frying-pan. She paused, half bent, her arm reaching out,
while she listened. Turin was singing, but the song was suddenly cut
short.
Mr. Abercrombie heard it, but his thoughts were far afield, and so
he paid little attention to it. The geese, the guinea hens, and the
peafowl heard it and joined heartily in with a loud and lusty chorus.
Mammy Lucy heard it and came noiselessly to the library door and
looked in inquiringly.
"What is the noise about, Lucy?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.
"Dat what I wanter know, Marster. It soun' ter me like dat ar hoss
done got loose agin."
Then the White-Haired Master, remembering that he had consented for
Little Crotchet's "friend" to remove the Black Stallion to his new
quarters, regretted that he had been so heedless. It was all his own
fault, he thought, as he rose hastily and went out into the moonlight
bare-headed. He called Randall and Turin, and both came running.
"Go out to the pasture there, and see what the trouble is."
"Yasser, yasser!" they cried, and both went rapidly toward the field.
They ran until they got out of sight of their master, and then they
paused to listen. They started again, but not so swiftly as before.
"I know mighty well dat Marster don't want us ter run up dar where we
might git hurted," said Turin.
"Dat he don't!" exclaimed Randall.
Consoled by this view of the case, which was indeed the correct one,
they moved slower and slower as they came close to the pasture fence.
There they stopped and listened, and while they listened the uproar
came to a sudden end--to such a sudden end that Randall remarked
under his breath that it was like putting out a candle. For a few
brief seconds not a sound fell on the ears of the two negroes. Then
they heard a faint noise of some one running through the bushes in
the direction of the stillhouse.
"Ef I could git de notion in my head dat Marster don't keer whedder
we gits hurted er no," suggested Turin, "I'd mount dis fence an' go
in dar an' see who been kilt an' who done got away."
"I speck we better not go," remarked Randall, "kaze ef we wuz ter
rush in dar an' git mangled, Marster'd sholy feel mighty bad, an' fer
one, I don't want ter be de 'casion er makin' 'im feel bad."
By this time Mr. Abercrombie had become impatient, and concluded
to find out the cause of the uproar for himself. Randall and Turin
heard him coming, and they could see that he was accompanied by some
of the negroes. The two cautiously climbed the fence and went over
into the field, moving slowly and holding themselves in readiness for
instant flight. A cow bug, flying blindly, struck Turin on the head.
He jumped as if he had heard the report of a gun, and cried out in a
tone of alarm:--
"Who flung dat rock? You better watch out. Marster comin', an' he
got his hoss pistol 'long wid 'im."
"'Twa'n't nothing but a bug," said Randall.
"It de fust bug what ever raised a knot on my head," Turin declared.
"What was the trouble, Randall?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie from the
fence. His cool, decisive voice restored the courage of the negroes
at once.
"We des tryin' fer ter fin' out, suh. Whatsomever de racket wuz, it
stop, suh, time we got here--an' it seem like we kin hear sump'n
er somebody runnin' to'rds de branch over yander," replied Randall
heartily.
"Some of the mules were in the pasture to-day. See if they are safe."
"Yasser!" responded Randall, but his tone was not so hearty.
Nevertheless, he and Turin cautiously followed the line of the fence
until they found the mules in the corner in which they had taken
refuge. And the mules showed they were very glad to see the negroes,
following them back to the point where the path crossed the fence.
"De mules all safe an' soun', suh," explained Randall when they came
to where the master was. "Dey er safe an' soun', but dey er swyeatin'
mightily, suh."
"What do you suppose the trouble was?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.
Turin and Randall had not the least idea, but Susy's Sam declared
that he heard "dat ar hoss a-squealin'!"
"What horse?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.
"Dat ar Sir Moleon hoss, suh," replied Susy's Sam.
"That's what Lucy said," remarked Mr. Abercrombie.
"Marster, ef dat ar hoss had er been in dar, me an' Turin wouldn't er
stayed in dar long, an' dese yer mules wouldn't er been stan'in' in
de fence corner up yander."
But Mr. Abercrombie shook his head. He remembered that he had given
Little Crotchet permission to have the horse removed to his new
quarters.
"Some of you boys see if he is in his stable," he said.
They all went running, and before Mr. Abercrombie could get there,
though he walked fast, he met them all coming back. "He ain't dar,
Marster!" they exclaimed in chorus.
"See if he is in his new stable," said Mr. Abercrombie.
Again they all went running, Mr. Abercrombie following more
leisurely, but somewhat disturbed, nevertheless. And again they came
running to meet him, crying out, "Yasser! yasser! He in dar, Marster;
he sho is. He in dar an' eatin' away same like he been dar dis long
time."
"See if the key is in the lock," said Mr. Abercrombie to Randall.
Randall ran back to the stable and presently called out:--
"Dey ain't no key in de lock, Marster."
Mr. Abercrombie paused as if to consider the matter, and during that
pause he and Randall and Turin and Susy's Sam heard a voice saying:
"Look on the little Master's mantelpiece!"
The voice sounded faint and far away, but every word was clear and
distinct.
"Where did the voice come from?" asked Mr. Abercrombie.
The negroes shook their heads. They didn't know. It might have come
from the air above, or the earth beneath, or from any point of the
compass.
"Ask where the key is," said Mr. Abercrombie to Turin. His curiosity
was aroused.