TIED TO A TREE.
The sun was down and the stars were abroad and the young moon looked
like a silver bear-claw in the sky when Jasper turned his steers
homeward; and all the party broke out in song as down the hill they
rattled. The shallows in the river sang too, and high in a tree, a bird
too riotous to leave off with the coming of night, was carrolling the
tired end of his spree. Suddenly all singing stopped. There was a
flutter in the bushes and birds flew away and a rabbit scampered over a
log. It was a loud cry of distress and all nature heeds the cry of pain.
Laugh and the bird listens; shriek and it flies away.
"Whoa!" shouted Jasper. "What was that yell?"
"Someone in distress," Tom answered. "Seems to be over to the left."
They listened. The cry came again, and upon it was borne the words,
distinct now in the stillness: "Fur de Lawd's sake doan kill me."
"Come on!" Jasper shouted, as he leaped out of the wagon; and everyone
followed him. "Hold on thar!" the old man cried. "Don't tetch him
whoever you air. Do you hear me? It's Jasper Starbuck that's a talkin'
to you."
Down a slant and in an open space there was a fire of twigs, and in its
light were four men, one a negro bound hand and foot, the others an
oldish man and evidently his two sons.
"What's the matter here?" Jasper demanded.
"Wall," replied the oldish man, "whatever it is, it ain't no affair of
yourn. Tie him across the log, boys."
The negro implored mercy. "Marster, ez de Lawd is my jedge, I ain't
guilty. I ain't been er good man--I 'knowledges dat, but dis time I
ain't guilty."
"Hold on," Jasper demanded, and the women, standing behind him, murmured
commendation of his course. Tom and Jim stood apart, in positions of
advantage in the event that there should be a fight. "Hold on," Starbuck
repeated, speaking to the father of the two young men. "You must be a
newcomer in these here parts, or you would have held on at the first
command. Don't reckon you know me."
"I don't know you, but I know my own business. My name is Sanderson, and
I am from North Caroliny, and we air goin' to whup this nigger within a
inch of his life or know the reason why."
"All right," said Jasper, taking off his hat and scratching his head.
"That is, if I don't give you the reason why. Thar happens to be a
reason. But befo' I git down to it, let me ask what this po' devil's
done."
The negro broke out with fresh imploration. "Ole marster, save me. I
ain't nuthin' on dis big yearth--dar ain't no way fur me ter be no
count. De Lawd ain't gib me whut he has you folks. He has put me yeah
ter run like er rabbit wheneber I sees er white man er comin', an' I do
hopes you take my part. I'll tell you whut he 'cuze me erbout. I wuz er
comin' laung de road, an' I yeard a dog yelp, an' I come ter de dog er
minit later an' he lay dar in de road wid his head mashed. I wuz er
lookin' at de po' thing when up come deze men an' 'cuzed me er killin'
him; but old marster, let me tell you suthin': dar's mighty few niggers
dat eber kills er dog, caze de dog an' de nigger so close ter de yearth
da's friends. I didn't kill de dog."
"Mister," said Sanderson, "I mout come yo' way a thousand times and I
never would interfere with you, and my advice to you now is, don't
interfere with me. You spoke of me not knowin' you. Wall, you don't know
me, nuther."
"Jasper," Margaret exclaimed, "that's a threat, an' don't you let the
fack that us women folks air here stand in yo' way."
"No," cried Mrs. Mayfield, "we will all fight to protect this poor
creature."
Something gleamed in Lou's hand. It was a penknife. She said nothing,
but she stepped forward, the spirit of vengeance come out of the night;
but the old man touched her on the arm and said: "Little sweetheart, you
can't find no wild vines to dig up here with yo' knife."
"No," said Tom, "let me take it," and whispering, he added, "One word
from you and I will cut his throat. But you must be still."
She smiled at him and replied: "I will, because you say so," and again
the shy girl, trembling in the presence of one who loved her, she shrank
back and was a graceful shadow in the dusk.
"Mr. Stranger," said Jasper, "I am waitin' fur you ter untie that po'
old nigger."
"Thank you, Mr. Stranger," said the North Carolina man, "and I will when
we git through with him. He wanted to kill my dog so as he could steal
suthin', and a thief ought to be punished. That's a law I take with me
wharever I go."
"Good law," Jasper replied. "And thar's a law that's allus in force whar
I live and it's this here: when a thief is accused there must be some
proof befo' he is punished."
Jim spoke for the first time. He had stood with folded arms, and
sometimes his lips moved as if he were muttering a prayer. And now his
voice was as solemn as a benediction: "The poor Ethiopian was lead down
into the waters of forgiveness and baptized. In the sight of the Savior
the color of his skin had not made him a sinner. About the weak and the
wretched the gospel threw its protecting arm, and to-night it is here
to do the same. I represent the gospel, and as the gospel, I ask you to
liberate that man."
"Hah, preacher," replied Sanderson. "And what if I don't pay no
attention to the gospel?"
And Jim's voice was deep and solemn when he answered: "Then Jim
Starbuck, the man, will mash your head and throw you out into the road
where your dog is lying."
Old Jasper slapped himself and laughed, but there were tears in his
eyes. "Thar won't be no necessity for that, Jim. You know my appetite
ain't been right good lately--I've needed exercise, and the sort of
exercise I need, this here man is goin' to help me to take. Mister, once
mo' I ask you to untie that po' nigger, and then we will git at the
evidence. You hearn what the preacher said, and--"
Through the bushes a man came stalking. He was rugged and brusque, but
he bowed to the women and offered to shake hands with the men; but
Jasper inquired as to his business upon the scene, and put him back upon
formality until this point should be settled.
"Why, it's jest this," said he, looking round at the negro. "I was a
drivin' down the hill jest now, and a drivin' peart, when out run a dog
and bit at my hosses' feet. One of the hosses knocked him down and befo'
he could git up the wheel run over him. It made me mad, come a bitin' at
my hosses, an' I driv on, but I got to thinkin' that somebody mout be
accused of killin' him, so I come back, an' shore enough here you'd got
a nigger tied up. The killin' was a accident."
"All right, gentlemen," said Sanderson. "I'll turn him loose, and it
will be a good lesson fur him--it will l'arn him not to kill no dog of
mine. Cut the rope, Bob," he added, speaking to one of the boys.
The negro dropped down upon his knees to thank Jasper, but the old man
bade him arise and go about his business. "I would have done the same
for a dog," said he. "Wait a minit. You don't look like you've had
anythin' to eat lately. Here, boys, let's give him a few dimes."
Contributions were quicker and more spontaneous than the pennies that
fall in the twilight upon the outstretched banner of the Salvation
armyist; the newcomer took a piece of smooth silver out of a yarn sack
and handed it over, following the pace which Jasper had set. Tom gave a
dollar and Jim contributed enough to buy a hymn-book.
"Gentlemen," said Sanderson, "when I think a man's done wrong I want
blood, and sometimes I reckon I'm a little hot-headed about it--my
jestice is sorter blind--but when I find he hain't done wrong, w'y I
don't love money. Here, nigger, here's fifty cents, and I want you to
understand you mustn't kill a dog of mine."
With a broad grin, catching the reflection of the silver in his hand,
the negro bowed low. "No, sah, I ain't gwine kill no dog o' yo'n. Ef I
wuz ter meet yo' dog, I'd say, 'come yeah,' an' I'd hug him right dar.
Huh, I neber seed sich putty women folks in my life, an' I knows da's de
cause o' deze white folks gibbin' me all dis money. Huh, I wouldn' mine
bein' tied up dar ag'in. Mr. Sanderson, I blebe dat yo' name, I'll go
an' bury yo' dog fur you. Ladies an' gennermen, under de moon an' yeah
'neath de trees, I wush you good-night."
"Poetic duck," said Tom, as the darkey turned away.
"Charming in his pleading and in his gallantry," his aunt replied.
"Must have been brought up in the white folks' house," Sanderson
remarked, and then, bowing to the company, marshalled his boys and
marched off.
"Margaret," said Jasper, when again they were seated in the wagon, "I am
proud of you."
"No, you ain't, no sich of a thing, an' you only want a chance to tell
me so." He had slipped one arm about her and her head was on his
shoulder.
"Beautiful," Mrs. Mayfield whispered to Jim. "Ah, what a day this has
been to me. And, Mr. Reverend, I have begun to think that there is
something good about nearly every one. Even that man whom we thought was
such a brute became gentle."
"That's true, ma'm, but I think that there's one man that is absolutely
depraved. Not the murderer, for he might feed the hungry. Not the
wife-beater, for afterward he might beg her forgiveness and kiss her.
Not the man that would rob the dead, for he might give a penny to a
little child. But the man whose soul is in love with money. I don't
mean his soul, for he has none, but the man whose every thought is
money, money. He is a murderer, a wife-beater, a robber of the dead. He
can sleep at night when he knows that by his shrewdness, which has won
him friends among the rich, he has stretched out upon the bare floor a
starving child. Christ did not die for that man."
"No, Mr. Reverend," she replied, her head hung low; and something
dropped upon his hand--a tear.
Like two birds Lou and Tom were twittering. He asked her if she had been
happy that day because she did not think, and she answered that she had
been happy because she had thought.
Suddenly someone ran out of the woods in front of the steers. The wagon
stopped and Jasper shouted: "Whut's the matter here?"
A voice replied: "Wy, sah, atter buryin' de dog I tuck a sho't cut ter
head you off. I's de nigger, an' my heart wuz heavy, an' I had ter come
an' tell you suthin'. You'se Mr. Starbuck, ain't you?"
"Yes, but what about it?"
"Wall, sah, atter I tell you, w'y you kin tie me ter er tree an' whup
me ef you wants ter, but I got ter tell you. Not laung ergo, I stole er
chicken from yo' roost. An' now you may punish me."
"Hah? What sort of a chicken?"
"Er rooster, sah."
"What, that old dominecker?"
"Yas, sah, de dominecker."
"Did yon eat him?"
"Yas, sah, I eat him."
"Wall, that was punishment enough. Git up here, boys."
It was the first time that Mrs. Mayfield had ever heard Jim laugh. He
roared and he whooped as the wagon rattled along, and she was afraid
that he was going to fall off. She asked him a question and he answered
with a snort.
When they reached home a man was standing at the gate. Jasper inquired
who it was, for in the dark he could not distinguish his visitor, and a
voice replied:
"It's me, Gabe Wells--hollered helloa, and you wanted me to fetch you a
newsparer an' a can of cove oysters an' about a straw hat full of
crackers."
"Why, yes, Gabe, come in. Wondered why you hadn't fotch them oysters
over. Next to chitterlin's I reckon they air the best things in the
world."
When they were at supper, with Gabe eating as if he had not eaten at
home, Jasper related their adventure in the woods, and Gabe declared
that he would like to take a hand in such an affair. He swore roundly
that Sanderson was a brute, but when he heard that with the rest he had
contributed money, he wiped his mouth and said: "You can't allus tell.
That feller's a gentleman, an' some time a passel of us must hitch up
an' drive over to see him. We can't afford to negleck such neighbors as
him."
"What sort of a newspaper did you fetch, Gabe?" Margaret inquired, and
he handed her "The Fire-Side Companion."
"Full of news from beginnin' to end," he said. "None of yo' tame stuff
about Uncle Billy a comin' to town with a load of wood or Aunt Sally a
renewin' of her per-scription."
"Any discussion a goin' on down at town?" Jasper asked, and Gabe began
to rack his memory.
"Wall, no, I b'lieve not. Hearn one feller call one man a liar."
"Whut come of it?"
"Oh, nuthin' much. Hauled him home in a wagin. Say, it was the puttiest
wagin I ever seen--yaller stripes on the wheels, an' it clucked like a
hen with her fust drove of chickens. But I tell you I come mighty nigh a
gittin' some money down thar. A feller had three shells an' bet me I
couldn't guess which one of 'em he put a pea under. I seed him put it
under one--seed him jest as cl'ar as I see you, an' I would have bet him
five dollars, but--"
"But what?"
"Didn't have the money. Allus my luck. Ever' time I've come across a
chance fur a good speckerlation I ain't got no money. But I must be
goin'--I don't know, howsomedever, fur wife must have fed the stock by
this time. Lemme see. I reckon I better go."
That night when the romantic woman from the city was asleep, she did not
dream that the preacher was on his knees, with clasped hands, gazing up
at her window.