II

The shadows were growing long upon wood and river when the light dip

of a paddle broke upon the stillness, and old Jerry, rousing from his

nap, spied a canoe gliding down stream, guided by two youths who, with

their guns lying crosswise upon their knees, were making for the bank.

"Mars Harry an' Mars Phil," he murmured, eying them with lazy

curiosity, as they brought their little craft to land, and after

making it fast, picked up their guns, crossed the levee, and struck

off into the swamp.

"Dey's after turkey, I 'speck; Mars Harry an' me, we's killed many a

varmint in dese here woods. Dey want no Mars Phil 'bout here in dem

days befo' ole Mars were tuck down."

Thus soliloquizing, the old man continued to gaze wistfully after the

retreating figures; for their appearance had seemed to bring a

disturbing element into his peaceful dreams, and a look of helpless

trouble overspread his face as, taking off his hat and slowly

scratching his head, he murmured:--

"Seem like it mos' a pity Mars Phil trouble hisself for to come here,

anyhow. Well, well, well! we folks all gwine be 'vided up 'twix Mars

Harry an' Mars Phil, 'cause ole Mars, he not long for dis world! Bless

de Lord, whinsoever it please Him for to teck ole Mars to hisself, I

trus' he gwine 'vide off Jerry to Mars Harry's shere, 'cause I

nachally ain't got no use for t'other one--he too outlondesh."

So saying, he rose and reached his bucket from the bough where it

hung. Drive, who had for some moments been watching him out of the

corner of one red eye, rose also, and the two set out upon their tramp

back to the cart.

The old man had climbed the fence, the dog had scrambled through, and

both were threading their way across the swamp, when the report of a

gun close by caused the dog to beat a retreat from the thicket into

which he had thrust his nose, and, with tail tucked in, to creep to

his master's side; while the old man, exclaiming, "Good Gor-a-mighty!

whot dat?" pushed aside the bushes in order to see what game the boys

had brought down.

The sight that met his eyes froze him with horror. Philip's lifeless

body lay upon the ground, while Harry, with scared white face, bent

over it.

For a brief space the old man stood as if petrified, then muttered:

"Jerry ain't gwine know nothin' bout dis here. When ole Mars say,

'Jerry, what you seen in de Vine Ridge Swash?' Jerry, he gwine say,

'Nothin', Marster, fo' de Lord. I seen nothin' 't all!' An' I ain't

gwine tell no lie, nuther, 'cause I ain't gwine look!"

Thus thinking, he cautiously drew back, and, with ashen face and limbs

that through trembling almost failed to support him, he stealthily

crept away until out of earshot; then took to his heels and fled.

When, however, he was forced to pause for breath, he considered if he

had done well to desert his young master, and turned reluctantly to

retrace his steps, when, as he did so, the air was suddenly rent with

ear-piercing shrieks for half a second, and Jerry's heart quailed.

"It's boun' to be de debil," he whispered. Then, a light seeming to

break upon him, he exclaimed: "Bless God! 't ain't nothin' but de ole

Chieftain a-blowin'."

The Chieftain, a small freight steamer, had recently taken the place

of the old flat-bottomed scows, and, as the steam whistle was still a

novelty, it is not surprising that Ung Jerry, in his terror, should

for the moment have mistaken it for some unearthly sound.

After many irresolute pauses, the old man at length reached the scene

of the disaster, and with shaking hands thrust aside the bushes.

Except for the small birds silently flitting to their roosts, the

place was utterly deserted. The level sunbeams glinted through the

gray moss, gilded the tree trunks, and glowed crimson upon the brown

leaves; the solitary peace of nature seemed unbroken; only the pool of

blood at Ung Jerry's feet told him that what he had witnessed had not

been a vision.

After a moment's survey he was turning away, when his eyes fell upon

the two guns: here, at least, was something tangible, and the old man

proceeded to secrete them in the fallen leaves. Squatted upon the

ground, he was too busily engaged to note the sound of approaching

footsteps, and started violently when a rough voice accosted him. He

mustered courage, however, to quaver:--

"Dat you, Mars Jones?"

"Me? of course it's me! Who did you reckon it was?"

"I dunno, Mars Jones."

"Well, you'll know next time, if you don't keep them hogs o' yourn

out of my corn. Why, that confounded old sow can destroy more corn in

one night than you are worth."

"Yes, Mars Jones, dat de trufe," meekly assented the old man.

Mars Jones, warming to the subject, now waxed more and more eloquent

over his grievances, until, having exhausted his pent up wrath, he had

leisure to observe old Jerry's ashen face and shaking limbs, and he

exclaimed:--

"Why, what's the matter with you? are you sick?"

"Yes, Mars Jones, I's been po'ly dis liblong day, an' I's gittin'

sassifrax for to make me a little drap o' tea, I's got sich a mis'ry."

"Sassafras!" here broke in Mars Jones; and, good-natured, despite his

roughness, he took from his pocket a _tickler_, and handing Jerry a

dram, said:

"Drink this, you old blockhead. _Sassifrax_, indeed!--what good you

reckon sassifrax goin' do you?"

With a scrape and a bow and a "Thank ye, Marster," the old man gulped

down the dram, and Mars Jones, replacing his _tickler_, was turning

away, when his foot slipped in something, and looking down he saw that

it was blood.

The dram had put so much heart into the old man that he was able to

reply glibly to Mars Jones's questions.

"Its jes' wha' I's been markin' hogs, Marster."

"I don't believe you; I believe you've been killin' one of your

master's hogs--that's what you've been at."

But as this did not concern him, he did not wait to inquire further,

and so, turning on his heel, he strode off.

The hog-feeder, too, hastening away, took the shortest path back to

his cart.

The deserted barnyard lay silent in the white moonlight when the

little cart creaked through the gate; but up at the "great house"

there were lights and movements where the family watched the coming of

the boys.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday passed without tidings, and the hope

that they had been caught by the rising water and imprisoned upon

some isolated knoll had been abandoned after the swamps had been

searched in every direction. To add to the grief of the household, the

master, already enfeebled, now lay prostrated in a condition that

almost forbade hope.

Upon Sunday the waters began to abate, fences again appeared, and

patches of drowned corn showed themselves above the wastes of water,

to the no small joy of the flocks of blackbirds which chattered and

fluttered amongst them.

Mr. Jones, tired of the loneliness of his water-girt home, made his

way to the meeting-house, more for the sake of a gossip with some of

the neighbors than for the day's preaching, and it was there that he

first heard the startling news of the unaccountable disappearance of

Squire Brace's nephews.

In the excitement, each man was eager to advance his own theory. The

discussion ended, however, in the general opinion that their canoe had

been swamped in the freshet and the boys drowned, until a newcomer

asserted that the canoe, with Phil's overcoat still in it, had been

found tied up at the Vine Ridge landing, and that their guns had been

discovered hidden in the leaves at no great distance in the swamp.

Upon hearing this, Mr. Jones could but call to mind his meeting with

the hog-feeder, his strange behavior, and the blood upon the ground,

and he at once jumped to the conclusion that old Jerry had been at

least a party to some foul deed. His suspicions, once made known,

became certainties, and the whole party, hastily mounting their

horses, rode off to the nearest justice, their convictions gaining

ground so rapidly that, ere the house of the justice was reached,

poor, simple old Jerry, the most harmless of God's creatures, had

become in their estimation a villain of the deepest dye.

Upon this identical Sunday morning the old hog-feeder betook himself

to the little plantation church, whose bell, with cracked clamor, gave

warning that preaching was about to begin.

The frosty brightness of the past week had given place to a soft

mist, through whose dimness the pale sunbeams looked sadly upon the

autumnal world; and as the old man, dressed in his Sunday clothes,

plodded along the path, the tiny crickets from beneath the grass sent

up their sad, perpetual dirge.

Men and women, all shining with Sabbath cleanness, came straggling

toward the church, silently and soberly, without the usual

light-hearted laughter, for the trouble at the "great house" was felt

by all the little band. Yet their feelings were not without a mixture

of pleasurable excitement, for all were anticipating with gloomy

satisfaction the lengthy prayers, the groanings, and the head-shakings

upon this mournful day.

The congregation had taken their seats, old Jethro had taken his place

in the pulpit, the long-drawn cadence of the funeral hymn had floated

sadly up to the "great house," when a noise at the door startled the

congregation, who, turning, beheld standing in the door a group of

white men. Among them was the overseer, who, coming forward,

announced that hog-feeder Jerry was to be arrested upon a charge of

murder. "Not that I believe it, men," he said, "but the law must take

its course."

In the meantime two others had approached the old man, who had already

stumbled to his feet, and, while bowing in a dazed kind of way, kept

murmuring, "Sarvent, Marsters."

Handcuffs were put upon him, and amid a profound silence he was led

forth and lifted into a cart. The two sheriffs took their places upon

each side of him, and the cortege moved off.

The people, having sufficiently recovered from their shock to jostle

one another out of the building, stood huddled together like a flock

of frightened sheep; but when the cavalcade had driven off, a subdued

clamor of voices arose, all unanimous in contempt for "dese here po'

white, who'd ha' knowed better 'n to come meddlin' long o' Marster's

folks ef Marster wan't down on de bed an' mos' like to die!"

That the dull and simple brain of the old man should have been capable

of any formulated plan is not to be imagined, and when upon the

following day he was taken before the justice for examination, he

merely acted from an instinct of affection in shielding his young

master, even at the risk of his own life. When questioned, he

preserved an obstinate silence; then, when forced to speak, denied

having seen either of the boys upon the day of their disappearance,

but, when cross-questioned, admitted that he had seen Mars Phil in the

Vine Ridge woods; and finally, when taxed with the blood upon the

ground and with having hidden the guns, he reluctantly admitted that

"ef Mars Phil had been hurted" he had done it.

"What did you do with the body?" questioned the justice; "throw it in

the river?"

A murmur from the prisoner, which passed for assent, concluded the

examination, and the justice, sorely puzzled, committed him to jail to

await his trial.

With the early morning, the country people had begun to gather around

the courthouse, and when told that the old miscreant had actually

confessed to the murder, their innate love of justice gave place to

fierce anger; and when the prisoner, gray with terror, bent and

tottering, was led forth, he was surrounded by a silent but determined

crowd, who, thrusting the sheriffs aside, seized and drove him before

them, and had already slipped the noose about his neck, when an

inarticulate shout caused the crowd to sway,--a horseman dashed into

their midst and proclaimed that both boys were alive. Their

disappearance had been explained on that morning by a letter forwarded

by hand, which ran as follows:--

On Board the Chieftain.

Dear Uncle,--This afternoon, while hunting in the Vine Ridge woods,

Phil's gun went off and wounded him in the side. I was at my wit's end

what to do, when I heard the Chieftain blow up the river; so I tore

off to the levee, where I was lucky enough to succeed in attracting

Captain Smith's attention, who sent off a boat, and we managed to get

Phil on board. I wanted Smith to put back to our landing, but he

thought the current too strong; and on the whole, I believe it is

better for Phil to keep on to Hilton, as it would be impossible to get

a doctor at home in this high water. Phil's hurt is not very serious,

I hope.

Your dutiful nephew,

Harry Brace.

* * * * *

On the day succeeding Harry's homecoming, he entered the room

designated the "study," in which the Squire was usually to be found

when indoors.

The room probably owed the name of "study" to a set of _Farmer's

Magazines_ which, in all the dignity of expensive bindings, divided

the shelf with a rather damaged edition of "The Turf Register," a

"Farrier's Manual," a brace of antiquated medical works, and a stack

of newspapers. Fishing tackle, a cupping apparatus, a set of

engineering instruments, half a dozen ears of extra fine seed corn,

medicine scales, and a huge cotton stock filled the rest of the

bookcase.

The Squire, seated before a blazing fire, in the lazy comforts of

convalescence, with pipe and tobacco at his elbow, presented a not

unenviable picture when contrasted with the wintry grayness outside.

Harry, who had been greatly touched by the old hog-feeder's

affectionate fidelity, now sought his uncle in order to beg that as a

recompense he might be given his freedom.

"Freedom!" exclaimed the Squire; "why, confound it, my dear boy, what

would he do with freedom, if he had it?"

"I think he would like it," Harry murmured, a little sheepishly.

"Why, he's as free as air now; a deuced sight freer than I am."

Nevertheless Harry gained his point, and though the Squire growled,

"You young jackanapes, you've robbed me of the best hog-feeder on the

river," still he was evidently pleased, and in the evening old Jerry

was sent for.

When, in answer to the summons, Jerry presented himself at the study

door, his master said to him, with a stateliness fitted to the

occasion:--

"Jerry, I have sent for you to tell you that your young master here,

as a reward for your fidelity, desires to give you your freedom."

Here the Squire paused, and Jerry, not knowing what else to say, said,

"Yes, Marster."

Harry, standing by, was feeling rather wrought up, while the Squire,

also somewhat excited, continued:--

"I will give you a house in the free settlement, out in the slashes,

and your young master will always take care of you."

Another rather disconcerting pause was broken by a second "Yes,

Marster;" and the old man, picking up his hat, shuffled out.

The Squire glanced at Harry with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes,

but the boy's face expressed such blank disappointment that he took

pity upon him, and, picking up a newspaper, dismissed the matter.

Upon the following evening a low knock was heard at the study door,

then a fumbling at the latch, and old Jerry once more stood upon the

threshold.

"Well, old man, what is it now?" his master asked kindly. "Come, out

with it!" he repeated, as the old man, with a feeble grin, stood

helplessly fingering his hat. "What's the matter?"