For a few days Joe Maxwell forgot all about Mr. Deometari, Mr.
Blandford, and Mr. Pruitt. There was distinguished company visiting
the editor of The Countryman--a young lady from Virginia, Miss Nellie
Carter, and her mother, and some young officers at home on furlough. One
of these young officers, a kinsman of the editor, brought his pack
of fox-hounds, and arrangements were made for a grand fox-hunt. The
plantation seemed to arouse itself to please the visitors. The negroes
around the house put on their Sunday clothes and went hurrying about
their duties, as if to show themselves at their best.
Joe was very glad when the editor told him that he was to go with the
fox-hunters and act as master of ceremonies. Fox-hunting was a sport
of which he was very fond, for it seemed to combine all the elements
of health and pleasure in outdoor life. Shortly after Joe went to the
plantation the editor of _The Countryman_ had brought from Hillsborough
a hound puppy, which had been sent him by a Mr. Birdsong. This Mr.
Birdsong was a celebrated breeder of fox-hounds, having at one time the
only pack south of Virginia that could catch a red fox. He was a great
admirer of the editor of _The Countryman_, and he sent him the dog as
a gift. In his letter Mr. Birdsong wrote that the puppy had been raised
under a gourd-vine, and so the editor called him Jonah. Joe Maxwell
thought the name was a very good one, but it turned out that the dog was
very much better than his name. The editor gave the dog to Joe, who
took great pains in training him. Before Jonah was six months old he had
learned to trail a fox-skin, and by the time he was a year old hardly a
morning passed that Joe did not drag the skin for the pleasure of seeing
Jonah trail it. He developed great speed and powers of scent, and he was
not more than two years old before he had run down and caught a red fox,
unaided and alone. Naturally, Joe was very proud of Jonah, and he was
glad of an opportunity to show off the dog's hunting qualities.
In training Jonah, Joe had also unwittingly trained an old fox that
made his home on the plantation. The fox came to be well known to
every hunter in the county. He was old, and tough, and sly. He had been
pursued so often that if he heard a dog bark in the early morning hours,
or a horn blow, he was up and away. The negroes called him “Old Sandy,”
and this was the name he came to be known by. Jonah when a puppy had
trailed Old Sandy many a time, and Joe knew all his tricks and turnings.
He decided that it would be well to give the young officer's pack some
exercise with this cunning old fox.
All the arrangements for the hunt were made by the editor. Joe Maxwell
was to escort Miss Nellie Carter, who, although a Virginian and a good
horsewoman, had never ridden across the country after a fox. The lad was
to manage so that Miss Carter should see at least as much of the hunt
as the young men who were to follow the hounds, while Harbert was to
go along to pull down and put up the fences. To Joe this was a new and
comical feature of fox-hunting, but the editor said that this would be
safer for Miss Carter.
When the morning of the hunt arrived, Joe was ready before any of the
guests, as he had intended to be. He wanted to see to everything, much
to Harbert's amusement. Like all boys, he was excited and enthusiastic,
and he was very anxious to see the hunt go off successfully. Finally,
when all had had a cup of coffee, they mounted their horses and were
ready to go.
“Now, then,” said Joe, feeling a little awkward and embarrassed, as he
knew that Miss Nellie Carter was looking and listening, “there must be
no horn-blowing until after the hunt is over. Of course, you can blow
if you want to,” Joe went on, thinking he had heard one of the young men
laugh, “but we won't have much of a hunt. We are going after Old Sandy
this morning, and he doesn't like to hear a horn at all. If we can keep
the dogs from barking until we get to the field, so much the better.”
“You must pay attention,” said Miss Carter, as some of the young men
were beginning to make sarcastic suggestions. “I want to see a real
fox-hunt, and I'm sure it will be better to follow Mr. Maxwell's
advice.”
Joe blushed to here his name pronounced so sweetly, but in the dim
twilight of morning his embarrassment could not be seen.
“Are your dogs all here, sir?” he asked the young man who had brought
his hounds. “I have counted seven, and mine makes eight.”
“Is yours a rabbit-dog?” the young man asked.
“Oh, he's very good for rabbits,” replied Joe, irritated by the
question.
“Then hadn't we better leave him?” the young man asked, not unkindly,
“He might give us a good deal of trouble.”
“I'll answer for that,” said Joe. “If everybody is ready, we'll go.”
“You are to be my escort, Mr. Maxwell,” said Miss Carter, taking her
place by Joe's side, “and I know I shall be well taken care of.”
The cavalcade moved off and for a mile followed the public road. Then it
turned into a lane and then into a plantation road that led to what
was called the “Turner old field,” where for three or four years, and
perhaps longer, Old Sandy had made his headquarters. By the time the
hunters reached the field, which was a mile in extent, and made up
of pasture-land overgrown with broom-sedge, wild plum-trees, and
blackberry-vines, the dawn had disappeared before the sun. Red and
yellow clouds mingled together in the east, and a rosy glow fell across
the hills and woods. As they halted for Harbert to take down the fence,
Joe stole a glance at his companion, and as she sat with her lips parted
and the faint reflection of the rosy sky on her cheeks, he thought
he had never seen a prettier picture. Jonah seemed to be of the same
opinion, for he stood by the young lady's horse, looking into her face,
and whistled wistfully through his nose.
“That is your dog, I know!” said Miss Carter. “Why, he's a perfect
beauty! Poor fellow!” she exclaimed, stretching her arm out and
filliping her fingers. Jonah gathered himself together, leaped lightly
into the air, and touched her fair hand with his velvet tongue. Joe
blushed with delight. “Why, he jumped as high as a man's head!” she
cried. “I know he will catch the fox.”
“I think we have stolen a march on Old Sandy,” said Joe, “and if we
have, you'll see a fine race. I hope the other dogs can keep up.”
“Ah,” said their owner, “they are Maryland dogs.”
“My dog,” said Joe, proudly, “is a Birdsong.”
By this time the hunters had crossed the fence, and the dogs, with the
exception of Jonah, were beginning to cast about in the broom-sedge and
brier-patches.
“I hope Jonah isn't lazy,” said Miss Carter, watching the dog as he
walked in quiet dignity by the side of her horse.
“Oh, no,” said Joe, “he isn't lazy; but he never gets in a hurry until
the time comes.”
The young men tried to tease Joe about Jonah, but the lad only smiled,
and Jonah gradually worked away from the horses. It was noticed that he
did not hunt as closely as the other dogs, nor did he nose the ground as
carefully. He swept the field in ever-widening circles, going in an
easy gallop, that was the perfection of grace, and energy, and strength.
Presently Harbert cried out:
“Looky yonder, Marse Joe! Looky yonder at Jonah!”
All eyes were turned in the direction that Harbert pointed. The dog
was hunting where the brown sedge was higher than his head, and he had
evidently discovered something, for he would leap into the air, look
around, and drop back into the sedge, only to go through the same
performance with increasing energy.
“Why don't he give a yelp or two and call the other dogs to help him?”
exclaimed one of the young men.
“He's no tattler,” said Joe, “and he doesn't need any help. That fox has
either just got up or he isn't twenty yards away. Just wait!”
The next moment Jonah gave tongue with thrilling energy, repeated the
challenge twice, and was off, topping the fence like a bird. The effect
on the other dogs was magical; they rushed to the cry, caught up the
red-hot drag, scrambled over the fence the best they could, and went
away, followed by a cheer from Harbert that shook the dew from the
leaves. The young men were off, too, and Joe had all he could do to hold
his horse, which was in the habit of running with the hounds. The sound
of the hunt grew fainter as the dogs ran across a stretch of meadow-land
and through a skirt of woods to the open country beyond; and Joe and
Miss Carter, accompanied by Harbert, proceeded leisurely to the brow of
a hill near by.
“If that is Old Sandy,” said Joe, “he will come across the Bermuda field
yonder, turn to the left, and pass us not very far from that dead pine.”
Joe was very proud of his knowledge.
“Why, we shall see the best of the hunt!” cried Miss Carter,
enthusiastically.
They sat on their horses and listened. Sometimes the hounds seemed to
be coming nearer, and then they would veer off. Finally, their musical
voices melted away in the distance. Joe kept his eyes on the Bermuda
field, and so did Harbert, while Miss Carter tapped her horse's mane
gently with her riding-whip, and seemed to be enjoying the scene. They
waited a long time, and Joe was beginning to grow disheartened, when
Harbert suddenly exclaimed:
“Looky yonder, Marse Joe! what dat gwine 'cross de Bermuda pastur'?”
Across the brow of the hill slipped a tawny shadow--slipped across and
disappeared before Miss Carter could see it.
“That's Old Sandy,” cried Joe; “now watch for Jonah!”
Presently the hounds could be heard again, coming nearer and nearer.
Then a larger and a darker shadow sprang out of the woods and swept
across the pasture, moving swiftly and yet with the regularity of
machinery. At short intervals a little puff of vapor would rise from
this black shadow, and then the clear voice of Jonah would come ringing
over the valley. Then the rest of the dogs, a group of shadows, with
musical voices, swept across the Bermuda field.
“Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed Miss Carter, clapping her little hands.
“Wait,” said Joe; “don't make any noise. He'll pass here, and go to
the fence yonder, and if he isn't scared to death you'll see a pretty
trick.”
It was a wide circle the fox made after he passed through the Bermuda
field. He crossed the little stream that ran through the valley, skirted
a pine thicket, ran for a quarter of a mile along a plantation path, and
then turned and came down the fallow ground that lay between the creek
and the hill where Joe and Miss Carter, with Harbert, had taken their
stand. It was a comparatively level stretch of nearly a half-mile. The
old corn-rows ran lengthwise the field, and down one of these Old Sandy
came in full view of those who were waiting to see him pass. He was
running rapidly, but not at full speed, and, although his tongue was
hanging out, he was not distressed. Reaching the fence two hundred yards
away from the spectators, he clambered lightly to the top, sat down on
a rail and began to lick his fore-paws, stopping occasionally, with one
paw suspended in the air, to listen to the dogs. In a moment or two more
Jonah entered the field at the head of the valley. Old Sandy, carefully
balancing himself on the top rail of the fence, walked it for a hundred
yards or more, then gathering himself together sprang into the air and
fell in the broom-sedge fully twenty feet away from the fence.
“Oh, I hope the dogs won't catch him!” exclaimed Miss Carter. “He surely
deserves to escape!”
“He got sense like folks,” said Harbert.
“He stayed on the fence too long. Just look at Jonah!” cried Joe.
The hound came down the field like a whirlwind. He was running at least
thirty yards to the left of the furrow the fox had followed.
“Why, he isn't following the track of the fox,” exclaimed Miss Carter.
“I thought hounds trailed foxes by the scent.”
“They do,” said Joe, “but Jonah doesn't need to follow it as the other
dogs do. The dog that runs with his nose to the ground can never catch a
red fox.”
“Isn't he beautiful!” cried the young lady, as Jonah rushed past, his
head up and his sonorous voice making music in the air. He topped the
fence some distance above the point where the fox had left it, lost the
trail, and made a sweeping circle to the right, increasing his speed as
he did so. Still at fault, he circled widely to the left, picked up the
drag a quarter of a mile from the fence, and pushed on more eagerly than
ever. The rest of the dogs had overrun the track at the point where the
fox had turned to enter the field, but they finally found it again, and
went by the spectators in fine style, running together very prettily.
At the fence they lost the trail, and for some minutes they were casting
about. One of the younger dogs wanted to take the back track, but
Harbert turned him around, and was about to set the pack right, when the
voice of Jonah was heard again, clear and ringing. Old Sandy, finding
himself hard pushed, had dropped flat in the grass and allowed the hound
to overrun him. Then he doubled, and started back. He gained but little,
but he was still game. Jonah whirled in a short circle, and was after
the fox almost instantly. Old Sandy seemed to know that this was his
last opportunity. With a marvelous burst of speed he plunged through the
belated dogs that were hunting for the lost drag, slipped through
the fence, and went back by the spectators like a flash. There was a
tremendous outburst of music from the dogs as they sighted him, and for
one brief moment Joe was afraid that Jonah would be thrown out. The next
instant the dog appeared on the fence, and there he sighted the fox. It
was then that the courage and speed of Jonah showed themselves. Nothing
could have stood up before him. Within a hundred yards he ran into the
fox. Realizing his fate, Old Sandy leaped into the air with a squall,
and the next moment the powerful jaws of Jonah had closed on him.
[Illustration: 0216]
By this time the rest of the hunters had come in sight. From a distance
they witnessed the catch. They saw the rush that Jonah made; they saw
Miss Carter and Joe Maxwell galloping forward; they saw the lad leap
from his horse and bend over the fox, around which the dogs were jumping
and howling; they saw him rise, with hat in hand, and present something
to his fair companion; and then they knew that the young lady would ride
home with Old Sandy's brush suspended from her saddle.
These hunters came up after a while. Their horses were jaded, and the
riders themselves looked unhappy.
“Did you notice which one of my dogs caught the fox?” asked the young
man to whom the pack belonged.
“No, sir, I did not,” said Joe.
“I declare that is too funny!” exclaimed Miss Carter, laughing merrily,
and then she went on to describe the chase as she saw it. The young man
smiled as though he thought it was all a joke, and that night he called
up Harbert, and offered him a dollar in Confederate money if he would
tell the truth about the matter. Harbert told him the truth, but it was
so unpleasant that the young man forgot all about the money, although a
dollar at that time was worth not more than twelve and a half cents.
Miss Carter seemed to be almost as proud of Jonah's performance as Joe
was, and this made the lad feel very proud and happy. But, as they were
going home, an incident happened which, for the time, and for some days
afterward, drove all thoughts of Jonah and fox-hunting out of his mind.
The hunters went back the way they had come, and shortly after they
entered the public road they met a small procession that turned out to
be very interesting, especially to Joe. First, there was a spring wagon,
drawn by one horse and driven by a negro. On the seat with the negro,
and securely fastened with ropes, was Mr. John Pruitt, the deserter.
Behind the negro and Mr. Pruitt were two soldiers with guns, and three
soldiers mounted on horses, and armed, acted as escort. The young
officers who had been hunting with Joe Maxwell stopped the wagon and
made inquiries until they had satisfied their curiosity. Joe would
have spoken to Mr. Pruitt, but the latter, by an almost imperceptible
movement of the head, seemed to forbid it. His face was as serene as
if he had been on dress parade. As the wagon was about to move on, he
spoke:
“Ain't that the young chap that works in the printin'-office down by
Phoenix school-house?” he asked, nodding his head toward Joe, without
looking at him.
“Yes,” said one of the young officers.
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Pruitt, drawing a long breath, “I wish you'd
please tell him to be so good ez to git word to my wife down in the
Yarberry settlement that I won't have a chance to come home in a week or
more, an' she'll hafter do the best she kin tell I git back.”
Joe said he would be glad to do so.
“I 'low'd he would,” said Mr. Pruitt, still speaking to the young
officer; “an' I'm mighty much erbliged.”
Then the little procession moved on toward Hillsborough, and the hunters
went homeward. Miss Nellie Carter was very much interested.
“He doesn't look a bit like a deserter,” she said, impulsively, “and
I'm sure there's some mistake. I don't believe a deserter could hold his
head up.”
Joe then made bold to tell her what he had heard--that Mr. Pruitt and
several other soldiers had come home because they heard their families
were suffering for food. Miss Carter was very much interested, and
wanted to go with the lad to visit Mrs. Pruitt.
“But I can't go,” said Joe; “there's nobody to do my work in the
printing-office. I'll send Mrs. Pruitt word to-night by some of the
negroes.”
“No, no!” cried Miss Carter, “that will never do. I'll see my cousin
and tell him about it. You must go to-day, and I'll go with you. Oh, it
mustn't be postponed; you must go this very afternoon! Why, what is this
little newspaper you are printing out here in the woods? The woman may
be suffering.”
Miss Carter saw her cousin, the editor, and lost no time in telling him
about Mr. Pruitt and his family. The editor, who was one of the best of
men, was so much interested that, instead of sending Joe with the young
lady, he went himself, taking in his buggy a stout hamper of provisions.
When they came back, Miss Carter's eyes were red, as if she had been
crying, and the editor looked very serious.
“I'm very glad you didn't go,” he said to Joe, when Miss Carter had
disappeared in the house.
“Was anybody dead?” asked Joe.
“No,” replied the editor. “Oh, no; nothing so bad as that. But the woman
and her children have been in a terrible fix! I don't know who is to
blame for it, but I shall score the county officers and the Ladies' Aid
Society in the next paper. These people have been actually in a starving
condition, and they look worse than if they had gone through a spell
of fever. They are nothing but skin and bones. The main trouble is that
they live in such an out-of-the-way place. The house is a mile from the
public road, and hard to find.”
“I heard,” said Joe, “that the provost-marshal had something to do with
holding back supplies that ought to have gone to Mr. Pruitt's family.”
“How could he?” asked the editor; and then he added, quickly: “Why,
of course he could; he is in charge of everything. He is judge, jury,
lawyer, and general dictator. Who told you about it?”
“I heard it in town,” said Joe.
“Well, he's a mean rascal,” said the editor. He bade Joe good-evening,
and started in the house, but half-way up the steps he paused and called
to the lad.
“Here's something I forgot to ask you about,” he said, taking a letter
from his pocket. “It is a note from Deo about you. What do you know
about Deo?”
“About me?” said Joe. “I used to know Mr. Deo when I was a little boy.”
“Well, you are not such a big boy now,” said the editor, smiling. “Here
is what Deo says: 'You have a boy working in your printing-office who
can make himself very useful in a good cause when the time comes. His
name is Joe Maxwell, and he is a very good friend of mine. At least he
used to be. Before long I shall send for him, and, whether I send in the
day or in the night, I want you to let him come. If I were to tell you
now what I want with him, you would laugh and say that all fat men are
foolish. What I want him to do can be done only by a woman or a boy. A
woman is not to be thought of, and I know of no boy I can trust except
Maxwell. Just give him your permission beforehand, so that there will be
no delay.' Now what do you think about it?” inquired the editor.
“May I go?” asked Joe.
“That is for you to decide,” said the editor. “I have been knowing
Deometari for nearly twenty years. He's a good lawyer and a clever man.
But, if you do go, be careful of yourself. Don't get into any trouble.
Tell Deo that all of us like you out here, and we don't want any
foolishness.”