As the negroes had gone out toward the Little Moccasin Swamp, all of
them had passed a buggy that was moving at the slowest gait of the
horse. The driving lines were wrapped around the whip, the horse moved
sedately and slowly down the middle of the road. On the seat of the
buggy was a young man who seemed to be able to see nothing but the girl
who sat beside him; and if any other man had been blind to the presence
of that girl, it could have been said of him that he had no appreciation
of feminine beauty and loveliness. As the buggy passed the long,
straggling procession of negroes, there was one fact so striking that
the man asked:
“What are all these people wearing chicken feathers in their hats for?”
“I don’t know,” the girl answered. “Nobody can tell what a negro is
going to do.”
The negroes turned off into a little bridle path, leaving the road free
for the horse and buggy, and the young folks promptly forgot them. But
when they drove at the same leisurely gait into Tickfall, they passed
the Hen-Scratch saloon. There they beheld a diminutive darky, dressed in
ragged clothes, seated in a disconsolate attitude on the curbstone in
front of that popular barroom. His name was Little Bit, and both noticed
that he wore a chicken feather in his hat.
For some reason the horse stopped in front of the barroom. Possibly the
animal had been there before. The young man and woman did not object,
for they had no destination in mind, and it really did not matter where
they went or where they were.
“Look here, colored boy!” Jim spoke. “What are you and all the other
negroes wearing that feather in your hat for?”
“Dat sign is fer aviators, boss,” Little Bit answered.
Miss Juan Chieniere turned and shot a significant glance at the young
man sitting beside her.
That young man’s face turned as white as milk. The lines of gentleness
and good nature around his mouth changed until the whole face was drawn
in lineaments of desperate recklessness. The one thought in his mind, of
course, was that a scouting party had been sent out to look for the lost
airplane, and the aviators had come to Tickfall. He had no idea what
punishment would await him at the aviation camp if he was captured in
Tickfall and taken back.
Something of his great danger was conceived by the girl, and she asked
in a nervous voice:
“What aviators, Little Bit?”
“I dunno, Miss Jew-ann,” Little Bit answered. “But all de niggers has
gone out to the Little Moccasin prairie to see the airships. Dey
wouldn’t let me go. Dey made me stay at home and take keer of de
saloon.”
This remark confirmed Jim Gannaway’s fears that the scouting party had
really arrived in Tickfall. He had scanned the horizon many times since
his arrival in that neighborhood on the evening before, and he wondered
how that scouting party had arrived without his seeing them. His soul
was tormented with anxiety, and he turned and looked at the girl as if
he was seeing her for the last time. Dismounting from the buggy, he
stood close beside her and said:
“Juan, I took a desperate risk in coming from the aviation camp to see
you. I could not borrow a machine for the purpose, and could not have
got leave of absence, so I had to swipe a machine. I told you I had come
to get your promise to marry me, but I cannot ask you now because I have
no idea what they will do to me when they take me back to camp.”
“What about that beautiful lie, Jim?” she asked with trembling lips.
“It would have been all right if I had made my way back to the camp
without being caught; but now they have come after me, and there is
nothing for me to tell but the beautiful truth.”
“What is the beautiful truth, Jim?” she asked.
“It is that I loved you so much that I was willing to take the most
desperate chances to see you. Whatever may happen to me for what I have
done will be but a small payment exacted from me in return for the
pleasure I have had.”
With the adorable impudence of the Frenchwoman, Miss Juan straightened
back in the buggy and looked at him with eyes that sparkled.
“I have a beautiful truth to say, also,” she asserted. “It is, that I
love you, and if you ever get out of your troubles alive I will marry
you; and if you get killed for what you have done, I will mourn for you
forever and forever.”
She reached out and drew his head to her and kissed him.
“Go!” she said, as she pointed toward the Little Moccasin Swamp, “and
remember that my love goes with you.”
He did not hesitate a moment, but turned and left her, pausing only to
wave back at her as he passed out of sight around the nearest corner.
The girl turned her buggy and started slowly back toward her home, her
heart heavy and her lovely face picturing her wretchedness.
To all of this, Little Bit had been an interested witness. It was a free
show, no charge for admission; the first time in his life he had seen a
love scene between two white folks.
It was evidently funny to him, for he sat there laughing aloud, and his
laugh bore a strong resemblance to the cackling of a hen.