The road leading up to Mercy Plantation was lined with tall oak trees, standing like soldiers on parade. The smell of fresh cut grass hung in the air. Through the trees, the three riders could see the many cotton fields. The crop had already been harvested, leaving the ground empty. Except for a couple of men cutting wood, the estate looked deserted. Before long a majestic mansion came into view.
Cooper had lived in New Orleans for the past three months but had never seen as palatial a home like the one in front of him. The white house was long and had two stories. There were curved stairs on either side of the front entrance that led from the ground floor to the second story. Tall Greco-Roman columns ran across the front of the mansion supporting a sloped red-brick tiled roof. Red and white roses were in bloom in large ceramic pots lined up next to a brick footpath leading to the front doors.
The men dismounted their horses and looked around. Within seconds, a young boy who had been picking up wood ran over and took hold of all three horse's reins. His eyes lit up when he saw Hawkins in his uniform.
"Gentlemen, can I take your horses?" asked the boy.
"Of course it is," replied Cooper, noticing how well the youth spoke. "If you promise to take good care of them, I'll give you a nickel for your troubles."
"Yes, sir," said the youth, smiling from ear to ear.
"Be mindful of what you do here, Captain. It doesn't help the others if you spoil the child," cautioned Owens.
"Whatever do you mean?" asked Cooper.
"I don't know what Mister Stone pays his Negroes to work the land, but it probably isn't much. Lincoln may have set them free, but they sure as hell ain't being paid the same wage as a white farmhand. Trust me, you don't want to make the others jealous of the boy. It will only lead to trouble."
Cooper shook his head as he stepped to the front door and knocked twice on the large, oval brass door knocker that looked like it was being clenched in the mouth of a wild boar. A few seconds passed before the entrance swung open and a white-haired black man wearing a black suit with long tails stepped out.
"Good day, gentlemen, my name is Maurice. I am Mister Stone's butler," said the man. "How may I be of assistance?"
Cooper removed his cap. "Good day to you as well. My name is Captain Robert Cooper and these gentlemen are First Sergeant Hawkins and Sheriff Owens. I was wondering if we could have a word with Mister Stone."
"Is he expecting you, sir?"
"No. I'm here because of a letter Mister Stone wrote to the commanding general of the Fifth District. I think he'll understand if you tell him that." Cooper couldn't help but see the look of suspicion in the butler's eyes when he glanced over at Owens.
"Very good, sir. If you would please take a seat while I go and see if Mister Stone will see you," said Maurice, indicating to a couple of white chairs on the porch.
Cooper turned to face Hawkins. "Sergeant, this will probably bore you. Why don't you check on the horses?"
Hawkins nodded his understanding, saluted Cooper, and carried on.
Cooper took a seat and looked over at the empty cotton field. His mind wandered back to the years before the war when he visited his cousin, Kyle McTaggart, who had lived on a plantation a few miles outside of Baton Rouge. They were what Cooper called minted. They were a rich family who owned almost one hundred slaves. They never discussed the issue of slavery, at least not in front of Kyle's father, a strict and religious man who like his son died during the war fighting for the Confederacy. Cooper decided once the troubles plaguing Williamstown were sorted out he'd pay a visit to his late cousin's plantation. He was curious to learn what had happened to it and the remainder of Kyle's large family.
Owens interrupted the silence. "I think you'll find that I'm none too popular with Roy Stone."
Cooper wasn't surprised. "Why would that be?"
"Like I told you, I think that he's making a fuss to cover up the fact that his nephew tried to run off with a colored girl. I looked for the young uns' killer but never found a thing. Not a single track was ever found."
"As I told you before, Sheriff, the tracks were there, I saw them. However, by the time you bothered to ride out to investigate, the rain had washed them away," said a gruff voice. Both men had not heard a man join them on the porch. He was as tall as Cooper with a graying beard that hung down to his sweat-stained shirt. He wore a straw hat to keep the sun off his weathered face.
Owens shook his head. "You said the ones you and your men found were animal tracks, not a man's footprints."
"I told you then and I'm saying it again, you should have gone after the Maclean Gang. Only a blind man couldn't see they're the ones behind the murders."
"What are you saying?" said Owens as he stood.
Cooper could feel the tension building between the two men. He got out of his seat. "Gents, this is not helpful."
Owens shot Cooper an angry look. "I don't need anyone, especially not a Yankee, to tell me what is and isn't helpful."
Stone dug a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped the sweat from his neck. "Sheriff Owens, Andrew, and Willow were killed by Maclean and his murderous friends and you know it. Why you haven't done anything about them is beyond comprehension." He turned to face Cooper and held out his hand in greeting. "Good day, Captain, my name is Roy Stone. I manage Mercy Plantation on behalf of my sister, Eliza Legrand."
Cooper shook Stone's hand. He had a firm vise-like grip. "It is an honor to meet you, sir, my name is Captain Robert Cooper. I see you already know the sheriff."
"That I do."
Maurice walked over holding a silver serving tray in his hands. On it was a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. He placed it down on a nearby table and bowed slightly at Stone before leaving.
Stone poured the drinks.
Owens sat but didn't take a glass of lemonade.
"No one makes lemonade like Mrs. Patrick," said Stone before downing his glass in one drink.
Cooper took his seat, picked up his glass, and tried a sip. It was perfect, not too sweet or tart. "My compliments to Mrs. Patrick."
"I'll make sure to pass them on," said Stone. "I saw another soldier over by the stables, who is he?"
"That's First Sergeant Hawkins. He was my company sergeant when our regiment was disbanded. He's a fine soldier and a son of Louisiana."
"Captain, I take it you are here because of the letter I wrote?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Are there any more soldiers coming?"
"No, sir. Sergeant Hawkins and I are it."
Stone took a deep breath. He shook his head and let out a weary sigh. "I guess my letter didn't generate the effect I had hoped for."
"Sir, I was not privy to the contents of your letter. If I knew what you had written perhaps it would help me to better understand what you believe the problem to be. Since arriving here yesterday, I have heard several different and conflicting interpretations of the troubles plaguing this community."
Stone looked over at Cooper. "About a month ago, my nephew, Andrew, announced his intention to run off with Willow, Mrs. Patrick's daughter. I forbade it, but being young and in love, they ran off anyway. That night, we followed their tracks for miles through the forest all the way to an old storage barn on the Mississippi. There we found Andrew's eviscerated body. As for Willow, the animals who murdered my nephew let their dogs maul her to death. I still have nightmares when I think back on that night."
"If we're going to talk freely about their deaths you might as well tell the good captain what you told me about the tracks you found," said Owens.
"I know it will sound damned peculiar, but I found a set of footprints leading from Willow's body into the woods," said Stone. "The tracks were unlike any I had ever seen in my life. Even one of my trackers, who had grown up in the bayou, couldn't identify them."
"What did they look like?" Cooper said.
"The only way I can describe them is half-man, half-wolf."
Owens snickered. "There ain't no such thing."
Stone's vo
ice grew angry. "I know that, but I also know what I saw that night. One of Maclean's men could have been barefoot and walked in the same tracks as the animal that killed Willow."
Cooper asked, "Sir, are you aware of any other murders in the area?"
Stone nodded. "I have been in regular contact with the other plantation owners and they have all reported colored workers going missing. We know quite a number of them left in the summer of their own volition, but not all of them. It's always the same. People go missing in the night and all that is found is blood, a lot of blood. I am convinced Maclean is behind this. He's nothing but a coward and a common thief."
"He's no coward!" snapped Owens. "He at least fought in the war to preserve our way of life. What did you do?"
Stone stood and glared down at the lawman. "Our way of life was ruined by that war. Instead of being able to manage our own affairs, we are now an occupied people." He glanced at Cooper. "No offense, Captain, but our politicians failed us and we marched off to war as if it were some great game. My sister's husband and three of her children died in that war. What did it get us? Nothing but death and misery. Maclean and his thugs claim to have fought for people like my family during the war. Truth be told, he and all his people are nothing more than wild animals who need to be hunted down and killed."
Cooper waited for Stone to sit back down. "How long would you say this has been going on for?"
"The troubles began about five months ago. It started with the DuBois, followed by the King Plantation, and now finally my own."
"Sir, Negros aren't the only people going missing. We were at a small farm earlier today looking for a man who vanished in front of his wife last night."
"Who was it?"
"Darcy Wright," said Owens.
Stone shook his head. "It was most likely the work of Maclean or some of his men. The bastards hung one of my workers last week. They accused him of stealing from another plantation. It all happened while I was away in New Orleans tending to family business. Unfortunately, I didn't learn about it until I got back and the man was already dead."
Cooper asked, "Had he stolen anything?"
"No, he most certainly had not. I spoke with Mister DuBois, who owns the plantation a few miles down the road, and he said my man had been there to visit a young woman. He was stopped by Maclean and his murderous gang on his way home and strung up from the nearest tree. I complained to the sheriff but was told I should let it go. He even went so far as to say these things will happen from time to time." Stone's voice grew louder and more agitated by the second.
Owens said, "Mister Stone, if you can provide me with evidence of a crime then I can do something about it. There were no witnesses. Absolutely no one saw your boy get hanged. Anyone could have done it. You just want to believe it's the work of Maclean and his men."
Stone looked at Cooper. "Did the sheriff tell you that he rode with Maclean during the war?"
Cooper nodded.
"Did he also tell you the mayor's only son is a member of Maclean's posse?"
"No . . . no, he did not," replied Cooper. He fixed his gaze on the sheriff. "That would explain a lot."
Owens leaped from his chair. His face twitched. "I don't have to take this from the two of you. I'm a good lawman and I do my job to the best of my abilities."
"You do as the mayor tells you to," Stone shot back.
"That's not true and you know it!" replied Owens. "If I still had both my arms I'd demand satisfaction from you."
"And I'd oblige you."
Cooper stood between the two men. "Gentlemen, I must ask that you put your differences aside. What has happened to date is in the past and must be left there. Neither of you can deny there is a very real and deadly threat to the people of this community. We must all work together to stop these killings."
Owens looked aside for a moment before taking his seat.
"You are correct," Stone said to Cooper. "We southern gentlemen sometimes allow our passions to cloud our minds. I apologize for my behavior."
"There is no need to apologize. You and your family have suffered a tragic loss. I would be just as angry if not more so if I were in your shoes."
Stone and Cooper sat down, picked up their glasses, and had another drink of lemonade. For a while no one spoke.
It was Cooper who broke the silence. "Gentlemen, if, for the moment, we say that it isn't Maclean's people behind all of these disappearances, who are we left with as a possible culprit?"
"Drifters," offered Owens.
"I didn't see many people on the road leading to Williamstown," said Cooper.
"And you won't. These people travel at night and use the side roads and trails through the woods. Most of the vagrants I've had to deal with are ex-soldiers. They're just passing through on their way home and steal the odd thing from here and there to eat. I usually just run them out of my jurisdiction with a warning to never come back. To the best of my knowledge, none of them ever have."
Cooper said, "What if you missed one and he's still hiding out in the woods?"
"Why would he stay here?" asked Stone. "There are far richer plantations a day's ride or two to the east of here."
"Perhaps he has a predilection for killing. It wouldn't be the first time a man has been driven mad during a war. I once read of a man who months after returning home from the Revolutionary War, took an ax and chopped up his family and neighbors, before he was killed."
"God, I hope that isn't the case. The last thing we need is a madman running loose to add to our woes."
"At the moment, it's all conjecture. Before it gets dark, could I see where the two young people's bodies were found?"
Stone scratched his head. "Why would you want to do that? There is nothing there anymore."
"It'll help me understand what happened that fateful night."
Stone stood. "If you think it will help, I can lead you there myself."
Sergeant Hawkins stood by the stables and looked down the dirt road and the long line of small cottages that had once been slave quarters but were now homes to the families living and working on the plantation. A shiver ran down his spine when he recalled the brutal conditions he and his family had to endure before he couldn't take it anymore and ran away.
A black man in his late fifties, wearing work clothes and with a small shaggy dog by his side, walked out of a nearby vegetable garden and waved over at Hawkins. "Good day to you. My God, I can hardly believe my eyes. You're the first colored soldier I done ever laid my eyes on."
Hawkins smiled and held out his hand. "I'm not the only one. There's plenty more of us in the army these days."
The man shook Hawkins' hand. "The world, she surely has turned upside down since Mister Lincoln freed us slaves."
"It surely has. My name is First Sergeant James Hawkins."
"Thomas, Thomas Legrand. What brings you to Mercy, Sergeant?"
"Captain Cooper and me were sent up here from New Orleans to help the sheriff look into the disappearances of several white and colored folks in these parts."
Thomas looked at the ground and shook his head.
"Mister Legrand, do you know anything that might help us?"
Thomas looked up. "No one around here except for Mister Stone gives a damn about all those poor black people who have gone missing. Hell, most of the white folks didn't even give a damn until some of them disappeared."
"How many people are we talking about?"
"If you add in Miss Willow and Master Andrew, it's four from here. I heard folks say there could be another ten or twelve folks missing from the other nearby farms and plantations."
"How do you know some of them didn't just leave and head north?"
Thomas shook his head. "The white folk maybe, but not us. When the war ended, we all done made our mark on contracts to live and work here for the next three years. The money ain't much, but it's better than being a slave. A young couple who done vanished from Mercy three weeks ago were taken in the middle of the night when it was
raining. I was told that something spooked the horses in the stables. When they went to see what was bothering them, they never came back."
"Surely, Mister Stone looked for these people."
"He did, but we never found any tracks. It was as if they had been dragged off into the dark by something that doesn't want to be found."
Hawkins didn't believe in ghost stories; they were something parents told their children to get them to behave. He decided to try a different approach. "I was told in town that the men behind these killings are from the Maclean Gang, is this true?"
"I couldn't say. All I do know is that whoever or whatever it is that is doing all the killing lives somewhere far back in the woods and only hunts at night."
Cooper spotted Hawkins chatting with a man and called out. "Sergeant, get the horses, we're heading out right away."
Hawkins waved back and walked to the stables.
Stone saw Thomas and walked over to him. "I'm taking these gentlemen to the old warehouse on the river. Would you like to come along?"
"Yes, sir, I'd like that a lot," replied Thomas. "I'll saddle up a couple of horses for us to ride."
"Before we leave, could you ask one of the young boys to tell Mrs. Patrick that we will have three more mouths to feed at dinner time."
"Yes, sir."
Owens raised his hand. "Make that two. I'm sure Madame Legrand would not take it very well were I to join you at your dinner table. Besides, I have work to attend to back in town."
"Sheriff, aren't you afraid we'll get lost on the road later tonight?" said Cooper, sardonically.
"We have plenty of space here," said Stone. "Please say you'll stay the night here as my guests."
"We'd be delighted to accept your gracious invitation."
The hour long ride to the old warehouse took the four men past the empty cotton fields and through a dark, dense forest before coming out in a clearing.
Cooper looked over at the dilapidated barn and tried to imagine the terror the young couple had gone through before they were brutally murdered.
Stone got off his horse and pointed to a tall tree on the far side of the building, "We found Andrew under that tree over there."
Everyone else dismounted. Cooper could see the sadness on Stone's face as they walked toward the tree. He'd lost a younger sister to pneumonia when she was only four. He couldn't imagine how he would feel now if he were to lose someone close to him.
"We found Master Andrew's cut-up body lying on the ground right here," explained Thomas, standing at the base of the tree.
Cooper looked around. "Where did you find the girl's body?"
"Willow's body was discovered by one of the dog handlers about fifty yards away," said Stone.
"Show me."
They walked through the brush until they came to a small hollow in the ground. No words were exchanged. All eyes were fixed on the woods surrounding them.
"She was here," pointed out Stone. "It was a ghastly sight. Her throat had been torn from her body. The bastards had allowed their dogs to eat her intestines."
Hawkins removed his hat and bowed his head. "Lord, please look after these poor children now they are by your side."
"Amen," added Thomas.
Cooper shook his head. He had seen men kill each other by the thousands, but he had never met a man willing to feed a child to a dog. His skin crawled at the thought. He walked to the river's edge and looked out over the muddy brown water. The far back was a good sixty to seventy yards away. He had no idea how deep the water was, but the current flowed fast past him.
"What's that?" asked Hawkins.
Cooper turned his head and saw a large paddlewheel riverboat stuck on a sandbar at a bend in the river.
"That's the General Bragg," said Stone. "At the start of the war, an old paddlewheel boat was confiscated by the army and turned into a floating gun battery. As you can see it met a rather ignominious end when it bottomed out on a sandbar. When the Union arrived, they confiscated the cannons and anything else of value. Now it sits there as a hazard to navigation for boats going up and down the river."
"I'm surprised no one has tried to burn it down," said Cooper.
"I'm sure one of these days someone will drink a little too much whiskey and torch it for a laugh."
"How deep is the water?" asked Hawkins.
"I don't rightly know," responded Thomas. "All I do know is it's over your head a few feet after you leave the riverbank."
"Is there anything else you would like to see, Captain?" asked Stone.
"No, sir. I know this was difficult for you," said Cooper. "However, it was important that I see where the crime was committed."
Stone nodded. "As it's getting late, I say we all leave this accursed place, head back home, and see what Mrs. Patrick has prepared for us."
"She is a mighty fine cook," added Thomas. "No salted horse for us."
"Sounds good," said Cooper, knowing the term for preserved meats. He took one last look around. His eyes lingered on the woods. There was only one trail leading away from the spot where they found the young girl's body. If there had been a group of men on horseback with their dogs, rain or no rain, a track or a broken twig would have been found. Something wasn't adding up in his mind and it bothered him. For the first time since leaving New Orleans, he wished he had a bottle of whiskey with him.
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