CHAPTER XXVI
MAJOR WELCH AND RUTH BECOME RESIDENTS
It was yet early in the day, when the travellers drove up to Red Rock,and though there were certain things which showed that the place wasnot kept up as it had formerly been, it was far handsomer, and appearedto be more extensively cultivated, than any plantation they had yetseen. A long line of barns and stables lay at some little distancebehind the mansion, half screened by the hill, and off to one sidestretched a large garden with shrubbery, apparently somewhat neglected,at the far end of which was a grove or great thicket of evergreens andother trees.
A tall man with a slight stoop in his shoulders came down the broadsteps, and advanced to meet them as they drove up.
“Is this Colonel Welch?” he asked.
“Well, not exactly, but Major Welch,” said that gentleman, pleasantly,wondering how he could know him, “and you are—Mr. Still?”
“Yes, sir, I’m the gentleman: I’m Mr. Still—Colonel Still, some of ’emcalls me; but I’m like yourself, Colonel, I don’t care for titles. Themadam, I suppose, sir?” he smiled, as he handed Ruth down.
“No, my daughter, Miss Welch,” said the Major, a little stiffly, toRuth’s amusement.
“Ah! I thought she was a leetle young for you, Colonel; but sometimeswe old fellows get a chance at a fresh covey and we most always tryto pick a young bird. We’re real glad to see you, ma’am, and to havethe honor of entertainin’ so fine a young lady in our humble home. Myson Wash, the Doctor, ain’t at home this mornin’, but he’ll be backto-night, and he’ll know how to make you have a good time. He’s hadadvantages his daddy never had,” he explained.
There was something almost pathetic, Major Welch thought, in thisallusion to his son, and his recognition of his own failure to measureup to his standard. It made Major Welch overlook his vulgarity and hisattempt to be familiar. And the Major decided anew that Hiram Still wasnot half as black as he had been painted, and that the opposition tohim which he had discovered was nothing but prejudice.
As they entered the house, both Major Welch and Ruth stopped on thethreshold, with an exclamation. Before them stretched one of the moststriking halls Ruth had ever seen. At the other end was an open doorwith a glimpse of green fields and blue hills in the distance; but itwas the hall itself that took Ruth’s eye. And it was the picture ofthe man in the space just over the great fireplace that caught MajorWelch. The “Indian-killer” again stood before him. Clad in his hunter’sgarb, with the dark rock behind him, his broken rifle at his feet, hiscap on the back of his head, and his yellow hair pushed from underit, his eyes fastened on Major Welch with so calm and yet so intensea look that Major Welch was almost startled. That figure had suddenlyobliterated the years. It brought back to him vividly the whole of hisformer visit.
Ruth, impressed by the expression of her father’s face, and intenselystruck by the picture, pressed forward to her father’s side, almostholding her breath.
“I see you’re like most folks, ma’am; you’re taken first thing withthat picture,” said Still; then added, with a half laugh, “and it’sthe only picture in the batch I don’t really like. But I jist mortallydislikes that, and I’d give it to anybody who’d take it down from thar,and save me harmless.”
He went off into a half reverie. The Major was examining the framecuriously. He put his finger on a dim, red smear on the bottom ofthe frame. Memory was bringing back a long train of recollections.Hardly more than ten years before, he had stood on that same spot anddone the same thing. This hall was thronged with a gay and happy andhigh bred company. He himself was an honored guest. His gracious hostwas standing beside him, telling him the story. He remembered it all.Now—they were all gone. It was as if a flood had swept over them.These inanimate things alone had survived. He ran his hand along theframe.
The voice of his host broke in on his reflections.
“That thar red paint I see you lookin’ at, got on the frame one daythe picture fell down before the war. A nigger was paintin’ the hairthright below it; it wa’n’t nailed then—and a gust of wind come upsudden and banged a door and the picture dropped right down in thepaint. Mr. Gray, who used to own this place, was a settin’ right bythe winder where his secretary used to stand, and I had jest come backfrom the South the day befo’ and was talkin’ to Mr. Gray about it inthe hall here that minute. ‘Well,’ says I to him, ‘if I was you, I’dbe sort o’ skeered to see that happen’;—because thar’s a story aboutit, that whenever it comes down the old fellow in the grave-yard gitsup, and something’s goin to happen to the man as lives here. ‘No,’ hesays, ‘Hiram (he always called me Hiram), I’m not superstitious; but ifanything should happen, I have confidence in you to know you’d still befaithful—a faithful friend to my wife and boys,’ he says, in them verywords. And I says to him, ‘Mr. Gray, I promise you I will, faithful.And that’s what I’ve done, Major, I’ve kept my word and yet, see howthey treat me! So after I got the place I nailed the picture in thewall—or rather just before that,” he said in his former natural voice,“and it ain’t been down since, an’ it ain’t comin’ down neither.”
“But does that keep him from coming on his horse as they say? Has heever been seen since you nailed the frame to the wall?” Ruth asked.
“Well, ma’am, I can only tell you that I ain’t never seen him,” saidtheir host, with a faint, little smile. “Some says he’s still ridin’,and every time they hears a horse nicker at night around here they saythat’s him; but I can’t say as I believes it.”
“Of course you cannot,” said the Major, a little abruptly, “for youknow it isn’t he; you have too much sense. A good head and a goodconscience never see apparitions.” The Major was still thinking of thepast.
“How like he is to a picture I saw at Dr. Cary’s, that they said was ofa young Mr. Gray who still lives about here,” said Ruth, recurring tothe picture. She turned and was surprised to see what a change had comeover her host’s face. He suddenly changed the subject.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve come down, Colonel. Only I’m sorry I didn’t knowjust when you were coming. I’d have sent my carriage for you. I’ve beenlookin’ out for you, and I’ve got the prettiest place in the countryfor you,” he said. He nodded over in the direction of the garden. “Iwant to take you to see it. It will just suit you. The house ain’t big,but the land’s as rich as low grounds.
“And you’re the very sort of a man we want here, Major. Your namewill be worth a heap to us. Between ourselves, you can conjure with aGover’ment title like a trick-doctor. Now, this fall, if you just go inwith us—How would you like to go to the Legislature?” he asked, hisvoice lowered the least bit, and interrupting himself in a way he had.
“Not at all,” said Major Welch. “No politics for me. Why, I’m noteligible—even if I settle here. I suppose there are some requirementsin the way of residence and so forth?”
“Oh! requirements ain’t nothin’. We’ve got the Legislature, you see,and we—There’s some several been elected ain’t been here as long asyou’ll been when the election comes off.” He glanced at Major Welchand interrupted himself again. “The fact is, Major,” he explained, ina somewhat lower key, “we’ve had to do some things a leetle out ofthe regular run—to git the best men we could. But if we could get agentleman like yourself——”
“No, I’m not in politics,” said Major Welch, decisively. “I’ve neitherexperience nor liking for it, and I’ve come for business purposes——”
“Of course, you are quite right, Major, you’re just like me; but Ididn’t know what your opinion was. Well, you’ve come to the right placefor business, Major,” he said, in so changed a voice that he seemedto be two persons speaking. “It’s the garden spot of the world—themoney’s jest layin’ round to waste on the ground, if the folks jist hadthe sense to see it. All it wants is a little more capital. ColonelLeech and them’s been talkin’ about runnin’ a railroad through thisregion. You know after all’s said and done, Colonel, I ain’t nothin’but
a plain farmer. I talks about railroads, but, fact is, I’d ruthersee cotton and corn grow ’n the finest railroad’s ever run. My sonWash, the Doctor, he’s got education, and he’s got city ways and wantsa railroad, and I says to him, that’s all right, Wash, you have yerrailroad and enjoy it, but jist let yer old pappy set on his porch andsee the crops grow. I’ve made ten thousand dollars a year clear moneyon this place, and that’s good enough for me, I says. That may soundlike foolishness to you, Major, but that’s my raisin’, and a man can’tgit over his raisin’.”
This was a philosophic fact which the Major had often been struck with,and it appeared to him now that he had a most excellent example of itbefore him.
As Major Welch was desirous to get settled as soon as possible, he andRuth rode over that afternoon to take a look at the place Still hadspoken of. A detour of a mile or so brought them around to a smallfarm-house with peaked roof and dormer windows, amid big locust-trees,on top of a hill. Behind it, at a little distance, rose the line oftimbered spurs that were visible through the hall-door at Red Rock, andin front a sudden bend brought the river in view, with an old mill onits nearer bank, and the comb of water flashing over the dam. Ruth gavean exclamation of delight. She sketched rapidly just what they coulddo with the place. Still observed her silently, and when Major Welchinquired what price was asked for the place, told him that he couldnot exactly say that it was for sale. The Major looked so surprised atthis, however, that he explained himself.
“It is this way,” he said, “it is for sale and it ain’t.”
“Well, that’s a way I do not understand. Whose is it?” said MajorWelch, so stiffly that the other changed his tone.
“Well, the fact is, Colonel, to be honest about it,” he said, “thishere place belongs to me; but I was born on this here place, notexactly in this house, but on the place, an’ I always thought’t ifanything was to happen—if my son Wash, the Doctor, was to git marriedor anything, and take a notion to set up at Red Rock, I might come backhere and live—you see?”
The Major was mollified. He had not given the man credit for so muchsentiment.
“Of course, if you really wants it—?” began Still, but the Major said,no, he would not insist on one’s making such a sacrifice; that such afeeling did him credit.
So the matter ended in Still’s proposing to lease the place to theMajor, which was accepted, Major Welch agreeing to the first pricehe named, only saying he supposed it was the customary figure, whichStill assured him was the case. He pointed out to him that the land wasunusually rich.
“What’s the name of the place?” asked Ruth.
“Well, ’tain’t got any special name. We call it Stamper’s,” Still said.
“Stamper—Stamper?” repeated the Major. “Where have I heard that name?”
“You might ’a heard of him in connection with the riot’t took placenear here a few years ago, when a dozen or so soldiers was murdered.’Twas up here they hatched the plot and from here they started. Theymoved away from here, and I bought it.”
It was not in this connection that the Major recalled the name.
“What was ever done about it?” he asked.
“Nothin’. What could you do?” demanded Still, tragically.
“Why arrest them and hang them, or send them to prison.”
Still gave an ejaculation.
“You don’t know ’em, Major! But we are gittin’ ’em straight now,” headded.
On their return to Red Rock they found that Still’s son, the Doctor,had arrived. He was a tall, dark, and, at a distance, a rather handsomeyoung man; but on nearer view this impression vanished. His eyes weresmall and too close together, like his father’s, but instead of thegood-humored expression which these sometimes had, his had a suspiciousand ill-contented look. He dressed showily and evidently took greatpride in his personal appearance. He had some education and was fond ofmaking quotations, especially in his father’s presence, toward whom hisattitude was one of censoriousness and ill-humor.
His manner to the Major was always polite, and to Ruth it wasespecially so; but to the servants it was arrogant, and to his fatherit was little short of contemptuous. The Major heard him that eveningberating someone in so angry a tone that he thought it was a dog he wasscolding, until he heard Hiram Still’s voice in mild expostulation;and again at the table that evening Dr. Still spoke to his father sosharply for some little breach of table etiquette that the Major’sblood boiled. The meekness with which the father took his son’s rebukedid more to secure for him the Major’s friendship than anything elsethat occurred during their stay with him.
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