by Day Taylor
"Zoe, shut up! Shut your silly mouth! Do you understand me?"
"Turn me loose! I can take care of myself!"
Leona smiled grimly. "Good. Help me clean up this mess."
"I—I can't."
"Then get Mammy to help me if you're too much of a lady. We'll have to hurry. We've got to scrape the floor of the carriage house clean and rake the driveway and scrub everything that's got blood on it."
Zoe stared at her, but Leona was already moving in swift strides toward the carriage house. She turned to say, "Before dawn!"
Zee looked up at the trees; the dark night was already paling. Oh, God, why didn't we leave sooner? One day earlier and we'd be safe in Smithville. Please, God, keep him safe.
Leona shoved a rake into her hand. "Rake the drive," she commanded. "Start around the back, for that's the way they came in. Rake it hard so there aren't any foot tracks or spots. And sprinkle plenty of capsicum. It ruins the dogs' sense of smell."
As Zoe hesitated, Leona said, "It's your neck as well as Adam's and Garrett's. If the catchers come here, we'll be caught too."
"Thanks to you and Garrett!"
"—^who took you and your family in when you were fugitives!"
Zoe raked with frightened determination.
Garrett got the dray away from the streets of Wilmington before it began to grow light. But there was still the poor section of town to go through. Adam made everyone lie down, and he spread the blankets over them. The high sides of the dray would keep their cargo hidden.
The neighborhood dogs were a lot more noisy and persistent this trip, Adam noticed. Several of them followed the dray, barking constantly until Garrett flicked at them with the long whip and they fell back, still yapping.
Adam took another careful look behind them. They had passed the bend in the road. This side he could see nothing. Their horses were galloping smoothly, with greater speed still in them. Off to Adam's right the rim of the sun edged a field with a rosy flush. Crows flew out of the woods, cawing raucously. Overhead the buzzards were circling, hoping to catch an early cottontail for breakfast. Adam's head pounded with questions he longed to ask Garrett. Finally, he asked, "Do you think slavery is all bad? These people weren't harmed until they tried to fight off those dogs."
Garrett glanced at him, and without thinking looked behmd. "No, not all of it is bad," he said. "Some people are better off in a situation where they're taken care of and they're told what to do.
'There has to be something to what these people tell us about the cruelties. The Underground system wouldn't ex-
ist if the darkies didn't take such awful chances to break away.
"History shows us that slavery has been a monumental failure, Adam. Man is not willing to be a chattel."
As they rounded another bend, Adam looked behind again. All clear. "But, sir, if it doesn't work, why haven't the slaves been freed through legislation? The planters could hire workers."
"It isn't just a matter of freeing slaves. Those people represent the largest single item of Southern capitalization. There are fortunes tied up in them, actual money. If they're freed, what happens to the money they represent? Where would be the Southern ability to give and get credit? To free slaves, we must also free planters of their financial need for them."
"Then there's no way ..."
The dogs were on them before they knew it. Running silently behind the dray were two large hounds, powerfully built with deep chests and heavy, dark muzzles. Adam, sweeping the dawnlit countryside with his eyes, glimpsed the fawn brindle animal near the rear wheel. The dog changed its stride, ready to jump into the dray. Adam leaned out, hanging onto the seat with a foot hooked beneath it, and shot the beast in the chest as it rose.
"Good God!" cried Garrett, straining to hold the horses from bolting at the sound of the shot. Before Adam could reload, the blankets popped up, and four frightened dark faces looked out. Jane and the other woman began to scream. The second dog, silvery tan with one white eye, was up in the dray. Adam grabbed the revolver and pointed it but did not dare shoot. Well trained, the dog stood attentive, baying that he had them treed. The terrified women tried to fend him off, frantically waving their arms. The dog snarled, and tore at the women.
Marcus and the man called Boy pounded the dog with their fists. The dog turned on them. Adam scrambled into the bed of the dray, unavoidably treading on Jason, who lay so still. At point-blank range Adam shot the dog in the head. He leaped back, revulsed. Blood and brains flew onto his shirt and trousers. The unearthly howls and screams went on and on.
"Garrett, there's two men!" he said frantically. Hastily he reloaded his rifle. Garrett grabbed his revolver just as
a lanky, sharp-faced man on a swiftly galloping horse lifted his rifle and fired at the smaller gray. Garrett shot at the man and missed. Another shot rang out, hitting Garrett in the arm. He raised his pistol and fired. The sharp-faced man screamed and fell dead beside the road.
After that everything happened at once. The gray horse ran several steps after being hit, then collapsed. The other horses, pushed onward by the dray, dragged her a short distance before they piled up on each other, with the dray crashing into them just before it overturned.
Adam, coming to with a knot on his head, thought the whole world was screaming. Women, horses, men shrieked in a cacophony as hideous as doomed souls pleading for mercy in hell. Only Garrett made no sound. He lay still. Adam's revolver lay inches away from his hand.
"Ah wou'n't grab out fer thet if Ah was you."
Adam looked up and up. A burly man, seated easily on his horse, blotted out the sunlight. From the silhouette a pistol aimed at Adam's heart.
"You jes' rise up slow an' easy, boy. You gonna he'p me right this-here wagon an' git them niggers in it afore Ah kills you. We los' three men an' five dogs a'ready, chasin' this-here bunch. Now git up."
Adam couldn't reach the revolver. But he wouldn't die without a fight. He rose very slowly. He'd wait his chance.
The fugitives quieted as the slave catcher yelled commands. "Arright now, shut up an' git up! Off a yo' asses an' on yo' feet!" He punctuated his commands with well-aimed cracks of the long whip in his right hand. Still he kept a competent hold on the pistol. Left-handed? Maybe not. Adam shifted slightly in the direction of the revolver.
He was startled at the whip crack inches from his ear. Marcus, groggily holding his bandaged arm, flinched as the lash bit into his shoulder.
"Move yo' ass, nigger!" cried the burly man. "Git that bigun up offa the groun' so's he kin heft that-there wagon."
Marcus's eyes rolled toward Jason. "He daid, Mastah."
The whip sliced Jason's flesh. He was beyond feeling it.
Boy was helping an injured woman. "Fo' Chrissakes, you black varmints gonna stan' there all day? Git a move on!"
Adam, watching the pistol, saw the man's hold on it slacken. No, not enough time.
He looked toward the horses. Tangled in their harness,
held down by the dead gray, they were struggling to rise, whinnying and snorting with fear and frustration, kicking and biting each other.
"You won't have any horses to pull this dray if you don't do something about them," Adam said.
Before the catcher could reply, there came a hollow, eerie sound of absolute terror. It came from nowhere, it came from the air and up out of the ground. The hair on Adam's neck prickled. The Negroes froze, as unmoving as statues.
The catcher looked around, his head moving quick as a snake's. Adam picked up the revolver and aimed it. As he fired, a bullet whined past him, splintering a hole in the dray. The trapped-animal screams stopped.
The silhouette on the horse began to crumple. His whip slid to the ground, but the man raised his pistol, cocked it, and fired at Adam. There was a futile click. Blood spurted out of the man's jugular vein, each spurt marking his weakening heartbeats. With a sickening splat he toppled to bleed his life out onto the sandy roadway.
Adam watched every movement,
unable to look away. The ruddy pool spread. The catcher's gurgling breaths grew more shallow, then stopped. The silence became unbearable.
Marcus laughed nervously. "He daid. He ain't gwine chase us no mo'." He stepped back from the still body, robbed of its formidable vitality.
God forgive me. . . . I've killed a man. Adam turned abruptly away from the others and retched into the underbrush.
His head pounding, his mouth sour, he straightened up. He wiped his streaming eyes. He drew in air. It seemed a long time before he could face them again.
The scene was no better. Jason and the catcher lay sprawled. The silver-fawn dog had been flung into a pool of stagnant water. All were black with flies. Involuntarily Adam looked overhead. Yes, the carrion crows were gathering, making smaller and smaller circles, ready to swoop down, and . . . this was the murder of Ullah all over again.
Out of his revulsion, Adam yelled, "What are you standing there like a bunch of sheep for! Get those horses loose! Hang onto them, we're going to need them. Girl, what's your name?"
"Mandy, Mastah."
"Where are you hurt, Mandy?"
"In mah stummick, Mastah. Knock de breaf outa me when dat wagon pick up an' fly like a pigeon."
"Can you help me with Mr. Garrett?"
"Yassuh, Ah he'p, yassuh!"
Adam knelt beside Garrett, putting his face close to see if he was breathing. Blood oozed from Garrett's wounded arm and from a bump behind his ear. Adam touched him. "Garrett! Can you hear me?"
"Ah rub he ban's." Mandy chafed Garrett's wrists. He was slow, so slow in responding. At length he opened his eyes a slit, then tried to focus. "Buzzards," he said indistinctly, trying to rise.
Adam breathed in relief. "We're all right, hear? Both catchers are dead. Lie still 'til we get the dray fixed."
"I'll help," Garrett said, but passed out again.
There was nothing to do for him now, Adam thought. He could put a wet rag on his forehead, but the only water was alive with wiggleworms. "Mandy, put a blanket over Mr. Garrett."
Adam and the blacks righted the wrecked dray. Jane was lying flat, her head on the sand. As the dray lifted, she began to scream again.
Completely out of patience, Adam grabbed her and shook her until her teeth clicked. "Shut up! Shut up! One more scream and I swear by Almighty God I'll take you back and sell you down South!"
Mortified with shame, he let go of her shoulders. "Are you hurt?"
Jane shook her head. "Mah laig pinned undah de wagon, but Ah not hut."
He whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Her ankle was twisted at a queer angle, purple and puffy. "Just lie still."
Jane's eyes rolled after him. "Yassuh."
The dray's sides were smashed, but it was usable. Marcus had untangled the horses and tied them to trees. They whickered, ready to shy. "Better use de catcher's bosses. Dis'n stringhaltered."
Adam nodded, trying to decide what to do. The buzzards had lit. They clustered down the road, feasting on the brindle dog. Adam's stomach lurched uneasily. They'd be here next. He broke off a small tree limb. "Mandy, stand by Mr. Garrett. If the buzzards come near, shoo them off."
"Bad luck to kill a buzzard, Mastah."
"Bad luck for the buzzard," he growled. "Protect Mr. Garrett, you hear?"
The men dragged the two catchers under the low-hanging branches of a pine. Next they padded the dray with blankets and lifted Jane and Garrett into it. Somehow they persuaded Jane they would have to take dead Jason, so his soul could be released by proper Christian burial. Marcus and Mandy could sit beside Adam, while Boy rode on the back.
Marcus was needed to control the horses, for the catchers' saddle horses were sulkily unwilling to be hitched. He soft-talked them, ignoring the roan's bared teeth. An hour later the four horses were awkwardly moving forward.
They rumbled through the fallow field and up into Ebenezer's barn. His wife came out to meet them, her face pink and wholesome under her dove-gray sunbonnet "Friend Adam, thee's had trouble?"
"Yes, ma'am. We'll need help."
"Thee heard the horn sound? Eben will be in from the field directly. We didn't expect thee in daylight." She gasped as she saw Garrett.
"He's had a bullet wound and a blow on the head. He keeps fainting. We've got two people with broken limbs, a man dead, and two stolen horses."
"And thee, friend Adam?"
Vignettes from the awful journey flashed through his mind, but he could not speak of them. He said, "It was a hard trip, ma'am."
She smiled. "Thee acquitted thyself well, else thee'd not be here."
They had reached safety, but Adam could not relax yet. He was still responsible for Garrett's welfare.
The fugitives who could walk were helping the others into the windowless room. They laid Garrett on a high bench. Adam helped the little Quaker woman remove his shirt. His bullet wound was minor. She cleaned it with soap and water and bound it with muslin strips.
Garrett's eyes opened. He smiled faintly at her. "Well, well, Prudence, I seem to be ... on the receiving end of . . . your mercies."
"Thee lie still, friend Garrett,'* she said good-naturedly. "Thee's a knot large as a goose egg on thy skull. It wants cold compresses."
"Adam. Where's Adam?" He tried to sit up and fell back dizzily.
"I'm here." With Garrett in expert hands, Adam was comforting Jane. She was in severe pain. He felt he could not bear it if she started screaming again. "I'm fine, Garrett."
"Turn thy head a bit," Prudence instructed him. Garrett sucked in his breath as she began to clean dirt from his wound.
Eben came in with two husky field workers. He greeted everyone, then assessed the situation with few questions. He gave instructions to his men as Prudence worked. Adam went out before this was begun. He had no stomach for tasks that Ebenezer and his men could do better.
He looked with dull eyes at Jason in the wrecked dray. He would be prepared and decently interred. The blacks believed the spirit of one who lay dead unburied and unblessed was doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Was it true, he wondered, of the men who pursued slaves for the bounty?
Adam walked slowly out into the bright, hot day and leaned against Eben's barn, holding his face up to the sunshine. Was Garrett in shape to travel? It might be best to leave him here.
Into his thoughts unbidden came the glimpse of a man silhouetted against the morning sun, falling.
Adam shuddered. Then he heard Prudence call him, and he stepped swiftly back into the dark barn.
"Friend Adam, Garrett is asking for thee."
Garrett was still lying on the bench, covered by a blanket Adam put a hand on his shoulder. "How do you feel?"
Garrett licked his lips. With difficulty he focused his eyes. "I'm fine, Adam. Eben will let us use his . . . spring wagon."
"It's foolhardy for you to travel now. You'd be risking your life."
"I'm going home." He shut his eyes. "You're not to leave without me."
"Rest thee awhile now. Adam will speak with thee again."
The men were still setting Jane's ankle, but Prudence took Adam to the house. Two shy young girls had a hot meal ready.
"I can't eat," Adam blurted out.
"No? Then thee'll have a cup of beef broth." The broth was thick with herbs, and vegetables. As Adam was finishing, she said, "Thy uncle wishes to leave. Eben has the spring wagon ready, with a fresh horse."
Adam said apprehensively, "What'll I do if he—d-dies?"
Prudence's hand was warm on his arm. "Don't fash thyself, Adam. He has promised to lie quietly. The good Lord will watch over thee."
Garrett, deathly pale, stubbornly walked to the wagon. "See? I'm perfectly fine. Prudence has fixed me a kingly bed. Touch up that horse!"
In spite of Adam's anxiety, the trip was uneventful. But as they splashed through the ford at Smith Creek, Garrett said, "Adam, stop."
"What's the matter? Are you getting sick? We'U soon be home."
"I'm going to drive."
&
nbsp; "Like hell! Think I want you falling and busting your skull open?"
"Look at yourself. You can't drive through Wilmington like that."
Adam looked down. His shirt and trousers were spattered with large dried blood spots. "Give me your coat, Garrett. I'll cover it up."
"I left it at Eben's. I'm going to drive, Adam. You keep hidden."
They got back late in the afternoon. Zoe, looking anxiously out the windows, saw a white-faced Garrett swaying on the seat of a strange wagon behind an unfamiliar horse. And Adam was not with him.
Chapter Thirteen
Leona was in the carriage house, seated on a hay bale. Her fingers flew as she knitted a blanket to be used on some future trip. Her nervousness was betrayed only in the taut way she held her head, her ear straining toward the doors. Already it seemed that several lifetimes had passed since Adam and Garrett had driven away. She'd gone into the house once to reassure Zoe that everything was all right.
but she knew it was not. The men were long past due.
Her knitting fell unheeded to the floor at the sound of wheels biting and spattering the gravel and shells of the driveway. She flung wide the great doors of the carriage house.
Garrett drove the wagon, pale and weak, alone. Leona didn't notice Adam's absence. Her eyes were for her husband, who released the reins and slumped down on the seat. Leona's ears blotted out the sound of Zoe's frightened, mournful shriek.
"He's dead! Ohhh, my God! He's gone! Adam!" Zoe tore wildly at herself and pulled away from Mammy's restraining hands.
"Miz Zoe, you gwine hurt yo'seff. Doan carry on so," Mammy pleaded.
In the back of the wagon the blankets jounced as Adam tried to free himself of them. "Ma!" His voice was drowned out by his mother's hysteria and Leona's shouted orders to the servants.
Adam leaped from the wagon. He pressed Zoe against him, mufiiing her sobs against his shirt. Her screams abated. Her sobs were deep and heart-rending. "I'm all right, Ma. Nothing happened to me." He put his face in the soft pillow of her hair. "I'm all right."
"Adam, help me with Garrett," Leona's voice was on the edge of hysteria.
He smoothed his mother's hair back. "Go with Mammy. I'll come as soon as we get Uncle Garrett into his bed."
