BRINDLE AND AARON
* * *
Meanwhile Mr. Jim Simmons, accompanied only by George Gossett (the father had turned back in disgust soon after the chase began), was galloping across the country in a somewhat puzzled frame of mind.
When Mr. Simmons had given one short blast on his horn to warn his dogs that a hunt was on the programme, the three men rode along the plantation path toward the Abercrombie place.
"Now, Colonel," remarked Mr. Simmons as they started out, "I want you to keep your eyes on that red dog. It'll be worth your while."
"Is that Sound?" George Gossett asked.
"Well, sometimes I call him Sound on account of his voice, and sometimes I call him Sandy on account of his color, but just you watch his motions." Pride was in the tone of Mr. Simmons's voice.
The dog was trotting in the path ahead of the horse. Suddenly he put his nose to the ground and seemed to be so delighted at what he found there that his tail began to wag. He lifted his head, and ran along the path for fifty yards or more. Then he put his nose to the ground again, and kept it there as he cantered along the narrow trail. Then he began to trot, and finally, with something of a snort, turned and ran back the way he had come. He had not given voice to so much as a whimper.
"Don't he open on track?" asked George Gossett.
"He'll cry loud enough and long enough when he gets down to business," Mr. Simmons explained. "Just you keep your eyes on him."
"Fiddlesticks. He's tracking us," exclaimed Mr. Gossett contemptuously.
"But, Colonel, if he is, I'm willing to take him out and kill him, and, as he stands, I would take no man's hundred dollars for him. I'll see what he's up to."
Suiting the action to the word, Mr. Simmons turned his horse's head and galloped after Sound, who was now moving rapidly, followed by all the expectant dogs. Nothing was left for the two Gossetts to do but to follow Mr. Simmons, though the elder plainly showed his indignation, not only by his actions, but by the use of a few words that are either too choice or too emphatic to be found in a school dictionary.
Sound ran to the point where Aaron and the woman had stopped. He followed the woman's scent to her cabin; but this not proving satisfactory, he turned and came back to where the two had stood. There he picked up Aaron's scent, ran around in a small circle, and then, with a loud, wailing cry, as if he had been hit with a cudgel, he was off, the rest of the dogs joining in, their cries making a musical chorus that fell on the ear with a lusty, pleasant twang as it echoed through the woods.
"Wait," said Mr. Gossett, as Mr. Simmons made a movement to follow the dogs. "This is a fool's errand you are starting on. The nigger we're after wouldn't come in a mile of this place. It's one of the Spivey niggers the dogs are tracking. Or one of the Ward niggers. I'm too old to go galloping about the country just to see the dogs run. George, you can go if you want to, but I'd advise you to go in the house and go to bed. That's what I'll do. Simmons, if you catch the right nigger, well and good. If I thought the dogs were on his track, I'd ride behind them the balance of the week. But it's out of reason. We know where the nigger goes, and the dogs haven't been there."
"I'll risk all that, Colonel. If we don't come up with the nigger, why, it costs nobody nothing," remarked Mr. Simmons.
"I'll go along and see the fun, pap," said George.
"Well, be back by dinner time. I want you to do something for me."
Mr. Gossett called a negro and had his horse taken, while George and Mr. Simmons galloped after the hounds, which were now going out of the woods into the old, worn-out fields beyond. As Mr. Simmons put it, they were "running pretty smooth." They were not going as swiftly as the modern hounds go, but they were going rapidly enough to give the horses as much work as they wanted to do.
The hounds were really after Aaron. Mr. Simmons suspected it, but he didn't know it. He was simply taking the chances. But his hopes fell as the dogs struck into the plantation road leading to the river. "If they were after the runaway, what on earth did he mean by going in this direction?" Mr. Simmons asked himself. He knew the dogs were following the scent of a negro, and he knew the negro had been to the Abercrombie place, but more than this he did not know.
Then it occurred to him that a runaway with some sense and judgment might be expected to go to the river, steal a bateau, and float down stream to avoid the hounds. He had heard of such tricks in his day and time, and his hopes began to rise. But they fell again, for he suddenly remembered that the negro who left the scent which the hounds were following could not possibly have known that he was to be hunted with dogs, consequently he would not be going to the river to steal a boat. But wait! Another thought struck Mr. Simmons. Didn't the Colonel send one of his nigger women to the quarters on the Abercrombie plantation? He surely did. Didn't the woman say she had seen the runaway? Of course she did. Weren't the chances ten to one that when she saw him she told him that Simmons would be after him in the morning? Exactly so! The result of this rapid summing up of the situation was so satisfactory to Mr. Simmons that he slapped the pommel of his saddle and cried:—
"By jing, I've got him!"
"Got who?" inquired George Gossett, who was riding close up.
"Wait and see!" replied Mr. Simmons.
"Oh, I'll wait," said young Gossett, "and so will you."
* * *
VI.
THE HUNT ENDS.
It will be seen that Mr. Jim Simmons, in his crude way, was a very shrewd reasoner. He didn't "guess;" he "reckoned," and it cannot be denied that he came very near the truth. You will remember that when we children play hide-the-switch the one that hides it guides those who are hunting for it by making certain remarks. When they are near where the switch is hid, the hider says, "You burn; you are afire," but when they get further away from the hiding-place the word is, "You are cold; you are freezing." In hunting for Aaron, Mr. Jim Simmons was burning, for he had come very close to solving the problem that the fugitive had set for him.
Mr. Simmons was so sure he was right in his reasoning that he cheered his dogs on lustily and touched up his horse. George Gossett did the same, and dogs, horses, and men went careering along the plantation road to the river landing. The sun was now above the treetops, and the chill air of the morning was beginning to surrender to its influence. The course of the river was marked out in mid-air by a thin line of white mist that hung wavering above the stream.
The dogs ran crying to the landing, and there they stopped. One of the younger hounds was for wading across; but Sound, the leader, knew better than that. He ran down the river bank a hundred yards and then circled back across the field until he reached a point some distance above the landing. Then he returned, his keen nose always to the ground. At the landing he looked across the river and whined eagerly.
Mr. Simmons seemed to be very lucky that morning, for just as he and George Gossett galloped to the landing a boatload of field hands started across from the other side, old Uncle Andy coming with it to row it back. On the other side, too, Mr. Simmons saw a lady standing,—a trim figure dressed in black,—and near her a negro boy was holding a horse that she had evidently ridden to the landing. This was the lady to whom Uncle Andy sometimes referred as Sally Ward, and for whom he had a sincere affection. The river was not wide at the landing, and the boatload of field hands, propelled by four muscular arms, was not long in crossing. As the negroes jumped ashore Sound went among them and examined each one with his nose, but he returned to the landing and looked across and whined. They saluted Mr. Simmons and George Gossett politely, and then went on their way, whistling, singing, and cracking jokes, and laughing loudly.
"Was a bateau missing from this side this morning?" Mr. Simmons asked Uncle Andy.
"Suh?" Uncle Andy put his hand to his ear, affecting to be very anxious to hear what Mr. Simmons had said.
The question was repeated, whereat Uncle Andy laughed loudly.
"You sho is a witch fer guessin', suh! How come you ter know 'bout de missin' bo
at?"
Mr. Simmons smiled under this flattery. "I thought maybe a boat would be missing from this side this morning," he said.
"Dey sho wuz, suh; but I dunner how de name er goodness you come ter know 'bout it, kaze I wuz on de bank cross dar 'fo' 't wuz light, en I ain't see you on dis side. Yes, suh! De boat wuz gone. Dey foun' it 'bout a mile down de river, en on account er de shoals down dar, dey had ter take it out'n de water en fetch it back yer in de waggin. Yes, suh! dish yer de very boat."
"Where's the ford?" Mr. Simmons inquired. "I used to know, but I've forgotten."
"Right below yer, suh!" replied Uncle Andy. "You'll see de paff whar de stock cross at. B'ar down stream, suh, twel you halfway cross, den b'ar up. Ef you do dat you won't git yo' stirrup wet."
The ford was easily found, but the crossing was not at all comfortable. In fact, Uncle Andy had maliciously given Mr. Simmons the wrong directions. The two men rode into the water, bore down the stream, and their horses were soon floundering in deep water. They soon touched bottom again, and in a few moments they were safe on the opposite bank,—safe, but dripping wet and in no very good humor. Mr. Simmons's dogs, obedient to his call, followed his horse into the water and swam across.
Sound clambered out, shook himself, and ran back to the landing where the lady was waiting for the boat to return. It had been Mr. Simmons's intention to proceed at once down the river to the point where the boat had been found, and where he was sure the dogs would pick up the scent of the runaway; but he found that the way was impossible for horses. He must needs go to the landing and inquire the way.
Uncle Andy had just made the middle seat in the bateau more comfortable for his mistress by placing his coat, neatly folded, on the hard plank, and Mrs. Ward was preparing to accept the old negro's invitation to "git aboard, mistiss," when Mr. Simmons and George Gossett rode up. Both raised their hats as the lady glanced toward them. They were hardly in a condition to present themselves, Mr. Simmons explained, and then he inquired, with as much politeness as he could command, how to reach the place where the missing boat had been found.
"The missing boat? Why, I never heard of it till now. Was one of the bateaux missing this morning?" the lady asked Uncle Andy.
"Yessum. When de fishin' good en de niggers put out der set-hooks, dey ain't many mornin's in de week dat one er de yuther er deze boats ain't missin'!"
"I never heard of it before."
"No, mistiss; de boys 'low you wouldn't keer nohow. Dey runs um over de shoals, en dar dey leaves um."
"But both bateaux are here."
"Yessum. We fetches um back 'roun' by de road in de waggin."
"Who carried the bateau over the shoals this morning?"
"Me, ma'am. Nobody ain't know nuttin' 'bout it but de two Elliks, en when dat ar gemmun dar ax me des now if dey wa'n't a boat missin' fum 'roun' yer dis mornin' hit sorter flung me back on myse'f. I 'low 'Yes, suh,' but he sho flung me back on myse'f."
Uncle Andy began to chuckle so heartily that his mistress asked him what he was laughing at, though she well knew.
"I hit myse'f on de funny bone, mistiss, en when dat's de case I bleege ter laugh."
At this the lady laughed, and it was a genial, merry, and musical laugh. Mr. Simmons smiled, but so grimly that it had the appearance of a threat.
"And so this is Mr. Simmons, the famous negro hunter?" said Mrs. Ward. "Well, Mr. Simmons, I'm glad to see you. I've long had something to say to you. Whenever you are sent for to catch one of my negroes I want you to come straight to the house on the hill yonder and set your dogs on me. When one of my negroes goes to the woods, you may know it's my fault."
"Trufe, too!" remarked Uncle Andy, under his breath, but loud enough for all to hear.
"That may be so, ma'am," replied Mr. Simmons; "but among a passel of niggers you'll find some bad ones. What little pleasure I get out of this business is in seeing and hearing my dogs run. Somebody's got to catch the runaways, and it might as well be me as anybody."
"Why, certainly, Mr. Simmons. You have become celebrated. Your name is trumpeted about in all the counties round. You are better known than a great many of our rising young politicians."
The lady's manner was very gracious, but there was a gleam of humor in her eye. Mr. Simmons didn't know whether she was laughing at him or paying him a compliment; but he thought it would be safe to change the subject.
"May I ask the old man there a few questions?" he inquired.
"Why, certainly," Mrs. Ward responded. "Cross-examine him to your heart's content. But be careful about it, Mr. Simmons. He's old and feeble, and his mind is not as good as it used to be. I heard him telling the house girl last night that he was losing his senses."
"De lawsy massy, mistiss! You know I wuz des projickin' wid dat gal. Dey ain't any na'er nigger in de country got any mo' sense dan what I got. You know dat yo'se'f."
"Was anybody with you in the bateau when you went down the river this morning?"
"Yes, suh, dey wuz," replied Uncle Andy solemnly.
"Who was it?"
"Well, suh"—
"Don't get excited, now, Andrew," his mistress interrupted. "Tell Mr. Simmons the truth. You know your weakness."
If Uncle Andy's skin had been white or even brown, Mr. Simmons would have seen him blushing violently. He knew his mistress was making fun of him, but he was not less embarrassed on that account. He looked at Mrs. Ward and laughed.
"Speak right out," said the lady. "Who was with you in the bateau?"
"Little Essek, ma'm,—my gran-chil'. I'm bleedge ter have some un long fer ter hol' de boat steady when I go ter look at my set-hooks. Little Essek wuz de fust one I see, en I holler'd at 'im."
"Did anybody cross from the other side this morning?" asked Mr. Simmons.
"Not dat I knows un, less'n it wuz Criddle's Jerry. He's got a wife at de Abercrombie place. He fotch Marse Criddle's buggy to be worked on at our blacksmif shop, en he rid de mule home dis mornin'. Little Essek had 'er down yer 'bout daylight waitin' fer Jerry, kaze he say he got ter be home soon ef not befo'."
Uncle Andy had an imagination. Jerry had brought the buggy and had ridden the mule home. He also had a wife at the Abercrombie place, but his master had given him no "pass" to visit her, thinking it might delay his return. For that reason Jerry did not cross the river the night before.
"And here we've been chasing Criddle's Jerry all the morning," remarked George Gossett to Mr. Simmons. "Pap was right."
"But what was the nigger doing at your place?" Mr. Simmons was still arguing the matter in his mind.
"Don't ask me," replied George Gossett.
"Dey ain't no 'countin' fer a nigger, suh," remarked Uncle Andy affably. "Dey ain't no 'countin' fer 'em when dey ol' ez I is, much less when dey young en soople like Criddle's Jerry."
Under the circumstances there was nothing for Mr. Simmons and young Gossett to do but to turn short about and recross the river. It was fortunate for them that a negro boy was waiting to take Mrs. Ward's horse across the river. They followed him into the ford, and made the crossing without difficulty. Then the two men held a council of war. Uncle Andy had another name for it. "I wish you'd look at um jugglin'," he said to his mistress, as he helped her from the bateau.
George Gossett was wet, tired, and disgusted, and he would not hear to Mr. Simmons's proposition to "beat about the bushes" in the hope that the dogs would strike Aaron's trail. "We started wrong," he said. "Let's go home, and when we try for the nigger again, let's start right."
"Well, tell your father I'll be back the day after to-morrow if I don't catch his nigger. I'm obliged to go home now and change my duds if I don't strike a trail. It's a true saying that there's more mud than water in the Oconee. I'll take a short cut. I'll go up the river a mile or such a matter and ride across to Dawson's old mill road. That will take me home by dinner time."
As it happened, Mr. Simmons didn't take dinner at home that day, nor did he return to Gossett's at the time he appointed.
He called his dogs and turned his horse's head up stream. He followed the course of the river for a mile or more, and then bore away from it. While he was riding along, lost in his reflections, he suddenly heard Sound giving tongue far ahead. That sagacious dog had unexpectedly hit on Aaron's trail, and he lost no time in announcing the fact as loudly as he could. Mr. Simmons was very much surprised.
"If that blamed dog is fooling me this time I'll feel like killing him," he remarked to himself. The rest of the dogs joined in, and they were all soon footing it merrily in the direction of the big swamp.
The blue falcon, circling high in the air, suddenly closed her wings and dropped into the leafy bosom of the Swamp. This was the first messenger. That red joker, the Fox Squirrel, had heard the wailing cry of the hounds, and scampered down the big pine. Halfway down he made a flying leap into the live oak, and then from tree to tree he went running, scrambling, jumping.
But let him go never so fast, the blue falcon was before him, and let the blue falcon swoop never so swiftly, the message was before her. For the White Grunter had ears. Ooft! he had heard the same wailing sound when the hounds were after him before he was old enough to know what his tusks were for. And Rambler had ears. In fact, the Swamp itself had ears, and for a few moments it held its breath (as the saying is) and listened. Listened intently,—and then quietly, cautiously, and serenely began to dispose of its forces. Near the big poplar Aaron had a pile of stones. They had been selected to fit his hand; they were not too large nor too small; they were not too light nor too heavy. This pile of stones was Aaron's ammunition, and he took his stand by it.
The White Pig rose slowly from his bed of mud, where he had been wallowing, and shook himself. Then he scratched himself by rubbing his side against a beech-tree. The Brindle Steer slowly dragged himself through the canes and tall grass, and came to Aaron's tree, where he paused with such a loud sigh that Rambler jumped away.
Aaron in the Wildwoods Page 7
