Part 10

When everything was ready, the question arose, how was the horse to be removed to his new quarters? Mr. Abercrombie considered the matter an entire afternoon, and then decided to postpone it until the next day. He said something about it at supper, and this caused Mrs. Abercrombie to remark that she hoped he would get rid of such a savage creature. She said she should never feel safe while the horse remained on the place. But Mr. Abercrombie laughed at this excess of fear, and so did Little Crotchet, who made bold to say that if his father would permit him, he would have Timoleon put in his stable that very night, and it would be done so quietly that nobody on the place would know how or when it happened.

Mr. Abercrombie regarded his son with tender and smiling eyes.

"And what wonderful person will do this for you, my boy?"

"A friend of mine," replied Little Crotchet seriously.

"Well, you have so many friends that I'll never guess the name," remarked his father.

"Oh, but this is one of the most particular, particularest of my friends," the lad explained.

"I suppose you know he is getting up a great reputation among the servants," said Mrs. Abercrombie to her husband, half in jest and half in earnest.

"I know they are all very fond of him, my dear."

"Of course they are--how can they help themselves?" the lad's mother cried. "But this is 'a most particular, particularest' reputation." She quizzically quoted Little Crotchet's phrase, and he laughed when he heard it fall from her lips. "It is something quite wonderful. Since the time that he issued orders for no one to bother him after nine o'clock at night, the servants say that he talks with 'ha'nts.' They say he has become so familiar with bogies and such things that he can be heard talking with them at all hours of the night."

"Your mother has been counting the candles on you, my boy" remarked Mr. Abercrombie jokingly.

"Why, father! how can you put such an idea in the child's mind?" protested Mrs. Abercrombie.

"He's only teasing you, mama," said Little Crotchet.

"I heard him talking to a bogie the other night," remarked Mr. Hudspeth, the Teacher.

"Oh, I don't think you're a bogie," cried Little Crotchet. "You would have been one, though, if you had kept me in those awful books."

The Teacher had mischievously thrown out this hint about Aaron to see what effect it would have. He was amazed at the lad's self-possession, and at the deft manner in which he had turned the hint aside.

"Oh, have you been admitted to the sanctum?" inquired the lad's mother, laughing.

"I paused at the door to say good-night and remained until I learned a lesson I never shall forget," said Mr. Hudspeth.

"Ah, you're finding our boy out, eh?" exclaimed Mr. Abercrombie with a show of pride.

"He possesses already the highest culture the mind of man is capable of," Mr. Hudspeth declared. His tone was so solemn and his manner so earnest that Little Crotchet blushed. "He is cultured in the humanities. That is apart from scholarship," the Teacher explained, "but without it all knowledge is cold and dark and unfruitful."

"I know he is very humane," suggested Mr. Abercrombie.

"Oh, it is more than that," said Mr. Hudspeth; "far more than that. All sensitive people are tender-hearted. One may read a book and yet not catch the message it conveys. But this lad"--He paused and suddenly changed the subject. "He said he could have Timoleon carried to the new stable, and you are inclined to be doubtful. But he can do more than that: he can have the horse removed without bridle or halter."

"Then you know our boy better than we do!" Mrs. Abercrombie's tone was almost reproachful.

"I found him out quite by accident," replied Mr. Hudspeth.

Little Crotchet in his quaint way called attention to the fact that he was blushing again. "You've made me blush twice," he said, "and I can't stay after that."

At a sign, Jemimy, the house girl, who was waiting on the table--the same Jemimy who afterward had a daughter named Drusilla--turned the lad's chair about. He balanced himself on his crutches, and without touching his feet to the floor walked across the room to the hall, and so up the stairway. On the landing he paused.

"Shall I have Timoleon put in the new stable to-night?" he asked.

"By all means, my boy--if you can," answered Mr. Abercrombie. "If you succeed I'll give you a handsome present."

Little Crotchet always paused on the stair landing to say something, but never to say good-night. After a while his mother would go up and sit with him a few minutes, by way of kissing him good-night, and, later, his father would make the same little journey for the same purpose.

On this particular night, those whom Little Crotchet had left at the table remained conversing longer than usual. Mr. Hudspeth had something more to say about humanity-culture; and although he employed "the Concord dialect," as Mr. Abercrombie called it, his discourse was both interesting and stimulating. In the midst of it Jemimy dropped a plate and broke it. The crash of the piece of china put a temporary end to the conversation, and the silence that ensued had its humorous side. Jemimy's eyes, big as saucers and as white, were turned toward a door that led to the sitting-room. The door softly opened, and a portly negro woman, with a bunch of keys hanging at her waist, came into the dining-room. This was Mammy Lucy, the housekeeper. She never once glanced toward her master and mistress.

"White er blue?" she inquired in a low voice.

"Blue," replied Jemimy.

"Dat counts fer two," Mammy Lucy remarked. "You've done broke five. One mo', en you'll go whar you b'long. I done say mo' dan once you ain't got no business in dis house. De fiel' 's whar you b'long at."

Jemimy couldn't help that. She couldn't help anything. She knew how the Little Master would have the Black Stallion moved from one stable to the other. She knew, and she never would tell. They might send her to the field, they might drown her or strangle her, they might cut off her ears or gouge her eyes out, they might send her to town to the calaboose, they might do anything they pleased, but she never would tell. Not while her name was Jemimy, and she'd be named that until after she was put under the ground and covered up; and even then she wouldn't tell.

Later when Mr. Abercrombie went upstairs to say good-night to Little Crotchet, the lad asked if he might have Timoleon trained. He had heard his father talking of getting a trainer from Mobile, and so he made the suggestion that, instead of going to that expense, it might be well to have the horse trained by his "friend," as he called Aaron.

Mr. Abercrombie guessed who Little Crotchet's friend was, but, to please the lad, feigned ignorance. He told his son that the training of such a horse as Timoleon was a very delicate piece of business, and should be undertaken by no one but an expert. Now, if Little Crotchet's "friend" was an expert, which was not likely, well and good; if not, he might ruin a good horse. Still, if Little Crotchet was sure that everything would be all right, why, there would be no objection. At any rate, the horse was now old enough to be broken to the saddle, and Little Crotchet's "friend" could do that if no more.

So it was settled, and the lad was very happy. He made his signal for Aaron early and often, but, somehow, the Son of Ben Ali was long in coming that night. The reason was plain enough when he did come, but Little Crotchet was very impatient. The moon was shining, and as George Gossett and his companions had refused to raise the siege a single night since Mr. Fullalove had seen the runaway at the stillhouse, Aaron found it difficult to respond promptly when the Little Master signaled him to come. It is not an easy matter to pass a picket line of patrollers when the moon is shining as it shines in Georgia at the beginning of autumn, and as it shone on the Abercrombie place the night that Little Crotchet was so anxious to see Aaron.

Rambler was very busy that night trying to find a place where Aaron might pass the patrollers without attracting attention, but he had to give it up for a time. At last, however, three of them, George Gossett among the number, concluded to pay another visit to Mr. Fullalove, and this left the way clear. Aaron was prompt to take advantage of it. Going half bent, he kept in the shadow of the fence, slipped through the small jungle of black-jacks, ran swiftly across an open space to the negro cabins, flitted to the garden fence, and in the shadow of that fled to the front yard, and so up the friendly oak.

Oh, but Little Crotchet was impatient! He was almost ready to frown when Aaron made his appearance; but when the runaway told him of the big moon and the patrollers, he grew uneasy; and after telling Aaron about the Black Stallion, how the horse must be removed to the new stable, and how he must be broken to saddle and bridle, Little Crotchet declared that he was sorry he had signaled to Aaron.

"They'll catch you to-night, sure," he said.

But Aaron shook his head. "No, Little Master, not to-night. Not while I'm with the grandson of Abdallah."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Little Crotchet; "you'll stay in his stable. Good! I'll bring you your breakfast in the morning."

Aaron smiled, shaking his head and looking at the basket of victuals that Little Crotchet always had ready for him when he came.

"No, Little Master! This will do. I'll not take the basket to-night. I'll put the victuals in my wallet." This was a bag suspended from his shoulder by a strap, being made after the manner of the satchels in which the children used to carry their books to school.

Aaron had another idea in his head, but he gave no hint of it to little Crotchet, for he didn't know how it would succeed. So he sat by the lad's bedside and drove away the red goblin, Pain, and waited until George Gossett and his companions had time to make another visit to the stillhouse. Then he took the big key of the new stable from the mantel, slipped it on his belt,--a leathern thong that he always wore around his body,--placed in his wallet the substantial lunch that the Little Master had saved for him, and prepared to take his leave. This time he did not snuff out the light, but placed the candlestick on the hearth.

When Aaron went out at the window, Little Crotchet was sound asleep, and seemed to be smiling. The Son of Ben Ali was smiling too, and continued to smile even as he descended the oak.

Rambler was waiting for him, and, instead of being asleep, was wide awake and very much disturbed. One of the patrollers, no less a person than George Gossett,--young Grizzly, as Rambler named him,--had been to the spring for water. This was what disturbed the dog, and it was somewhat disturbing to Aaron; for the high wines or low wines, or whatever it was that was dealt out to them at the stillhouse, might make young Gossett and his companions bold enough to search the premises, even though Mr. Abercrombie had warned them that he could take care of his own place and wanted none of their interference in any way, shape, or form.

If Aaron could get to the stable, where the Black Stallion had his temporary quarters, all would be well. He could then proceed to carry out the idea he had in his mind, which was a very bold one, so bold that it might be said to depend on accident for its success.

The moon was shining brightly, even brilliantly, as Aaron stood at the corner of the great house and looked toward the horse lot. He could easily reach the negro quarters, he could even reach the black-jack thicket beyond, but he would be farther from the lot than ever, and still have an acre of moonlight to wade through. What he did was both bold and simple, and its very boldness made it successful.

He stepped back to the garden gate, threw it wide open, and slammed it to again. The noise was loud enough to be heard all over the place. George Gossett heard it and was sure the noise was made by Mr. Abercrombie. Aaron walked from the house straight toward the horse lot, whistling loudly and melodiously some catchy air he had heard the negroes sing. Rambler was whistling too, but the sound came through his nose, and it was not a tune, but a complaint and a warning.

Aaron paid no heed to the warning and cared nothing for the complaint. He went through the moonlight, whistling, and there was a swagger about his gait such as the negroes assume when they are feeling particularly happy. Behind a tree, not twenty-five yards away, George Gossett stood. Rambler caught his scent in the air and announced the fact by a low growl. But this announcement only made Aaron whistle the louder.

There was no need for him to whistle, if he had but known it; for when young Gossett heard the garden gate slammed to and saw what seemed to be a negro come away from the house whistling, he at once decided that some one of the hands had been receiving his orders from Mr. Abercrombie. Thus deciding, George Gossett paid no further attention to Aaron, but kept himself more closely concealed behind the tree that sheltered him. He looked at Aaron, and that more than once; but though the moonlight was brilliant, it was only moonlight after all.

Aaron disappeared in the deep shadows that fell about the horse lot, and George Gossett forgot in a few minutes that any one had waded through the pond of moonlight that lay shimmering between the garden gate and the lot where Timoleon held sway. Indeed, there was nothing about the incident to attract attention. As he stood leaning against the tree, young Gossett could see the negroes constantly passing to and fro about their cabins. There was no lack of movement. Some of the negroes carried torches of "fat" pine in spite of the fact that the moon was shining, and so made themselves more conspicuous. But this peculiarity was so familiar to the young man's experience that it never occurred to him to remark it.

He could even hear parts of their conversation, for they made not the slightest effort to suppress their voices or subdue their laughter, which was loud and long and frequent. It was especially vociferous when Turin came to the door of one of the cabins and cried to Uncle Fountain, who had just gone out:--

"Nigger man! You better not try to slip off to Spivey's dis night."

"How come, I like ter know?" said Uncle Fountain.

"Patterollers on de hill yander," replied Turin.

"How you know?" Uncle Fountain asked.

"I done seed um."

"What dey doin' out dar?"

"Ketchin' grasshoppers, I speck!"

From every cabin came a roar of laughter, and the whole plantation seemed to enjoy the joke. The calves in the ginhouse lot bleated, the dogs barked, the geese cackled, and the guinea hens shrieked "Potrack! run here! go back!" as loud as they could, and a peafowl, roosting on the pinnacle of the roof of the great house, joined in with a wailing cry that could be heard for miles.

The lack of respect shown by the Abercrombie negroes for the patrollers irritated George Gossett, but it was a relief to him to know that if the negroes on his "pap's" place were to make any reference to the patrollers they would bow their heads and speak in subdued whispers.

From one of the cabins came the sound of "patting" and dancing, and the noise made by the feet of the dancer was so responsive to that made by the hands of the man who was patting that only an expert ear could distinguish the difference. The dance was followed by a friendly tussle, and a negro suddenly ran out at the door, pursued by another. The pursuer halted, however, and cried out:--

"Ef you fool wid me, nigger, I'll make Marster sen' you in de lot dar an' move dat ar' wil' hoss to his new stable."

"Marster was made 'fo' you wuz de maker," answered the pursued, who had now stopped running.

"Ding 'em!" said young Gossett in a low tone to himself, "they're always and eternally frolicking on this place. No wonder they ain't able to do no more work in the daytime!"

Fretting inwardly, the young man changed his position, and continued to watch for the runaway. How long he stood there young Gossett could not say. Whether the spirits he had swallowed at the stillhouse benumbed his faculties so that he fell into a doze, he did not know. He could only remember that he was aroused from apparent unconsciousness by a tremendous clamor that seemed to come from the hill where he had left the most of his companions. It was a noise of rushing and running, squealing horses, and the exclamations of frightened men.

Young Gossett did not pause to interpret the clamor that came to his ears, but ran back toward the hill as hard as he could go.

XII.

WHAT THE PATROLLERS SAW AND HEARD.

The scheme which Aaron had conceived, and which he proposed to carry out without delay, was bold, and yet very simple,--simple, that is to say, from his point of view. It came into his mind while he was in Little Crotchet's room, and fashioned itself as he went whistling to the horse lot in full view of George Gossett.

He swung himself over the fence, and made directly for Timoleon's stable. The Black Stallion heard some one fumbling about the door, and breathed hard through his nostrils, making a low, fluttering sound, as high-spirited horses do when they are suspicious or angry. It was a fair warning to any and all who might dare to open the door and enter that stable.

"So!" said Aaron; "that is the welcome you give to all who may come to make you comfortable."

At the sound of that voice, Timoleon snorted cheerfully and whinnied, saying: "Change places with me, Son of Ben Ali, and then see who will warn all comers. Why, the ox has better treatment, and the plow mule is pampered. What am I that my food should be thrown at me through the cracks? The man that fed me comes no more."

"He is where your teeth and your temper put him, Grandson of Abdallah. But there is to be a change. This night you go to your new house, where everything is fresh and clean and comfortable. And you are to learn to hold a bit in your mouth and a man on your back, as Abdallah before you did."

"That is nothing, Son of Ben Ali. Then I can gallop, and smell the fresh air from the fields. What man am I to carry, Son of Ben Ali?"

"Let the White-Haired Master settle that, Grandson of Abdallah. This night, before you go to your new house, you are to have a run with me."

Timoleon snorted with delight. He was ready, and more than ready. He was stiff and sore from standing in the stable.

"But before we start, Grandson of Abdallah, this must be said: No noise before I give the word; none of the loud screaming that men call whickering. You know my hand. You are to have a frolic, and a fine one, but before you begin it, wait for the word. Now, then, we will go."

With his hand on the horse's withers, Aaron guided Timoleon to the gate. They went through the lot in which the Black Stallion's new stable stood, out at the gate through which Buster John and Sweetest Susan rode years afterward, and into the lane that led to the public road. But instead of going toward the road, they followed the lane back into the plantation, until they came to what was called "the double gates." Going through these, they found themselves in the pasture that sloped gradually upward to the hill from which Aaron was in the habit of watching the light in Little Crotchet's window.

The hoofs of the Black Stallion hardly made a sound on the soft turf. Guided by Aaron, he ascended the hill until they were on a level with and not far from the fence on which Mr. Gossett, his son George, and Jim Simmons had carried on their controversy about Addison Abercrombie. Here Aaron brought Timoleon to a halt, while Rambler went forward to see what discovery he could make.

He soon found where the horses of the patrollers were stationed. There were five. Three had evidently been trained to "stand without tying," as the saying is, while one of the patrollers was sitting against a tree, holding the other two. All this Rambler knew, for he went so near that the patroller saw him, and hurled a pine burr at him. It was a harmless enough missile, but it had not left Rambler in a good humor. Then it was that Aaron spoke to the horse, and gave him the word.

"Grandson of Abdallah, the horses and the man are yonder. Give them a taste of your playfulness. Show them what a frolic is, but cover your teeth with your lips,--no blood to-night. Spare the horses. They have gone hungry for hours, but they must obey the bit. Spare the man, too, but if you can strip him of his coat as he flees, well and good. You will see other men come running. They will be filled with fear. Give them also a taste of your playfulness. Let them see the grandson of Abdallah when he is frolicsome. But mind! No blood to-night,--no broken bones!"

The situation promised to be so exciting that Timoleon snorted loudly and fiercely, whereupon one of the horses held by the patroller answered with a questioning neigh, which was cut short by a cruel jerk of the bridle rein by the man who held it. The man was dozing under the influence of Mr. Fullalove's low-wines, and the sudden neighing of the horse startled and irritated him.

But in the twinkling of an eye terror took the place of irritation, for the Black Stallion, pretending to himself that the neigh was a challenge, screamed fiercely in reply and went charging upon the group with open mouth and eyes that glowed in the dark. The horses knew well what that scream meant. Those that were not held by the patroller ran away panic-stricken, snorting, and whickering. The two that were held by the patroller cared nothing for bits now, but broke away from the man, after dragging him several yards (for he had the reins wrapped about his wrist) and joined the others.

They dragged the man right in the Black Stallion's path, and there left him straggling to his hands and knees, with his right arm so severely wrenched that he could hardly use it. But, fortunately for the patroller, Timoleon's eyes were keen, and he saw the man in time to leap over him, screaming wildly as he did so. The man fell over on his side at that instant. Glancing upward he saw the huge hulk of the horse flying over him, and his reason nearly left him. Was it really a horse, or was it that arch-fiend Beelzebub that he had read about in the books, and whose name he had heard thundered from the pulpit at the camp meeting? "Beelzebub is abroad in the land to-day!" the preacher had cried. Was it indeed true?

The Black Stallion drove the crazed horses before him hither and yonder, but always turning them back to the point where they had been standing. The stampede was presently joined by three or four mules that had been turned in the pasture. The patrollers, who had been watching and guarding the approaches to the Abercrombie place, came running to see what the trouble was. George Gossett, being farther away from the pasture than the rest, was the last to reach the scene, but he arrived soon enough to see the Black Stallion seize one of his companions by the coat-tails and literally strip him of the garment.