Part 6

Org and Little Bit arrived just in time to view the effects of the tragedy, and came away with a deep impression of the explosive power of dynamite.

“Dat stuff ain’t nothin’ fer us to fool wid, Marse Org,” Little Bit said earnestly. “Jes’ look whut dat little stick of dynamite done to dat big growed-up man. Ef a wad of dynamite wus to bust close to us, de white folks would hab to put on deir readin’ specks to find de pieces, an’ dey’d tote us bofe back to Tickfall on a shingle.”

“I know where plenty of blasting powder is,” Org remarked. “Uncle Tom has a whole keg of powder in his barn.”

“Dat’s de stuff fer us to monkey wid,” Little Bit agreed. “Us don’t hab to play wid so much at one time dat we git blowed plum’ away.”

They found the keg of powder and carried it down to the little branch which ran around the edge of the town. They were very careful as they went around the stable, not to step on the alligator. As they carried their powder away, they looked back frequently to assure themselves that the alligator was not in pursuit. When at last they had reached the woods, they decided that it would be a good idea to make several loud explosions to scare the alligator and keep him from coming in that direction.

They spent several hours experimenting with the powder, enjoying themselves in a variety of dangerous ways without coming to any harm.

Then Little Bit thought of a hollow log under the wooden bridge that crossed this little branch on the road to the Nigger-Heel plantation. The log was about four feet long, the hollow through the center being about four inches in diameter, and extending nearly the entire length. To the imagination of boys, this thing would be suggestive of a cannon. When Little Bit showed the log to Orren Gaitskill, that was the first thought in his mind.

“Let’s put some gunpowder in this log and shoot her off,” he proposed. “It’s just like a cannon.”

“Us ain’t got no fuse-hole,” Little Bit remarked.

“We can go up to Uncle Tom’s and borrow a auger and bore a fuse-hole,” Org replied. “I know where an auger is.”

They concealed their keg of powder under some brush and spent an hour going after the tool, playing along the road both coming and going. Then they took turns in working, as they bored the hole.

“Less load her up now and shoot off, and that’ll make an end of a perfect day,” Org remarked, quoting a part of a song he had heard his sister sing to Captain Kerlerac.

“Dis ole cannon is gwine use up all our powder,” Little Bit declared, as he peeped up the hollow to where the light of the fuse-hole showed.

“We don’t care,” Org laughed. “This powder don’t cost us nothing.”

They placed their fuse properly, then emptied the contents of the keg into the muzzle of the log cannon. They rammed the charge home with a number of old sacks which they had been thoughtful enough to pick up in the barn and bring with them when they went after the augur. Then they added several hat-loads of leaves and grass which they mixed with mud from the branch. After that they charged the “cannon” to the very end with great quantities of sod torn up from the edge of the branch and rammed hard into the muzzle with the blunt end of a big stick.

“Now she’s ready to shoot. Who’s going to light the fuse?” Org asked.

“Not me,” Little Bit said positively. “I’m jes’ a little fool nigger, an’ ain’t to be trusted wid no important jobs.”

“I’ll light the fuse,” Org announced. “Go up on the road and see if anybody is coming.”

Little Bit ran up on the little frail wooden bridge which was about twelve feet long, made a survey, and announced that all was clear. Then he ran far over in the woods.

Org lighted the fuse and followed his black companion at his best speed. When they reached what they thought was a safe distance, they paused and waited.

The idea of the boys was that the powder would simply shoot the mud out of the log, just as a bullet is propelled from the muzzle of a gun. But blasting powder is not a propulsive force; it is something that rends and tears, exerting as much pressure in one direction as in another.

Therefore the boys were very much surprised, when they heard the explosion, to see the frail wooden bridge which spanned the narrow branch rise in the air, break into a number of pieces, and scatter all over the place!

The log cannon went to pieces also.

The boys went somewhere else. They did not run. They could easily have overtaken and passed anybody that was merely running. They just went away from there.

When completely overcome by exhaustion, they dropped down under a tree far away from the scene of their exploit. When, after a long time, they had somewhat recovered their composure and their breath, they began to plan for the future, when, as they thought, they would have to give an account of themselves.

“What does the law do to a feller that busts up a bridge, Little Bit?” Org asked.

“Ef he’s a nigger, like me, dey hangs him,” Little Bit shuddered.

“But if he’s white?” Org inquired.

“Dey shoots him,” Little Bit said.

“Then we won’t confess,” Org announced decisively.

They meditated awhile, and again Org asked a question.

“Did anybody see us with that kag of powder?”

“Nope. Us wus all alone.”

“Then we needn’t say anything about that kag,” Org declared. “Uncle Tom won’t miss it for some time.”

“Don’t we say nothin’ about nothin’ bustin’?” Little Bit asked.

“No.”

“Look at all de scratches dat de briars cut on my face when I wus runnin’ away,” Little Bit pointed. “How’s I gwine esplain dese here scratches? I got to say dat somepin’ busted on me, ain’t I?”

“No, you fool!” Org exclaimed. “Don’t you ever confess that anything busted on you or that you were ever round any busting thing. Tell ’em that you cut your face—er——”

“You had better think up a powerful good lie,” Little Bit quavered. “My mammy, she kin ketch on powerful easy to tales.”

“Tell her that you cut your face—er—shaving!” Org replied, uttering the last word with triumphant emphasis.

“Dat shows you don’t know nothin’ about niggers,” Little Bit scoffed. “Most niggers ain’t got no hair on deir face an’ don’t never hab to shave. A nigger whut kin grow a moustacher an’ whiskers—he’s proud of hisse’f!”

“Aw, shucks,” Org said in disgust. “That ruins our perfectly good excuse.”

“My face don’t look like it’s been cut with a razor,” Little Bit said obstinately. “It looks like it’s been sawed acrost wid a lot of blackberry briars, dat’s whut.”

“I know it does, but you’ve got to tell some kind of tale to keep us from being found out,” Org said impatiently.

“We don’t hab to tell nothin’,” Little Bit sighed. “Dat bridge will say a plum’ plenty. It’ll preach a whole sermont.”

“Don’t you say nothing about that bridge,” Org howled. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“’Spose de white folks axes me?”

“Tell ’em you don’t know anything.”

“I’ll tell ’em dat,” Little Bit said doubtfully. “But ain’t gwine bear down on dat very hard. Ef a nigger tells too many lies, Gawd’ll kill him!”

“If you don’t tell a few about that bridge the white folks will kill you before God can get around to you,” Org declared.

Then there popped into Orren’s head, the final recourse of all the guilty, the establishment of a false alibi.

“Come on,” he howled, springing to his feet. “We’ll go back to town and prove to everybody that we have not been in the woods at all to-day. We’ll let ’em see us.”

XVI

A PAIR OF FEET

Dazzle Zenor went to the Hen-Scratch saloon and sent word to Skeeter that she must see him right away. When he came out to the rear, she lost no time in stating her business.

“Hopey jes’ come to my place an’ tole me dat dar ain’t no Gaitskills at home. Org an’ Little Bit is goned to de woods; Marse Tom is down to de bank, an’ ole miss an’ Miss Virginny is gone out fer a automobile ride; Mustard Prophet is gone out to de Nigger-Heel plantation, an’ is takin’ Hopey an’ Popsy Spout wid him to give ’em a outin’. Now is yo’ time to git de rabbit-foot.”

“Yes’m,” Skeeter agreed. “Dis time am choosen of de Lawd. Is you willin’ to he’p me?”

“Suttinly. I’s in on de reeward bill.”

“Dis is de plan,” Skeeter said. “I walks up to Marse Tom’s jes’ easylike, kinder moseyin’ along, an’ I sneaks in de back way an’ I sneaks out de back way an’ I walks down de back side of de hill an’ makes a roundance to de road at de front of de bottom of de hill.”

“Dat’s de properest way to do,” Dazzle said.

“Yo’ plan is dis,” Skeeter continued. “You drives my little automobile an’ waits fer me at de foot of de hill on de side of de road. You keeps dat engyne runnin’ an’ you heads dat machine to’rds out of town. We goes straight to de Nigger-Heel an’ gits our money.”

For half an hour Dazzle amused herself by riding around the town. It was Saturday afternoon, a great crowd of country negroes was in Tickfall, and the girl showed her skill as a driver by seeing how close she could shave to the tail of the farm-wagons and the rear end of the mules and horses and cattle that were on the street.

At one corner there was a drove of mules waiting to be sold at auction; a little farther up the street there was a herd of bony cattle that had been driven down from the hill farms to be sold; at another point there was a flock of sheep lying in the dust, panting with the heat. Around each of these there stood dozens of negroes, inspecting what was for sale whether they intended to buy or not. Dazzle greeted all these friends from the country, but firmly refused all requests for a ride, for she was watching the time, and was determined to be at the meeting-place when Skeeter arrived.

Skeeter sauntered around the streets for a little while, watching the auctioneer in his business and admiring his line of talk. Then he slipped quietly out of the crowded street and hurried to the home of Colonel Tom Gaitskill.

It was not difficult or dangerous to rob a house with nobody at home. Satisfying himself by an inspection, that he was really alone on the premises, Skeeter entered through the kitchen, went into the little back hall, climbed the back stairs, and entered the room of Miss Virginia Gaitskill. He opened the drawer in her dresser and took out the green-plush box, being careful not to disarrange anything in the drawer. He paused long enough to open the box and assure himself that the rabbit-foot was in it, then he placed the box in the inner pocket of his coat and went out as quietly as he had come.

It had been so easy that he decided to go out the front way and thus avoid the long detour necessary if he went down the hill on the far side and had to walk around to the road. He peeped around the corner of the house in the front, and dodged back in a hurry.

He saw Org and Little Bit climbing over the fence into the horse-lot. They looked tired, as if they had run a long distance, and they looked either excited or scared, as if something unusual had happened; and they were in a hurry, for they climbed the fence rather than take the time to open and shut the gate.

Skeeter’s short hair stood upon his cranium like hog-bristles. Had Orren Randolph Gaitskill found out in some way that he was trying to steal the rabbit-foot? Could Little Bit have been around the saloon and overheard the conversation about the rabbit-foot between himself and Dazzle? Were they coming to the house now to protect this precious green-plush box from theft?

“I reckin I’s gwine take de long roundance,” Skeeter muttered in a panicky tone as he ran with all his speed toward the rear of the house, keeping the building between himself and the two boys, and when he started down the hill, dodging from bush to bush like a rabbit.

But the boys had something on their minds besides Skeeter Butts. On their long run from the little branch where the bridge had been blown up, Org had thought of something that would attract the attention of the people in Tickfall and register in their minds the fact that he and Little Bit were in town.

Org had ridden with his Uncle Tom in the automobile, and had seen Colonel Gaitskill shut off the power from the engine and coast down the hill from his house to the town. This had given Org an idea on which he had been working for several days. Under a shed in the rear of the Gaitskill stable there was an abandoned, worn-out buggy, without any shafts. Org had tied a rope to each end of the front axle near the front wheels, and had found by experiment that he could guide the buggy by pulling on the rope, just as if he were driving a horse. Little Bit had pushed the buggy around the smooth, level horse-lot and Org had been able to guide it without difficulty.

So now, confronting this emergency, he decided that the best game he could play would be that of coasting down the Gaitskill hill toward the town in that old buggy. It would be plenty of fun of a kind that would attract attention from those in town.

He instructed Little Bit what to do, and the two boys pushed the buggy out of the horse-lot and stopped it on the brow of the hill. Org climbed into his buggy on the top of the hill just about the time that Skeeter Butts seated himself in his automobile beside Dazzle Zenor at the foot of the hill.

The two started about the same time.

Skeeter planned to go up the street about a block, then turn to his right and go out the principal street to the Nigger-Heel plantation.

Org expected to stop at the foot of the hill, and push his buggy back to the top and coast down again.

One thing that Org had overlooked was that his Uncle Tom’s automobile had a brake. The buggy lacked that very important accessory, and when Little Bit pushed it off and climbed on behind, it had not traveled one hundred feet until it was going thirty miles an hour. Half-way down the hill it was “doing fifty,” and at the foot of the hill it was just a rattling horror of incredible speed with momentum enough to carry it half a mile on a level road.

That Providence which looks out for fools, drunken men, and children, gave the buggy just the right turn at the right time to shoot it out toward Main Street. Its momentum carried it across the street like a rocket, sent it plunging madly across the court-house lawn, hurled it into the middle of a lot in the rear of the court-house where the country people hitched their horses and mules, and there it ended its sensational and spectacular flight by colliding with a hitching-rack, spilling out the two boys like peas are tossed from a spoon, and tearing itself to pieces!

The two youngsters sprang up unhurt and made tracks away from there.

One old mule had seen the buggy coming over the court-house lawn with nothing to pull it and nothing to push it. It did not look natural to him; it made the same impression on him that a pair of pants would make on you if you saw the pants coming down the street with nobody in them.

That mule opened his great mouth and uttered a trumpetlike bray just as the vehicle hung up on the hitching-rack. Then mister mule broke his bridle and went galloping up the street, looking back and bawling with every jump.

Every mule in the hitching-lot promptly broke loose and went galloping after the first mule, also looking back at the strange vehicle which had come among them. All the horses followed, neighing their fright, some pulling buggies and some wagons; some with harness on, some with saddles, and as they all went up the street together, every horse and mule on both sides of the street broke away and joined in the procession.

Many of the animals did not know what it was all about. But it is a fact that if one runaway starts down a street, all the other horses and mules will run with him. They believe in safety first.

Two blocks away there was a herd of cattle standing in the middle of the street being sold at auction. They saw the cyclone coming and fled before it. A block farther up the street a flock of terrified sheep saw the cattle coming, and started out ahead of the cows. A block farther on a drove of hogs saw the sheep coming, and they also believed in safety first, and decided to get there first, so they led the procession.

As the grunting, bleating, bellowing, braying, nickering procession of animals swept forward, all the country dogs which had followed their masters into town from every point of the compass fell in behind and became a mighty chorus of yelping, barking canines, and their number was augmented and their chorus strengthened by all the dogs which Tickfall could contribute. And all the men, women, and children, white and black, and all the shades of color between, swept out of the stores and offices and shops to see what the disturbance was about, and these fell in behind and added their multitudinous shoutings to the noise and excitement which was like the ululation of wind and wave during a great storm at sea.

In an incredible time the principal street of Tickfall was swept clean of all its live stock and of all its men, but it was littered everywhere with pieces of broken buggies, broken wagons, broken harness, and a dust-cloud was settling upon that vacated street as if Mother Nature was trying to bury what was left out of her sight.

Now for the luck which attends the escapades of youth: every person on the street had looked toward the teams which were running away, and not back at what had originally caused their flight. Those boys had careened over the court-house yard, had come to smash in the middle of the hitching-lot, and had got up and gone away from there without being seen by a single person who identified them as the source of all the trouble. As for Colonel Gaitskill’s buggy, he never missed it, and if he had, he could never have identified it among the smashed and broken vehicles that were junked in the hitching-lot after the animals broke loose.

The farmers knew that if one mule runs away every other mule follows; so the poor mule who first saw the buggy and uttered his frightened bawl was blamed for the whole catastrophe!

As for Skeeter Butts and Dazzle Zenor, they were about two blocks from the court-house when they heard that first terrified bray behind them. In a moment the braying and bawling and bleating and squealing and barking and yelling increased greatly.

We have the best authority for the statement that the wicked flee where no man pursueth.

Skeeter and Dazzle decided that all the inhabitants of Tickfall were after them for the theft of the rabbit-foot!

Skeeter took one look behind him at that cloud of dust, caught hold of his spark lever and pulled it down to the last notch, then slowly opened his throttle until it could go no farther. The speed of his flight broke all records in Louisiana for his make of automobile.

His eyes were upon the road just as far ahead of him as he could see, for he knew that going at his present speed it would take a long time to stop. In less than a minute he was drawing near to the bridge over the little branch where Org and Little Bit had played with the “cannon” a short time before to the complete wreckage of that frail structure. Skeeter knew this bridge was too narrow for him to cross at his present rate of progress, and he began to slow up.

Suddenly Dazzle uttered a terrified shriek and pointed ahead—the bridge was gone!

Skeeter shut off all the power, pressed with all his strength upon the foot-brake, set his emergency brake with all the muscle in his arm, came to the very edge of the branch, going no faster than a boy could push a wheelbarrow, and—rolled in!

Dazzle Zenor foresaw what would happen and jumped out. But Skeeter was behind the wheel and could not move quick enough, and he went down ten feet into the creek with his little machine.

There was the crack of a broken spring, the explosion of two blown-out tires, the rending, grinding noise of torn fenders, and the terrified wailing of a little barkeeper who had been bounced out into the creek and who had his clothes wet and his feelings hurt and nothing else!

And even that wailing ceased when Skeeter heard what was coming. Dazzle saw it coming first. She could not get off the road because of a barbed-wire fence on each side, so she hopped down into the water of the branch beside Skeeter. And there, crouched beside the bank of the creek, they saw the strangest sight two people ever witnessed.

First, a herd of hogs came squealing to the broken bridge, looked down at them, uttered a surprised series of grunts, split into two parties and ran down into the creek and over into the woods. Next followed a flock of bleating sheep, and they took a look at Skeeter and Dazzle, split into two like the pigs had done, some going down on one side, some on the other, and all of them scattering in the woods. Then followed a herd of cattle, then a lot of mules and horses, then a great multitude of dogs, then excited men in automobiles, then men, women, and children afoot!

All of them without exception came to the very edge of the branch where the bridge was broken, looked down at Skeeter and Dazzle, expressed surprise either by grunt or squeal or bellow or bray or neigh or yell or laugh—then turned to one side and went down into the branch and into the woods!

By the time this unique procession had arrived at one end of the broken bridge, a farm-wagon drove up and stopped at the other end. The wagon contained Mustard and Hopey Prophet and Popsy Spout on their way to town from the Nigger-Heel plantation. Popsy was asleep.

About seven hundred people had assembled at that spot, and nearly all the live stock in the Parish was out in the woods!

To Skeeter’s unbounded amazement he found himself a wounded hero instead of a criminal and a captured fugitive.

“Did the stock run you down on the bridge, Skeeter?” Sheriff Flournoy asked; and that gave Skeeter his cue.

“Yes, suh. De bridge is been pretty rickety a long time, an’ dem animiles piled up all aroun’ me an’ we jes’ nachelly all went down.”

“If you want to bring suit against this Parish for injuries to yourself and damage to your automobile, I’ll help you,” Colonel Gaitskill snapped. “I’ve been telling that road commissioner to repair this bridge for the last three years, and now he’ll get what is coming to him, and we’ll make him pay for his neglect of duty.”

That word “damages” sounded good to Skeeter.

“I’s pretty bad hurt, Marse Tom,” he sighed, when he saw a chance to collect money for his injuries. “Bofe ankles is spraint an’ my back is busted, an’ my neck feels kinder stretched and loose, an’ my head——”

“Tell all that to the trial jury,” Gaitskill snapped. “You can ride back in the wagon with Mustard Prophet—I think you had better go on right now!”

Mustard drove down into the woods and, crossing the branch, came up on the other side of the broken bridge to the road. It took four men to help Skeeter in the wagon, so great were his injuries after he heard that magic word—damages!

The first place they passed on the way back was the Shin Bone eating-house. Skeeter decided that this was a good place to demonstrate how badly hurt he was, and he could exhibit his disability in the presence of many witnesses.

“I cain’t trabbel a inch furder, brudders,” he sighed. “I’s gittin’ weaker an’ weaker all de time. You better drap me off here at de resteraw.”

So Mustard picked him up from the bed of the wagon, carried him bodily into the eating-house and laid him out on one of the dining-tables. Dazzle and Hopey and Popsy Spout followed them in, and Shin Bone hurried to see what the trouble was.

“I think I’s fixin’ to die, Mustard,” Skeeter wailed, thrusting his yellow hand into the inside pocket of his coat. “So I passes dis little thing over to you befo’ I j’ines de angel band dat toots de horns aroun’ de golden throne.”

The little thing was a green-plush box containing a rabbit-foot.

“Dat reminds my mind, Mustard,” Shin Bone exclaimed, as he beheld the box. “I got somepin dat b’longs to you, too.”