Part 8

“Now you take de hist’ry of dis here foot: Cap’n Kerlerac gib dis’n to Miss Virginia Gaitskill fifteen years ago when she warn’t nothin’ but a little ole spindle-leg gal. An’ whut come to pass? Her paw an’ maw died in furin parts somewhar an’ she had to move back to Tickfall. Little Bit tole little Marse Org dat a rabbit-foot fotch luck, so he stole dis’n out of his sister’s room, swiped a pipe an’ smoked rabbit terbacker, an’ mighty nigh died. When Skeeter Butts tuck Org home an seen dis rabbit-foot, he thought it wus mine an’ I thought it wus mine because it looked jes’ like mine. So I sneaked up to Miss Virginia’s room to steal it back, an’ I had my hand on de very place whar it wus, when dat little ole Org boy skeart de gizzard outen me, playin’ Indian an’ whoopin’ behime my back.

“An’ Skeeter swiped dis foot fer me, an’ hopped in his automobile to make his escapement, an’ he run off a busted bridge into de Cooley bayou, chased by all de hawgs an’ sheeps an’ cattle an’ hosses an’ mules an’ dawgs an’ mens in Tickfall. Atter dat, Skeeter tried to fotch dis rabbit-foot back to Miss Virginia because it ’twarn’t de one we wanted, an’ he had dis foot on his own pusson when he tuck dat hell-bustin’ tumble down Marse Tom’s steps, an’ he had it in his hand when he snuck across de yard an’ dat alligator tried to eat him up. Den Skeeter throwed dis rabbit-foot, plush box an’ all, down dat alligator’s gullet, an’ whut happened to dat varmint atter he swallowed dis foot, an’ had all de luck inside his own hide? He got kilt!”

He laid this unlucky foot back in the green-plush box, placed it reverently in the drawer, shaking his head over the mystery how a luck charm could be attended with so much misfortune.

“Naw, suh, dis’n is done lost de power,” he announced.

Then he lifted the other green-plush box, lifted a rabbit-foot out of it, and gazed with sacred awe upon this talisman.

“Dis here is Marse Tom’s left hind foot of a rabbit kilt in a graveyard in de dark of de moon,” he announced. “But take de secret myst’ry of de hist’ry of dis here foot: it wus in Marse Tom’s own house when all dat rousement touck place an’ busted up Miss Virginia’s party. An’ I had dis foot in my own coat pocket on my own pussonal self when Cap’n Kerley busted my head wid dat bat an’ I mighty nigh shot his snout off wid my pistol!”

Mustard Prophet reached up and tenderly caressed a bandage upon his wounded head.

“Naw, suh,” he sighed. “’Tain’t resomble to me dat dis foot is still got de authority. I’ll keep it, but I don’t never trust it no more. Mr. On-lucky Foot, I axes you good-by!”

He solemnly placed his thick lips upon the cushiony bottom of the rabbit’s foot, and kissed it farewell.

In Gaitskill’s stable in Tickfall, an ideal playhouse for two boys, Orren Randolph Gaitskill and Little Bit had formed a joint ownership over eleven interesting objects: One baseball bat which had “busted a nigger’s head,” and ten pistol bullets which had been extracted from the walls in the Gaitskill home. At frequent intervals an argument started between them as to which of the ten bullets had wounded Captain Kerley Kerlerac in the face.

“Ef I knowed which one it wus, I’d shore tote it roun’ wid me fer luck,” Little Bit said.

“This bat is a lucky bat. It blooded Mustard’s head. But we can’t carry it around for luck,” Org said.

“Naw, suh, but we can kiss it fer luck,” Little Bit proclaimed.

“That’s right,” Org said. “You kiss one end and I’ll kiss the other.”

They solemnly held it up between them, and white lips and black lips caressed opposite ends of the big stick.

In the Gaitskill home, Captain Kerley Kerlerac entered and asked for Virginia. This was his tenth call since the night of the dinner ten days before. But now, for the first time, the bandage was removed from his face.

A long red scar marked the face from the point of the chin to the lobe of the ear.

For the first time Virginia saw that mark which he would carry to his grave. Kerlerac noticed that look of distress, but he had a little question which he often asked, and it always had the effect of diverting her mind from anything, however important, to something which was vastly more important.

“Do you love me as much as ever?” he asked quietly.

But the girl could not take her eyes from the long red scar. Her chin quivered with emotion and her lips drooped with the pain of the thought of that night of comedy when he had to suffer this wound.

“Stoop over and I’ll tell you,” she whispered.

He bent his head to hear the whisper from her fragrant lips.

She put both arms around his neck and kissed the scar upon his cheek.

The ’Fraid-Cat

I

“I’s glad de kunnel an’ ole miss is gone to N’Awleens,” Hopey Prophet remarked as she sank her thickly upholstered body into a deeply upholstered chair in the Gaitskill drawing-room. “I likes to take a seat an’ set down in de white folks’ parlor an’ ack white.”

“If de kunnel knowed we wus settin’ in dis boodwar, he’d bu’st our necks,” Dazzle Zenor giggled as she sat down on the stool at the grand piano and ran her slim ebony fingers over the white keys.

“I’ll shore fergit to tell him whar we spent our time while he wus gone,” Hopey chuckled, as she raised herself from the chair and waddled across the room to turn on all the electric lights. “Whut Marse Tom ain’t know won’t hurt us.”

“I needs a beau to entertain me in dis nice room,” Dazzle smiled, looking up at the chandelier now blazing with light. “All dis noble arrangement is wasted on me ’thout no man to see me in de middle of it.”

“Dat remark shows dat Skeeter Butts is still pesterin’ yo’ mind,” Hopey told her. “Ef he takes a notion to pay a call-visit, I’ll shore set right here an’ chapperoon him.”

“Us won’t need you,” the girl remarked in a dreamy tone as she ran her fingers down the keyboard of the piano. “Skeeter shore do look brave in his soldier suit.”

“Brave!” Hopey snorted. “Brave! Dat Skeeter Butts is de biggest coward in de Nunited States of Loozanny!”

“He ain’t!” Dazzle protested.

“He am!” Hopey insisted, nodding her big head on her fat shoulders. “Skeeter ain’t never seed nothin’ in his life dat he wusn’t skeart of. He’s a nachel-bawn ’fraid-cat!”

“I don’t b’lieve dat,” Dazzle snapped. “Didn’t he go off an’ jine de army at de fust off-startin’ of de war?”

“Suttin he did!” Hopey chuckled. “But how come? Three nigger womens wus in dis town on de very same day; each one had a weddin’ license to marry Skeeter Butts—an’ you wus one of dem three womens! An’ whut did Skeeter up an’ do?”

“He volunteered to jine de army.”

“Shore! He wus forced to volunteer! Don’t dat show he’s a coward an’ a ’fraid-cat?” Hopey howled. “Why didn’t he stay in Tickfall like a brave man an’ marry dem three nigger womens?”

“He didn’t run because he wus skeart,” Dazzle asserted in Skeeter’s defense. “He jined de army because a lifelong war wid three nigger women wifes is too much of a muchness fer even a brave soldier like Skeeter.”

“I wish dat Mr. Bill Kaiser’s war had kotch him,” Hopey growled disloyally. “I bet dem Hunches would ’a’ throwed a skeer into Skeeter dat mought ’a’ skeart all de skeer out of him.”

“Skeeter wus a brave soldier,” Dazzle repeated obstinately.

“Soldier!” Hopey repeated with a contemptuous sniff. “Skeeter wusn’t nothin’ but a boot-black in de army, totin’ pink notes to de kunnel fer de lady folks.”

“Skeeter told me dat him an’ de military kunnel looked fer Mr. Bill Kaiser eve’ywhar,” Dazzle informed her. “It wus Mr. Bill dat wus skeart of Skeeter. He hid out, an’ Skeeter couldn’t connect up wid him or find him nowhars. Skeeter is a dangersome nigger.”

“Skeeter wus jes’ tryin’ to locate Mr. Kaiser so he would know whut place to stay away from,” Hopey growled. “He imagined he warn’t skeart of de Hunches, but he warn’t aimin’ to let de Hunches _run_ him.”

“’Tain’t so,” Dazzle answered sharply. “I bet ef I wus in danger right now, Skeeter would come up here an’ rescue me.”

“Suttinly,” Hopey grumbled. “Fust-off, he’d break a leg runnin’ up to Sheriff Flournoy’s orfice to git de sheriff to he’p him, because he growed up in Marse John’s house, an’ he is de sheriff’s little pet nigger. Next-off, he’d git all de white folks an’ niggers in town and lead ’em up on dis hill. Den he’d sneak aroun’ behime a tree an’ wait till de rookus wus over, an’ at de last he’d hop in an’ ack like he done it all!”

Dazzle was angry. She glared at Hopey with fine rage, and tried to think of something to say that would crush the fat woman flat. But nothing but a falling planet would ever flatten Hopey, so that young colored actress with several histrionic manifestations of intense indignation flounced out of the room, followed by the exasperating chuckles of the victorious Hopey Prophet.

In the rear hallway Dazzle paused at sight of the telephone. Her milk-white teeth gnawed at her lower lip as she debated something in her mind. Then, with an air of decision, she sat down at the desk and lifted the receiver from the hook.

“Central, I wants to talk to de Hen-Scratch saloon, please, ma’am!”

After a moment’s wait something popped in her ear, and a voice spoke: “Hello!”

“Is dat you, Skeeter Butts? Listen! Dis here am Dazzle Zenor. I’s at Marse Tom Gaitskill’s home wid Hopey Prophet. Somebody is tryin’ to bu’st in dis house an’ rob it——”

A squealing shriek sounded so sharply in Dazzle’s ear that she jerked her head away from the receiver, ceased speaking, and waited until the vocal disturbances had subsided.

“Dey is tryin’ to bu’st in de front door, Skeeter!” Dazzle told him. “Me an’ Hopey lef’ de kitchen door onlocked so Vinegar Atts could come in when he got back. Ef dem robbers goes aroun’ to de back side de house, dey’ll shore git in. Come up here right away an’ rescue us!”

A squealing interrogation sounded through the phone, and Dazzle smiled as she answered:

“Dar ain’t more’n seven robbers, Skeeter. But you kin lick ’em like you done in de army. Don’t git skeart!”

Although Skeeter’s reply was not intelligible, his shrieking voice, in reply, was audible even in the drawing-room, where Hopey sat shaking like a jelly-bowl with laughter.

“Come all alone by yo’se’f, Skeeter!” Dazzle implored him. “Us don’t want no crowd up here an’ no excitemunt. Don’t tell no white folks!”

Dazzle paused to listen to a few more excited squawkings from the telephone, then she commanded:

“Come by yo’se’f, an’ come in a hurry, befo’ I gits kilt! Fer Gawd’s sake, hurry, Skeeter!”

She left the telephone and entered the room where Hopey sat, smiling with great satisfaction.

“You done played a fool now!” Hopey told her.

Dazzle preened herself before a mirror in preparation for Skeeter’s arrival.

“Skeeter’s comin’, Hopey,” Dazzle giggled. “’Tain’t no matter how big a coward a feller is, he’s afraid to cornfess dat he’s a ’fraid-cat!”

II

Skeeter Butts hung up the receiver at his end of the line and staggered across the Hen-Scratch saloon. His face was convulsed, and the odd distortions due to the contraction and relaxation of its muscles would lead one to believe that an electric shock received over the telephone had twisted his face and he was trying to set it right.

Skeeter had received a shock. Four friends, beholding him, noted that his face was bloodless, his yellow fingers trembled and were beyond his control, his knees shook and buckled under him as he walked, and his chin was aquiver.

“Bad luck, niggers,” he whined through chattering teeth. “A band of robbers has busted into Marse Tom Gaitskill’s house, an’ dey is killin’ Dazzle Zenor.”

The four men sitting at the table quivered with excitement mingled with fear. With that emotional race, any sort of excitement is expressed by noise, but fear calls for silence. For a brief time the silence was so great that the five could distinctly hear the ticking of Hitch Diamond’s big silver watch.

Hitch Diamond, the big prize-fighter, sat in a rickety chair. As he meditated upon the possibilities of the case which Skeeter had stated, and his emotions increased, that chair produced an irritating squeak with every inhalation and expulsion of Hitch’s breath. All the noise produced in that room was caused by Hitch’s watch and his chair. The rest were like frightened quail that squat and try to merge with the scenery.

It seemed to be a long, long time before anyone ventured to break that oppressive silence. Finally Hitch spoke bravely:

“Go up an’ rescue Dazzle, Skeeter. I’ll be glad to stay behime an’ take keer of de saloon.”

Four chairs moved uneasily, emitting a scraping sound. Figger Bush pulled a corncob pipe from his pocket, and his trembling hands caused the stem to drop from the cob and fall under the table. Figger stooped to pick it up, found that it was dark under the table, and straightened up without his pipe-stem. He could get that pipe-stem to-morrow.

“Me, too,” Figger Bush quacked. “I’ll he’p Hitchie keep de saloon.”

Mustard Prophet, the scientific agriculturist of the party, took a big red apple from his pocket and bit deeply into its juicy substance. He was trying to appear disinterested, but his favorite kind of apple was tasteless to him now.

“Dar ain’t no use fer de rest of us to go,” Mustard muttered thickly, munching at his apple, and glancing at Pap Curtain. “Skeeter kin handle de case——”

“You got to go wid me, Mustard,” Skeeter interrupted. “Dazzle tole me dat Hopey wus in de house, too—an’ de robbers is killin’ her.”

The part of the apple Mustard held in his fingers slipped away and rolled across the saloon floor; the part he had in his mouth strangled in his quivering throat.

“Dat’s too bad,” he announced in a tone of disinterested sympathy. “But dat serves Hopey right, an’ she deeserves all she gits. Me an’ my nigger wife don’t speak no more. I went dar to-night, an’ axed Hopey to gimme some hot biscuits an’ a few sirup, an’ she wouldn’t do it!”

“I think dis here is yo’ job, Skeeter,” Pap Curtain snarled, the habitual sneer upon his face becoming more acute and repulsive as he tried to conceal his timidity. “Dazzle didn’t want none of us buttin’ in, or she’d axed fer us. Ef you wants to make a hit wid Dazzle, you got to pick up a brave heart an’ go out dar an’ kill dat band of robbers—jes’ like when you wus in de army.”

“But us army soldiers didn’t do no fightin’ all by our lonely selfs,” Skeeter wailed. “We fi’t an’ bled an’ died in regimints!”

“You oughter hab fotch yo’ army home wid you,” Pap sneered. “Somepin like dis might happen sudden any time, an’ you knowed you’d need it.”

The telephone rang sharply, and every man jumped with fright.

“Gosh, dat skeart me!” Pap Curtain exclaimed. “Answer de telerphome, Skeeter.”

“Answer de telerphome, Figger,” Skeeter squalled, feeling nervously in all his pockets as if he were hunting for the most important thing in the world and could not abandon the search.

“My shoe-string is come ontied,” Figger answered as he bent over his foot. “You answer de phome, Mustard!”

Mustard did not move. The telephone bell subsided with a final little tinkle.

“Dar now, it’s too late!” Mustard lamented. “I’d ’a’ answered, only but I’m total deef in one y-ear.”

The telephone rang again, sharply, insistently; rang for a good five minutes.

“Answer it, Hitch Diamond!” Skeeter wailed in the midst of the sound.

Hitch pretended not to hear.

“I bet dat is Hopey telerphomin’ me dat she’s dead,” Mustard Prophet muttered in pitiful fright. “I won’t never git no more hot biscuits. Hopey wus shore a good cook an’ a good wife. Us had little spats, but dar warn’t never no hard feelin’s.”

“Come on, fellers,” Skeeter interrupted. “Less go up on de hill an’ see whut’s happened.”

“I ain’t gwine in dat house!” Pap Curtain exclaimed. “I don’t like to see blood spilt aroun’ all over Marse Tom’s nice carpets.”

“I hope dey don’t spile de floor too much,” Hitch grumbled as he rose to his feet. “Marse Tom always makes me scrub up de messes because Hopey’s too dang fat to lean over.”

“I’ll let Pap guard de front of de house an’ hide behime de big pecan-tree,” Skeeter announced, glad enough to get company. “Hitch kin guard de kitchen by hidin’ behime de meat-house. Figger an’ Mustard kin guard each side of de house by layin’ on de groun’ outside de lawn-fence.”

While Skeeter was issuing these orders, Little Bit had entered the saloon, and stood listening. When Skeeter ended, he spoke:

“I’s gwine guard de Hen-Scratch by hidin’ behime de bar counter,” he giggled, without an idea what all the excitement was about.

“Whar you been at, you little debbil?” Skeeter Butts snapped, whirling about to face the Hen-Scratch’s factotum. “You stay an’ keep dis saloon—an’ ef de telerphome rings, you answer it.”

Skeeter ran to a little safe in the corner of the saloon and brought forth four guns, which he distributed to their rightful owners; then he took his own automatic from behind the bar, and the five negroes started in a swift run for Gaitskill’s home.

By the time they had climbed to the top of the hill on which the fine colonial home was located, they entered the yard, breathless and panting. From that high point they could look out over the village, glowing in the darkness like a great firefly, with its countless lights on the crooked streets and its glowing windows. But their attention was concentrated upon the house before them. The drawing-room glowed with brilliant light.

Four of the men quickly went to the places assigned them and dropped down in hiding. Skeeter sneaked from shrub to shrub, lay down and crawled around rose-bushes, ran from the shelter of one tree across the exposed and open places to the grateful shelter of another tree, until he came close to one of the lighted windows. Reaching up, he straddled the limb over his head and looked fearfully into the drawing-room.

He saw Hopey and Dazzle seated very comfortably. They seemed to be very much amused at something, for they laughed constantly.

“Dis here is some kind of joke,” Skeeter muttered to himself as he dropped from the limb. “I’ll sneak in de kitchen an’ come through de house an’ supprise ’em.”

Slipping to the rear, he emitted a low whistle and located Hitch Diamond by the meat-house, which gave him the courage to open the door of the dark kitchen and enter.

There was not a negro in this rescue-party who was not thoroughly familiar with the Gaitskill home. In the years past they had served in that house in every capacity, and knew every room and closet, and the contents of each. There were a dozen other homes in Tickfall with which they were equally familiar, for the good house servant is a privileged character in the house, and his presence in the home is coveted by every housekeeper.

So it was no trouble for Skeeter to find his way in the dark to the lighted drawing-room.

A bellow of fright from Hopey and a squeal of terror from Dazzle greeted him as he stepped from behind a door with a pistol in his hand.

“Whut you got to say now, Hopey?” Dazzle exclaimed, when she recovered from her fright. “I tole you Skeeter wus a brave nigger——”

There was a loud clatter at the front door, and Pap Curtain’s voice spoke:

“Open dis door, Skeeter! Hurry!”

Skeeter sprang to the door and threw it open. Little Bit, panting, dripping with perspiration, and almost exhausted, was pushed into the room by Pap Curtain, who had to support him to prevent his falling to the floor. In the blaze of light which came through the open door, Figger and Mustard and Hitch got the courage to come out from their hiding-places and listen.

“Bad luck, Skeeter!” Little Bit panted. “I ain’t know whut kind of nigger bizziness dis is, but you-alls is got yo’selfs in a jam.”

“How you know?” Skeeter quavered.

“I answered de telerphome,” Little Bit gasped.

“Whut did it say?” Skeeter asked desperately.

“It say—it say—de gal at de telerphome orfice say she listened in when Dazzle phomed to you, an’ dat she has called all de white folks in Tickfall up an’ tole ’em dat Marse Tom’s house wus being robbed!”

Thereupon Hopey Prophet walked to the electric-light switch and turned out every light. There are those who love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil.

“Listen!” Pap exclaimed tragically. “I kin hear dem white folks comin’ now!”

Indeed, it was not difficult to hear the sound of running feet. A moment later could be heard the galloping feet of horses. Then automobile lights began to whip the darkness as they turned the corners at high speed and roared like speeding beasts as they came up the long hill. Then, in the darkness, a great light fell on Skeeter.

“Us niggers oughtn’t to be here when de white folks come,” he wailed. “Ef dey ketch us in here, dey’ll put us in jail. Ef dey see us leavin’, dey’ll shoot us!”

“Easy, eve’ybody!” Pap Curtain hissed as he opened the front door. “Git still!”

Then a low sigh of disappointment escaped from every throat. The front lawn was all aquiver with the dark shadows of moving men!

“Good-by, fair world!” Figger Bush whimpered. “Us is caught like a bug in a jug.”

“Shut up!” Pap Curtain snarled. “Whar kin we hide?”

“Git up on de roof!” Skeeter Butts suggested. “Dar’s a ladder in de attic, an’ we kin climb through a trap-door to de roof.”

Eight negroes went shuffling up the steps toward the top of the house just as the clatter of feet sounded upon the porch, and the front door was pushed open.

Four perspiring negroes boosted Hopey up the ladder, and pushed her capacious form through the narrow square opening to the roof. Then they cautiously lowered the door and gratefully seated themselves upon it.

“Safe!” Skeeter exulted. “Us is safe!”

Alas! He did not know that the door he was sitting on had a catch-lock on the inside, and that he and his friends were on that roof to stay until rescued!

III

From their observatory upon the roof, our friends beheld a mob of men surround the house and cautiously inspect all the lawn, the outhouses, and the land surrounding. Half a dozen men under the direction of Sheriff Flournoy searched the house, lighting up every room, looking in every closet, examining every corner, and peering under every bed.

“I reckon the robbers, if any, got away, fellows,” Flournoy announced as he came out on the front porch. “We cannot find anybody, and cannot see that anything has been disturbed.”

“Where are the niggers who raised the alarm?” a voice asked.

“I guess they hit the grit,” Flournoy smiled. “I can’t imagine Hopey and Dazzle staying to see what a burglar wanted, or returning to see what he got.”

“Here’s one nigger has showed up!” a voice responded.

“White folks!” Vinegar Atts bawled as he was pushed into the light through a crowd of men. “Whut done happened to Marse Tom’s house?”

“Where have you been?” Flournoy snapped.

“Jes’ got back from a chu’ch religious meetin’,” Vinegar explained. “Marse Tom lef’ me an’ Hopey in charge of dis house, an’ he ain’t gwine approve his lawn gittin’ trompled up wid white folks.”

“Somebody tried to rob this house while you were away,” Flournoy told him.

Vinegar’s eyes opened until they glowed in the light from the porch like two china door-knobs.

“Did you-all good white folks ketch de robber?”

“No.”

“Did de robber steal anything?”

“No.”

“Whar is Hopey at?”

“The robber may have kidnapped her.”

“You’s prankin’ wid me, Marse John,” Vinegar howled. “Dar ain’t no one robber could kidnack Hopey. Dat wus a _band_ of robbers—I surmises about fawty in de gang.”

Vinegar fumbled with his hat, and his breath came and went in labored gasps.

“I’m glad de robbers never stole nothin’,” he sighed. “Dat house am plum’ full of pretty doodads, an’ ef Marse Tom wus to come home an’ find dem rooms empty, I’d hab to _esplain_ to him. An’ Marse Tom cain’t onderstand nothin’—when a nigger esplains.”