EXPIATION OCTAVE THANET Illustrated by A. B. FROST A good book is the liie hi , - A PK V^^^^^f'-^ "taster spirit ^^ ^^barv is not a luxl. , , -^mon sanes of Jife. ^'V > but one of the neces ^o be M,thout books of v^. ~~^- ^'- Beechel I T. . P^""0^ 'V'" o^^n is the abvss of ' ^' - a deii^^ht to n.erel. iok ..TT^^^- ^^'^ of quiet reverie fn h T '^^ books— in a sf^f^ ;;:;;l^;;3'ou.ii;;^?pt;^;;^ther;jir^JS^^ J^hich^-ou will not tasteA ^'^^r^'^'^'-^Pe^ ■u:^:Z^^ZZ~- J2~~^''''^'- Lamb. _. -^uas. y R- LEWIS. ' ,!i';^?: ""'hiug like ''"'■''"^"■''-■'^^"b«te^!£™ •orrowers. ■^^'^-^ ^F.,.^,// ^^^^^^^^ ^jr. o / «i&l*^ oou^ THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. EXPIATION Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2009 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/expiationOOthan You have one brave boy alive," said Adele steadily. o EXPIATION BY OCTAVE THANET ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. FROST NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1890 Copyright, 1890, by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. Press of J. J. Little & Co, Aster Place, New York. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. " Vou have 07ie brave boy alive" said Adele, steadily, Frontispiece PAGE *'lVe all sw'ar it /" . 22 Aunt Hizzie, 28 " May Jane's little playful ways with fences a7id dififier-horns," 43 " Atid, wou7td about the creature's neck, a gleaniing and hissing snake," 54 "Dead's a hammer, ain't he. Mack?" . . .66 " If ye pull that trigger, an' hit the myark, ye kin ride off free," 90 602912 VI LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE " How come y oil 11 Fair dont talk like we all? " . 98 Slick Mose and A dele, .105 "He has no one but me,'' she prayed ; " lielp me to help him,'' 117 Fairfax Rutherford, Esq., . . . . . .136 " Dress iip now atid stand steady, unless you all would like better to swing !" . . . .145 Dick Barnabas and some of his gray backs, . .159 "Be ye aimin' t' kill me, aii' me with my hands up ? " . . . . . . . . .178 Bud Fowler, . . . . . . . . .183 Lige a?id Sam, . . . . . . ...188 " Sick folks don't like noise," ..... 190 " Well, boy, I reckon I had ought^ to say something to you," ......... 197 o EXPIATION. I. ONLY the puddles and sluices of water showed, unless the rider flashed his lan- tern down the road. Then a disk of landscape, a kind of weird etching, was struck out of the night. Huge gum-trees dripped on either side ; a stealthy patter of rain-drops dribbling through the thicket of trumpet-vines, '^tar-blankets,"* and briar which masked the swamp beneath. The rain had ceased, but not a star appeared to illu- mine this surly and dismal nature. East and west, as the lantern-bearer knew, the rotten * corduroy was drawn in a straight line across the morass. East and west, north and south, only a few lonely cabins with their clear- ings broke the monotony of the forest between Village Creek and the Black River. Wherever the land was creased by a depression, the water cov- ered the roots of the cypresses and tupello-gums. * Or, /mr-blankets. 2 EXP I A TION. ** What a country to live in ! " muttered the rider ; " is all Arkansas like this, I wonder ? " Any one could guess from the voice that he who spoke was not a Southerner. It was a very pleas- ant voice, however, with nice modulations, and when the lantern rays swerved at a stumble of the horse, they showed a slender, well-knit figure, and a delicate, bright young face, with gentle brown eyes, and not enough down on the upper lip or cheek to hide a mobile mouth and rounded chin ; altogether a handsome young fellow. Tiny wrinkles at the corners of the eyelids and a dimple in the cheek hinted that this was also a young fellow who laughed easily. He was laughing now, swinging the lantern above his mud-splashed legs. "What a figure of fun you are, Fairfax Ruther- ford," said he, gayly, '' and yet you don't look half the native either." With a praiseworthy notion of suiting his dress to the country, Fairfax, before he left England, had bought such an outfit as they sell you in Reeent Street " for the bush." Therefore he was «^ clad in a wide, cream-colored soft hat, a shooting- jacket of brown duck that bristled with pockets, §^ and corduroy trousers pushed into leggins. *' Father will laugh at me, I dare say " — so his o EXP I A TION. 3 thoughts rambled on — '* but I tJiink he will be glad ; what a bore to be a stranger to one's own father ! " He tried to recall his single youthful visit to his father's plantation. Only a few pictureSi would come. A great, white, ill-built house and mysteri- ous clutter of outbuildings ; bare-footed negroes tumbling over each other, in their efforts to " make haste wid de dinner ; " outside, the river noises behind the willows, the wind in the cypress brakes, the reckless hunts through the cane, the grinning black faces among the cotton bolls, the hogs rooting under the pecan-trees, and cattle browsing on the wide fields ; the unkempt figures that used to loiter round the store and gin ; that good little romp, his stepmother's daughter, Adele ; those two mischievous, riotous, soft- hearted lads, his brothers, and the jocular, shabby, easy-going planter, his father; such were the pict- ures that all at once made Fairfax Rutherford sigh, for the old barbarous plentiful days were gone forever, and the boys lay in their unmarked soldiers' graves. Soon his thoughts strayed to a conversation which he had heard that afternoon, just before he started. He had passed through the Federal lines, 4 EXP I A TION, and his day's journey ended with sunset at a poor tavern, post-ofifice and '* store " as well, where he hoped to procure another horse and a guide. Guide there was none to be had, but the woman who kept the house, when she was told his name, greeted him warmly, and bestowed on him her only horse, '' a broken-down Texas pony with the string-halt." She set before him her best of food, also ; fried pork, and corn bread, and chiccory coffee. While he ate he could overhear his host- ess talking to some wayfarer. The man, with the vigilant curiosity of rustics and of the troublous time, had noted Rutherford's hat in the gallery. '' Who all you got in thar?" said he. '* He done come," answered the woman, briefly. ''Fair Rutherford? Mymy ! Mymy ! Wun't the ole man be chirked up ! Whut like's he, ony- how ? Favor Jeff or Rafe?" " Naw, he pintedly does favor his maw. But he got the same pleasant laffin' turn like his paw. He ain't so tall an' stout like Jeff an' Rafe, but he are a mighty pretty young man." The man laughed good-naturedly. ''Women folkses is all fur looks. Now t' my mine, Jeff an' Rafe ben the purties' young fellers I ever did see. Run an' ride an' shoot — law me, EXP I A TION, 5 they warn't nuthin' they'd orter know they didn't done, by gum ! An' fightin' — my Lord ! I cayn't get satisfied, nohow, with them boys bein' killed up ! I ben with Jeff at Springfield — -leadin' the charge with three wyounds onto him — jess like the ole man, them boys. He's mighty gayly an' pleasant, but I tell ye he are a painter ^" in battle. He didn't quit fightin' till he must. An' I stuck tew him, blame my skin ! " "You did, shore, Mist' Fowler," responded the woman, warmly ; " better'n some of his own kin. Look at Mr. Fairfax Rutherford stayin' over to Europ stiddier comin' home an' fightin' — not that he'd 'a' got are good neether by comin'." " I heard tell he ben a abolitionist, an' that's how come he went tuh Europ." "Shucks, naw, sir. Aunt Hizzie, she tole me a plumb diff'rent tale ; sayd he ben waitin' on Mis' Rutherford that's dead — warn't she the third?" The man laughed, and asked how was he to know ? he couldn't keep up with the old man's marryings. " Yes, sir, she ben the third, an' she belonged down t' Little Rock ; an' the cunnel he jes' loved * Panther. They were not uncommon in Arkansas at this date — in the sixties. 6 EXP I A TION. her tew kill, but Mist' Fairfax Rutherford got her word tew marry him, an' when he diskivered her mind ben a turnin' tur the cunnel, he taken it mighty hard, but he give her back her word an' lit out an' went t' Europ. Didn't do nare mean- ness t' the cunnel." "Must 'a' ben a durned fool!" was the man's contemptuous comment ; but whether his con- tempt was excited by Fairfax Rutherford's for- bearance or his going to Europe did not appear. " He was a mighty pretty man," continued Mrs. Crowder, meditatively. " I can jes' see the way he looked v/hen he come yere on a visit. Never did come but twicet. Hit ben in the fall of the year. Yes, sir. An' if ye please, he wears a coat all trimmed up with fur, kase of it bein' so cole up North. They all sent the kerridge, an' little Fair hopped aout an' ben a limpin' raoun' like he uster. He gives a sorter styart like, when he fust seen the chile, an' I heerd him say t' hisseff, 'Yes, he's got the eyes.' Eyes like hern, ye onderstand. Anybuddy cud see he jes' sot the world an' any "^ by that ar boy, from the fust minnit. The cunnel let him cyar 'way kase he sayd the doctors in "^ Any is often used for " all.' EXP I A TION. 7 Lunnon cud cure his laig ; and they done it fur a fac'. He came back oncet on a visit an' didn't halt a bit. Looked like his paw cudn't bar ter pyart with him that time, nohow, but I reckon he'd guv his word." *' Then he'd stick tew hit," said Fowler, dog- gedly ; " the ole man never rues back." Reckon the young feller will be goin' aout by sun up?" " He are goin' aout this evenin'. Mist' Fowler. He's hterd his paw done broke his laig an' is right feeble, an' he cayn't stop. Says it's a straight road an' he doan' mind mud. He's fixin' t' go naow." *' Looks like he got grit. I 'lowed he had when I heerd 'baout his letter t' the ole man. Writ it soon's he heerd 'baout Rafe. Say, wisht I cud cyar the boy longer me, but 'twudn't be bes', I reckon. Waal, mud ain't more'n shoe-mouth deep moster the way, an's ye say, Mis' Crowder, hit's a straight road. An' — it's me they all's ayfter, not him. Say, Tobe's like t' be a spell gittin' of that, cudn't I jes' git a squint at him ? " ** Come by and see him." "Better not, better not, some un mought come * " Rue back " is to try to get out of a bad bargain. 8 EX PI A TION. by an' see us t'gether, but I'd like fur t' see im. Apparently Mrs. Crowder acquiesced ; for Fair- fax, whose ears were abnormally acute, heard cautious footsteps outside, and had a sense of being inspected through the window. He had listened to the whole conversation with a mingling of interest and amusement. How the half-forgotten dialect returned to him, with its soft drawl and nasal accent, and those singular inflec- tions that seemed to leave the voice poised in mid-air, as it were, at the close of a sentence. At some parts of the talk he winced. His father's many marriages were a sore point to him, as human nature's compromises with the ideal always are to youth. To be the third Mrs. Ruth- erford's son seemed bad enough, but to have the fourth Mrs. Rutherford moving about the house, and, in a painstaking way, dusting the portraits of her predecessors, was almost indecent. " I dare say it's the country," he muttered ; '' everybody seems to be marrying his or her third or fourth — Hello ! " He reined in his horse sharply and looked down the road. Certainly that was the splash of hoofs through the mud. Instinctively he let the Ian- o EXP J A TJON. 9 tern, which was slung about his neck, drop into its natural position, while with his free hand he drew a pistol. The Federal troops had forced Marmaduke and Shelby to retreat ; but bands of guerillas infested the country. Offscourings of both armies, outlaws of all kinds; under the pre- tence of patriotism, they stripped the miserable citizens of what dregs of property war had left them. Fairfax, hearkening, felt an ominous tremor run through his horse's limbs. In a second the pursu- ing horse galloped into the circle of light. A man, hatless and coatless, was clinging to the beast's neck ; his arms clasped about the neck, his head hanging. The horse, a powerful bay mare, gal- loped recklessly over the rotten timber. Fairfax shouted ; he saw that the man must be wounded, because there was blood on his hair and his shirt. Simultaneously he caught at the flying bridle. The mare stopped and flung up her head ; the rider lay like a limp rag. ** I say, are you hurt?" called Fairfax; "do you want some brandy?" Then he started vio- lently, bent over the man, and touched his hand. " Great heavens ! " he muttered, "" what a horror ! " lO EXPIATION. It was the man who had talked with Mrs. Crowder that afternoon, and he was stone dead. Somebody had lashed the unfortunate creature to the horse, tying his wrists together about the neck, and his feet by the ankles. The young fellow looked at him with a quiver- ing face. He was shaken by a confusion of pity and horror. It was his first sight of violent death. Bred in the daintiest and smoothest of old-world civilization, bloodshed and personal peril were only printed words to him. Here he was, flung into the arena. And he was conscious of an ex- cited curiosity, besides his pity and his horror. At the same time another obscurer emotion threaded his sensations, more personal, with an edge of pain to it ; an emotion haunting and subtle like a nightmare recollection, gone before it can be viewed distinctly. Back, far back in his childhood, in dark rooms, in negro cabins listening to hobgoblin yarns of conjured victims; once, wringing his hands on a river bank while a girl, hardly a year older than he, wades into the current, branch in hand, and rescues a drowning boy ; or on horseback gallop- ing after dogs and hounds toward the horrible tusks at bay ; in a hundred similar experiences o EXP I A TION. 1 1 that intangible terror liad its springs. How far back yesterday seemed the old childish spectre ; but now '' I believe I'm afraid of being afraid ! " cried young Fairfax. His thoughts, which take longer in the telling. did in fact occupy the briefest space ; and all the while he w^as holding the bay mare's rein and star- ing at the livid face flung over her neck. When the young man shifted his lantern for better examination — not with any hope of finding a lingering of life, for no creature could live a min- ute with that jagged tear in his brain — he per- ceived a folded paper pinned very carefully to the back of the dead man's shirt. To Rutherford's amazement the paper bore his own name. He unpinned it and opened the folds to find these words: " This is Mr. James 1 Fowler he was shot by the gray backs He was a right good friend of your father For Gods sake take him to his wife and six childern TJiis is imporitant They live on the yon side of Runing Watter Rite on your road the horse knows the way " The handwriting was cramped and uneven, and there was no signature. 1 2 EXP /A TION. "Well, here is a pretty mess," said Fairfax; " Running Water? where the deuce is Running Water? and does the * yon ' side mean tJiis side or the further side? Confound it, I used to know !" His vague terrors had all disappeared ; he was occupied entirely with the distasteful errand pro- posed to him. But he did not consider, for a sec- ond, the refusing of it ; even had the man not been his father's friend, there were the miserable wife and six children waiting '' on the yon side of Runing Watter." Dismounting, he bound up the man's head with his silk handkerchief, as decently as he could ; after which he got on his sorry hack again, and rode on, leading the bay mare. It did flash across him once that it might be a trap ; but he could see no motive for the needless pains, since any guerillas minded to capture and plunder him need only wait on the road. No, it was more likely that some helpless witness of the murder had taken such strange means of sending the murdered man's body home. Yet, as he pored over the note again, he was struck with the impression of something underly- ing the words, *' TJiis is important'' he repeated, *' and why o EXP I A TION. 1 3 marked? What an extraordinary way to express himself. By Jove, it may be herself, for anything I know." He wondered if the writer could be Mrs. Crow- der. '' The man must have been shot directly after I left" — so he made out the story — '' and it must have been somebody who knew me and knew where I was going, and what an old signpost I was riding. Overtake me ! by Jove, a cow could over- take this brute." The road grew better for a little space, but presently dipped into a denser forest. Fairfax's lantern showed him the gleam of water. A dark stream wound among the cypress trunks into the night. Plainly, this was Running Water, and on the other side should be poor Fowler's house ; yes, he could see the twinkle of a light. Riding nearer, the shape of a house took out- line — a large, low, gambrel-roofed house — and at a window the light. A pang struck the young man's heart as he thought how the light was shining for the father thus taking his woful last ride. A child's white head was close to the lamp, and a woman held up a baby to make futile clutches at its own little laughing face in the window-pane. Fairfax could have groaned. '' How can I tell 14 EX PI A TION. them ? " he thought. " Confound the kind-hearted meddler that saddled this nasty business on me." But there was nothing for it now but to go on. Moreover, at this moment, a couple of yelping hounds burst out of the shadows to plunge at their master's legs with a tumult of howls. The door was opened, showing a woman who held a rude lamp on high. Even at that moment Fairfax perceived that she was young and pretty. Above the voices of another woman and the elder children rang a sweet, high little treble — '^ Daddy comin' ! Daddy comin' ! " Fairfax felt heart-sick. '' We all reckoned you weren't coming to-night," said the young woman, shading her eyes with a slim white hand, while the other lifted the lamp for a wider view. The light brought her a picture which made her run swiftly to the horse's head. '' He's been hurt ? " she said, in a very low voice. " Oh, poor fellow ! " Fairfax was aware of a quick relief, a sense of companionship : this wasn't the way that a sister or wife would talk ; the girl must be some neigh- bor ; and afterward he remembered how sure he felt, with the first glance, that she was a woman to help one. A few nervous, brief sentences told her all that EX PI A TION. 1 5 he knew of the tragedy. She took the note. As she read, the lampHght was on her fine profile, and loosened hair, and the lovely oval of one cheek. How admirably pretty she was, to be sure ! But it was not her beauty that made the young fellow stare at her. He was looking at the fingers on the note — white, smooth fingers, with almond- shaped nails. " Why, it's a lady ! " he exclaimed. Just then she lifted her eyes. They were swim- ming in tears. " Oh, Cousin Fair, that I should not have known you ! " she said. '' It is Adele, then," cried he. Of course ; how could he have failed to recognize her before, his little cousin who was his stepmother's daughter ? He might have taken his childhood's privilege on her soft, pale cheek, but a voice from the door- way recalled him, like a blow. " Looks like you all a long spell out thar," said Jim Fowler's wife. "Come on in; Fll be shore chillin' '^ ef I stan' yere much longer. Fotch the * " Chilling," in Arkansas, does not mean catching cold or being cold ; but having the chill, which is part of the ague common in low lands. 1 6 EXPIATION, gentleman by, Miss Delia, please, w'ile Jim putts up the bosses." The young man and the girl exchanged a glance of miserable confidence, each conscious of a touch of relief in the other's presence. ''You stay here," whispered Adele ; "get be- tween him and the light so she cayn't see ; I'll tell her." The light wavered above her brown head as she ran into the house. The door was shut behind her. Outside, to Fairfax waiting while the hounds crouched at their dead master's feet, whimpering, and the wind was rising in the cypress brake, it seemed a long time before the door opened again ; and, during it all, he could not hear a sound from within. '' I feel as I used to feel when I was a cowardly little cub," was his involuntary comparison ; '' if only Adele would come ! " She had come ; at least she was on the threshold. A lad of thirteen or fourteen stood behind her, crying bitterly but silently. He held the rude ''grease lamp " of the country ; and Adele helped Fairfax lift poor Jim Fowler from his horse. To- gether they bore him into the house and laid him on his bed, where the widow came and bent over o EXPIATION. 17 him. She was dreadfully calm, though the chil- dren made a din of grief about her. She did not seem to know when the boy coaxed them into another room. But Fairfax saw Delia send a compassionate glance after the little fellow. *' They's things t'be done," the widow said, in a dull, hard voice, ''things; holp me. Miss Delia." " It would be in his boots," said the girl. " Yes, we 'lowed to putt it in his stocking," said the woman, bending over him, dry-eyed but trem- bling, and straining at the boots. They were the very raggedest, forlornest boots that Fairfax had ever seen ; and removed, there were revealed strips of rag twisted about the feet in place of stockings, as is done in some parts of Arkansas to this day. Yet otherwise the man's attire was whole, and cleaner than common. The woman fell to unwinding the rags with desperate haste. All at once she straightened herself and pushed something at Adele, saying : " Didn't you tole me yon was young Rutherford ? " " Yes, madam," Fairfax interrupted, " I am Fairfax Rutherford." " Then thar's you' paw's money," said she. Fairfax was at a loss for words. The woman 2 1 8 EXP I A TION. had thrown the package at him ; perforce he had caught it and held it, dumbly. *' Caount hit," she said, sharply ; '' thar had orter be twenty-one thousan' five hundred dol- lars. Look if hit's thar ! " More and more bewildered, Fairfax assured himself that the roll of ^' greenbacks " contained the exact sum mentioned, *' Certainly," he said, gently, '^ you are right, but " *' He offered Jim five hundred for to go and get it," said the woman, dully, " an' he got it. Gimme that ar five hundred an' git on you' hoss and fly ! Them that killed him will be ayfter you. Ye better make haste." The ambiguous wording of the note grew plain to Fairfax. The writer knew the secret and was trying guardedly (for the paper might fall into hostile hands) to help him to his father's money. But the rest was as dark as ever ; he was only sure that he could not leave the widow of the man who had been murdered on his father's errand in such a plight. So he told her. Her tense mood had snapped the instant her search ended, and she was sitting on the bed now, stroking the dead man's face and whispering in EXPIATION. 19 the deaf ears pitiful broken sentences: " Ye know I tole ye — tew great a risk, tew great, tew great — we cud of made out- without the money, Jim, if the stock be gone — but what'll I do with the chil- dren, Jim, without you? Oh, I cayn't bar it! I cayn't ! I cayn't! " And so writhed herself down to the floor and grovelled there. It was a most painful sight to see, but not so painful as to see her, the next moment, totter to her feet and clutch both Rutherford's arms, fairly shaking him in her deadly vehemence, while her voice rang through the room. " 'Twas Dick Barnabas done it ! He fund aout an' done it fur the money. Ye kin keep ever' cent er that ar five hundred ef ye'll kill Dick Bar- nabas ! Kill him, kill him ! " *' Hush, Mrs. Fowler, the children will hear," said Adele, quietly ; '* we'll kill him, sure." She slipped her strong young arm about the poor soul's waist and very gently pulled her away. Fairfax would have pushed the five hundred dollars into her hands. '' I will do all I can to bring the assassin to justice," he murmured, feel- ing sure that he was not saying the right thing, but knowing nothing better. He saw her eyes glitter. '' I want 'em killed ! " 20 EXPIA TION. she screamed, ''killed and a layin' dead. I want t' see it, myself ! " " I will do all I can to give you that pleasure, madam," replied Fairfax, dryly. " Dear me, what a Rob Roy Macgregor's wife sort of woman she seems to be ! " he was thinking. "An' I'll holp you, mister," piped a shrill little voice. It was the boy, who had stolen back and was listening, unperceived. " In this extraordinary country the very babes seem to thirst for blood," thought Fairfax. The boy was a sallow, white-haired lath of a youngster, such as one may see by the dozen in the Arkansas river bottoms, but his insignificant presence dilated with passion. He went on : " Baby an' Jim's t' sleep, an' sis is a gyardin' of 'em. I tole 'er the big bear 'd git her, ef she come outer the room. I — I know suthin' she'' — he looked at his mother — " doan' know." "Tell us, Bud, honey," Adele said, laying a white hand on the sharp little shoulder. So the boy told: "Yestiddy evenin',"^^ ayfter you come, 'baout a hour, I reckon ; I ben aout in the patch snatchin' cotton ; an' I heerd two bosses acomin'. * There is no afternoon South. Morning, evening, and night are the parts of day. o EXP I A TION. 2 1 One on 'em was that thar big black with a blazed face " " Dick Barnabas' horse! " cried Adele. " Yaas ma'am ; I ben sorter skeered up, an' I hid 'hind the cotton so they all didn't see me, an' they warn't nare critter raoun', an' Dick he got off his hoss an' projicked raoun the yeard w'ilst you all ben in the haous, ean' I cudn't git tew ye. Then he went back an' they all rid off agin." The poor wife of the murdered man pushed her hair off her forehead, struggling to catch the meaning of the boy's words. "How came ye didn't tole me?" said she, " ye'd orter." " I tole paw, right straight." ''What d' he say?" " Nuthin' ; jes' whistled. That thar ain't all. Paw done suthin' you uns doan' know. He came out 'fore he went off ; an' he guv me a right nice sheet of paper an' a pencil. Sayd he taken 'em frum Miss Delia. An' he axed me write on it. I 'member whut I writ. 'Twar like this— jes' good's I cud write. ' Dear Cunnell, the money is gone, yestiddy, by' — then he made me make some queer raound tricks on the paper; sayd they didn't mean nuthin', but they all would reckon they did — an* 22 EXP I A TION, the rest war ' Look aout ! ' an' it ben signed by two big crosses. That's all." "What did your paw do with the letter, Bud?" said Delia. " He put it insider the money belt he got frum the Yankees when he ben payroled." Adele stooped over the form on the bed. " The belt is gone," she said, quietly ; " I thought as much. Oh, it's plain enough. He didn't tell us of the danger, he only told us that he would put on those old boots and rags instead of stockings, because he might meet some of those villains and they would be for robbing him, and would find the money stripping his clothes. But he knew all the time, and he took that letter to mislead them and save the money, whatever happened to him. Oh, while there is a Rutherford living we will never forget how he laid down his life for us; nor shall his wife and children want while we have anything left." " An' you all will kill Dick Barnabas ? " the wife cried, '* you will ? " '' We will," said Adele, between firm lips, " I swear it." She raised her right hand. " We all sw'ar it ! " squeaked the boy's shrill, excited voice. EXP I A TION. 23 Their hands were in the air, even Fairfax's, who felt the melodramatic twang of it all as jarring. The picture remained with him his life through : a bare room where the unplastered walls and uncarpeted floor were of the same rough boards ; huge logs crackling and spouting flame in the great crooked fireplace ; and the fire-light, rather than the feeble glow of the lamp, displaying the table spread for supper ; the '' split-bottom " chairs, the coarse, bright quilt that had been half-wrapped about an indistinct and distorted shape, the white pillows shining beneath a ghastly head, and, back in the shadow, these dark figures with their uplifted hands and glist- ening eyeballs. Enough, also, of the atmosphere of the studio (the elder Fairfax was an artist) had aiTected young Rutherford's sensibilities to cause a quick perception of the grace of Delia's pose and the noble lines of her neck and shoul- ders. " We swear it," they said, together, Fairfax's lips moving with the others. " Now, Cousin Fairfax," said Adele, all emotion disappearing from her manner, " you must go." '' And leave you here alone with the chance of 24 EXP I A TION, those scoundrels returning," cried Fairfax. " No, thanks, Adele ; you will have to submit to my society for to-night." '' But you must go, Cousin Fair," said she, quietly ; '' there is almost no show of Barnabas troubling us; we have no money. He don't know of the five hundred dollars you have left here. He thinks it has gone to Unk' Ralph. Thafs why you must go, Cousin Fair, he may need you the worst kind, and I don't need you the least bit on earth." " But if you should be attacked ?" The young man was torn between two motives. He must save his father, yet how could he leave this deli- cate girl to such unspeakable risks. '* I reckon we can make out," said Adele ; '■' can't we. Bud ? " " I reckon," said the solemn boy ; " she killed a wild-cat onct. I kin shoot, too ; an' we know a place in the woods to hide." '' That's so. Cousin Fair," Adele added ; " don't wait here, fly back to Montaigne. I don't need you, and Uncle Ralph does, for I expect they will have gone straight there. Oh, Fm sending you into danger," she said, choking, " but it's your place to help him ! " EXP I A TION. 25 "An' you'll fotch a heap more danger on we uns, mister," said the boy, bluntly, " jes' a bein' here, than you'll be holp. Fur Dick '11 be ayfter yoii nex'." That argument conquered. Five minutes later the bay mare was carrying Fairfax swiftly through the night. 11. THE plantation of Montaigne is on the Black River. High hills roll back from one shore, the rich, flat " bottom land " darkens the other with its exhaustless forest of gum and cypress. Long ago the old house W3fs burned ; but in Colonel Rutherford's day it was the great house of all the country round. Where the forest receded — for a mere breathing space, as it were — -stood the little settlement, while from a knoll crowned with sycamores the planter's house over- looked the plantation. A beetling roof shaded the piazza, that is to say, the upper story of the piazza, which was in two stories in front of the house, having a lattice below where honeysuckle climbed and sent out floating tendrils to grasp the rude pillars above, and being bisected by a wide, open hall — -"gallery," such a hall is named in Arkansas. The gallery, when Colonel Ruther- ford ruled at Montaigne, bore the semblance of EXP I A TION. 27 a museum of arms. There, used to hang the shot-guns, rifles, revolvers, and powder-horns; there, were stored hatchets, meat-saws, and axes supposing them to be in their appointed place, which, to* be sure, was not the most Hkely thing in the world on a plantation; and there, swung all the finery of a Southern rider, in saddle, spurs, and blanket— truly a pretty sight. Not so pretty, I dare say, were the heaps of flour- sacks and meal-bags and the like stores of pro- visions which Aunt Hizzie, the cook, never would keep in any other spot than the "back gallery ; " or her dingy and tousled bunches of yarbs depending from the ceiling ; and, certainly, nothing pretty, only dark mystery, occupied that corner shelf whereon, from a time so far back that no memory of the young Rutherfords ran to the contrary, had rested Aunt Hizzie's '' mix- teries." Aunt Hizzie herself regularly swallowed any drugs left by the family, "to sabe dem ; " and there was a tradition that she had been cured of a sorrowful attack of " de conjure sickness " by the half-bottle of horse liniment that Rafe Ruther- ford threw into the ash-barrel. " My word," she was overheard to narrate. 28 EXP I A TION, " dat ar ben de mos' powerfullis mixtery dat ebber done pass my lips. Hit strike me so heavy I'se a wrastlin' wid it de enjurin' night. But it sho' sen' de sickness off a runnin'. Bress de Lawd, I ain't got take no mo ! Aunt Hiz- zie, in her white t u r- ban (econo- m i c a 1 1 y made out of a castaway flour-sack), with a blue apron t r y- ingto define a waist for her rotund shape, w a s always a figure in the gallery when dinner was under way. On one side of the gallery was the dining-room, unplastered, as were all the rooms, but painted, EXPIA TION. 29 and having a wainscoting put up by a clever carpenter from the North, in the Rutherfords' palmy days. He it was who built the tall side- board in the wall, which made the expensive black walnut sideboard from Little Rock look like a dwarf craning its neck up at a giant. ''Before the war" the sideboards held a glit- tering show of glass and silver. Hues of tawny brown and amber and dusky reds gleamed like jewels in old-fashioned decanters, welcome to every comer. All the rooms were on the same generous scale, high-studded, with wide windows and deep- throated fireplaces, big enough to hold half a forest ; and relics of the faded pomp of old Vir- ginia days were scattered among the primitive furniture of a new country, suggesting gold em- broidery (a thought tarnished) on a linsey-woolsey gown. There were signs of a woman's presence also, fresh curtains draping the windows (by this time darned with a pathetic care), bunches of swamp hackberries and holly twigs in showy vases bought on some of the Colonel's trips to New Orleans or Memphis, a little flutter of feminine fancies in needlework over tables or chairs. And, on the 30 EXP I A TION. library walls, three expensive frames of dingy- gilt enclosed three landscapes in oil, painted by the present Mrs. Rutherford when young. They all had deep-blue skies with cotton-wool clouds, and a rolling green landscape and puffy dark trees. In fact, they were about as dreadful as even a young lady's work can be ; but it was the custom of the Colonel to sit and smoke before them, and contemplate them with innocent pride. From thence, most commonly, his eyes would go (after a second's pause before his father in his Mexican War regimentals) to the row of the three former mistresses of Montaigne. The first two were rosy and smiling young ma- trons, wearing their hair (black or yellow) in short round curls, and shrugging their plump shoulders out of their low-necked frocks ; but the third Mrs. Rutherford had been painted by another hand. Fairfax Rutherford, during their brief betrothal, had made this picture. He had painted her, a slender girl in a white frock, plucking flowers in an arbor, and smiling over her shoulder at some unseen comer. Composition and handling were as crude as the treatment was ambitious ; but perhaps because the artist's heart was in the work he had succeeded where a more skilful hand EXPIATION. 31 might have failed, and captured the evanescent and pensive loveliness of his subject. Long after- ward, in a moment of expansion, Fairfax said of his brother's wives: ''Ralph was married by father to his first, his second married him, but he married poor Daisy." ''And the fourth Mrs. Rutherford?" asked the friend. Fairfax shrugged his shoulders. " Oh, she just happened," said he. " My brother is the most chivalrous of men, and Mrs. Peyton Rutherford was his second-cousin's widow without a penny. He married her to take care of her ; and really it hasn't proved such a bad arrangement ; she is a silly sort of creature, but she has done very well by Ralph." Besides the pictures the library walls were ful"- ther adorned by what in ante-bellum days was known as a "landscape paper," representing in- numerable castles on the Rhine. There was one drawback, however, to the impressive beauty of this paper ; inasmuch as the plantation painter who hung it, being new to the business, had mis- placed some of the rolls, a large proportion of the castles were made to stand on their heads. The library, like the other rooms, had an enormous 32 EXPIATION. fireplace and a cypress mantel painted black. Library may seem rather a courtesy title for a room containing only a single case of books ; but there had been a library in his Virginia home, and a library the Colonel would have in Arkansas. The book-shelves held such books as Montaigne's '' Essays," the '^ Waverley Novels," the poems of Tom Moore and Lord Byron (that was how the Colonel referred to them), Shakespeare's works and Milton's " Paradise Lost," Macaulay's *' His- tory of England," some old volumes of Congres- sional Reports, presented by friends in " the House," "Youatt on the Horse," the "Medical Encyclopaedia," and " Niles's Register." The Colonel (when he Avas ill or of a rainy Sun- day) would occasionally dip into the other books ; but Montaigne, according to his wife, he read ** every day in the world." And she was sure she couldn't imagine why, because it certainly was a scandalous book, and the Colonel was the most moral of men ; he wouldn't even repeat any of those wicked stories gentlemen are so fond of tell- ing among themselves — not unless they were very funny indeed. Doubtless the honest man, of his own motion, had hardly discovered the '* Essays ; " but he inherited Michel Montaigne, like the fam- EXPIA TION. 33 ily prejudices, his traditions of honor, and his father's sword. His own edition (the EngHsh translation of Coste, A.D. 1759) was bequeathed to him by his grandfather, a man of scholarly tastes, for whom he always entertained a tender affection, and who valued the genial old wit and gossip, and often would season his own conversa- tion with Montaigne's high flavors. At first Ralph Rutherford read for the sake of the old man and his comments, pencilled here and there. It was a labor of reverence and gratitude. But presently, from poring over the book he began to admire it ; at last, to love it, as only the men of few books love their favorite. Many was the doughty battle that he had fought with his chief crony, a Presbyterian minister who owned a farm hard by, concerning the " Essays." Parson Collins called it a profligate book, and gave Mon- taigne no quarter. It was a sly delight to the Colonel to cull virtuous maxims or worldly sense from his treasure, and display them, unlabelled, until the parson was ensnared to praise them, when he would remark : " Yes, sir ; Montaigne usually is sound. Glad you approve of him ! " " Tut, tut, Ralph ! " the parson used to answer warmly, " of course he has some decent senti- 3 34 " EXP I A TION. ments ; but approve of that atheistical, unprinci- pled old rake, no, sir, never ! I'd be ashamed to read him ! " But as for the Colonel, he was vainer of his knowledge of Montaigne than of his shooting, which is a good deal to say in the backwoods. He liked to quote from the '' Essays," though he seldom stuck closely to the text, and he told Mon- taigne's classical fables with a beautiful faith. But his crowning proof of affection was to give the essayist's name to his plantation. A few of the books overflowed into the combi- nation book-case and writing-desk which the Colo- nel called his '* secretary." He was sitting before it on the morning following Fairfax's ride. Mrs. Rutherford had the rocking-chair opposite, her back to the row of portraits. But this attitude was from no design ; she was incapable of jealousy, and bestowed the same painstaking dustings and yearly washings and wrapping in pink mosquito netting, which she did upon her own pictures. She did not grudge the dead ladies of Montaigne any posthumous affection. '' He likes me better than either of you, you poor things," was the un- spoken thought, as she sewed quietly before the painted faces, '* and I reckon he cared more for o EXPIATION. 35 Daisy than for all three of us together. Well, I can't make ///;;/ quite like Peyton either." Perhaps the fourth Mrs. Rutherford was hardly the fool Fairfax Senior esteemed her, notwith- standing her silence, her inability to understand epigrams, and her awful landscapes. At any rate, she was pleasant to look upon, being a fair, placid woman, whose hair was still a lively brown, whose cheeks kept a pinkish tinge, and whose eyes were soft as her voice. She was not talking much this morning, but at intervals the Colonel would look up from his book, and then she would smile and make some remark out of her thoughts. Near them was an open window, for in October the Arkansas sun will forget, for days, that the season is not summer. A belated bluebird twittered and hopped on the window-sill. Then he rose, spread his wings, and flew past the big white store, over the black chim- ney of the gin and the whitewashed negro quar- ters, and grew into a black speck above the cypress wall beyond. The Colonel's eye followed the mite and his brow contracted. Only a little beyond the brake was the grassy field where the white headstones stood guard over his dead wives and the four 36 EXP I A TION. little children who had died ; but the Colonel was thinking that his two tall boys lay far from their kindred. The wife watching him could have echoed his sigh, because she, in her turn, thought how her husband was changed. '' His hair is right gray," she said to herself, sadly, '* and he stoops ; he never did stoop before." The Colonel's massive head, with its curly silver hair, thick as a boy's, was bent slightly, but not for better seeing ; no, Ralph Rutherford's brilliant black eyes could catch the glint of a " 'possum's " fur by moonlight still. The eyes were gentle and kind as well as brilliant, and held a twinkle of humor ; Colonel Rutherford being, in fact, the famous story-teller of the country, and loving a good joke better than bread. He was a keen hunter also, and the best rider in his regiment, which need not disparage hundreds of good horse- men. Rather below than above the common stature, his figure inclined to heaviness, but showed iron muscles in the deep chest and long arms. His face, fringed by a short gray beard, was a round oval ; the chin and jaws were square, but the mouth was small, the nose delicate, and the brows candid and beautiful. There was about the whole air of the man an extraordinarily EXP I A TION. 37 winning expression of frankness and humanity, though just now the features were darkened into sadness. *' He ain't reading, he's studying," thought Mrs. Rutherford, " always studying about the boys. Oh, dear, if we'd only had a child ! Maybe it wouldn't have been a boy, though, and Delia's like his own daughter. But a little boy — he'd be fifteen, now. Well, there's Fair." She changed a sigh into a smile, as women learn to do, and said aloud : " I reckon there was a crowd round the mill this morning when they heard about the meal." The Colonel nodded, his face brightening. " You may say so. I didn't know there were so many folks left in the country. We haven't enough left to feed a chicken. " ** Dear me. Colonel, I hope you left enough for ourselves," cried Mrs. Rutherford, all the house- keeper aroused. *' Oh, Aunt Hizzie took care of that," answered the Colonel, laughing. '' She had Unk' Nels on hand with a wheelbarrow plumb full of sacks. But those folks, they did seem terrible pleased to get the meal, and specially the flour. The poor critters have been eating the wheat in the dough." 38 EXPIA TIOIV. " I hope you didn't take any of our money," said Mrs. Rutherford. '* Greenbacks or gold," said her husband. Then he laughed. " What I did take," added he. *' I expect you let them have it whether they had money or not." " Well, yes, ma'am ; those that had a little money wanted to get close to me for the first show ; but, says I, ' N-no ; p-poor folks get just as hungry as rich ! ' " The Colonel always stuttered a little when ex- cited. " We will all be as poor as the rest of them, soon, if you go on that way, Ralph." " We are better off than most of them, honey," answered the Colonel, easily ; " there's that twenty " But Mrs. Rutherford stopped him with a fright- ened look, drawing her chair nearer. " There ain't a wall with plaster on it in the house. Colonel ; do remember that." " Nor there ain't a thief on this plantation either, black or white, Hettie. Oh, don't you worry ; Delia's all right at Fowler's, and she and Jim will be round this evening, peart as peart." " Well, I hope so," answered Mrs. Rutherford, EX PI A TION. 39 her voice lowered to a whisper. " Has Dick been doing anything lately ? " "Devilling round about as usual," said the Colo- nel ; " heard he hung a poor Jew pedler down on Cache ^ t'other day. He'd sold his cotton, and Dick 'lowed he had ought to have some money. 'Twas told me they hung him up four times, and ever' time they let him down he howled for mercy but he wouldn't tell a word about the money, and the last time they let him down he was dead, and they couldn't do no more with him. They're fiends incarnate, those fellers, and if it hadn't been for this cursed leg I'd have had Dick swinging ! Look at it, we all sitting down at home a-shaking w-waiting for Dick to come and murder us ! /shan't wait " " Oh, hush ! " cried the lady, imploringly ; "' if anybody was to hear and tell, Dick would " *' He — w-wouldn't do nothing more than he's aiming to do now, my dear!" was the Colonel's answer, with a chuckle ; " he's as mad as he can be, anyhow, and has been ever since he lit out of the army to escape being shot. A b-bad bargain for Arkansas he wasn't, too." * Cache is a small river. They never say the Cache, but Cache simply. 40 EXP I A TION. " Oh, dear, I wish he had been," sighed Mrs. Rutherford. " There's a right smart of scoundrels in the country to carry on the devil's trade besides Dick Barnabas; but he's got a heap of 'em with him, and once hang his gang up we may have peace. The others are just ornery scamps, not sense enough to keep from stealing from each other ; but D-Dick has a head on him. And I'm not de nying that Dick has his good qualities." '' Dick Barnabas ! " *' Yes, ma'am, Dick Barnabas ; they ain't very many, but they're like old Aunt Tennie's teeth ; she ain't got but three, you know, but they're on opposite sides, so she makes out to do a p-power of eating with 'em. That's the way with Dick's good points, not many, but they're jest where they'll do the most good. He's brave as the devil, and he's tolerable kind to beasts (knows a heap about them, too), and he'll stick to his bar- gains. I don't think I ever knew Dick to rue back. Not even his bad trade with Parson Col- lins. Say, Hettie, did I ever tell you about that trade ? " " If you did I must have forgotten," said Mrs. Rutherford, who had heard the story half a dozen o EXP I A TION. 41 times ; but it was true enough also that she did forget her husband's stories ; and true or not, the good Christian soul could have found warrant with her conscience for stretching a point if she might help him lose his sorrows, even for a little while. He settled himself comfortably in his chair, with a twinkle of the eye. " Must 'a' been six or seven years ago that it happened," said he. " Yes, ma'am, I remember it was 'bout two years after Parson lost his wife, and there was talk of his marrying the Widow Bainbridge ; I don't believe he ever did think of her, but you know the talk. That's how I fix the date. She married old man Warner in the spring, and this was the fall before — not that it's any consequence on earth. ** Dick, he was renting of me then, a m-mean Jew Injun, same like he is now, and getting most his livelihood swapping horses. Parson had a big white mule, they called her Ma'y Jane. She wasn't none too young, but she was terrible strong and spry, and the most remarkable animal for in-intelligence you ever saw. She wasn't exactly z7/,^ as they call it down here, but she had got a * 111 — ill-tempered, cross. They say of a patient in Arkansas, " He must be getting better, he is so ill! " 42 EXPIA TION. right smart of tricks like all those old mules — only, being so much cuter, she had more. " One of her monkey-shines was to always refuse to go past a fence corner. I don't know why, but you couldn't get her past a fence corner no way on earth. If you pushed her too hard, she'd begin rearing and kicking, and finally lay plumb down on the ground, her four legs kicking away like boiling water. The only way v^ith her was to get off and pat her and much her, and lead her round the corner. Then she was all right, and would step out right well until the next cor- ner. Another trick was, she'd take a notion into her head that she had done travelling enough in one direction, and if you didn't politely turn round, she'd like's not run you spang up against a fence-rail and scrape your leg. But the blamedest fool notion she had was about the dinner-horn ; whenever she'd hear the Parson's horn go, no matter where the critter might be— middle of the row ploughing, maybe — off she'd go, just the same, bullet line back to the barn. All such like tricks made her, in spite of her cuteness, a sorter uneasy beast for to have on a fyarm. So, Parson 'lowed he'd sell her. He tried to sell her to me, and for some reasons I'd have liked right well to EX PI A TION. 43 buy the pesky critter. We'd a screw press then, and I never did see a mule on earth could pull down's big a bale as Ma'y Jane, but. Dad gum 'er, — b-begging your pardon for the expression, my dear — if you left her by her lone a minnit, she'd ^'I.Wf ""y^^^"" r^^'"" " Ma'y Jane's little playful ways with fences and dinner-horns." break the gears, and jest naturally split the mud to the byarn. That's Ma'y Jane! So I wouldn't buy. Well, Parson he didn't know quite how he could fix it. Happened one day he was at the store and praising of Ma'y Jane, as usual, and, as 44 EXP I A TION. his ill-luck would have it — ^providentially, I dare- say Pearson would put it — Dick Barnabas came along with a load of cotton. He saw the mule, and Parson looks out of the window, and there's Mas- ter Dick studying of his mule. He nev^er let on. But he wags his finger at Unk' Nels and asks if we all didn't want Ma'y Jane up to the press for a spell that morning. Well, of course we did, for she could work powerful well. And just as Unk' Nels was going off Parson says, carelessly, ' Oh, Unk' Nels! If Mr. Dick Barnabas should look round to see how she can pull, I trust you all won't putt her under a bad character.' You had ought to seen that nigger's teeth flash ; he hopped onto the notion in a second. All the niggers jest naturally hated Dick always, he used to knock 'em about so. Well, directly Dick sa'nters over to the gin, where he finds Ma'y Jane pulling with all the power, and every nigger prais- ing her. He gits her out and looks her over — oh, we could see him from the store, riding her round and walking about her. Dick was of the opinion nobody knew as much about a horse or a mule as he did. In a little while he goes back to the Par- son, with trade in his eye. Kinder old mule; how'll Parson swap ? Well, Parson shook his o EXP J A rioN. 45 head, 'lowed he wouldn't trade — valuable mule, very intelligent, perfectly sound, etc. 'That's all right, Parson,' said Dick, growing eager ; * how's my clay back hoss?' 'No, thank you, Mr. Bar- nabas,' says the Parson ; * looks like we couldn't trade, and I must be going.' So Dick offered some more, but Parson grew cooler, the hotter he grew. 'I'll tell you all about that mule, Mr. Bar- nabas,' said the Parson, ' her good points and her bad.' ' Naw, ye don't,' says Dick, ' I kin see fur myself, ye ain't no need to praise the critter.' He was so suspicious he 'lowed the Parson meant to lie to him, and he reckoned himself to be smarter. Well, so they had it back and forth, till finally Dick offered two yearling steers that the Parson had been trying to get. Now, Parson knew that was the biggest kind of a trade, and the rest of us was nearly choking with laugh to see Dick getting stuck so neatly ; but Parson wasn't going to seem too eager, so he wanted a calf thrown in ; and finally they compromised ; trade even, and Dick fetch over the steers. He done it that very even- ing before sundown, he was so possessed to get the mule. And when he discovered Ma'y Jane's little playful ways with fences and dinner-horns, he was the maddest man you ever saw. He was 4^ EXP I A TION. rarin' and chargin'. Accused the Parson of swind- ling. I assure you, my dear, I was within an inch of pitching the scoundrel out of the window. Would if I hadn't wanted to hear what Collins would say. He was as cool as cool. ' Softly, softly, Mr. Barnabas,' says he, ' I told you the mule was intelligent — you won't deny she is ; and perfectly sound — well, ain't she ? And I offered to tell you her good and her bad points, but you wouldn't listen. Is it my fault you wouldn't?' says 'Parson, while the whole storeful of men laughed. ' But I'll tell you what,' says he, ' if you want to swap over again and have it said that Dick Barnabas rued back, you can.' ' Naw, by ;' never mind, Dick always did swear like a steamboat captain ; he swore a big oath and said he never had rued back, and he never would. The most comical pyart of the story is. Parson had been eying those steers for all summer, and wanting for Dick to trade for a horse he had that was nearly 'bout a hundred years old and a stump- sucker to the bargain, and Dick wouldn't look at it ; but he got so terrible sick of Ma'y Jane's dev- iltry that he traded her off back to Parson for that identical aged horse. It made Dick 'most sick, that trade did. He swore he would get even o EXP I A TION, 47 with Parson Collins if it took him a hundred years." '' I wonder he hasn't done Mr. Collins a mean- ness before now," said Mrs. Rutherford. '' Oh, well," said the Colonel, gayly, " even gray- backs have got to have some excuse, and Collins is the most popular man in the country. Chap- lain all through the war and mighty kind to our boys, and brave as they m-make them. Then he knows more 'bout the beastis than any man around. He's doctored most everybody's horse or colt or cow — never charged a cent ; and he's a mighty good, pious man, liberal and stirring, free house to everybody. No, ma'am, I don't guess even Dick could get the boys to do him mean unless they were to get a heap of money by it — and Collins is poor as the next man, nowadays. Why, the feller toted his own cotton to be burned when the order came. That's more than we did, honey, hey ? " *' Well, I hope so, Colonel Rutherford," an- swered the lady. " Yon might have made such a useless sacrifice, but Adele said General Marma- duke and General Shelby hadn't any right to burn our cotton." '' They did it for the best, undoubtedly, my 48 EXP I A TION. dear ; still, it certainly was too late, and it has only increased our hardships without helping the Confederacy." '^ I don't see, Colonel, why you didn't wait and have the Federal colonel who is coming this way bring our — it." " The money ? " said the colonel, in his jovial loud voice, and Mrs. Rutherford actually had to lay her slim hand over his mouth. He gallantly kissed the fingers. " I would," said he, " if I'd known I'd have smashed my leg and have to let Delia go for me. But it looked like it was a good chance, the money coming far as Crowder's with the Yanks ; and if I and half a dozen men could have gone out — but nobody will suspect Jim, nobody knows the money is coming, anyhow. Oh, Jim's safe enough. Don't you reckon he had better go out after Fair when he comes ? " " When do you expect Fair ? " " That's the trouble. I cayn't tell. He writes he will start immediately, but when will he get to St. Louis, and from there on here? Don't s-see what we all can do but wait." " If Fair would only let us know in time," said Mrs. Rutherford, *' there's a heap of things he EXP I A TIOJV. 49 could fetch us from St. Louis — little things he could bring in his saddle-riders, like soda and needles and pins; but I expect he won't think to do that. Pins we do need the worst ; but, now, pepper and spices and thread — he wouldn't have a bit of trouble, if we could only get him word. And vanilla extract, we have been out of such things so long I've nearly forgotten they exist, and we used to call them necessaries." ** Nothing is a necessary but salt," said the Colo- nel ; ** we have to get that, some way, soon. If it wasn't for the graybacks we could have a boat on the river and supplies regular. My lord, we're licked, and every man who ain't a c-crazy fool knows it! What is the use of rarin' and chargin' round the country and burning the cotton ? These precious jewels of Dick Barnabas are enough sight worse than the Yankees. Half of them d-deserters, too. Well, I wisht I had another chance at D-Dick ! " There was silence for a little space, because Mrs. Rutherford was absorbed in counting her stitches while the Colonel revolved fresh plans for Barnabas's destruction. From them he looked up again at the picture on the wall, the young girl in her white gown, with her sweet face. Had 4 50 EXP I A TION. he been her lover, finding enough favor in her sight to win her heart from his handsome brother, ten years younger than he ? Of all his life, full as it had been of robust exhilaration and ambi- tion and emotion, what time had matched that with its sweetness and its pain ! All the inar- ticulate poetry of the man's nature groped back- ward toward those years when she was with him. Only three years ; Fair was a baby when she died ; he could see the little trick playing on the floor with his father's great boots, the sunshine on his curls. The Colonel uttered a sigh like a groan, not conscious that he sighed. " I reckon Delia and Jim will fetch a letter from Fair," said Mrs. Rutherford, quickly, drop- ping her count. " He will be grown a young man," said the Colonel; "they tell me he is a young man of very distinguished appearance and an elegant gentleman." The Colonel's diction, become slip- shod during years of careless living in the wilder- ness, had fits of stiffening into that dignity which pertained to a Virginia gentleman's speech when he was young, and, long ago, Mrs. Rutherford had noted that such occasions of fine language were likely to accompany any mention of Fair- o EXP I A TION. 5 1 fax. In truth, the Colonel was fonder and prouder (so Mrs. Rutherford often thought) of this lad, who had spent almost all his life away, than of the dutiful sons who had never left him, and who had fought and fallen at his side. She knew that he always carried Fair's letters in his pockets, ready to come out for reading aloud to any one who might be interested in them, and in default of such listener, to be pored over and chuckled over by the Colonel himself. If any- thing could have irritated her placid amiability it would have been her further knowledge that the Colonel often had gone shabby himself, in order to send money to Fair. ''And he doesn't need it the least bit on earth," was Mrs. Rutherford's silent comment ; " Fairfax Rutherford's rich ; he gets enormous prices for his pictures, and that rich old aunt left him all her New York property ; he has ten times as much as poor Ralph." But she admitted that the Colonel only stinted himself for his Rachel's boy, he never took from the portion of Leah's sons. *' Ralph is right just and upright," said Mrs. Rutherford, ' and I don't believe the boys ever suspected he didn't love them just as much as Fair. They thought Fair was the finest young 52 EXPIATION, gentleman in the world, too. Dear boys, they were so good ! " The poor lady felt the tears stinging her eye- lids, and rose up hastily on a pretext of hearing Aunt Hizzie. She would not have her husband see her wet eyes. When two people have been through deep sorrow and trouble together, often each, for the other's sake, clings to a makeshift of cheerfulness. It is as if they hung by a board balanced over a precipice ; let one loosen his hold, the safety-plank must fly up, and it will be all over with the other. " There's Hizzie disputing with Unk' Nels again," cried Mrs. Rutherford. Then her simu- lated interest grew real, for she caught a few words. ** Bad news yoii reckons, does ye ? How come ye ain't fotch 'im by tuh me ? " A mutter in a man's deeper tones was indistin- guishable. Aunt Hizzie's voice rose again : '' Naw, ye wun't go tell ole marse or ole miss, needer. 'Pears like ye ain't got no sense. Whut ye sayin' ? Ye talk so gross nobuddy on yearth kin foller you' wuds — mum — mum — mumble — mum ! Folkses got good sense cayn't, let 'lone igits. Lemme talk tuh 'im ! " EXPIATION. 53 Up went Hizzie's voice, as if she were talking to a foreigner or a deaf man. ^' Ye seekin' Miss Delia, Slick Mose ? Ole Miss? Ole Miss fo' sho' ? Look at de critter, Nels. Well, saJi ! dar's blood all over 'im, sho's you bawn, Nels." " My Lord, is there more affliction for this un- happy house ? " the Colonel groaned, involunta- rily struggling to rise. " Oh, hush," said Mrs. Rutherford, soothing him, although she was visibly paler and trembled ; "you stay still. It's only Slick Mose, I'll go out. In the gallery a negro man and woman were staring at a truly hideous figure. It was the shape of a man, ragged, soaked, with blood-stains on the arms and on the tattered shirt ; a crouching thin thing, bareheaded and barefooted ; and wound about the creature's neck, a gleaming and hissing snake. The face, with its tangle of pale red hair, its little vacant eyes and working mouth, held the plain signs of Slick Mose's unhappy condition. He was an idiot lad whom Mr. Collins had found chained to a staple in his father's yard, and had given a good mule to rescue. He divided his time between the plantation and Mr. Collins's farm, and Adele Rutherford was the only person, save o cd c c T3 C c CD u (D C 3 o m c o T3 C < EXPIATION. 55 the minister, who had any control over him. These two he would follow and obey like a dog. They understood the gibberish which passed for speech with him. The creature had a mania for hiding things, and so cunningly that it was the rarest thing in the world for them to be found unless Parson Collins or Adele interfered. Thanks to them, his idiosyncrasy did little mischief. Another trait was his grewsome liking for snakes. Between him and all the brute creation existed a strange sort of understanding, such as some- times does exist between the lowest order of human kind and animals ; but Mose peculiarly affected snakes. Half the terror the harmless, timid fellow inspired (and it was excessive) was due to this trait. For the other half, came his extraordinary physical agility and his uncanny wood lore, mocking the beasts' calls so well that they would answer him ; familiar with every lead of timber- and every glade in the swag;t climb- ing like a raccoon and diving like an eel. Mrs. Rutherford shared the general shrinking, although she had always been kind to Mose. Now he ran * Timber grows in kinds on the Black River, here oaks, now ash, now gum ; such a strip is called a lead, f Low, damp place. 5 6 EXPIATION. to her, pulled at her gown, grovelled at her feet, and pointed toward the door, all the while utter- ing a harsh, inarticulate cry. " Lada," he re- peated numberless times. Lada was his word for Adele. It was supposed to be his effort to say *' Lady." Then, gesticulating wildly, he poured out a torrent of incoherent sounds, of which the word " kill " was the only one to be distin- guished. "Who is killed?" cried Mrs. Rutherford. "Not — not Delia?" In her sudden agony of anxiety she grasped Mose's shoulder. He shook his head violently. Instantly Mrs. Rutherford's fears flew to the money, the loss of which, indeed, meant nearly ruin to them. "Is it Jim Fowler?" she asked; " try, Mose, try to speak plain ! " Again the idiot shook his head, and with a look of agony repeated " Parson," " kill," and " Fair." He clasped his hands together, shrieking, " Oh, Fair! oh, Fair!" He extended his arms, the most violent grief and horror depicted on his countenance. Finally, he hurled himself on his knees and appeared to be straining to lift some- thing from the ground. o EX PI A TION. 57 '' Dat Slick Mose aimin' tuh tell we uns how somebuddy done! " exclaimed Aunt Hizzie. " Lord send nothing has happened to Fair," cried Mrs. Rutherford ; '' if there has it will kill the Colonel. But one thing is sure ; he wants us to follow him, and we've got to do it." III. THE condition of Fairfax's mind after he left Fowler's house was one of bewildered ex- citement. Nothing like this experience had ever been imagined by him before. He was such a child when his uncle took him that, to all intents and purposes, he had ceased to be an American. His uncle, a very rich man as well as a distin- guished artist, was deeply attached to him, and he had been reared delicately and luxuriously. Every one petted the beautiful boy, especially women. But treatment apt to ruin a coarser or more selfish nature simply made Fairfax more gentle, and gave him a pleasurable impression of all the world being an honest fellow's friend. So the lad flung his centimes to beggars and enjoyed their blessings even while he smiled at them, and looked frankly up into the great ladies' eyes, no whit the worse for his constant doses of adulation. He was twenty-two the other day, never having been in love. Naturally, shrined EXPiA rioN. 59 in his fancy was a radiant, high-born creature, mis- tress of several languages, with a velvet voice and a beautiful nature, an angel of varying nationality ; but she was hardly more than a dream of the sex, the '' not impossible she " of every young man's imagination. And certainly the last of women whom he thought about in such a connection was his homespun cousin Adele. Still, now and again, across the confusion of his emotions and his efforts to think the situation out images would flit— a white throat tinted by the firelight, and a supple figure in a light pose, and a rapt young face flung back, and dark eyes flashing. Her head was like Antinous's, had Antinous been his own sister and able to shut his mouth tight. (I am giving Fairfax's whimsical comparison, not mine ; I doubt whether Miss Adele had anything Greek about her beyond a low forehead and a straight nose.) She had a wonderfully sweet voice, too — slow and soft, yet not monotonous ; really it idealized the accent. And how fascinating was that fre- quent gesture of hers, opening the palms of her hands and flinging them out, with a sort of gentle vehemence ! Somehow her poor gown only threw a kind of 6o EXP I A TION. distinction about her appearance into relief. The idea of Adele turning out such a beauty ! All the while Betty Ward was covering the ground in gallant form, taking advantage of every piece of solid footing to quicken her pace. He had come to the sandy high-road ; in a few mo- ments she would be out in the open, clear of the dreary, overgrown, murderous woods. He began to think of his father and the old house, and his dead brothers seemed to look at him with their boyish eyes. Why should the mare tremble ? It was a sec- ond before he realized. He had lurched forward in the saddle ; there had been the ping of a bullet, he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder ; then another shot made a crackling noise ; he was galloping on in the dark. Were there pur- suers ? He could not hear them ; but on and on the frightened horse whirled him, past the black lines of forest. It seemed to him that they travelled a long distance before he was able, with his useless right arm, to control her panic. Directly in front of him he perceived a light, which wavered, rising and sinking like a lantern carried by a rider. Such, in fact, it was, for he o EXPIATION. 6 1 could hear a very good barytone voice singing an old Presbyterian hymn : "'My table thou hast furnished, In presence of my foes ; My head with oil thou dost anoint, And my cup overflows.' *' Whoa ! quit that, May Jane ! " Both riders fell to quieting their beasts. Betty Ward neighed and pranced, and May Jane, a large white mule, responded with a great noise of bray and show of heels. " Look a here," shouted the mule's rider, '' ain't this Colonel Rutherford's Betty Ward? Ma'y Jane never speaks to any other horse she meets up with. Say, who are you, sir? " '' Don't you know me, Mr. Collins ? " Fairfax, who could see the other distinctly, called back. " I am Fairfax Rutherford." With a bound Ma'y Jane was alongside Betty Ward, and her rider was wringing Fairfax's un- wounded arm, pouring out a torrent of welcome. " I am glad to see you— rejoiced ! Your poor father, sir, has had heavy afflictions, and nothing has comforted him like the news you were to come— look a here, boy, what's the matter with your shoulder ? " 62 EXPIA TION, Parson Collins lifted his lantern. '' Well, sir ! You've got hurt already. Who did it ? When did it happen ? " Fairfax rapidly explained. He had suddenly been struck by a new idea. Jim Fowler's sacrifices possessed his imagination. Only now it was his turn to deceive the slayers. How badly hurt he might be he could not tell ; he fancied the wound more serious than it actually was, feeling so faint and giddy and knowing nothing about gunshot wounds. Should he go on, the guerillas might follow and capture him, or he might roll off his horse and lie there in the wood, a prey to any comer ; should he go with Collins, the same peril menaced them. But could he persuade the min- ister to take the money while he galloped on, tracking his way by that bleeding shoulder, it was he whom they would follow, and, whatever hap- pened to him, the money would be safe. Therefore, on the heels of his rapid words he pulled out the money and asked Parson Collins to receive it : protesting that he had enough money of his own to satisfy the graybacks, were they to catch him. " They can't know anything about my having the money," said he ; ''I daresay they only EXP I A TION. 63 shot at me for my clothes or my boots or my horse." ** They're mean enough," said Parson ColHns ; " wonder if we all couldn't fight 'em. I've got a splendid revolver, and the Lord is on our side — if there ain't too many of 'em," he added, practi- cally ; "' do you reckon there'll be more than four of 'em ? " *' I only heard the shot. It smashed the lantern." '' Lucky for you it did. You'd ought to have put it out — you in the light and they in the dark, making the best kind of a target of yourself." He flung his own coat-skirt, a rusty black broadcloth one, over his own lantern ; his rugged, kindly face, framed in waving white hair, smiled on Fairfax, and went out in the darkness. Only the indistinct silhouette of a horseman remained. "■ Might as well not stick up a sign-post for 'em," said Mr. Collins. '' Now, Mr. Rutherford, with the Lord's help, we'll fool these vilyuns. I expect you have been bleeding of your shoul- der making a trail. You ride ahead for a spell. Moon's out, and it's coming on light enough to see a mite. You'll come to a slash with a burned tupello-gum standing chalk white and black in 64 EXPIA TIOX. the water. You cayn't miss. Stop there and sHp off into the water — good bottom, no fear — and get jes' behind that tree and wait on me. I know a short cut to Montaigne; and I can find the way on the grass even without a lantern, so they cayn't see me. If they are behind us now, they have seen my lantern go out, and wall 'low I have turned into the woods. Now farewell, sir, for the present." " But take the money ! " urged Fairfax. Parson Collins hesitated, but muttering, '* Who knows ? The Colonel cayn't afford to lose it, for a fact," held out his hand for the package. Having received it, the white mule bounded into the wood. They were as utterly gone, that dark night, as if they had never been ; and the only sound which came to Fairfax was the swift thud of Betty Ward's hoof on the sand. It is a feature of the Black River country that it lies in ridges. On the ridges the roads are good, between them they are swamps ; hence a road which threatens to mire a horse at every step may all at once climb into a smooth, dry highway. Sand, drifted into the soil in some of the very richest farming lands, helps the geographical peculiarities of the country. o EXP J A TION. 65 Fairfax seemed to be galloping on a floor. By this time he was so faint with his wound and the motion, which felt to him like a pump drawing the blood out of his body through his shoulder, that he could only dimly distinguish objects as he was whirled along. Wasn't that a blasted white trunk? He pulled on the reins, but his weak fin- gers were numb ; the horse did not recognize his voice ; he could not stop her. On fire with fright, her wide nostrils sniffing the home air, she raced past the trysting-place like the wind. Half a mile farther, so near that Fairfax's blur- ring eyes could see the early morning lights of the plantation, Betty Ward flung up her beautiful head and leaped high above the thorn-tree felled across the road. But her rider lay motionless on the other side. " Cotch the hoss, Sam, d you," bawled a voice out of the trees, '' don't hurt 'er, you ! " '' Cayn't cotch 'er, 'less with a gun,'' Sam growled back ; '' will I shoot ? " *' Naw, d you, she done throwed him all right, an' I wunt have 'er hurted ! Lige, try the rope ! " Lige done cotched 'er ! " Sam's voice called back, amid a prodigious scuffling and shouts of 5 66 EXP I A TION. "Whoa!" and ''Huh!" Evidently both men were struggling with the horse. The leader, bidding them show a light, crossed to their assistance. Sure that the horse was un- harmed, he returned to Fairfax, who lay like a log in the road. *' Dead's* a hammer, ain't he, Mack? " said he, carelessly. "" Ya'as, but he's 'live yet." *' Are it young Rutherford ? " " Looks like. Got the funniest cloze on I ever did see." "■ Hole the light. We'll see if we ain't got the money this time." He bent over the insensible man and nimbly stripped him. As he did so he outlined, against the torch-flare, a sharp profile with thin lips, curved nose, hollow cheeks, a sweeping mustache, and inky locks of hair, straight and coarse enough to warrant the common taunt that '' all of Dick Barnabas wasn't Jew was mean Injun." He wore a smart military hat and a blue Federal blouse, in very good order ; but below the belt, where the United States eagle shone, were two veteran pairs * <' Dead " is a synonym for senseless, in Arkansas. ■'Dead's a hammer, aint he, Mack." o EXP I A TIOh\ 6y of trousers of Confederate gray, one above the other, and the nether pair almost as much to the fore as the upper, owing to tears and holes. Barnabas needed only a few moments to dis- cover that the Rutherford money was not on Fairfax's person. He did not swear. Swearing, with Dick Bar- nabas, expressed rather a jocose frame of mind than otherwise. He rose silently, and stood stroking his eyebrows down on to the bridge of his nose, and considered. ** Say, Sam," Lige whispered to his comrade, *' I wudn't be in that ar young cuss's shoes, not ef ye'd give me the money " " What's he studyin', do ye reckon ? " *' Hell / " was Lige's concise but ample reply. " Didn't the cunnel done 'im a meanness when they ben in the army, hay?" '' He'd of shot him, if he hadn't skedaddled. Had ever'thing ready an' him under gyuard." " Well, sir I What fur ? " *' Oh, jest jawhawkin' a Yank and burnin' his heouse down. Thar ben a young un in the heouse an' the old man ben mad. Say, what's Dick a-doin' ? Looks interestin'." Barnabas had taken the gold out of Fairfax's 68 EXP I A TION. money-belt and was parcelling it out with the strict fairness which, whether out of shrewdness or a better motive, he never failed to use with his plundej;. The little velvet boxes containing the brooch and bracelet brought from London to Mrs. Rutherford and Adele, the trinkets for the old servants, and the watch for the Colonel were set aside ** fur the pile" (Dick's word, per- haps, for a common stock), to be divided at leis- ure. Fairfax's English revolvers the guerilla leader stowed in his own belt ; the money-belt he flung to one of the men. " Now fur the cloze," said he ; " them pants strikes me heavy. Say, you Mack, pull 'em off." Lige was tossed Fairfax's hat ; Sam got his coat ; his flannel shirt went to Mack. While the other men were trying to squeeze their feet into his boots, and laughing and disputing over the contents of his portmanteau, his dressing-case, his undergarments, and his handkerchiefs, the poor lad began to revive. To awaken from a swoon is always a painful sensation. The soul returns to the body some- what as separated cars are coupled to a locomotive — with a jar that shakes both. But to awaken, lying wounded and shaken, plucked like a dead o EXP I A TION. 69 turkey, and to stare up at such a devilish grin of satisfied malice and fury as that which contorted Dick's lips — there is an experience to wrench the nerves. Fairfax shut his eyes ; he forced back a groan. " Don't like my looks, hay? " said the guerilla; " I'll be a right smart prettier when I get them pants er yourn onto me. Look a yere, I ain't no time fur funnin' ; I am Dick Barnabas. Whar's that ar twenty thousan' dollars ? " *' I — I haven't any twenty thousand dollars," Fairfax managed to gasp, painfully. ** Ef ye have, you mus' keep it unner you' skin, by ," was the grim answer ; " whar's it at ? " " I don't know," said Fairfax. '* Look a yere, boy," said Dick, dropping his voice to a lower key which somehow had a sinis- ter and ominous effect, and incessantly stroking his eyebrows, ''you've got to know. It's wuth you' life, that's what it's wuth. You answer my questions true and straight, an' you' paw'U meet up with ye t'night. You don't, an' I'll kill you ! An it wiuit be nice — easy — killi?i , either ^ '' I can't tell what I don't know," said Fairfax. *' Looks like he got grit, don't it ? " Lige mut- tered. 70 EXP I A TION. Fairfax's hearing, which was in the abnormal state of keenness accompanying certain conditions of nervous strain, caught the words. His sensitive mouth quivered a Httle. Too vague for shaping in words, a sensation rather than a feehng, something hke this was in his diz- zied brain : "■ All my boyhood I feared that I was a coward ; I forgot it when I had nothing to make me afraid, but the old dread met me as soon as I touched the old swamp ; now, now I am in mortal peril — oh, thank God, thank God, I am not afraid ! " Was he not afraid ? He was trembling, and the cold drops in the roots of his hair ran down his forehead. No, he was not afraid, not as he had been afraid in his childhood ; that hideous paralysis of will and muscle, that ecstasy of utterly unreasonable, unreachable terror — he did not feel that. "Wa'al," said Barnabas, '' made up you' mind? Spit it out ! " Fairfax looked him in the eye without flinch- ing ; he said not a word. Dick Barnabas never would have won his evil fame had he simply had wickedness and courage ; there was a vein of acuteness in his mind, and EXPIATlOiW 71 such sagacity as makes a good off-hand, rough guess at character. Besides, he had known the Rutherfords for years. *' Look a yere," he continued, in quite another tone, "• I ain't no friend to Rutherfords, but they all are high-toned gentlemen ; I never knowed nare Rutherford wud tell a lie. Ef you'll say, on your honor's a gentleman, that ye doan' know nuthin' beout that money, I give ye my word, on inine,ye^ kin lope Mack's hoss and light out. Kin ye : Their eyes met ; the cruel old-race black ones, the frank brown eyes of the Anglo-American ; the glitter in each crossed under the torch-rays like sword-blades, but it was the brown flash that wavered. Fairfax compressed his lips. " You cayyit ! " shouted the guerilla. He wheeled round on the listening men. " Say, Mack, how's that fire you all putt out "^ in the woods for a warm.^ " Mack, a thoroughly brutal-looking fellow, jerked a snort of laughter out of his short throat. " T>om fine,'' said he, " right smart er coalses." * They always "putt out" a fire when they make it, in Arkansas. IV. DEEP in the dense forests surrounding the farms and cotton-fields of Montaigne there still may be seen a ragged clearing. The gum- trees and white-oaks, the cypress and tupello-gums and hackberry-trees, are like a wall growing out of the wet land about it, for the clearing itself rises high and dry. Grotesque cypress knees grin out of the water like a jagged saw. In autumn, gorgeous red and gold stars from the gum-trees, duller red leaves from the long, hanging hackberry branches, rusty needles of foliage from the cypress, and vivid green arrow-heads from the water-oaks, fleck that black and gleaming mirror with its ghosts of trees. Often one will see a white crane standing on one leg at the edge of the brake, espying its food. The clearing may hold a couple of acres. It is covered, now, by a wild growth of elbow-brush, pawpaw saplings, muscadine vines, and swamp hackberries. " Tar blankets " flap their great leaves above their prickly sides. When spring EXP J A TION. 73 comes, the " buckeye " bells swing like tongues of flame among the greenery. Yet, strange to see in such a wilderness, here and again a cotton-plant penetrates the tangle, and, during the first Octo- ber days, flings out its ragged flag of truce to win- ter. Once, only the cotton-plants were to be seen. Then, on the mound to the right, which was a forgotten chief's last show of pride, an old Frenchman had built him a log cabin, where he lived alone. He cam.e up the river in his own clumsy boat, leased land from Colonel Rutherford, cleared it, in the wasteful fashion of the country, by gir- dling and burning the trees ; and had a house to take the place of his tent of boughs and blankets within a month of his first axe-stroke. His lease of the place was short. For some reason Dick Barnabas became persuaded that the lonely tenant had money — gold and greenbacks. He cam'e in the spring and " made a crop " — and, the following summer, when all his field was blos- soming in pink and white, a chance messenger from Montaigne found the cabin a heap of smok- ing embers, and the Frenchman's body in the swamp. How he died no one rightly knew, but there were tales of torture as well as murder ; and 74 EXP I A TIOA\ certain it is that the man who found the mangled body told his tale with sobs and oaths ; nor could he ev^er be persuaded to set foot on the place again. The cotton-field had holes all over it, where the guerillas must have digged for hidden treasures. In one of these holes, widened and lengthened by his own spade, Barnabas's victim lies to this day. Why Dick should choose the spot for his ren- dezvous his men could not understand. They were merely ordinary desperadoes — the scum of warfare and a wild country, some of them hardly as bad as that, being disbanded soldiers or desert- ers who had joined the " graybacks," intending to plunder in patriotic fashion, and harass only the Federals and Federal sympathizers — but had drifted into an ever-widening whirlpool of crime. They had no stomach for torture and murder in themselves, however necessary to wring money from their victims ; and they would willingly have thrust certain black passages out of memory. La Rouge's cries stuck in their ears. Dick told them that he chose the place because it was a spot held accursed and haunted. '^ Ef they all see the smoke, so much the bet- ter," he jeered. EXP I A TION. 75 But the men exchanged furtive glances. '^ 'Tain't nuthin' for laffin' baout " — Lige's opin- ion, as usual, was confided to his crony Sam — " they does see smoke a-risin' an' hear screechin' an' nare mortial critter nigh. Ya'as, sir." *' Mout of ben aowls," suggested Sam, who was hard-headed and not superstitious. ** Does aowls holler French lingo ? " Lige re- torted. '' An' how come them buzzards will sail an' sail overhaid ? They didn't useter ! Sam, I are sick er this yere." '* Look a' him,'' said Sam ; " he ain't consarnin' hisself much, be he ? " " He is the devil'' said Lige. Perhaps to win from his rufifians just this very mixture of fear and admiration and wonder may have belonged to Barnabas's motives. At any rate, it is a question if he were not cun- ning in bringing Fairfax here. Had he proceeded to extremities while the young man's will was strung to its highest tension to resist, he might have been balked. Fairfax always believed that he could have held out then. But the long ride through the brake in darkness and silence, bound, helpless, stabbed by every stumble, was too much for the poor boy's nerve. 7^ EXPIA TION. Barnabas led the way. Not a word was spoken. Fairfax could think, could realize the full horror of his position. Creeping — creeping — the old numbness of ter- ror, the hand on his throat, the chill in his veins — oh, if he could only die, he thought, before those beasts began on him ! They were half an hour going from the road to La Rouge's cabin, riding straight as the crow flies. Sometimes they trotted on high ground covered with cotton-stalks, sometimes the horses were up to their knees in the bog ; and once Fairfax felt a heave of his mule's flanks and heard the swash of waters as if the animal were swimming. He tried to collect his thoughts, he tried to pray, but his mind would wander. It is likely that he was taken with a chill, having travelled for days through an air laden with miasma; and with the pain from his wound and the loss of blood he was half-delirious. His thoughts were only a jumble of hideous pictures. What was the story that he had been told about Barnabas at Jacksonport ? Pulling out a man's nails was too mediaeval ! And the other ■ — ugh, that was worse ! When he was a little, little child. Mammy used to tell horrible stories. o EXP I A TION. yy How they terrified him ! That one, of the big conjure-men who threw lizards into Mammy's mother so that she died— but that was not so frightful as the one about the little black cat without a head that would come and sit by a " mean " boy's bed and purr and purr; and, if the boy should make the least bit of noise, would leap on the bed and rub its dreadful neck against him. What a ghastly fancy ! Why must he re- member it now? Adele didn't believe in the cat. She jumped out of the bed and lit a light and ran into Fair's room to look under the bed. She called '^ Pussy ! pussy ! " very loud ; and there wasn't anything under the bed, and she sat down beside Fair and held the trembling little creature in her strong, warm arms until he fell asleep. Was he a coward yet ? " Halt ! " rang out Barnabas's thin, high voice. They had arrived at the camp. The camp-fire was blazing against a log. '' Rake out them coalses ! '" commanded Bar- nabas. Mack and a small dark man, said to be Barna- bas's cousin, were the only men that bestirred themselves. Four or five other men stood sul- 78 EXP I A TION. lenly, agreeing to any wickedness of their leader but not anxious to help. Lige scowled and whispered to Sam that he had a mind to kick, he warn't no Injun, by . '* Twenty thousan' dollars are a right smart er money," said Sam, " an' only ten of us to git it." And Lige sank into moody silence. When Fairfax was lifted from his horse, his cramped limbs refused to support him ; he fell in a heap on the ground. '' Feller's chillin', shore," the small dark man observed to Barnabas. *' Nev' mind, Ziah, he'll be warm enough right soon," answered Barnabas, with a leer ; *' FU scorch him for five hundred ! " which saying has passed into a common word in that country. Then he addressed himself to Fairfax : " D'ye see them coalses. Bud ? They're all fer you, ever' last one, twell ye tell whar that money's at or you're daid — one ! " The skies had cleared and the moon was rolling high in the heavens, while far toward the east was a faint lightening, the promise of the dawn. Fairfax cast his frenzied eyes round the dark circle of figures. *' Are you all fiends ? " he cried. Sam gripped Lige's arm, whispering : " Shut EXP I A TION. 79 Up ! he's fixin' tuh give in. Don't you make a fool of you'seff ! " '^ I reckon," said Barnabas, coolly. " Now, Bud, this yere's the last time er axin'. W/iar's hit at f Five minutes later, the moon at this time shin- ing brightly, an eye-witness would have noticed that Barnabas's men, not clean enough to grow pale, were drawing their breath quickly and hard Lige held his hand before his nostrils. Sam, in spite of the twenty thousand dollars, could not keep his eyes on one hissing and glowing spot of light, over which Mack's coarse face and great shoulders kept stooping. Far less could he bear to look at a distorted, white young face and writhing chest. But a horrible and engrossing interest kept every other eye on that awful wrestle between physical torment and a man's will. Barnabas lifted his finger. Mack's pan of coals was stopped midway. " Now, look a yere. Mister Rutherford," said Dick, in a quiet, conversational tone, ''you' doin' a mighty fool thing gittin' you'seff all burned up this a way. Wich do you reckon you' paw 8o EXPIA TION. is a wantin' most, that ar money or his onlies* son ? " It is the chief and besetting temptation of a many-sided, tolerant nature that, however much it has risked on any course of action, such action may all at once present itself under an entirely different aspect. Suddenly his own conduct ap- peared to Fairfax strained and ridiculous. Why throw away his life? His uncle would pay his father back that money. Only let him buy his way out of this agony. He tried to catch at some semblance of spirit in his defeat. '' I daresay you're right," he said, holding his words steady by a tremendous effort. " In co'se I'm right, Mr. Rutherford," said Dick. " Say, I'll make you a fa'r offer. You tell me all ye know, an' the minnit we git the money you kin light out." '* I gave it to some one else." *' Who ? Aw speak out, we wunt hurt him if he gives up the money." Then Fairfax told. He had given the money to Mr. Collins. He did not know where Mr. Collins had gone. Dick Barnabas's eyes glittered. " Parson Col- lins, hay? We'll find him quick nuff. Gether EXP I A TION. 8 1 some pawpaw strips, will ye, Race? H'ist 'em on his mewl, an' tie the young gen'lman up, com- f'table. Fling some trash on that fire, Mack. Now, boys ! " The loose branches and cotton-stalks, " trash " in the vernacular, shot up a ruddy column, by the light of which the brilliant masses of gum-tree foliage and the tall cypress trunks started out of the night ; and the waters gleamed like molten steel beneath the trees, or splashed into white spherules under the horses' feet. One by one each horse or mule plunged into the brake, and the muffled noise of wading would come back. " I are cl'ar on one p'int," said Lige to Sam, taking advantage of their position in the rear, *' I ain't gwine roast er stick Ole Man Collins that guv me a boss in the war and nussed we uns in the hospital. Naw, sir — not fur forty thousan' dollars. An' Mis' Collins, when she was 'live an' I ben a little trick, she guv me a ginger pone, onct. An' don' ye 'member how, when he ben chaplin in the ole man's rigimint, how he wud be a-holpin' the doctors with the wyoundid, a trottin' raoun' not heedin' the bullets nare more'n gum- balls ? " '* Ya'as, that's so, fur a fact," acquiesced Sam. 6 82 EXP I A TION. Lige warmed in praise of a hero of his child- hood. '' An' what a hunter he is — shoot the wink offen you' eye ! An' he knows more 'baout beasts than are man on earth ; he does so. Look a' Dick Barnabas a-ridin' Betty Ward this way kase Bailey got the big shoulder; Bailey wudn't 'a' had the big shoulder ef he'd of fotched him right straight t' the Parson. Naw, he cud cure him hisseff, he cud ; now, look a' the hoss ! You better believe Parson knows more'n a day'n Dick done all his life. Say, ain't ye never heerd how he set the hide on Dick with that mewl trade ? " " Ya'as, sir," said Sam, shaking his head, '' he is slick at a trade. Dear, dear, dear, ain't it turrible fur t' hev t' do a man like that mean ! But twud be turrible t' lose all that money tew. 'Clare I cayn't tell wich 'ud be the most turribler ! " ''Who's that fool gabbin' ? " a fierce whisper demanded. Thereupon both men were silent. They had emerged from the swamp and were riding through a high, fertile region of farming lands. Just in front of them was a whitewashed wooden house, with a gambrel roof, like most Arkansas houses in the country at that date. It was not a large house ; but there was a EXPIA TION. 83 certain air of prosperity in the neatness and repair of all its belongings, and the presence about the yard or "" gallery " of various primitive conven- iences, such as sections of cypress logs sawed level for horse-blocks, a trough hollowed out of a log by the pump to keep the milk cool, a " hitchin'- bar " made of a young iron-tree and slung across two posts of the same wood, a '^ dish-rag " vine climbing up the porch-lattice, some gourds swing- ing from nails in the house-wall, and a churn back in the gallery, where hung a very good saddle and a powder-flask. The light of the fire and a flicker from a single "grease lamp" seemed to indicate that some one was at home. The band silently surrounded the house. " He'll shore git off ef he makes a break, my way,'' Lige found time to remark to Sam. *' Me too," said Sam. But, apparently, the minister had no intention of flight. He opened the door to their first summons. Many a man in that wicked company remem- bered afterward how he looked ; an old man, but hale and vigorous, and greeting them with his every-day shrewd smile. 84 EXPiA TION. "Walk in, gentlemen," said he; "what can I do for you all ? " The men swaggered in with vast bluster and curses, howling for the money. As soon as the uproar had abated a little : " Now, gentlemen," said Parson Collins, " there ain't no need of you all rarin' and chargin' and taking the name of the Lord in vain; / ain't an army." " Noner you' monkeyin'," snarled Dick ; "you' pardner done guv ye 'way. You got the money. Whar's it at ? " " I am right grieved to see you in this condi- tion, Mr. Rutherford," said Parson Collins, " I am so So weak was Fairfax that the tears rose to his eyes at the words ; he spoke bitterly: " If I have gotten you into any trouble, Mr. Collins, I shall wish I had let them kill me. But they promised to let you go free if you will give up the money. I release you. I beg you tell them where it IS " Now you'r talkin', Bud," bawled Mack, slap- ping Fairfax on his wounded shoulder. Barnabas savagely told Collins to make haste and show them where the money was hidden. "If you will do EXP I A TION. 85 that, Mist' Collins,'' he added, with a swift change from his frantic vaporings to his suavest manner, a shadow of that wheedling obsequiousness which is the trade-mark of the worst of his father's race, *'ef you will, 1 will be happy ter 'low a gentleman I respect so much t' git off all right. You'll fin' me squar' ef you'll act squar\" Brother Collins appeared to consider. He rubbed the palms of his hands together and wrinkled his eyelids, half shutting his eyes, just as his manner was when revolving a horse-trade. *' Well," he said, " I don't mind admitting that I did have the money." '' An' ye got it now," said Dick. '* No, sir, not one cent." A vile oath burst from Mack, and two or three of the guerillas were for roughly handling the minister ; but Dick restrained them. His swarthy skin had turned a dull red ; and his fingers crept up to his eyebrows. He asked Parson Collins to whom he gave the money. " And if I don't tell you, you all will torture and kill me, I expect," replied the Parson, no whit disturbed. " I reckon," said Dick. They looked at each other. 86 EXP I A TION, "■ Oh, d it all, ain't he got grit ? " Lige gasped. '' But— if I do tell you ? " ^' Ef ye tell me all ye know 'baout it, who ye guv it ter, an' when, an' how, I swar I wunt hurt a hair er you' haid nur let nare one er my men hurt ye, neether." " For God's sake, tell him, Mr. Collins," cried Fairfax. " And — you won't rue back ? " '* Ye know I never did rue back, an* I never will." Was it possible that a grim smile was curling the Parson's lips? His big fingers slipped down under the bony knuckles and interlaced. '' It's a trade? " said he. " It's a trade," said Dick. '' Well, to tell you all the plain truth, then " — Parson Collins wore his pulpit expression prefa- tory of a good story — " when I heard you coming I became alarmed, and — I gave the money to Slick Mose!" Disappointed as they were, half the men grinned ; every man of them knew that they couldn't fol- low Mose into the swamps ; even if they did, the chances were that they would stop at a rattle- EXP J A TION. ^y snake's den, where Mose's playfellows were 'I'rawl- ing over the bank-notes. Parson Collins might as well have flung them into Running Water for any hope the guerillas could see of getting them. Yet the humor which redeems the most degraded Westerners helped these ruffians to a sardonic relish of their own discomfiture. ** Got the dead wood on ye agin, Dick," said one of the men. '' That ar's the best aout at tradin' you ever did make. Parson," shouted Horace, while Fairfax, half dead though he was with exhaustion and agony, could not restrain a hysterical laugh. '* Slick Mose — that's Who," continued Parson Collins, running his shrewd eye down the line of murderous faces with that same air of addressing an audience and speaking in his distinct, rapid, pulpit tone. " When I perceived your approach, or, rather, when Mose, who was providentially pres- ent — come for persimmons — did, I said to myself — in the words of the hymn — ' a charge to keep I have,' and it ain't safe to keep it ; so I committed the package to Mose, and he jumped out of that window to the right. That, gentlemen, is the How. I did not look, and I do not know in which direction he went." 88 EXP I A TION. '■' Doan' see's thar's anythin' ieff fur we uns but 'cept t' light out," said Lige. ** Parson done skinned us fine / " Dick gave him an evil glance. Yet his words were not vindictive. " I sayd nare un er we all would hurt a h'ar er you' haid, Parson. An' I ain't gwane tuh rue back. Reckon ye wunt refuse tuh look a' Bailey's big shoulder a minnit now. You Lige, an' Race an' Brad, go back fas' ye kin tuh the boys on the road an' bid 'em wait on me than Tell 'em how we was done. Mack, you an' Sam an' Lum Case stay yere — you in co'se, tew " — nodding to his cousin. '' Burn the wind, now ! I'll be raoun' mighty briefly." The men obeyed, with one exception ; Lige answered, sulkily : " I'd ruther stay yere." In spite of his seeming apathy, Dick's Indian blood was at boiling-point. Lige stood in front of the open window ; before he had time to realize the situation he found himself sprawling on the ground outside. " When I tell my men ter go, I 'low fur ter have 'em," said Dick, coolly. "You'll pay for this," Lige growled. o EXP I A TION. 89 Without another word he gathered himself un, mounted his horse, and rode away — not with the troop. He only rode to the belt of sycamores beyond the fence before he deliberately turned his horse. Out to the right, in front of the house, a flame had leaped up, illumining a little patch of ground — and figures of men moved across the light ; they seemed to be occupied with the black horse. Lige cautiously skirted his way through the woods into a clump of pecan-trees. He had left his horse, half way, tied to a tree. In the dark himself, he could see every movement of the group by the fire. A peaceful enough group it was, to all appear- ances. Brother Collins was fomenting the black's "big shoulder;" the others watched him ; Mack still guarded Fairfax. Dick called to one of the men to lead the horse away ; simultaneously some quick signal of his was obeyed by three men falling on Brother Collins and skilfully binding him. The old man, sur- prised though he was, made a stout fight, deliver- ing such a whole-souled buffet to one assailant that it bowled him over into the fire. But go EXP I A TION. presently he was overcome, and tied to a tree by pawpaw strips like those that held Fairfax. During the tussle Dick was shouting continually that they should not hurt him. " Nev' mind how he does ye," was his cry, " doan' hurt a ha'r er his haid ! " "Now then," he continued, *'you Mack, hole up that feller's arm. Holp 'im, Ziah. Put the gun in 'is hand an' hold 'is arm studdy a-p'intin' at Brother Collins' heart. Cay n't ye sight no better? Thar ye be, slick's a scalded hoeg ! Parson, I never rue back. We ain't hurted a h'ar er you' haid, nur we don't aim tew. But thar ain't nare man livin' shall make their brags that they skinned Dick Barnabas twicet in a trade. Mr. Fairfax Rutherford, if ye pull that trigger, an hit the my ark, ye kin ride off free. If ye don't, killin's ain't tuh be compared with how FU do ye. Thar's plenty more coalses." '*And killing ain't to be compared with the punishment that's waiting on you all in the world to come," shouted the undaunted preacher, '' pore misguided, bloody sinners that you are ! You ride fast, but Death will catch you, and ayfter death — the judgment ! " *' Oh, Lord, ain't he chuckful er grit ! " moaned (D 1 >> £ c <0