University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
ALL-FOURS.

“The picters, Pete,” said Hell-fire Dick, as he emptied his
cup of Jamaica, and handed the vessel to one of his companions
for a fresh supply. “Bring out the picters.”

“What — ah!” was the hesitating answer of Blodgit, showing
no disposition to obey, yet not prepared to adopt the plan
of bold denial which his mother had counselled.

“Well, what the — are you gaping about! The cards, I
say!”

“And I say no playing cards here to-night!” cried the old
woman, from within. “Git you off now, all of you, and don't
be keeping a poor sick woman a suffering the want of sleep bekaise
of sich company as you. I'd thank you all to be a riding,
and not be making a sick woman sicker by your noise.”

“What's that howling in there, Pete?” said Hell-fire Dick,
turning savagely upon the overseer. “Is it any wild animal?”

“It's only the old woman. She's mighty sick, I tell you, and
sore with the rheumatiz, and all sorts of sufferings.”

“That's good reason why she shouldn't be sore upon the
tongue. Shut up, old woman, unless you'd wear a snaffle for
the rest of your life, and not wear it too long at that. I've got
a mighty good way of curing a sore tongue. We tried it first
on that old hag, mother Gelzer. We routed up her rogue of a
husband, one night, and haltered him to the bedpost while we
looked into his consarns. The old hag, his wife, kept up the
fire so hot, that `Skin-the-Sarpent' gin her a tap that sent
her into the fireplace. But she scrambled out, half blazing and
full of ashes, and never seemed to mind the burn at all; her
tongue going worse than ever. `Sarpent' wanted to cut her
tongue out; but I showed him how the thing was to be done.

I slipped a snaffle into her jaws — firmly bitted her — and by a
hitch back of the ears, made of deers' sinews, made as good a
kairb as ever took the heel of a troublesome colt! She a-most
gnawed through tongue and snaffle both, but it stood: and it's
surprising how quiet she was after that. Let your mammy
hear that history, Pete, and she'll may be grow more sensible
than to put in, when men's upon business with one another.”

It did not need that Pete should repeat the history. His
amiable mother had heard every syllable. But the fate of
mother Gelzer did not discourage her tongue in its habitual
exercise; particularly when she thought of the night rapidly
escaping, and the chances of Willie Sinclair's getting off safely
with the hundred guineas.

“I ain't afeared of your hitch, you onmannered rascal; only
you try it on me, and ef you never had the taste of a raw knife
in your witals before, you'll have it then. Ef Pete Blodgit
wasn't the most mean-sperrited fellow in the world, he'd never
stand thar, and let any beast on two legs say imperdent things
to his poor old mother what's got the rheumatiz. Oh! ef I
was only able to lift a leg, you wouldn't be heving sich carryings
on in any house whar I was the mistress. Here, Pete —
Pete Blodgit, I say — come in here to me!”

“And I say, Pete Blodgit,” answered Hell-fire Dick, “do
you stay here with me; and I say, get out the picters here, in
double quick time, if you wouldn't have sich a spur in your redicilous
ribs as will make you think a thousand wild cats was
a travelling through you.”

“Feeling's believing, Pete,” cried Skin-the-Serpent, taking
the overseer by the nape of the neck, and spinning him round
the floor like a tee-to-tum. “Thar!” continued the fellow, “do
you onderstand now that we want the picters?”

“And will hev' 'em!” echoed Ralph Brunson, following up
the game, and spinning the fellow round in the opposite direction.
Then, grappled in like manner by Joe Best, Pete executed
such revolutions as a drunken man sees going on in the
heavens as he goes home on a starry night.

“I'll git 'em! I'll git the kairds — only gi' me a chaince!
Lord ha' marcy, men, you're all so rumbunctious!'

The poor devil could no more have seconded the manhood

of his mother, than he could undertake the journey on Alborak
to Mahomet's Paradise.

“Quick about it, then, pretty Pete; we wants to be doing.”

The cards soon made their appearance: a well-thumbed
pack, greasy and ragged by repeated use, and with his majesty's
face, well smutted, upon them.

“The Jack of Spades is a gentleman,” cried Hell-fire Dick,
seizing them across the table — and yelling out the chorus of a
gaming party well known in that day — in which Joe Best, who
prided himself on a voice, took up the strain, and fairly outdid
the chief ruffian of the group.

The song, bravely begun by the master-spirit of the gang,
was silenced by the same imperious person when he found
that he was not suffered to officiate as prime minister. Hell-fire
Dick — whom we shall hereafter call by the less offensive
phrase into which his nom de guerre was subdued by certain of
his companions — “All-fire Dick” — with a roar and stamp of
the foot, now cried out: —

“Blast it, Joe Best, you think yourself a raal mocking-bird,
and hev' such a conceit of your pipes that you don't know
when to stop when you begin. Git out your pewter, old fellow,
and let your pipes alone. Change is mighty scarce, boys. I'm
a-wanting some. Blodgit, what money hev' you got?”

Blodgit groaned, remembering the treasure only so recently
transferred to Willie Sinclair's safe keeping — groaned piteously.

“What's that grunt about! But, go 'long, Spoony, and put
up the critters, and give 'em a bite; and be back as soon as
you kin. We'll want you to bring out your money pouch,
pretty Pete.”

It was the old woman, this time, who groaned within. She,
too, had heard the speech of the ruffian, and her memories were
equally distressing on the subject of the lost treasure — lost, but
still supposed to be in the stable, and available upon conditions.

“What! the old woman still has a tongue! Well! she

may grunt with it as much as she pleases, and we'll 'scuse it on
the score of the rheumatiz. But, don't let her be talking, Pete,
for as sure as thunder, if she worries our ears, we'll try the
snaffle upon her!”

“The onrighteous villains!” muttered the old woman, as she
heard the warning, uttered specially for her ears. “And they'd
do it, too, they would! I knows 'em; and that poor mean-sperrited
son of mine, would stand by and see them hitch his
own mother up by the tongue, and never be the man to out-knife,
and stick, right and left, to save me from it! Oh! ef I
was a man!”

Here again she called to Pete, but in whining tones of entreaty,
as of one suffering.

“Pete, Pete Blodgit — come in here.”

“Can't, old lady,” answered All-fire Dick; “He's got to
see after the horses. Then he's got to bring out his shillings
and continentals and l'arn how to be a gentleman by losing his
money.”

“He's got no money, I tell you!” cried the old woman, forgetting
her subdued accents.

“No! as I'm a living sinner, I haint got no money.”

And the pair groaned in sympathy together.

“Psho, boy! don't be lying! Don't we know you've been
selling a smart chaince of corn and fodder, and got the shiners
for it. We've got sharp eyes upon you, Pete, and must go
snacks, boy. But we'll play fair. Winning aint 'thieving,
'cording to our laws and edication — and you shall have as good
a chaince at our pouches as we have at your'n! Suppose
your'n is the fullest? What of that? a purse is a purse,
boys —”

“Ay, ay! That's good law!”

“And thar's as much satisfaction to a man that love's to do
a thing handsome, in winning a penny as in winning a pound.
'Taint the amount that you win, Pete, that give's the satisfaction;
it's the pleasure of beating one's innimy; it's the fun
to beat the beater — to be the best man on the ground, and to
be able to slap your sides and crow like a red-gill'd rooster —
`Coo-coo-roo-coo! Coo-coo-roo-coo-a!' while all the rest of the
crowd stands by, and don't know whether to cry or to laugh!

That's it, Pete; so don't be a sneak — and don't mind the difference
twixt your pouch and mine, which is the heaviest. It's
your'n now — it's mine to-morrow! What then? we've had
the play, old boy; and we've done our best, and the glory's
thar, Pete, though the guineas may be gone! Thanks to the
stars and moon, Pete, we know you've got the gould, and that's
why you see us here to-night! You don't think we'd ha' come,
and troubled your 'spectable mammy, in these late hours, ef
we didn't know that you'd got so much good goulden guineas,
as wouldn't suffer you to have your nateral sleeps. But, fill
your glass, Pete; hyar's to you; and big stakes about the
board; and the jack of spades for ever!”

Pete groaned again, and the mother groaned also from within.
They felt that their game was twixt hawk and buzzard.
If the gold was to be wormed out of Sinclair's pockets, through
his heart, what should save it from such ruffians as these who
now declared their knowledge of the overseer's possessions.
On all sides the ruin seemed inevitable, and the ready instincts
of mother and son conceived their predicament at a glance. In
very despair, Pete obeyed the invitation of All-fire Dick, seized
upon a cup and swallowed a heavy potation of the unadulterated
Jamaica at a gulp.

“That's going it strong, Pete,” quoth Skin-the-Serpent, “and
shows that you're gitting your courage up for a great game.”

“The sooner the better,” said All-fire Dick. “And so, Pete,
put up the horses and come up to the scratch.”

Here Joe Best struck up a stave: —

“Psho! Shut up, Joe Best, you are too d—d musical for
one's hearing.”

All-fire Dick was something of a despot. He kept his followers
in pretty tight bonds, only tolerated as they found him
a profitable desperado.

“Away, Pete, with the horses, and the sooner you're back,
the sooner we come to our rights. Be off. — Drive on, Sarpent!
spade's trump! my suit, and I'll work you this time!”

Pete disappeared. The game proceeded. The old woman
groaned aloud as she heard the door close behind her son, and
the ruffians yelled back to her in derision. But many minutes
had not elapsed, when Pete was heard again at the door.

“Whar did we hitch the critters?” he asked.

“Where did you hitch them, Sneak?” was the answer.
“What the d—l do you mean? Can't you find them?”

“Well, I thought 'twas to the water oak; but they're not
thar now.”

“You're drunk, Pete — look about you! You've barked up
the wrong tree. Take the lantern.”

“No! don't need! The stairs are a-shining.”

Well, look about you. It's the Jamaica that blinds your
eyes. Take another pull and see cl'ar. — What trumps, Sarpent?
You're strong in spades, this time.”

“Reckon I am! What do you say to that!”

“Brimstone! Cotch'd my jack, by the pipers. But we'll
count for game; thar's low.”

Pete, meanwhile, had again disappeared; but not for long.
He soon returned; this time, after making a discovery which
was by no means calculated to dissipate his own disquiet, while
it fully awakened that of his uninvited guests.

“The critters are all off — and look thar!”

As he spoke, he threw upon the table the four stirrups, each
with a fragment of the leather, which Willie Sinclair had cut
from the several saddles.

“What the h—'s that!” cried All-fire Dick, starting up, in
mixed rage and consternation.

“I reckon it's the starrups of every saddle of the crowd.”

There was general consternation, and a horrid confusion of
tongues, as each man singled out his own.

“And whar did you find these?”

“Under the oak where I hitched the critters.”

“And the horses?”

“Gone! They're off somewhar!”

“Brimstone and fire! Who the h—l have you had here to-night,
Pete Blodgit? who's about?” They rushed out en masse
as the inquiry was made.

“Nobody but Willie Sinclair!”

Blodgit made the response reluctantly; but his invention
offered him no means of evasion, and a prompt answer was essential
to his own safety. Had a bolt from heaven fallen that
moment at their feet, it could not have confounded them more.

“Willie Sinclair!” was the unanimous exclamation, and
each man griped his pistol.

“Willie Sinclair here!” cried All-fire Dick, seizing the overseer
by the throat, and drawing back intuitively into the shadow
of the house and out of the light of the doorway through
which the candles cast a feeble gleam.

“Hark ye, you dirty skunk, ef you're playing me false, I'll
slit your throat from ear to ear, in the twink of an eye!”

“I aint playing you false — it's true!”

“Why didn't you tell us Willie Sinclair was here? When
was he here? Where was he hiding? Speak you eternal
flea-skip before I —”

“Oh! jest loose my throat!” was the gurgling and choking
speech — “and I'll tell you all! I will!”

“The truth, you rascally sneak, and nothing but the truth.”

“So help me God.”

“Well! out with it.”

The fellow told them all, not even suppressing the facts about
the buried treasure. The groans of his soul, once permitted,
emptied their prison-house!

“Gimini! most on to a hundred guineas! and we've been
a-fooling away the time, when we might have been filling our
pockets! And he's in the stable?”

“Yes! I lock'd him up safe. Thar's the key.”

“Dick! boys! Let's at him right away.”

“Psho! Sarpent,” replied the leader of the outlaws —“You're
almost as great a fool as Blodgit. Do you expect to find Will
Sinclair in the stable-loft now? Do you reckon he'd go back
there, after cutting off our stirrups and turning loose the horses?
He's too keen for that. He'd be as great a fool as you ef he
did.”

“But how did he git out?” asked “Serpent” simply enough;
“when here Blodgit's got the key of the stable.”

“Well, in a hundred ways. He shot back the bolt from the
inside, or Blodgit forgot to lock.”

“No, I didn't forgit; and the bolt's a covered one; he couldn't
git at it with knife or finger.”

“He has certainly got out, and done this mischief, or there's
some other inimy about us! Are you sure, Blodgit, that he
came alone.”

“I never seed but him. Thar's no telling!”

“Ten to one he had nigger 'Bram at his heels, and kept him
back as a spy on Blodgit. It may be 'Bram let the horses
loose.”

“Then, it may be that Sinclair's still in the stable.”

“We'll soon see to that! Look you, Joe Best, take Ralph
Brunson with you, and look up the horses. I and Sarpent
will see after Sinclair. If he's in the stable yit, I'll take the
change out of him, though I have to put the lightwood splinters
to the nest. See to the horses, Joe. The only wonder is he
didn't cut their throats instead of the stirrups. I know that
would ha' been my game. Come on, Sarpent. That key,
Pete!”

“Mustn't I come?”

“For what? What kin you do? Stay here, lad, and, like
a good son, tend to your 'spectable mammy. She may want
you. Keep close. Keep your eyes right till we come back;
for, as sure as we catch you sneaking about us, Pete, we'll slit
your gullet! Do you hear? I'm jubous of you, boy! as for
Sinclair and the guineas, if they're not gone, look to me to account
for them. You shall have a chaince, Pete.”

Pete retired groaning to the cabin, where his mother provided
a commentary of sufficient length and bitterness upon his
“mean sperrit.” The guineas were evidently gone, as regarded
their hopes; and they now rejoiced in the belief that Sinclair
had gone off with them.

“The Lord in his marcies grant that Willie Sinclair's off,”
groaned the old woman. “It's his gould and his sister's, and
he's got the right to it!”

It is surprising how instinctively the feeling of honesty rises
into the heart, when there is no longer a possibility of playing
the rogue profitably. Mrs. Blodgit's religious feelings grew in
the ascendant when the spoils of robbery were no longer within
her reach. She now, for the first time, began to perceive the

full extent of the evils following the blind cupidity of herself
and son.

“But it's not the loss of the gould, Pete. That's not all.
But Willie Sinclair now knows all. He'll never trust you
agin. He'll turn us out. He'll take away the keys, the corn,
the fodder, the hogs, and he'll let Marion's men know that
you're no better than a tory! Pete Blodgit, what a fool you
was to try to cheat the man that's been the making of you!
Oh! you're about the foolishest, most meansperrited critter,
to be a white man, that ever lived 'twixt the Santee and the
Edisto.”

“Oh! mammy, you oughtn't to say that! You know you
told me to, and made me give you the bag of Spanish dollars.”

“And it's well I did! where'd they be now, if I hedn't?
And ef you had trusted your poor old mother with the gould,
as well as the silver, we'd ha' had it now, you meansperrited—”

“Hush! They're a-coming back!”

Pete hastened out of the chamber to open for the party. The
horses had been found. They had employed themselves quietly
in picking the long grasses about the ruined building, and were
easily caught. But each was bridleless, and Joe Best and
Brunson busied themselves in looking up Pete's stores of rope
and leather, with the hope to provide substitutes for present
use. They rightly anticipated the purpose of All-fire Dick
and Skin-the-Serpent, to pursue a fugitive who carried a hundred
guineas at his girdle.