 | CHAPTER X.
THE OUTLAWS IN COUNCIL. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
THE OUTLAWS IN COUNCIL.
It is apt to irritate the very best of people to be defeated in
their calculations, to be disappointed in pleasant aims, and to
find themselves baffled in properly-planned performances. The
passions of our banditti, headed by All-fire Dick, are not of a
sort to make them more placable than persons less ambitiously
disposed. But we are not yet to speak of them as being disappointed
of their prey. They had not, it is true, run down
the fugitive, Sinclair, with his sack of guineas, to say nothing
of those rolls of dingy continental money, which had been so
painfully wrested from the keeping of Master Pete Blodgit.
But, it was not supposed, by the most confident among them,
that they would exactly run him down. They knew him to be
something of the old soldier — very cool, brave, and crammed
full with the lessons of experience. That they should be able
to out-travel him, they knew; but, that he should suffer them to
come up with him, on the high-road, was not a part of their calculations.
The thing was possible surely; since a sleepy man,
exhausted with fatigue, soaked with rain, suffering with hunger,
is apt to be blind and deaf, particularly of a dark night. Therefore,
he might have been “overslaughed,” as he nodded onward,
drowsing on his steed. But this was simply a something on the
bare skirts of possibility, and formed but an humble feature
among the calculations of our banditti.
To get ahead of the fugitive, cut him off from the Barony,
then scour the woods below, in which he would be supposed to
take shelter, and pick up their prey almost at their pleasure,
this was their calculation; and a very good one too, had they
been dealing with a timid man, or one wanting in experience
and resources. But, as we have seen, they were defeated by a
are likely to be successful in moments of emergency.
But our banditti were not as yet to know that they had been
defeated. They had no reason to suppose that our major of
dragoons was not somewhere in the woods below. They were
aware, of course, that there was a possibility that he had made
such headway as to reach “the Barony” before themselves;
since they knew not, exactly, at what moment he had fled from
the stable-loft of Blodgit; nor could they measure the paces of
his horse, except by some general estimate of his powers after a
hard day's ride. Still, when they had attained the point at
which they aimed, there was some feeling of disappointment,
that they had not found some proofs by which to determine the
question of his whereabouts.
In the cool of the morning hours, and before the dawn, we
find them assembled, accordingly, in close proximity with the
avenue leading to the mansion-house and settlements of Colonel
Sinclair. They had skirted the avenue and fences, which cut
off the cultivated fields from the natural forests. They had put
themselves in such a position, along this line, as would discourage
any but a desperate attempt, on the part of the fugitive, to
make his passage upward. A bold man, they well knew, might
attempt and do it, provided he were near enough; for they were
too few in number to make the cordon perfect: but they relied
on luck, their own agility, and the fact that the fugitive could
not well know where they had severally disposed themselves.
This done, there was a consultation.
Now, a consultation, whether in war or physic, is apt to produce
a confusion of tongues; and our banditti, though somewhat
coerced by the terrible authority maintained by All-fire
Dick, was yet a free-spoken body, and there were some of the
members who would always cavil even when compelled to submit.
“We've lost him, I reckon,” said “Skin-the-Serpent,” with
an oath and growl; “and may as well hang up our fiddles for
all the good that'll come of playing out of tune.”
“Lost h-ll!” roared All-fire Dick. “What did you expect?
Did you reckon he'd stand, and let us ride him down on the open
track? Didn't we know that he'd take to the woods?”
“But how do we know that he's taken to the woods? How
do we know that he ain't safely housed at the Barony at this
very moment?”
“How do we know anything but by finding out? We've
got to find out; that's all! But whether he's in the woods, or
in the house, either way, I reckon, we've got him!”
“Got him! I don't see.”
“What are your eyes good for, I wonder? For a fellow
that knows how to use cold steel, I reckon, Skin-the-Sarpent,
you're about the most bull-headed of all the blind cattle, I
know!”
“Well, Dick, let's hear what you're good for! What are
you going to do?”
“There'd be no difficulty ef we had men enough, and men of
the right kind. But what's to be done with fellows that begin
the fight by dropping their tails? That's not the way to do
anything! When I hear a man say, `It's no use to try,' I'm
for knocking him on the head at once; bekaise, I know, a man
that sets out with that sort of sperrit, never does try with the
whole heart of a man! What I wants of them that goes with
me, is never to think it possible for the game to go agin us, tell
he sees the stakes cleaned up and gone! A man musn't even
believe he's dead, tell he feels the scalp off, and kain't lift a
leg to kick. Now, in this business, I'll tell you what's to be
done. Ralph Brunson must start off, right away, for Zeke Rodgers
and his dogs. He's not quite five miles off. May be, he'll
find some of our fellows thar besides. We don't want but a
couple here; for it's no use having too many to set down to a
small dinner. But we must have Zeke, and his dogs, and a
man or two more, ef he's got 'em with him. Meantime, we
must skairt the avenue, and keep a lookout on all the crossings!”
“But, what ef we could find out ef Major Sinclair hes got to
the Barony?” said Skin-the-Serpent.
“Find out ef you kin! I don't see how you're to set about
it, onless we had a man to spare to send in, as a traveller, with
orders to look about him with a snake's eye, and see what's to
be seen under the table. But we ain't half strong enough now,
to watch the avenue and road rightly, or I'd send Joe Best.
too, to kiver the roads, and watch the crossings.”
At that moment, who should pop into the midst of the circle,
but our amiable overseer, Master Pete Blodgit. He wore the
most smiling face in the world, had heard every syllable that
had been said, and had conceived the idea of making himself
commendable to the outlaws, by volunteering to visit Zeke
Rodgers, leaving Ralph Brunson to add to the resources of the
party, on the watch; and, if need be, for the exploration of the
Barony itself. Full of this idea, and never doubting that he
should find a favorable reception from the outlaws, in their moment
of acknowledged difficulty, the worthy Pete popped into
the circle; but it would seem somewhat prematurely
The moment he became visible, All-fire Dick leaped upon
him and seized him by the throat. The outlaw was equally
vexed at being surprised, and followed.
“What the h-ll brought you hyar, you weasel-sperritted
rascal, when I told you to keep off?”
And he throttled the skulk, with steely fingers, until the
breath came out in a gurgle from his throat, along with broken
syllables of entreaty.
“Lord ha' marcy! Oh! — I'm a-cho — choking!”
“What brought you hyar, you d—d skunk, when I told you
not to come?” cried the ruffian, as he hurled the fellow to the
earth and clapped his foot upon his neck.
“Ah! be marciful! be marciful! I jest come to lend a hand
in case of needcessity.”
“And what, in the name of —, kin sich a mean sneak and
coward as you do, when it's a business that needs nothing but
strong men only? You varmint! I know better what you
come for! You thought there was to be some pickings, did
you? — and you'd have found fingers enough, after we had
found the flesh! But I'll slit your ears for you, you skunk! —
I'll—”
And, with these words, the outlaw drew his knife, a monstrous
couteau de chasse, worthy to compare with the bowie-knife of
recent days; and, but for the interposition of “Skin-the-Serpent,”
it is beyond question that the ears — possibly the
throat — of the intruder, might have been made to pay the
not wholly the fool that All-fire Dick declared him, interposed,
saying—
“Stop, Dick, the fellow kin do some sarvice! Hear what he's
a saying. It's reason! He kin go for Zeke Rodgers and the
dogs, and then Rafe Brunson kin go to `the Barony,' and look
about him thar.”
“No! by thunder! Ef anybody's to go to the Barony, it's
this mean sneak of a skunk. He's the right person to play the
spy; he's got nateral recommendations for it; and, by the
hocus, he shall do it! Do you hear — eh?”
The suggestion, approved by the ruffians generally, was one
which did not commend itself to the party most concerned.
The quick fears of Pete Blodgit readily conceived the risk
which he should incur, making his appearance at the dwelling,
at the hands of Major Sinclair, should the latter have really
reached the Barony in safety. Respited only from the knife
of “All-fire Dick,” and permitted to rise, he trembled with the
dread of that redoubted person; yet he felt, intuitively, that, to
accede to his requisition, was to incur almost as great a danger.
To steer an evasive course is, in all such cases, the usual resort
of imbecility.
“I reckon he ain't got to the Barony at all. His horse was
most gin out, when he come last night. He couldn't ha' done
it, no how! He's in the woods here, below, I'm sartin; and, ef
you'll let me, I'll have Zeke Rodgers and his dogs here, in a
short two hours.”
“Did we ax you for your thinking, you etarnal skunk?” was
the reply of Dick, as he resumed his grasp upon the fellow's
throat. “Look you, thar's only one question, and I don't care
a button which way you answer it; for my knife itches to be
at you, with a wipe that'll clean your ears close to the skull!
Will you go ahead or not?” And his finger pointed to the
avenue. Without waiting for his answer, the ruffian whirled
him about, applied his foot emphatically to the person of the
overseer, and said—
“Mount!”
Pete Blodgit was not the man for a prolonged resistance to
the wishes of a superior. He unfastened his horse from the
silence, and then paused.
“Well! why ain't you off?”
“I wanted to hear what I must do.”
“Snake through the settlement! — spy! Use your eyes and
ears, and find out ef the man we're a'ter has got up. You didn't
need to be told that. You know'd it well enough. You kin do
it well too, ef you're a mind to, for that's the only business you're
good for.”
“But suppose he's thar?”
“Well! that's what we wants to know.”
“But, I reckon, ef he's thar, he'll hardly be willing to let me
come away agin.”
“Why, what the —, will he want with such a critter as
you?”
“He might make me a prisoner, or—”
“Hang you, you think!”
An involuntary shiver of the overseer showed the outlaw
that he was on the raw of the difficulty. He proceeded:—
“Ef he hangs you, Blodgit, though we don't care the most
etarnal button for your hide, yet, as you goes on our business,
we'll hang up every mortal man in the Barony, and on the same
tree, to keep you company. Thar now! be off! No more
words. Ef they makes you prisoner — that is to say, ef you
ain't back agin in two hours — we'll look arter you! Thar's
enough of us, I reckon, to grapple our way into them walls, and
tear you away with our teeth! And we're the men to do it!
So, don't be skeared! You'll come off safely with hair and
hide. Be off, and do your sneaking like the old sarpent in the
garden.”
Blodgit would still have lingered, having no just sense of the
satisfactory or compensative, contained in the promise that, if
hung, there should be company provided for him on the same
tree; but Joe Best, a cool, quiet fellow, deliberately laid the
lash of his whip over his shoulders with such emphasis as to
settle instantly all further doubts on the part of the spy. He
was off for the road and avenue on the instant.
“Them's the only argyments for sich a critter,” was the commentary
of the chief of the outlaws, which he accompanied
off at once for Zeke Rodgers and the dogs. We are not to stop
doing till we hear from Blodgit. The truth is, the fellow stands
a chaince of getting roped in some way; sure, ef Willie Sinclair's
got to the Barony. You see it's cl'ar that Sinclair's
found Blodgit out. Well, he's jest the man to work his fingers
jest as his idees work; and I shouldn't care a snap of my fingers
ef he did knock the skunk of a fellow on the head.”
“But then he's on our business, Dick,” put in Skin-the-Serpent.
“Jest so! And, being on our business, ef he comes to any
harm, we must see him righted! That's all cl'ar enough!
What I meant was, that, as for any use that Pete Blodgit's to
us, now that Sinclair's found him out, he's none; and 'twouldn't
be of any consarn to us ef he was a hanging on the first tree,
to-morrow! But we won't let him hang ef we kin help it,
while he's working on our account; and we'll be as good as our
word, in hanging as many others as we kin lay our hands on, in
that blasted nobility consarn, ef so be they dare to put Pete
Blodgit's neck out of j'int. That's jest now as sartin as ef I
had sworn it under the pulpit. Let's be driving, now, Sarpent.
We'll skairt the avenue and the lower fences, keeping close in
the bushes as we go.”
The remaining outlaws now took horse. Ralph Brunson had
pushed off, almost as soon as ordered — exhibiting no such reluctance
as Pete Blodgit. This latter worthy was making his
way slowly to the dwelling, filled with many misgivings, and
busily employed, mentally, in preparing the apologies for his
conduct, should he find Major Sinclair at the Barony; and, in
the event of his absence, a neat little narrative for the satisfaction
of all other persons. Blodgit was not without a certain
sort of genius. It was eminently foxy and skunkish, but of
value and great use when practised upon those to whom the
odor of either beast is yet unknown.
“Mass Willie,” quoth Benny Bowlegs, peering into the
chamber of Carrie Sinclair, where the major of dragoons still
harbored, “sure as a gun, hyar's dat polecat, Pete Blodgit,
a-coming up de ab'nue.”
“See to him at once, Benny, and keep close upon his footsteps
him always in your sight, and remember, should he happen to
make any discoveries, rope him, and shut him up!”
“Sure for dat, maussa!”
Benny was no sluggard. He moved off with the step and
look of one who is equally prompt and determined. Certainly,
if he has occasion to rope Blodgit — and he will not be slow to
make the occasion — he will not be at pains to provide a silken
garter. Five minutes after, he might be seen, with a significant
plough-line in his hands, conducting the dubious overseer, with
great apparent civility and attention, into the great hall where
Colonel Sinclair, half reclining, half sitting, was nursing his
podagra. But, before this presence could be reached, there were
ceremonial restraints without number, none of which would the
attentive Benny Bowlegs forego. He could spare none of the
civilities due to so proper a person as Mr. Pete Blodgit.
“Fassen dat hoss of Misser Pete Blodgit to t'odder tree, you
little black Toby,” was the cry of Benny Bowlegs, to the white-shirted
little son of sables, who stood at the portals.
“Never mind, Benny, t'will do thar, where I hitched him.”
“Beg you' pardon, Misser Pete Blodgit,” responded Benny,
with dignity, “'twon't do dar at all! Dat tree is plant for
grow, not for hoss to chaw! Colonel Sincklar see dat hoss fassened
to dat tree, he will jist as lief cut dat hoss trote, right
away, as look 'pon 'em. You yerry black Toby? — do as I
tell you.”
“Oh! yes! move him to the other tree, Benny, ef you think
your master won't like him at that,” was the consenting and
rather eager response of Blodgit, whose desire was by no means
to see the knife of the colonel and the weasand of his horse
more intimately acquainted.
Cut he trote, for true!” muttered Benny, “ef he cotch 'em
dar.”
“The colonel's well, Benny, I reckon?”
“I reckon not edzactly, Misser Pete Blodgit: he's jest sick
enough to be all-fired skittish. You'll jes' be preticklar, Misser
Pete Blodgit, wha' you guine say to 'em, for dis is de time wid
'em nebber to 'top t'ink wha' sawt ob answer he guine mek';
and he jest as leab speak to you wid de little gould-headed
Please 'member Misser Pete Blodgit, sence I no wants to carry
you down to you hoss wid you head all bloody, and maybe a
break somewhar in you tighbone or arm!”
“Thank you, Benny; I'll be mighty considerant of his sitivation.”
“Better for you, das all!”
Blodgit, at the entrance, seemed disposed to hesitate. The
door was open before him.
“Dis de way, Misser Pete Blodgit; you must 'member ob
old, I reckon.”
“Oh! yes, Benny, I reckon I knows all about the Barony,
jest as well as them that lives here.”
“Yes, Misser Pete Blodgit, I reckon you does! You always
was mighty quick to look 'bout you wherebber you goes; and,
sometimes, I reckon you look jes' whay people don't want you
to set you eyes.”
Blodgit felt that there was something in this speech offensively
suggestive, and it ruffled him a little. He replied rather
quickly:—
“Well, I spose I had a right to look jest where I did.”
“Now, look yer, Misser Pete Blodgit, better you don't say
not'ing to ole maussa 'bout you rights, and all dat sawt ob ting;
kaise, you see, he's a gentleman what don't blieb berry much in
de rights ob poor buckrah ; and of you talks to him 'bout you
right to look 'bout him, whay you please, you know wha' he
guine say?”
“What will he say, Benny?”
“Well, he will say, 'Jes' so, Misser Pete Blodgit, it's you
right to spy, may be, but it's my right for knock you on de
head for spy in my house!' Das wha' he guine to say; and I
tell you, Misser Pete Blodgit, he guine do wha' he say, sure as
t'under.”
“Well, I don't think he'll knock me down, Benny, for I ain't
a-guine to talk about my rights to spy in any man's place. I
don't spy, Benny, that's not my business.”
“I berry grad for yerry you say so, Misser Pete Blodgit;
and now, ef you say you wants to see ole maussa, dar's de paat'
[path] open for you.”
And, with a very lordly air, Benny waved his hand to the
open entrance, and Blodgit passed in, rather demurely, and
with his uneasiness somewhat increased by the suspicious courtesies
and sinister warnings of Ben Bowlegs. To the uninitiated
and unobservant, we may mention here, that, had Blodgit
been at all in favor with the negro, the latter would have styled
him Mass Pete, or maussa;—the “Misser Pete Blodgit” was
very decidedly ceremonial, and it did not escape the notice of
the overseer. But no time was given him for reflection. Once
in the great passage, he was in sight from either of the two
large rooms which opened upon it, in one of which Colonel Sinclair
might be seen, half reclined upon an easy-chair, with his
game-leg stretched out upon a cushioned stool before him. His
gold-headed cane lay on the table, convenient to his grasp; and
the massive knob on the top of it, marked with its owner's crest
and initials, appeared to Blodgit to have grown prodigiously
in its dimensions since he last had the satisfaction of looking
upon it.
| CHAPTER X.
THE OUTLAWS IN COUNCIL. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days | |