Dora Darling the daughter of the regiment |
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| 29. | CHAPTER XXIX. |
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 | CHAPTER XXIX. Dora Darling |  |
29. CHAPTER XXIX.
“Look there!” exclaimed Dora, in a low voice, pointing
to the thicket where she had been standing a moment
before. Out of the darkness now glared two balls of
greenish light, shifting uneasily as the eyes of a human
being met their furtive glance. The next instant they
were gone.
“He'm gittin' roun' to 'tack us in de back,” suggested
Pic, beginning to feel a little ashamed of his panic.
“Turn your face that way, and put your back to
mine,” said Dora, hurriedly. “Take this knife, if you
haven't any, and I'll hold my cloak ready, if he springs,
to blind him till you can catch him by the collar — he's
got a collar.”
“If he Lope, he got collar, an' plaguy tight neck
hankercher, 'sides, fer I fitted um wid one not more'n a
hour ago,” mumbled Picter, doing as he was ordered.
“Stan' on dis yer karkidge ob de Bony party, missy;
it'll make you more my height.”
“No, indeed, Picter. The poor creature must be
nearly smothered now. Haven't you any sort of
weapon?”
“Dare, now! Here's de ole knife, shore 'nough.
T'out I'd los' um.”
“I'm so glad! Quick! He'll be on us in a minute!
O, Pic!”
This cry of terror was extorted from the stout heart
of the vivandière, by the sudden movement of the wolf,
which, after entirely skirting the little glade, and finding
no opportunity of springing upon his prey at unawares,
broke into open fury, and, dashing through the underbrush,
stood open-mouthed and eager-eyed before them,
growling and snapping his fangs, while yet hesitating to
make the direct attack.
“Um ghos' couldn' make sech a debil ob a noise wid
um teef,” whispered Pic.
The creature, opening wide his jaws, uttered a savage
howl, and dashed across the glade so close to the little
group, that his long hair brushed Dora's dress. Darting
back as suddenly, he made a savage leap at her throat,
and would have seized it, had not the vivandière, with a
sudden and decided movement, enveloped the head and
neck of the beast in the folds of the cloak held ready
upon both her arms for this very purpose.
The wolf, growling and snapping furiously, bounded
backwards, and sought to tear away the covering with
his paws; but Dora, twining her arms convulsively about
his neck, cried, breathlessly, —
“O, Pic, Pic, be quick! Kill him before he gets
away.”
With an inarticulate howl, as ferocious and as cruel as
that of the wolf himself, the negro threw himself heavily
upon the creature, and plunged his long sheath-knife
again and again into his body. With a dying struggle,
the wolf tore himself out of Dora's grasp, leaped wildly
up, and fell lifeless at her feet.
Picter snatched away the cloak, and bent over the
carcass.
“Look a' here, now!” said he, seizing an end of rope
that dangled from its neck, “dere's de berry noose dat I
lay roun' 'im neck up dere in de shanty. De ole sarpent
cut hese'f down somehow, or p'raps de debil did it
for um. Won'er how many libes he got, any way.
Reckon we'll make shore work ob him dis time. Cut
he head off.”
Deliberately seating himself astride the body of the
wolf, Picter proceeded to carry his idea into effect.
Presently he raised aloft the gory head, and viewing it
complacently by the starlight, said, —
“Dere, now. See ef dat 'll hole you quiet till we gits
inter camp. 'Specs it 'll git growed agin as soon as dat.”
Dora, meantime, had retreated to the edge of the wood,
and seated herself beneath a large tree. The danger
over, strength and courage failed her together, and in
the darkness she did not check the tears that rained
down her pallid cheeks.
“Missy! Whar be you, missy? Want ter see um
whateber part 's de wickedes', les' we git souse, hide an
horns, inter de brimstone pon'; so's I's bin a doin' de bes'
I could fer dis yer sinner, wid cuttin' off he head. Reckon,
dough, dat won' sabe 'im.”
“Make haste, Pic, and let us get away from here,”
said Dora, faintly.
“Golly, den, I reckon you neber say a wiser word
dan dat,” exclaimed the negro, throwing down the head
of the wolf, and hastily thrusting the bloody knife into
his pocket.
“De Philustums 'll be down on us 'fore long, any way,
an' we got two free mile afore us yet.”
“Don't carry that poor boy any further. Leave him
here till his master comes up. He's punished enough by
what he's gone through already,” expostulated Dora, as
Pic began, groaningly, to raise his helpless captive once
more upon his shoulders.
“Not if I knows it, missy. I's got my min' sot on
settlin' 'counts wid dis yer fellow my own fashion; an'
I'll tote um from dis ter Jericho, 'fore I let um go;
'twon' hender us none, missy. See ef I don' trabel as
fas' as yore pore lilly feet can foller, Bony party an' all.”
Dora, too much exhausted by her late struggle for any
further dispute, said no more; and Picter, having at last
arranged his load satisfactorily, struck into the woods at
a pace really incredible to one unacquainted with his
immense strength and endurance.
Dora, lightly treading in his footsteps, kept close behind,
glancing occasionally over her shoulder with a
nervous terror of pursuit.
An hour passed, and the gray light of dawn came
creeping down through the bare branches of the trees,
bringing a chill blast from the north. Borne upon it
came the distant sound of the reveillé from the federal
camp.
“Hark! Hear dat, den, missy! Don' dat soun' like
welcome home?”
“Indeed it does, Pic; and I begin to remember the
trees and rocks about here.”
“Yes, we'm mos' dere; but dere's somefin' to 'tend
to 'fore we goes inter camp.”
“You're not to do anything cruel to that boy, you
know,” expostulated Dora.
“Lor's, missy, don' be so ten'er ob dis ole cuss!” exclaimed
Picter, petulantly. “Don' de Bible hese'f say
de lab'rer's got a right to he wages; an' ef I hasn'
aarned de right to 'spose ob dis varmint, totin' 'im all dis
way on my own back, w'y, we'll gib in de good book
made a lilly mustake w'en it said that ar.”
Dora was still meditating upon this bit of special
pleading, uncertain just how to answer it, when Picter's
voice once more aroused her.
“Dere, missy, you knows dis yer, I reckon.”
Looking about her, Dora uttered a joyful assent. Before
pine where she and Picter had kept the rendezvous with
Bonaparte, resulting in their capture.
The negro hastily advanced till he stood beneath the
pine, and then, with a groan of relief, allowed the body
of the unfortunate Bonaparte to slip to the ground.
“Dere!” exclaimed he, straightening his back as far
as practicable, and taking a long breath. “Reckon I feels
now like dat ar feller mist's read 'bout in de Bible one
day, dat was a footin' it for de hebenly city, but was
awful hindered wid a big pack he'd got to tote 'long
wid'im; but, 'fore he know'd it, he come to a gate or
sumfin' dat was 'chanted, I reckon, for de ole pack tumbled
off, an' warn't neber seen no more.”
“Why, Pic — that's in Pilgrim's Progress; it isn't
the Bible.”
“Neber min', honey; it's jes' as good for a lusteration
ob my meanin',” returned the negro, pompously. “I
axed mist's what was in dat feller's pack ter make it so
orful heavy. She tole me 'twor sin, an' dat dere wan't
noffin' in dis worl' so back-breakin' fer a feller to tote as
sin. Now, if dis yer,” — and Pic gave the unhappy
Bonaparte a contemptuous kick, — “if dis yer ain't a
bundle o' sin right cl'ar frew, I's a bigger fool dan I
t'out fer, an dere ain't no two ways 'bout de diffikil'y o'
totin' 'um. Now, missy, I won'er ef I couldn' trive ter
jes' hitch all de lilly sins I's got inside o' me, on ter dis
big bunch o' sin, an' so 'spose ob 'em all ter once.”
“I'm more afraid, Pic, that you'll do something that
will add to your own sins. Do untie him now, and let
him breathe. We're so close to our own camp there's no
danger.”
“Dat ar's jes what I's layin' out ter do, missy,” said
Pic, rather resentfully, as he took out his knife, and
slowly cut away the piece of bagging wound around
the body of his captive to make it more easy of transportation.
This covering removed, showed the unfortunate fellow's
limbs securely trussed, much after the fashion of
a fowl prepared for roasting, and confined in place by
sundry pieces of rope, which Pic now proceeded to sever.
He then placed the captive upon his feet, his back leaning
against the old pine.
Dora, for the first time, caught a glance at his face,
and uttered an exclamation of mingled pity and terror as
she did so. A bit of stick, placed across the mouth by
way of gag, was carefully secured by a bandage tied at
the back of the head. Above this, the large, bloodshotten
eyes rolled with wild ferocity over the whole scene, resting
at last in angry terror upon the stolid features of
Pic. The deep color of the skin, blanched and sodden
by fatigue mingled with apprehension, offered a sufficient
contrast to a ghastly streak of blood oozing from a cut
upon the head.
“Pic!” exclaimed Dora, passionately, “it is too
any more; he's half dead already, and wounded, besides.
Let him go; or, if you won't do that, bring him into
camp, and give him up.”
“Yes, an' see 'im slinkin' off, nex' day, wid all de
news ob de camp, to de enemy. Ain't sech an ole fool
as dat, missy. Wait lilly minit, till I blin' he ugly eyes,
an' I'll 'xplain de needcessity ob exercutin' justice wid
'im.”
Taking a long strip of the matting, Pic, as he spoke,
tied it carefully over his captive's eyes, and then secured
his arms behind his back, and tied his ankles together.
“Dere, Bony party, you jes' stan' still, an' tink ober de
'niquities ob your life lilly minit, an' by de time I's got
back, I reckon you'll tank me kin'ly for my 'tention in
reddin' you ob it.”
A smothered growl from the captive responded to this
recommendation, and Pic, laughing inaudibly, beckoned
Dora to withdraw a few paces with him from the tree.
“Now, missy,” began he, when they were out of earshot
of the unfortunate Bonaparte, “I'll 'xplain de plan
right straight out, an' den I spec's you'll lemme 'lone
w'ile I carries um out. I's gwine ter make dat feller tink
he's got ter be strung up, an' den I's gwine ter leave 'im
to 'flect 'pon it, w'ile we'm gone fer our breaksus. Arter
dat, I's gwine to fotch 'im inter camp, an' let de gen'l hab
'im fer a specimen darkey to sen' to de Norf. Dis is de
darkey'd ought ter be like.”
“And is that all the harm you mean to do him, really
and truly, Picter?”
“Yes, missy. Hopes yer ken trus' yer ole uncle fer
not tell lies to yer, honey.”
“O, yes, Picter. If you say so, I believe it, certainly,”
said Dora, hurriedly. “I will sit down here, and wait
for you. Hark! There's the drum again.”
“Reckon it's parade. Dey'll be sen'in' out a 'tachment
fer look up de wandyeer pooty soon. I's got ter
hurry up my cakes, I reckon.”
“Yes, make haste; I want to get into camp.”
“We'll hurry all we can, missy; but dese matters ob
life an' death's 'mazin' solemn 'fairs,” replied Pic, in a
very distinct voice, as he re-approached his captive.
“Now, Bony party, ef you's all ready, I is. Don'
s'pose you's got more dan half frew 'flecting on de sins
ob you life, but you'd better skip de res', and come to de
cap-sheaf one, ob playin' spy an' traitor 'gainst 'noder
nigger, all ter help on white folks dat 'spises an' hates us
bof. Bony party, you can 'ford to be hung here, for
w'en you gits whar you's gwine, Satan'll make you one
ob de big bugs ob de kin'dom. Dat ar las' sin was jes'
arter his own heart, an' yore shore ob your reward.”
While speaking, Pic had carefully knotted together the
lengths of rope used in trussing his captive for transportation,
This he adjusted to Bonaparte's neck, drawing it so
closely as to be very perceptible to the wearer, but not
so as to choke him.
“Dere, now, be patien' lilly minit lon'er, an' you'll see
dat dis nigger, dat you was gwine ter 'liber to de tormenters,
knows how to be massiful as well as jus'. I's
gwine to min' de good book, dat say we hasn' no right
ter kill de body, an' sen' de soul to hell all ter once. I's
gwine ter fix it so dat you can go jes' w'en you's a min'
ter, an' tell yer mas'r down dere dat yer come 'cause yer
lub 'im so well yer couldn' stop way any lon'er. Now,
den, reckon dis yer'll do.”
While speaking, Pic had been searching the edge of
the wood for a stout sapling of suitable length for his
purpose. Having selected one, he proceeded to cut it off
at the root, and then trimmed the top, so as to leave an
elastic pole, about three inches in diameter at the base,
and ten feet in length. Resting the stouter end upon a
rock beneath the pine tree, he laid the other in the fork
of a young oak, about six feet distant.
“Dere, Bony party, you jes' step up on dat ar roos'.
Lucky you's bar'fut — isn' it? Golly! I forgot you leg
tied. Now, den, up you goes! Kin' o' hard to balance
youse'f — ain't it? Reckon you'll hab to take lessons ob
de ole rooster, on'y dere ain't no time lef'. Now, Bony
party, lis'en to de serious 'vice ob a frien'. You jes' clinch
froze; fer jes' de minit you tumble off, dat ar neckercher
o' yourn 'll git so tight I 'fraid it 'll be 'mazin' oncomferble,
fer I's gwine ter pull de rope tight, an' tie um to
mighty stout lilly tree back dere — looks ef 'twor sot a
purpose.”
And in fact, Picter, after throwing the end of the rope
over the lowest limb of the pine, drew it so tight as to
slightly pull upon the neck of the trembling captive, and
then turned it once about the stem of the little tree whose
position pleased him so well, but neglected to secure it.
“Now, Bony party, I's got ter be gwine, an' I bids
yer good by. Don' hurry youse'f 'bout steppin' off de
pole; you's welcome to roos' dere jes' as lon' as you's a
mind ter; an' I hopes you'll profit by de 'tunity for 'flection.
My 'spec's to yer mas'r.”
| CHAPTER XXIX. Dora Darling | |