Mr. Simmons was so sure he was right in his reasoning that he cheered his dogs on lustily and touched up his horse. George Gossett did the same, and dogs, horses, and men went careering[112] along the plantation3 road to the river landing. The sun was now above the treetops, and the chill air of the morning was beginning to surrender to its influence. The course of the river was marked out in mid-air by a thin line of white mist that hung wavering above the stream.
The dogs ran crying to the landing, and there they stopped. One of the younger hounds was for wading4 across; but Sound, the leader, knew better than that. He ran down the river bank a hundred yards and then circled back across the field until he reached a point some distance above the landing. Then he returned, his keen nose always to the ground. At the landing he looked across the river and whined5 eagerly.
Mr. Simmons seemed to be very lucky that morning, for just as he and George Gossett galloped6 to the landing a boatload of field hands started across from the other side, old Uncle Andy coming with it to row it back. On the other side, too, Mr. Simmons saw a lady standing,—a trim figure dressed in black,—and near her a negro boy was holding a horse that she had evidently ridden to the landing. This was the lady to whom Uncle Andy sometimes referred as[113] Sally Ward8, and for whom he had a sincere affection. The river was not wide at the landing, and the boatload of field hands, propelled by four muscular arms, was not long in crossing. As the negroes jumped ashore9 Sound went among them and examined each one with his nose, but he returned to the landing and looked across and whined. They saluted10 Mr. Simmons and George Gossett politely, and then went on their way, whistling, singing, and cracking jokes, and laughing loudly.
"Was a bateau missing from this side this morning?" Mr. Simmons asked Uncle Andy.
"Suh?" Uncle Andy put his hand to his ear, affecting to be very anxious to hear what Mr. Simmons had said.
The question was repeated, whereat Uncle Andy laughed loudly.
Mr. Simmons smiled under this flattery. "I thought maybe a boat would be missing from this side this morning," he said.
"Dey sho wuz, suh; but I dunner how de name er goodness you come ter know 'bout it,[114] kaze I wuz on de bank cross dar 'fo' 't wuz light, en I ain't see you on dis side. Yes, suh! De boat wuz gone. Dey foun' it 'bout a mile down de river, en on account er de shoals down dar, dey had ter take it out'n de water en fetch it back yer in de waggin. Yes, suh! dish yer de very boat."
"Right below yer, suh!" replied Uncle Andy. "You'll see de paff whar de stock cross at. B'ar down stream, suh, twel you halfway13 cross, den1 b'ar up. Ef you do dat you won't git yo' stirrup wet."
The ford was easily found, but the crossing was not at all comfortable. In fact, Uncle Andy had maliciously14 given Mr. Simmons the wrong directions. The two men rode into the water, bore down the stream, and their horses were soon floundering in deep water. They soon touched bottom again, and in a few moments they were safe on the opposite bank,—safe, but dripping wet and in no very good humor. Mr. Simmons's dogs, obedient to his call, followed his horse into the water and swam across.
[115]
Sound clambered out, shook himself, and ran back to the landing where the lady was waiting for the boat to return. It had been Mr. Simmons's intention to proceed at once down the river to the point where the boat had been found, and where he was sure the dogs would pick up the scent15 of the runaway16; but he found that the way was impossible for horses. He must needs go to the landing and inquire the way.
Uncle Andy had just made the middle seat in the bateau more comfortable for his mistress by placing his coat, neatly17 folded, on the hard plank18, and Mrs. Ward was preparing to accept the old negro's invitation to "git aboard, mistiss," when Mr. Simmons and George Gossett rode up. Both raised their hats as the lady glanced toward them. They were hardly in a condition to present themselves, Mr. Simmons explained, and then he inquired, with as much politeness as he could command, how to reach the place where the missing boat had been found.
"The missing boat? Why, I never heard of it till now. Was one of the bateaux missing this morning?" the lady asked Uncle Andy.
"Yessum. When de fishin' good en de niggers[116] put out der set-hooks, dey ain't many mornin's in de week dat one er de yuther er deze boats ain't missin'!"
"I never heard of it before."
"No, mistiss; de boys 'low you wouldn't keer nohow. Dey runs um over de shoals, en dar dey leaves um."
"But both bateaux are here."
"Yessum. We fetches um back 'roun' by de road in de waggin."
"Who carried the bateau over the shoals this morning?"
"Me, ma'am. Nobody ain't know nuttin' 'bout it but de two Elliks, en when dat ar gemmun dar ax me des now if dey wa'n't a boat missin' fum 'roun' yer dis mornin' hit sorter flung me back on myse'f. I 'low 'Yes, suh,' but he sho flung me back on myse'f."
Uncle Andy began to chuckle19 so heartily20 that his mistress asked him what he was laughing at, though she well knew.
"I hit myse'f on de funny bone, mistiss, en when dat's de case I bleege ter laugh."
At this the lady laughed, and it was a genial21, merry, and musical laugh. Mr. Simmons smiled,[117] but so grimly that it had the appearance of a threat.
"And so this is Mr. Simmons, the famous negro hunter?" said Mrs. Ward. "Well, Mr. Simmons, I'm glad to see you. I've long had something to say to you. Whenever you are sent for to catch one of my negroes I want you to come straight to the house on the hill yonder and set your dogs on me. When one of my negroes goes to the woods, you may know it's my fault."
"Trufe, too!" remarked Uncle Andy, under his breath, but loud enough for all to hear.
"That may be so, ma'am," replied Mr. Simmons; "but among a passel of niggers you'll find some bad ones. What little pleasure I get out of this business is in seeing and hearing my dogs run. Somebody's got to catch the runaways22, and it might as well be me as anybody."
"Why, certainly, Mr. Simmons. You have become celebrated23. Your name is trumpeted24 about in all the counties round. You are better known than a great many of our rising young politicians."
The lady's manner was very gracious, but there was a gleam of humor in her eye. Mr. Simmons[118] didn't know whether she was laughing at him or paying him a compliment; but he thought it would be safe to change the subject.
"May I ask the old man there a few questions?" he inquired.
"Why, certainly," Mrs. Ward responded. "Cross-examine him to your heart's content. But be careful about it, Mr. Simmons. He's old and feeble, and his mind is not as good as it used to be. I heard him telling the house girl last night that he was losing his senses."
"De lawsy massy, mistiss! You know I wuz des projickin' wid dat gal7. Dey ain't any na'er nigger in de country got any mo' sense dan what I got. You know dat yo'se'f."
"Was anybody with you in the bateau when you went down the river this morning?"
"Yes, suh, dey wuz," replied Uncle Andy solemnly.
"Who was it?"
"Well, suh"—
"Don't get excited, now, Andrew," his mistress interrupted. "Tell Mr. Simmons the truth. You know your weakness."
If Uncle Andy's skin had been white or even[119] brown, Mr. Simmons would have seen him blushing violently. He knew his mistress was making fun of him, but he was not less embarrassed on that account. He looked at Mrs. Ward and laughed.
"Speak right out," said the lady. "Who was with you in the bateau?"
"Little Essek, ma'm,—my gran-chil'. I'm bleedge ter have some un long fer ter hol' de boat steady when I go ter look at my set-hooks. Little Essek wuz de fust one I see, en I holler'd at 'im."
"Did anybody cross from the other side this morning?" asked Mr. Simmons.
"Not dat I knows un, less'n it wuz Criddle's Jerry. He's got a wife at de Abercrombie place. He fotch Marse Criddle's buggy to be worked on at our blacksmif shop, en he rid de mule25 home dis mornin'. Little Essek had 'er down yer 'bout daylight waitin' fer Jerry, kaze he say he got ter be home soon ef not befo'."
Uncle Andy had an imagination. Jerry had brought the buggy and had ridden the mule home. He also had a wife at the Abercrombie place, but his master had given him no "pass" to visit her, thinking it might delay his return. For that[120] reason Jerry did not cross the river the night before.
"And here we've been chasing Criddle's Jerry all the morning," remarked George Gossett to Mr. Simmons. "Pap was right."
"But what was the nigger doing at your place?" Mr. Simmons was still arguing the matter in his mind.
"Don't ask me," replied George Gossett.
"Dey ain't no 'countin' fer a nigger, suh," remarked Uncle Andy affably. "Dey ain't no 'countin' fer 'em when dey ol' ez I is, much less when dey young en soople like Criddle's Jerry."
Under the circumstances there was nothing for Mr. Simmons and young Gossett to do but to turn short about and recross the river. It was fortunate for them that a negro boy was waiting to take Mrs. Ward's horse across the river. They followed him into the ford, and made the crossing without difficulty. Then the two men held a council of war. Uncle Andy had another name for it. "I wish you'd look at um jugglin'," he said to his mistress, as he helped her from the bateau.
George Gossett was wet, tired, and disgusted,[121] and he would not hear to Mr. Simmons's proposition to "beat about the bushes" in the hope that the dogs would strike Aaron's trail. "We started wrong," he said. "Let's go home, and when we try for the nigger again, let's start right."
"Well, tell your father I'll be back the day after to-morrow if I don't catch his nigger. I'm obliged to go home now and change my duds if I don't strike a trail. It's a true saying that there's more mud than water in the Oconee. I'll take a short cut. I'll go up the river a mile or such a matter and ride across to Dawson's old mill road. That will take me home by dinner time."
As it happened, Mr. Simmons didn't take dinner at home that day, nor did he return to Gossett's at the time he appointed.
He called his dogs and turned his horse's head up stream. He followed the course of the river for a mile or more, and then bore away from it. While he was riding along, lost in his reflections, he suddenly heard Sound giving tongue far ahead. That sagacious dog had unexpectedly hit on Aaron's trail, and he lost no time in announcing the fact as loudly as he could. Mr. Simmons was very much surprised.
[122]
"If that blamed dog is fooling me this time I'll feel like killing26 him," he remarked to himself. The rest of the dogs joined in, and they were all soon footing it merrily in the direction of the big swamp.
The blue falcon27, circling high in the air, suddenly closed her wings and dropped into the leafy bosom28 of the Swamp. This was the first messenger. That red joker, the Fox Squirrel, had heard the wailing29 cry of the hounds, and scampered30 down the big pine. Halfway down he made a flying leap into the live oak, and then from tree to tree he went running, scrambling31, jumping.
But let him go never so fast, the blue falcon was before him, and let the blue falcon swoop32 never so swiftly, the message was before her. For the White Grunter had ears. Ooft! he had heard the same wailing sound when the hounds were after him before he was old enough to know what his tusks34 were for. And Rambler had ears. In fact, the Swamp itself had ears, and for a few moments it held its breath (as the saying is) and listened. Listened intently,—and then quietly, cautiously, and serenely35 began to dispose of its forces. Near the big poplar Aaron had a pile of[123] stones. They had been selected to fit his hand; they were not too large nor too small; they were not too light nor too heavy. This pile of stones was Aaron's ammunition36, and he took his stand by it.
The White Pig rose slowly from his bed of mud, where he had been wallowing, and shook himself. Then he scratched himself by rubbing his side against a beech-tree. The Brindle Steer37 slowly dragged himself through the canes38 and tall grass, and came to Aaron's tree, where he paused with such a loud sigh that Rambler jumped away.
"It is the track dogs," he said.
"Yes; I'm sorry," replied Aaron. "When the big black dog comes stand aside and leave him to me."
"Gooft! not if it's the one that chewed my ear," remarked the White Pig.
"I came this morning by the thunder-wood tree," said Aaron. "Hide in the grass near there, and when they pass come charging after them."
The dogs came nearer and nearer, and the Swamp could hear Mr. Simmons cheering them on. As for Mr. Simmons, he was sure of one thing—the[124] dogs were trailing either a wildcat or a runaway. He had never trained them not to follow the scent of a wildcat, and he now regretted it; for his keen ear, alive to differences that would not attract the attention of those who had never made a study of the temperament39 of dogs, detected a more savage40 note in their cry than he was accustomed to hear. Nor did his ear deceive him. Sound was following the scent of Aaron, but his companions were trailing Rambler, who had accompanied Aaron, and this fact gave a fiercer twang to their cry.
When Aaron was going from Gossett's to the river landing, Rambler was not trotting41 at his heels, but scenting42 ahead, sometimes far to the right and at other times far to the left. But in going from the river to the Swamp it was otherwise. Rambler had to hold his head high to prevent Aaron's heel from striking him on the under jaw43. His scent lay with that of the Son of Ben Ali.
For that reason Mr. Simmons was puzzled by the peculiar44 cry of the dogs. He had trained them not to follow the scent of hares, coons, and foxes, and if they were not trailing a runaway he knew, or thought he knew, that they must be chasing a wildcat. Pluto45, the crop-eared catch dog, galloped by his master's horse. He was a fierce-looking brute46, but Mr. Simmons knew that he would be no match for a wildcat.
When the dogs entered the Swamp Mr. Simmons tried to follow, but he soon found his way barred by the undergrowth, by the trailing vines, the bending trees, the rank canes. He must needs leave his horse or lead it when he entered the Swamp. He chose to do neither, but sat in his saddle and waited, Pluto waiting with him, ready to go in when the word was given.
When the hounds entered the Swamp they were in full cry. They struggled through the vines, the briers, and the canes, and splashed through the spreading arms of the lagoon47. Suddenly they ceased to cry. Then Mr. Simmons heard a strange snarling48 and snapping, an ominous49 crashing, fierce snorting, and then howls and screams of pain from his hounds.
"A cat, by jing!" he exclaimed aloud. Intent on saving his hounds if possible, he gave Pluto the word, and that savage brute plunged50 into the Swamp with gleaming red jaws51 and eager eyes.
[126]
Mr. Simmons never really knew what happened to his hounds, but the Swamp knew. When they splashed past the White Pig that fierce guardian52 of the Swamp sprang from his lair53 and rushed after them. They tried hard to escape, but the hindmost was caught. The White Pig ran by his side for the space of three full seconds, then, lowering his head, he raised it again with a toss sidewise, and the hound was done for—ripped from flank to backbone55 as neatly as a butcher could have done it. Another was caught on the horn of the red steer and flung sheer into the lagoon. Sound, the leader, fell into Rambler's jaws, and some old scores were settled there and then. Pluto came charging blindly in. He saw the White Pig and made for him, experience telling him that a hog56 will run when a dog is after it; but experience did him small service here. The White Pig charged to meet him, seeing which Pluto swerved57 to one side, but he was not nimble enough. With a downward swoop and an upward sweep of his snout the White Pig caught Pluto under the shoulder with his tusk33 and gave him a taste of warfare58 in the Swamp. Another dog would have left the field, but Pluto had a temper.[127] He turned and rushed at the White Pig, and the Swamp prepared to witness a battle royal. But just then there was a whizzing, zooning sound in the air, a thud, and Pluto tumbled over and fell in a heap. Aaron had ended the cur's career as suddenly as if he had been blown to pieces by a cannon59. There was one stone missing from the store of ammunition at the foot of the big poplar.
Meanwhile, Rambler was worrying Sound, and the White Pig, seeing no other enemy in sight, went running to the scene of that fray60. His onslaught was so furious that Rambler thought it good manners to get out of Grunter's way. So he loosed his hold on Sound, and jumped aside. Sound was still able to do some jumping on his own account, and he turned tail and ran, just as the White Pig was about to trample61 him under foot. But he was not quick enough to escape with a whole skin. The tusk of the White Pig touched him on the hind54 leg, and where it touched it tore.
Mr. Simmons had five dogs when he came to the Swamp. Sound came out to him after the morning's adventure, but had to be carried home across the saddle bow. Two days later another of[128] the dogs went limping home. Three dogs were left in the Swamp. Mr. Simmons blew his horn, and called for some time, and then he slowly went his way.
He had a great tale to tell when he got home. His dogs had jumped a wildcat at the river, chased him to the Swamp, and there they found a den of wildcats. There was a great fight, but three of the dogs were killed, and the cats were so fierce that it was as much as Mr. Simmons could do to escape with his life. Indeed, according to his tale, the biggest cat followed him to the edge of the Swamp. And he told this moving tale so often that he really believed it, and felt that he was a sort of hero.
As for the Swamp, it had a rare frolic that night. All the mysteries came forth62 and danced, and the Willis-Whistlers piped as they had never piped before, and old Mr. Bullfrog joined in with his fine bass63 voice. And the next morning Mr. Buzzard, who roosted in the loblolly pine, called his sanitary64 committee together, and soon there was nothing left of Pluto and his companions to pester65 the Swamp.
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1
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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3
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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4
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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5
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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6
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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7
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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9
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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10
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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11
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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13
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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14
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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15
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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17
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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18
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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19
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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21
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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runaways
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| （轻而易举的）胜利( runaway的名词复数 ) | |
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23
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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24
trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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26
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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27
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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28
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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29
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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30
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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32
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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33
tusk
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| n.獠牙，长牙，象牙 | |
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tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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35
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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36
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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37
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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38
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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39
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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40
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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41
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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42
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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43
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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44
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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45
Pluto
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| n.冥王星 | |
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46
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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47
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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48
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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49
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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50
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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51
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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52
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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59
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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60
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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61
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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63
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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pester
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| v.纠缠，强求 | |
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