“I never is see no mule like dis,” said the negro, indignantly, as he took a soiled letter from his hat and handed it to Joe. “I start from town at two o’tlocks, an’ here ’tis mos’ night. I got me a stick an’ I hit ’er on one side, an’ den2 she’d shy on t’er side de road, an’ when I hit ’er on dat side, she’d shy on dis side. She been gwine slonchways de whole blessed way.”
0224
Mr. Deomatari’s note had neither address nor signature, and it was very brief. “Come at once,” it said. “You remember the retreat from Laurel Hill and the otter3? Come in by the jail and around by the Branham place. If some one cries, ‘Who goes there?’ say, ‘It is the Relief.’”
Joe turned the note over and studied it. “Who gave you this?” he asked the negro.
“Dat chuffy-lookin’ white man what stay dar at de tavern4. He say you mustn’t wait for me, but des push on. Dem wuz his ve’y words—des push on.”
Joe had some trouble in getting away. The editor had gone off somewhere in the plantation5; and Butterfly, the horse he proposed to ride—the horse he always rode—was in the pasture, and a colt in a plantation pasture is as big a problem as a hard sum in arithmetic. The colt is like the answer. It is there somewhere; but how are you going to get it, and when? Harbert solved the problem after a while by cornering the colt and catching6 him; but the sun was nearly down when Joe started, and he then had nine miles to ride. Harbert, who was a sort of plantation almanac, said there would be no moon until after midnight, and a mighty7 small one then; but this made no difference to Joe Maxwell. Every foot of the road was as familiar to him as it was to old Mr. Wall, the hatter, who was in the habit of remarking that, if anybody would bring him a hatful of gravel8 from the big road that led to Hillsborough, he’d “up an’ tell ’em right whar they scooped9 it up at.” Joe not only knew the road well, but he was well mounted. Butterfly had all the faults Of a colt except fear. He was high-spirited and nervous, but nothing seemed to frighten him. When the lad started, Harbert ran on ahead to unlatch the big plantation gate that opened on the public-road.
“Good-night, Marse Joe,” said the negro. “I wish you mighty well.”
“Good-night, Harbert,” responded Joe, as he went cantering into the darkness.
There was something more than a touch of fall in the evening air, and Butterfly sprang forward eagerly, and chafed10 at the bit that held him back. The short, sharp snorts that came from his quivering nostrils11 showed the tremendous energy he had in reserve, and it was not until he had gone a mile or more that he settled down into the long, swift, sweeping12 gallop13 that seemed in the dim light to throw the trees and fences behind him. At a cross-road Joe heard the tramp of horses and the jingling14 of spurs and bridle-bits, but he never paused, and it was not until long afterward15 he learned that he had come near forming the acquaintance of Wilson’s raiders, who were making their way back to Atlanta.
By the time the stars had come out, Joe could see the lights of Hillsborough twinkling in the distance, and in a short time he had turned into the back street that led by the jail and made way across the town until he reached the square below the tavern. Then he turned to the left, and was soon in front of Mr. Deometari’s room. Boy-like, he was secretly sorry that some sentinel had not challenged him on the way, so that he could give the countersign16. A muffled17 figure, sitting on the edge of the veranda18, roused itself as Joe rode up.
“Where is Mr. Deometari?” the lad asked.
“He in dar,” replied the figure. “Is you fum de plantation, sah?”
“Yes.”
“Den I’m to take yo’ hoss,” the negro said.
“Well, you must be careful with him,” said the lad.
“Dat I will, suh, kaze Marse Deo say he gwine pay me, an’ ’sides dat, I stays at de liberty stable.”
Joe saw his horse led away, and then he knocked at Mr. Deometari’s door.
“I’m here, sir,” said Joe, as he entered.
“Why, my dear boy! so you are! and glad I am to see you. And you are on time. I had just pulled out my watch, and said to myself, ‘In one short quarter of an hour the boy should be here, and I shall have his supper ready for him.’ And just then you knocked, and here is my watch still in my hand. My dear boy, sit down and rest your bones. I feel better.”
Mr. Deomatari had supper for Joe and himself brought to his room, and as he ate he talked.
“You are a clever chap,” said Mr. Deome-tari. “You don’t know how clever you are. No,” he went on, seeing a curious smile on Joe’s face—“no, I’m not making fun of you. I mean just what I say. Where is the boy in this town who would have galloped20 through the dark on an errand that he knew nothing of? I tell you, he is not to be found. But suppose he could be found, wouldn’t he bother me with ten thousand questions about what he was expected to do, and how he was going to do it, and when, and which, and what not? Now, I want to ask you why you came?”
“Because you sent for me,” said Joe buttering another biscuit. “And because I wanted to find out all about—”
“All about what?” asked Mr. Deometari.
“About Mr. Pruitt, and—everything.”
“Well,” said Mr. Deometari, “I won’t tell you precisely21 why I sent for you—you’ll find out for yourself; but one of the reasons is that I want you to go with a little party of us to a point not far from your home. You know the roads, and you know what the negroes call the short cuts.”
“To-night?” asked Joe.
“Yes, to-night. Not now, but a little later.”
“I was just thinking, Mr. Deo,” he said, after a while, “whether I ought to go and see mother.”
“Now that is the question.” Mr. Deometari drew his chair closer to the lad, as if preparing to argue the matter. “Of course, you feel as if you ought to go. That is natural. But, if you go, you will have to give your mother some reason for being here. You could only tell her that I had sent for you. This is such a poor reason that she would be uneasy. Don’t you think so?”
“Well,” said Joe, after a pause, “I can come to see her next Sunday.”
Rubbing his fat hands together, Mr. Deome-tari looked at Joe a long time. He seemed to be meditating24. The ring on his finger glistened25 like a ray of sunlight that had been captured and was trying to escape.
“I want to take you around,” he said to Joe after a while, “and introduce you to Captain Johnson, our worthy26 provost-marshal.”
“Me?” asked the lad, in a tone of astonishment27.
“Yes,” said Mr. Deometari. “Why not? A bright boy like you should be acquainted with all our great military men. Our noble captain would be very glad to see you if he knew as much about your visit as I do.”
“But as it is,” said Joe, quickly, “he doesn’t know any more about it than I do.”
“My dear boy,” exclaimed Mr. Deometari, in a bantering28 tone, “don’t get impatient. It is so very simple that all our plans might be spoiled if I told you. Now, then,” he continued, looking at his watch, “if you are ready, we will go. You have no overcoat, but my shawl here will answer just as well.”
Joe protested that he never wore an overcoat, even in the coldest weather; but his protest had no effect on Mr. Deometari, who gave the shawl a dexterous29 turn and wrapped Joe in it from head to heels. Then he fastened it at the lad’s throat with a long steel pin that had a handle like a dagger30.
“Why, I look just like a girl,” said Joe, glancing down at his feet.
“Very well, Miss Josephine,” laughed Mr. Deometari; “just take my arm.”
The provost-marshal’s office was on the opposite side of the public square from the tavern, and Mr. Deometari, instead of following the sidewalk, went through the court-house yard. There was not much formality observed around the office. There was no sentinel stationed at the door, which was opened (in response to Mr. Deometari’s knock) by a small negro boy.
0232
Down a little passage-way, or hall, Mr. Deometari went, followed by Joe. A light shone from a door at the end of a passage on the left, and into this door Mr. Deometari went without ceremony. There was not much furniture in the room—four chairs, a lounge, and a table. A sword hung on the wall, between lithograph31 portraits of General Lee and Stonewall Jackson; and on one side was a long array of pigeonholes32 full of papers. A man sat at the table, and he was so busily engaged in writing that he nodded without looking up from his work.
“Henderson,” said Mr. Deometari, “I have company to-night. I want you to know this young man. His name is Joe Maxwell. He is an honorary member of the Relief Committee.”
At this Henderson wiped his pen on his head and laid it down. Then he peered across the table at Joe. The two candles that gave him light were so close to his eyes that they blinded him when he lifted his face.
“Maxwell, did you say?—All right, Mr. Maxwell; I am glad to see you. Excuse my hand; it is full of ink.”
Mr. Henderson had a soft, gentle voice, and his hand, although it was splashed with ink, was as delicate as that of a woman.
“Is this the Mr. Henderson you were telling me about some time ago?” asked Joe, turning to Mr. Deometari. “I mean the Mr. Henderson who was sick when you retreated from Laurel Hill?”
“The same,” said Mr. Deometari.
Mr. Henderson laughed softly to hide his surprise, pushed his chair back, and rose from his seat. Whatever he was going to say was left unsaid. At that moment a knock that echoed down the hallway came on the outer door, and it was followed almost immediately by the firm and measured tread of some newcomer. Then there appeared in the doorway33 the serene34 face of Mr. Archie Blandford. He glanced around the room half-smiling until his eyes fell on Joe, and then the shadowy smile gave place to an unmistakable frown. Joe saw it, and for the first time felt that his position was a peculiar35 one, to say the least. He began to feel very uncomfortable, and this feeling was not relieved by the curt36 nod of recognition that Mr. Blandford gave him. He was a sensitive lad, and it was not pleasant to realize that he was regarded as an intruder. He looked at Mr. Deometari, but that gentleman seemed to be absorbed in a study of the portraits on the wall. Mr. Blandford advanced a few steps into the room, hesitated, and then said, abruptly37:
“Deo! let me see you a moment.”
The two men went into the hall and as far as the outer door, and, although they talked in subdued38 tones, the passage took the place of a speaking-tube, and every word they uttered could be heard by Joe Maxwell and Mr. Henderson.
“Deo,” said Mr. Blandford, “what under the sun is Maxwell doing here? He ought to be at home in bed.”
“He is here,” Mr. Deometari explained, “at my invitation.”
“But your reason must tell you, Deo, that that child ought not to be mixed up in this night’s business. It is almost certain to be serious.”
“That is precisely the reason he is here,” said Mr. Deometari. “I might preach to you from now until doomsday, and you’d never lis-ten to me. But, with that boy looking at you, you’ll keep your temper. I know you better than you know yourself. You came here tonight with your mind made up to do something rash. I read it in your face last night; I saw it in your eyes this morning; I hear it in your voice now. My dear fellow, it will never do in the world. You would ruin everything. What you intended to do, you won’t dare to do with that boy looking at you. And there’s another reason: if this man Johnson is to be taken out of the county, the best route is by Armour’s Ferry, and Maxwell knows every foot of the road.”
Then there was a pause, and Mr. Henderson went to the door and said;
“You two might as well come in here and have it out. We can hear every word you say.”
They came back into the room, Mr. Bland-ford smiling, and Mr. Deometari a little flushed.
“I forgot to shake hands with you just now,” said Mr. Blandford, going over to Joe and seizing the lad’s hand. “It wasn’t because I don’t like you.”
“Thank you,” replied Joe. “I don’t understand what you and Mr. Deo were talking about, but I don’t wan’t to be in the way.”
“You are not in the way at all,” said Mr. Deometari, emphatically.
“I should say not,” exclaimed Mr. Blandford, heartily39. “Deo is right and I was wrong. I’d be happy if I wasn’t in anybody’s way any more than you are. You’ll find out when you grow bigger that a man never gets too old to be a fool.” With that he reached under his overcoat and unbuckled a heavy pistol, and placed it on the mantel.—“You see,” he said to Mr. Deometari, “I am making a complete surrender. I don’t want to have that gun where I can get my hands on it when I see our friend Captain Johnson.”
“You may buckle40 on your pistol,” remarked Mr. Henderson, softly. “You won’t see the captain to-night.”
“Thunderation!” exclaimed Mr. Deometari, springing to his feet. “We must see him! Pruitt is in the guard-house. Sick or well, Captain Johnson must travel with us this night. I don’t want him killed or hurt, but the scoundrel shall strut41 around this town no more.”
“It’s just as I tell you,” said Henderson, in his gentle way; “you’ll not see him to-night.”
Mr. Blandford laughed, as though he regarded the matter as a joke, while Mr. Henderson began to fumble42 among some papers on the table. He selected from these three little documents, which he spread out before him, one on the other. Then he looked at the other two men and smiled.
“Tom,” said Mr. Deometari, “this is a very serious matter. You know this man Johnson as well as we do, and you know that the time has come to get rid of him.”
“I know him a great deal better than either of you,” said Mr. Henderson, still smiling, “and that is the reason he’s not here to-night. That is the reason you won’t see him.”
Mr. Deometari paced back and forth43 on the floor, pulling his whiskers, while Mr. Blandford drummed impatiently on the table.
“The trouble is,” Mr. Henderson went on, still addressing Mr. Deometari, “that we are both afraid of Archie Blandford’s temper.”
“Now, just listen at that!” exclaimed Mr. Blandford. “Why, you’ll make this chap here think I’m vicious. He’ll believe I’m a man-eater.”
“We both know how he feels toward Captain Johnson,” Mr. Henderson continued, not heeding44 the interruption, “and we have both been trying to prevent him from doing anything he might regret. I think your plan would have succeeded; and I’m glad you brought Maxwell, anyhow, because I like to meet a bright boy once in a while; but my plan is the best, after all, for Captain Johnson is gone.”
Mr. Deometari stopped walking the floor, and sat down. “Tell us about it.”
“Well,” said Mr. Henderson, “here is some correspondence that came to Captain Johnson through the post-office. There are three letters. We will call this number one:
“‘Sir: It has been noticed that you have refused to forward supplies intended for the wives and children of Confederate soldiers. This refers especially to the wife and children of one John Pruitt.’”
“There is no signature,” said Mr. Henderson. “This”—taking up another document—“we will call number two.”
“‘Sir: It is known that no supplies have left this post for the wife and children of one John Pruitt. Will the Relief Committee have to act?
“Here,” continued Mr. Henderson, “is the last. It is number three:
“‘Sir: John Pruitt is in jail, where he can not help himself. The Relief Committee will meet to-morrow night. Hold yourself in readiness to hear again the story of the retreat from Laurel Hill.’”
“Well?” said Mr. Deometari, as Mr. Henderson paused.
“Well, the man was worried nearly to death. He was in a continual fidget. At last he came to me and talked the matter over. That was yesterday. We went over the Laurel Hill incidents together, and I used Archie Blandford’s name pretty freely. The upshot of it was that I advised Captain Johnson to report to the commander of the post in Macon, and he took my advice.”
“Do I look like a dangerous man?” asked Mr. Blandford, turning to Joe.
“Not now,” replied Joe. “But your eyes are very bright.”
“I wish to goodness they were as bright as yours!” said Mr. Blandford, laughing.
“So we’ve had all our trouble for nothing,” Mr. Deometari suggested.
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Henderson; “we’ve been saved a great deal of trouble. Johnson is gone, and I have here an order for Pruitt’s release.”
“If we had known all this,” remarked Mr. Deometari, “Maxwell would be safe in bed, where I suspect he ought to be.—My son,” he went on, “it is a pity to have you riding back and forth in the night.”
“Just to please a fat man with the whimsies,” Mr. Blandford observed.
“Oh, it is no trouble to me,” Joe protested. “It is almost like a book, only I don’t exactly understand it all. What were you going to do with Captain Johnson?”
“Me? oh, I—well, the fact is, Deo was commanding my regiment45 to-night,” replied Mr. Blandford. He seemed to be embarrassed.
“It is all very simple,” said Mr. Deometari.
“When you get a little older you’ll find a great many people like Captain Johnson. He had a little power, and he has used it so as to turn all the people here against him. Another trouble is, that he used to belong to the regulars, where the discipline is as strict as it can be. He has tried to be too strict here, and these Confederate people won’t stand it. The private soldier thinks he is as good as a commissioned officer, and sometimes better. A provost-marshal is a sort of military chief of police, and, when his commander is as far away as Macon, he can do a good deal of harm, especially if he has a streak46 of meanness running through him. Johnson has made enemies here by the hundred. Worst of all, he has treated the wives of soldiers very badly. You know all about his spite at John Pruitt. We were going to take him to-night to Armour’s Ferry, put him across the river, and give him to understand that we could get along without him.”
“And he would never come back?” asked Joe.
“No,” said Mr. Deometari, “he would never come back.”
“Was Mr. Blandford very mad with him?” inquired the lad.
“Yes, I was,” that gentleman admitted, laughing a little and looking uncomfortable. “He had me arrested once, and tried to make me shovel47 sand into a barrel that was open at both ends. What do you think of that?”
“I think it must have been very funny,” said Joe, laughing heartily.
“I reckon it was funny,” observed Mr. Bland-ford, grimly, “but the rascal48 wouldn’t have enjoyed the fun if it hadn’t been for this big fat man here.”
“You are not referring to me, I hope,” said Mr. Henderson, so seriously that the rest burst out laughing.
“Come, now,” Mr. Deometari suggested. “Let’s let in some fresh air on poor John Pruitt.”
There was nothing more to be done after Mr. Pruitt was released from the guard-house, and so Joe mounted his horse and cantered off to the plantation. Butterfly was very glad to have his head turned in that direction, and he went so swiftly that in the course of an hour Joe was at home and in bed. His mind was so full of what he had seen and heard that he went over it all in his slumber49. Mr. Deometari, chunky as he was, took the place of Porthos, the big musketeer; Mr. Blandford was D’Artagnan; Mr. Henderson was the sleek50 and slender one (Aramis) whose name Joe could not remember in his dreams; and even Mr. Pruitt grew into a romantic figure.
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1
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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otter
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| n.水獭 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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countersign
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| v.副署，会签 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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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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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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lithograph
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| n.平板印刷，平板画；v.用平版印刷 | |
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pigeonholes
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| n.鸽舍出入口( pigeonhole的名词复数 )；小房间；文件架上的小间隔v.把…搁在分类架上( pigeonhole的第三人称单数 )；把…留在记忆中；缓办；把…隔成小格 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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46
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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48
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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49
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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