The Law of the Land - Emerson Hough (best young adult book series .txt) š
- Author: Emerson Hough
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āHe seems to make a sort of specialty of bear, doesnāt he? Got a pretty good pack, eh?ā
āPack? I should say we has! We got the bestest bāah pack in Missāippi, er in de whole worlā. We shoā is fixed up fer huntinā. But, now, look heah, two three days ago the railroad kyahs done run ovah a fine colt whut de Cunnel was raisinā fer a saddle hossākilt it plumb daid. That riled him a heap. āDamn the railroad kyahs,ā sez he. Anā den off he goes huntinā, sort oā riled like. Now, ef he comes back, and ef he donāt git no bāah, why, you wonāt see old Bill āround heah fer ābout foā days.ā
āYou seem to know him pretty well.ā
āKnow him? I orto. Raised wid him, anā lived heah all my life. Now, when you see Cunnel Blount come home, heāll come up ālong dat lane, him anā de dogs, anā dem no ācount niggers he done took ālong wid him; anā when he gits up to whah de lane crosses de railroad track, ef he come ridinā ālong easy like, now anā den tootinā his hawn to soāht oā let us know heās a-comināāef he do dat-away, datās all right,ādatās all right.ā Here the garrulous old servant shook his head. āBut ef he donātāwell denāā
āThatās bad, if he doesnāt, eh?ā
āYassah. Ef he donā come a-blowinā anā ef he do come a-singinā, den look out! I allus did notice, ef Cunnel Blount āgins to sing āligious hymns, somethinās wrong, and somethinā gwine ter drap. He haināt right easy ter git along wid when heās a-singinā. But if youāll āscuse me, suh, I gotter take care oā old Hec. Jest make yourself to home, suh,āanyways you like.ā
The visitor contented himself with wandering about the yard, until at length he seated himself on the board-pile beneath the evergreen trees, and so sank into an idle reverie, his chin in his hand, and his eyes staring out across the wide field. His face, now in repose, seemed more meditative; indeed one might have called it almost mournful. The shoulders drooped a trifle, as though their owner for the time forgot to pull himself together. He sat thus for some time, and the sun was beginning to encroach upon his refuge, when suddenly he was aroused by the faint and far-off sound of a hunting horn. That the listener distinguished it at such a distance might have argued that he himself had known hound and saddle in his day; yet he readily caught the note of the short hunting horn universally used by the southern hunters, and recognized the assembly call for the hunting pack. As it came near, all the dogs that remained in the kennel yards heard it and raged to escape from their confinement. Old Bill came hobbling around the corner. Steps were heard on the gallery, and the visitorās face showed a slight uneasiness as he caught a glimpse of a certain spot now suddenly made alive by the flutter of a soft gown and the flash of a bunch of scarlet ribbons. Thither he gazed as directly as he might in these circumstances.
āDatās her! datās Miss Lady!ā said Bill to his new friend, in a low voice. āHanāsomest young lady in de hull Delta. Deyāll all be right glad ter see de Cunnel back. Heās got a bāah shoā, fer heās cominā a-blowinā.ā
Billās joy was not long-lived, for even as the little cavalcade came in view, a tall figure on a chestnut hunting horse riding well in advance, certain colored stragglers following, and the party-colored pack trotting or limping along on all sides, the music of the summoning horn suddenly ceased. Looking neither to the right nor to the left, the leader of the hunt rode on up the lane, sitting loose and careless in the saddle, his right hand steadying a short rifle across the saddle front. He rode thus until presently those at the Big House heard, softly rising on the morning air, the chant of an old church hymn: āOn Jordanās strand Iāll take my stand, An-n-nāā
āOh, Lawd!ā exclaimed Bill. āDatās his very wustest chune.ā Saying which he dodged around the corner of the house.
Turning in from the lane at the yard gate, Colonel Calvin Blount and his retinue rode close up to the side door of the plantation house; but even here the master vouchsafed no salutation to those who awaited his coming. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, lean and muscular; yet so far from being thin and dark, he was spare rather from physical exercise than through gaunt habit of body; his complexion was ruddy and sun-colored, and the long mustache hanging across his jaws showed a deep mahogany-red. Western ranchman one might have called him, rather than southern planter. Scotch-Irish, generations back, perhaps, yet southern always, and by birth-right American, he might have been a war-lord of another land and day. No feudal baron ever dismounted with more assuredness at his own hall, to toss careless rein to a retainer. He stood now, tall and straight, a trifle rough-looking in his careless planterās dress, but every inch the master. A slight frown puckered up his forehead, giving to his face an added hint of sternness.
Behind this leading figure of the cavalcade came a younger man. In age perhaps at the mid thirties, tall, slender, with dark hair and eyes and with a dark mustache shading his upper lip, Henry Decherd, formerly of New Orleans, for a few years dweller in the Delta, sometime guest of Colonel Blount at the Big House plantation and companion of the hunt, made now a figure if not wholly eye-filling, at least handsome and distinguished. His dress was neat to the verge of foppishness, nor did it seem much disordered by the hardships of the chase. Upon his clean-cut face there sat a certain arrogance, as of one at least desirous of having his own way in his own sphere. Not an ill-looking man, upon the whole, was Henry Decherd, though his reddish-yellow eyes, a bit oblique in their setting, gave the impression alike of a certain touchiness of temper and an unpleasantly fox-like quality of character. There was an air not barren of self-consciousness as he threw himself out of the saddle, for it might have been seen that under his saddle, and not that of Colonel Blount, there rested the black and glossy hide of the great bear which had been the object of the chase. Decherd stood with his hand resting on the hide and gazed somewhat eagerly, one might have thought, toward the gallery whence came the flash of scarlet ribbons.
Colonel Blount busied himself with directions as to the horses and dogs. The latter came straggling along in groups or pairs or singles, some of them hobbling on three legs, many showing bitter wounds. The chase of the great bear had proved stern pastime for them. Of half a hundred hounds which had started, not two-thirds were back again, and many of these would be unfit for days for the resumption of their savage trade. None the less, as the master sounded again, loud and clear, the call for the assembly, all the dogs about the place, young and old, homekeepers and warriors, came pouring in with heads uplifted, each pealing out his sweet and mournful music. Colonel Blount spoke to dozens of them, calling each by its proper name.
āHere, Bill,ā he called to that worthy, who had now ventured to return from his hiding-place, ātake them out to the yard and fix them up. Now, boys, go around to the kitchen and tell them to give you something to eat.ā
In the confusion of the disbandment of the hunt, the master of the Big House had as yet hardly found time to look about him, but now, as the conclave scattered, he found himself alone, and turning, discovered the occupant of the board-pile, who arose and advanced, offering his hand.
āThis is Colonel Blount, I presume,ā said he.
āYes, sir, thatās my name. I beg your pardon, Iām sure, but I didnāt know you were there. Come right on into the house and sit down, sir. Now, your name isā?ā
āEddring,ā said the newcomer. āJohn Eddring. I am just down on the morning train from the city.ā
āIām right glad to see you, Mr. Eddring,ā said Colonel Blount, extending his hand. āIt seems to me I ought to know your family. Over round Hillsboro, arenāt you? Tell me, youāre not the son of old Dan H. Eddring of the Tenth Mississippi in the war?ā
āThat was an uncle of mine.ā
āIs that so, is that so? Why, Dan H. Eddring was my fatherās friend. They slept and fought and ate together for four years, until my father was killed in the Wilderness.ā
āAnd my uncle before Richmond; John Eddring, my father, long before, at Ballās Bluff.ā
āI was in some of that fighting myself,ā said Colonel Blount, rubbing his chin. āI was a boy, just a boy. Well, itās all over now. Come on in. Iām mighty glad to see you.ā Yet the two, without plan, had now wandered over toward the shade of the evergreen, and presently they seated themselves on the board-pile.
āWell, Colonel Blount,ā said the visitor, āI reckon you must have had a good hunt.ā
āYes, sir, there aināt a bāah in the Delta can get away from those dogs. We run this fellow straight on end for ten miles; put him across the river twice, and all around the Black Bayou, but the dogs kept him hot all the time, Iām telling you, for more than five miles through the cane, clean beyond the bayou.ā
āWho got the shot, Colonel?ā asked Eddringāa question apparently most unwelcome.
āWell, I ought to have had it,ā said Blount, with a frown of displeasure. āThe fact is, I did take a flying chance from horseback, when the bāah ran by in the cane half a mile back of where they killed him. Somehow I must have missed. A little while later I heard another shot, and found that young gentleman there, Mr. Decherd, had beat me in the ride. But man! you ought to have heard that pack for two hours through the woods. It certainly would have raised your hair straight up. You ever hunt bāah, sir?ā
āA little, once in a while, when I have the time.ā
āWell, you donāt go away from here without having a good hunt. You just wait a day or so until my dogs get rested up.ā
āThank you, Colonel, but I am afraid I canāt stay. You see, I am down here on a matter of business.ā
āBusiness, eh?āāWell, a man thatāll let business interfere with a bāah hunt has got something wrong about him.ā
āWell, you see, a railroad man canāt always choose,ā said his guest.
āRailroad man?ā said Colonel Blount. A sudden gloom fell on his ruddy face. āRailroad man, eh? Well, I wish you was something else. Now, I helped get that railroad through this countryāif it hadnāt been for me, they never could have laid a mile of track through here. But now, do you know what they done did to me the other day, with their damned old railroad?ā
āNo, sir, I havenāt heard.ā
āWell, Iāll tell youāBill! Oh, Bill!
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