Joel Chandler Harris

WHAT THE PATROLLERS SAW AND HEARD.

The scheme which Aaron had conceived, and which he proposed to carry out without delay, was bold, and yet very simple,—simple, that is to say, from his point of view. It came into his mind while he was in Little Crotchet's room, and fashioned itself as he went whistling to the horse lot in full view of George Gossett.

He swung himself over the fence, and made directly for Timoleon's stable. The Black Stallion heard some one fumbling about the door, and breathed hard through his nostrils, making a low, fluttering sound, as high-spirited horses do when they are suspicious or angry. It was a fair warning to any and all who might dare to open the door and enter that stable.

"So!" said Aaron; "that is the welcome you give to all who may come to make you comfortable."

At the sound of that voice, Timoleon snorted cheerfully and whinnied, saying: "Change places with me, Son of Ben Ali, and then see who will warn all comers. Why, the ox has better treatment, and the plow mule is pampered. What am I that my food should be thrown at me through the cracks? The man that fed me comes no more."

"He is where your teeth and your temper put him, Grandson of Abdallah. But there is to be a change. This night you go to your new house, where everything is fresh and clean and comfortable. And you are to learn to hold a bit in your mouth and a man on your back, as Abdallah before you did."

"That is nothing, Son of Ben Ali. Then I can gallop, and smell the fresh air from the fields. What man am I to carry, Son of Ben Ali?"

"Let the White-Haired Master settle that, Grandson of Abdallah. This night, before you go to your new house, you are to have a run with me."

Timoleon snorted with delight. He was ready, and more than ready. He was stiff and sore from standing in the stable.

"But before we start, Grandson of Abdallah, this must be said: No noise before I give the word; none of the loud screaming that men call whickering. You know my hand. You are to have a frolic, and a fine one, but before you begin it, wait for the word. Now, then, we will go."

With his hand on the horse's withers, Aaron guided Timoleon to the gate. They went through the lot in which the Black Stallion's new stable stood, out at the gate through which Buster John and Sweetest Susan rode years afterward, and into the lane that led to the public road. But instead of going toward the road, they followed the lane back into the plantation, until they came to what was called "the double gates." Going through these, they found themselves in the pasture that sloped gradually upward to the hill from which Aaron was in the habit of watching the light in Little Crotchet's window.

The hoofs of the Black Stallion hardly made a sound on the soft turf. Guided by Aaron, he ascended the hill until they were on a level with and not far from the fence on which Mr. Gossett, his son George, and Jim Simmons had carried on their controversy about Addison Abercrombie. Here Aaron brought Timoleon to a halt, while Rambler went forward to see what discovery he could make.

He soon found where the horses of the patrollers were stationed. There were five. Three had evidently been trained to "stand without tying," as the saying is, while one of the patrollers was sitting against a tree, holding the other two. All this Rambler knew, for he went so near that the patroller saw him, and hurled a pine burr at him. It was a harmless enough missile, but it had not left Rambler in a good humor. Then it was that Aaron spoke to the horse, and gave him the word.

"Grandson of Abdallah, the horses and the man are yonder. Give them a taste of your playfulness. Show them what a frolic is, but cover your teeth with your lips,—no blood to-night. Spare the horses. They have gone hungry for hours, but they must obey the bit. Spare the man, too, but if you can strip him of his coat as he flees, well and good. You will see other men come running. They will be filled with fear. Give them also a taste of your playfulness. Let them see the grandson of Abdallah when he is frolicsome. But mind! No blood to-night,—no broken bones!"

The situation promised to be so exciting that Timoleon snorted loudly and fiercely, whereupon one of the horses held by the patroller answered with a questioning neigh, which was cut short by a cruel jerk of the bridle rein by the man who held it. The man was dozing under the influence of Mr. Fullalove's low-wines, and the sudden neighing of the horse startled and irritated him.

But in the twinkling of an eye terror took the place of irritation, for the Black Stallion, pretending to himself that the neigh was a challenge, screamed fiercely in reply and went charging upon the group with open mouth and eyes that glowed in the dark. The horses knew well what that scream meant. Those that were not held by the patroller ran away panic-stricken, snorting, and whickering. The two that were held by the patroller cared nothing for bits now, but broke away from the man, after dragging him several yards (for he had the reins wrapped about his wrist) and joined the others.

They dragged the man right in the Black Stallion's path, and there left him straggling to his hands and knees, with his right arm so severely wrenched that he could hardly use it. But, fortunately for the patroller, Timoleon's eyes were keen, and he saw the man in time to leap over him, screaming wildly as he did so. The man fell over on his side at that instant. Glancing upward he saw the huge hulk of the horse flying over him, and his reason nearly left him. Was it really a horse, or was it that arch-fiend Beelzebub that he had read about in the books, and whose name he had heard thundered from the pulpit at the camp meeting? "Beelzebub is abroad in the land to-day!" the preacher had cried. Was it indeed true?

The Black Stallion drove the crazed horses before him hither and yonder, but always turning them back to the point where they had been standing. The stampede was presently joined by three or four mules that had been turned in the pasture. The patrollers, who had been watching and guarding the approaches to the Abercrombie place, came running to see what the trouble was. George Gossett, being farther away from the pasture than the rest, was the last to reach the scene, but he arrived soon enough to see the Black Stallion seize one of his companions by the coat-tails and literally strip him of the garment.

The terror-stricken horses, when they found an opportunity, ran toward the double gates where they had entered the pasture. Aaron, expecting this, had opened the gates, and the five horses, crowding on one another's heels, went through like a whirlwind, having left the mules far behind. Aaron closed the gates again, and went running to where he heard the Black Stallion still plunging about. By this time the mules were huddled together in a far corner of the field; but Timoleon had paid no attention to them. He could have caught and killed them over and over again. He was now in pursuit of the patrollers. George Gossett, running toward the fence, tripped and fell, and narrowly escaped the Black Stallion's hoofs. He was not far from the fence when he fell, and he rolled and scrambled and crawled fast enough to elude Timoleon, who turned and ran at him again. In one way and another all the patrollers escaped with their lives, and, once the fence was between them and the snorting demon, they made haste to visit Mr. Fullalove's stillhouse, and relate to him the story of their marvelous adventure, consoling themselves, meanwhile, with copious draughts of the warm low-wines.

"I believe the thing had wings," said one of the patrollers, "and if I didn't see smoke coming out of his mouth when he ran at me, I'm mighty much mistaken. I never shall believe it wasn't Beelzebub." This was the man who had been set upon so suddenly while watching the horses and dozing.

Some of the others were inclined to agree with this view of the case; but George Gossett was sure it was a horse.

"I was right at him," he said, "when he pulled off Monk's coat, and it was a horse, even to the mane and tail. I was looking at him when he turned and made for me. Then I tripped and fell, and just did get to the fence in time to save my neck."

"You hear that, don't you, Mr. Fullalove?" remarked the man who had been holding the horses. "It pulled Monk's coat off, and then Gossett just had time to get to the fence to save his neck! Why, it's as natchul as pig-tracks. Every hoss you meet tries to pull your coat off, and you have to run for a fence if you want to save your neck. That's Gossett's idee. If that thing was a hoss, I don't want to see no more hosses. I'll tell you that."

"Well," said Mr. Fullalove, "there are times and occasions-more espeshually occasions, as you may say—when a hoss mought take a notion for to cut up some such rippit as that. You take that black hoss of Colonel Abercrombie's—not a fortnight ago he got out of his pen and ketched a nigger and like to 'a' killed him."

"Maybe it's that same hoss in the field yonder," suggested George Gossett.

"No," replied Mr. Fullalove. "That hoss is penned up so he can't git out of his stable—much less the lot—if so be some un ain't took and gone and turned him out and led him to the field. And if that had 'a' been done you could 'a' heard him squealin' every foot of the way."

"If anybody wants to call the Old Boy a hoss," said the man who had been first attacked, "they are more than welcome."

"Boys," remarked Mr. Fullalove, "if any of you have got the idee that the Old Boy was after you, you'd better stay as fur from this stillhouse as you can, and try to act as if you had souls for to save. What have you done with your hosses?"

"We couldn't tote 'em, and so we had to leave 'em," Gossett answered, making a poor effort to laugh. "What I hate about it is that I took a fool notion and rode pap's horse to-night. He'll be hot as pepper."

"Ain't you going for to make some sorter effort to git your hosses out of the field?" inquired Mr. Fullalove.

"He can have my hoss and welcome," said the man who insisted on the Beelzebub theory.

"I wouldn't go in that field, not for forty horses," another patroller protested.

"I might go there for forty horses," said George Gossett, "but I'll not go back for one, even though it's pap's."

"Well, it's mighty quiet and serene up there now," suggested Mr. Fullalove, listening with his hand to his ear.

"He's caught 'em and now he's skinning 'em," said the man who believed Beelzebub was abroad that night.

The patrollers stayed at the stillhouse until the low-wines gave them courage, and then they went home with George Gossett. They were bold enough to go by the double gates, to see if they had been opened, but the gates were closed tight. They listened a few moments, but not a sound could be heard, save the loud, wailing cry of the peafowl that rested on the Abercrombie house. As they went along the road they found and caught four of the horses. The horse that George Gossett had ridden was safe at home.

The young men agreed on one thing, namely: That they would give the Abercrombie place the go-by for some time to come; while the man that thought he had seen Beelzebub said that he was sick of the whole business and would have no more of it, being more firmly convinced than ever that the scenes they had witnessed were supernatural. Even George Gossett declared that he intended to advise "pap" to sell the runaway, "if he could find anybody fool enough to buy him."

It must not be forgotten that though Gossett and his companions were the only ones that witnessed the terrifying spectacle presented by the Black Stallion as he ran screaming about the pasture, they were not the only ones that heard the uproar that accompanied it. The negroes heard it, and every ear was bent to listen. Randall had his hand raised over his head and held it there, as he paused to catch the drift and meaning of the fuss. Big Sal was reaching in a corner for her frying-pan. She paused, half bent, her arm reaching out, while she listened. Turin was singing, but the song was suddenly cut short.

Mr. Abercrombie heard it, but his thoughts were far afield, and so he paid little attention to it. The geese, the guinea hens, and the peafowl heard it and joined heartily in with a loud and lusty chorus. Mammy Lucy heard it and came noiselessly to the library door and looked in inquiringly.

"What is the noise about, Lucy?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.

"Dat what I wanter know, Marster. It soun' ter me like dat ar hoss done got loose agin."

Then the White-Haired Master, remembering that he had consented for Little Crotchet's "friend" to remove the Black Stallion to his new quarters, regretted that he had been so heedless. It was all his own fault, he thought, as he rose hastily and went out into the moonlight bare-headed. He called Randall and Turin, and both came running.

"Go out to the pasture there, and see what the trouble is."

"Yasser, yasser!" they cried, and both went rapidly toward the field. They ran until they got out of sight of their master, and then they paused to listen. They started again, but not so swiftly as before.

"I know mighty well dat Marster don't want us ter run up dar where we might git hurted," said Turin.

"Dat he don't!" exclaimed Randall.

Consoled by this view of the case, which was indeed the correct one, they moved slower and slower as they came close to the pasture fence. There they stopped and listened, and while they listened the uproar came to a sudden end—to such a sudden end that Randall remarked under his breath that it was like putting out a candle. For a few brief seconds not a sound fell on the ears of the two negroes. Then they heard a faint noise of some one running through the bushes in the direction of the stillhouse.

"Ef I could git de notion in my head dat Marster don't keer whedder we gits hurted er no," suggested Turin, "I'd mount dis fence an' go in dar an' see who been kilt an' who done got away."

"I speck we better not go," remarked Randall, "kaze ef we wuz ter rush in dar an' git mangled, Marster'd sholy feel mighty bad, an' fer one, I don't want ter be de 'casion er makin' 'im feel bad."

By this time Mr. Abercrombie had become impatient, and concluded to find out the cause of the uproar for himself. Randall and Turin heard him coming, and they could see that he was accompanied by some of the negroes. The two cautiously climbed the fence and went over into the field, moving slowly and holding themselves in readiness for instant flight. A cow bug, flying blindly, struck Turin on the head. He jumped as if he had heard the report of a gun, and cried out in a tone of alarm:—

"Who flung dat rock? You better watch out. Marster comin', an' he got his hoss pistol 'long wid 'im."

"'Twa'n't nothing but a bug," said Randall.

"It de fust bug what ever raised a knot on my head," Turin declared.

"What was the trouble, Randall?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie from the fence. His cool, decisive voice restored the courage of the negroes at once.

"We des tryin' fer ter fin' out, suh. Whatsomever de racket wuz, it stop, suh, time we got here—an' it seem like we kin hear sump'n er somebody runnin' to'rds de branch over yander," replied Randall heartily.

"Some of the mules were in the pasture to-day. See if they are safe."

"Yasser!" responded Randall, but his tone was not so hearty. Nevertheless, he and Turin cautiously followed the line of the fence until they found the mules in the corner in which they had taken refuge. And the mules showed they were very glad to see the negroes, following them back to the point where the path crossed the fence.

"De mules all safe an' soun', suh," explained Randall when they came to where the master was. "Dey er safe an' soun', but dey er swyeatin' mightily, suh."

"What do you suppose the trouble was?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.

Turin and Randall had not the least idea, but Susy's Sam declared that he heard "dat ar hoss a-squealin'!"

"What horse?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.

"Dat ar Sir Moleon hoss, suh," replied Susy's Sam.

"That's what Lucy said," remarked Mr. Abercrombie.

"Marster, ef dat ar hoss had er been in dar, me an' Turin wouldn't er stayed in dar long, an' dese yer mules wouldn't er been stan'in' in de fence corner up yander."

But Mr. Abercrombie shook his head. He remembered that he had given Little Crotchet permission to have the horse removed to his new quarters.

"Some of you boys see if he is in his stable," he said.

They all went running, and before Mr. Abercrombie could get there, though he walked fast, he met them all coming back. "He ain't dar, Marster!" they exclaimed in chorus.

"See if he is in his new stable," said Mr. Abercrombie.

Again they all went running, Mr. Abercrombie following more leisurely, but somewhat disturbed, nevertheless. And again they came running to meet him, crying out, "Yasser! yasser! He in dar, Marster; he sho is. He in dar an' eatin' away same like he been dar dis long time."

"See if the key is in the lock," said Mr. Abercrombie to Randall.

Randall ran back to the stable and presently called out:—

"Dey ain't no key in de lock, Marster."

Mr. Abercrombie paused as if to consider the matter, and during that pause he and Randall and Turin and Susy's Sam heard a voice saying:

"Look on the little Master's mantelpiece!"

The voice sounded faint and far away, but every word was clear and distinct.

"Where did the voice come from?" asked Mr. Abercrombie.

The negroes shook their heads. They didn't know. It might have come from the air above, or the earth beneath, or from any point of the compass.

"Ask where the key is," said Mr. Abercrombie to Turin. His curiosity was aroused.

Turin cried out: "Heyo, dar! Whar you say de key is?" But no reply came, not even so much as a whisper. The negroes looked at one another, and shook their heads.

When Mr. Abercrombie went back to the house he put on his slippers and crept to Little Crotchet's room. Shading the candle he carried, the father saw that his son was fast asleep.

And on the mantel was the key of the stable.