LEECH SECURES AN ORDER AND LOSES IT

When Leech returned from the city, next day, he was in such good spirits that Steve and Thurston both arrived at a similar conclusion, and decided that there was some mischief brewing. Steve called Jerry and had a talk with him.

About sunset Leech mounted his horse at his stable and rode out of the village through a back lane. He was to meet Still that night at Nicholas Ash’s. Still and his son met him according to appointment, and the details of their plan were arranged.

Leech found that he had an ally stronger than he had dreamed of. Still showed him that he was a much richer man than he had ever admitted. He not only held the bonds of Dr. Cary, given for the money he had lent the Doctor, and a bond of his late employer, Mr. Gray, of which Leech already knew; but he held another bond of Mr. Gray for an amount large enough to swallow up his entire estate. Leech could scarcely believe his eyes. Mrs. Gray did not know of its existence; but the bond was undoubtedly genuine. Mrs. Gray herself, Still said, would admit that. He had a satisfactory explanation for her ignorance, as well as for the fact that he had never before mentioned to Leech that he held so large a claim against the Gray estate. He had made the money by negro-trading quietly, before the war, and had lent it to Mr. Gray to stock a plantation, which he, as Mr. Gray’s agent, had bought for him in the far South. And he had not mentioned it to Mrs. Gray or anyone else for a very simple reason. He had promised Mr. Gray that he would never trouble Mrs. Gray about the bonds during her life.

Leech did not believe this; but there were the bonds—one a small one, and one a very big one, and Still had of late hinted several times at something that he was storing up for the proper moment.

“I told you I didn’t care if you killed that young Jacquelin that night,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you do it? I must say I never allowed that he’d git thar alive.”

“Neither did I,” suggested Leech. “And I believe it did him good.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Still, enigmatically; “but I wouldn’t ’a’ shed no tears over him. But if you do as I tell you, we’ll git even and have a leetle somethin’ to spare. You just work Krafton and get your friends to back you, and you and me’ll own this county. I’ll see that Moses is there on time, if he don’t have an inch of skin left on him.”

A rumor had meantime got abroad at the county seat that an order had been secured by Leech forbidding the assembly, and that though Middleton knew nothing of it as yet, Leech would spring it at the proper time and try to prevent the assembly. There was much excitement over it. A number of young men dropped in at Steve Allen’s office to ascertain the truth of the report, and there was a rather general expression of opinion that the ball would take place whether Leech had such an order or not.

“Go and ask Middleton, directly,” advised Jacquelin, and Steve did so. Middleton said he had no knowledge on the subject, and knew of no one to whom such an order should be addressed except himself.

Jerry, who was lounging sleepily not far from Leech’s office, was called in by Steve and interrogated again with sundry forcible intimations of what would happen in case he should be deceiving him. But Jerry was firm. He reiterated again and again his fervent wish for a speedy dissolution and a perpetual condemnation of the most lurid character, if every word he had spoken were not more than true. Leech, he declared, had the paper in his pocket, and had read it to Sherwood and Moses and Nicholas in his back office, and was going to deliver it to Captain Middleton next day, the day set for the entertainment.

“I lies to urrers; but the Cun’l knows I wouldn’ lie to him,” protested Jerry, in final asseveration.

“That’s so—he knows better,” said Steve; and Jerry, with a grin, went back to his post in sight of Leech’s back door.

Steve, with a new light in his face, went up to Mrs. Dockett’s and had a little talk with Miss Dockett and one or two of the young ladies there, and in ten minutes, with locked doors, they were busy sewing for life. It must have been something very amusing they were engaged in, to judge from the laughter that floated down from their windows.

That night Hiram Still, with his son, was on his way back to Red Rock from his meeting with Leech, while Leech was riding back to the court-house.

It was about ten o’clock and the moon was covered by clouds; Leech was riding along, thinking of the plans he had formed and the manner of publishing his order, and of the effect it would have in establishing his position in the county. He had got within a mile or two of the village when, in a little “bottom” in a lonely piece of woods, just before reaching a fork in the road, there was an owl-hoot behind him, and another, as if in response, a little ahead of him. The next moment his horse started violently, as a dark object which Leech had noticed when still at a distance from it, but thought merely a bush, moved out into the road immediately before him. His heart jumped into his throat, for it was not like anything earthly. In the darkness, it looked as much like a small elephant with a howdah on it, as anything else; but he did not have time to think much about it, for the next instant it was close on him right across the road, a huge muffled figure on a high, shapeless beast. Leech’s horse snorted and wheeled. Another figure was behind him, closing in on him. Leech pulled in his frightened horse; for somewhere about the middle of the dark figure lowering above him there was a momentary flash of steel. Leech thought of his own pistol, but the great figure moved closer to him, very close to him, and stopped. Not a word was said. The figure simply sat in front of him, silent and motionless, while the other moved up on the other side and did the same. Leech’s tongue was sticking to his mouth. The stillness and silence were more awful than any words could have been. He tried to speak, but his lips could scarcely frame the words. Presently he managed to falter:

“What do you want?”

There was no answer, and again the silence became worse than ever. The voices of the katydids sounded far and near.

“Who are you?”

There was not a word. Only the figures pressed closer to him.

“What—what do you want?”

Silence and the katydids in the woods.

“Let me go by. I have no money.”

There was no answer, and for a moment no motion, only the gleam of steel again. Then the two figures, pressing close against the Provost, silently turned his horse around and moved slowly off into the woods, without a word, with him between them.

He tried to pull up his reins; they were held on either side, and an arm was thrown around him.

“Where are you going?” faltered Leech.

They moved on without a word.

“Wait—I will—I will give——”

A bag or something was suddenly thrown over his head and pressed down to his elbows, which at the same moment were pinioned to his side, and his pistol was taken. He was afraid to cry out, and perhaps could not have done so even had he tried.

The next instant a hand was put into his breast pocket and his pocket-book and all his papers were taken out; he was conscious of a match being struck and a light made, and that his papers were being looked over. He thought he heard one of his captors say, “Ah!” and the next moment the papers and pocket-book were put back in his pocket, and the light was extinguished; the bag was drawn from over his head, and his captors rode off through the woods. When he tried to move he discovered that his horse was tied to a bush and he had to dismount to untie him. His pistol was lying at the foot of the sapling. Long before he had finished loosing his horse, the sound of his two waylayers had died out.

As the Provost entered the village the sour expression on his face deepened. The clouds had disappeared and the summer night was perfect; the village lay before him, a picture of peace; the glint of white beneath the court-house trees being just enough to suggest that the tents there were hidden. The streets were filled with a careless throng, and all the sounds were those of merriment: laughter and shouting, and the twang of banjos. There was never an unlikelier field for such a plan as the Provost had in mind.

He rode through like a shadow, silencing the negroes and scowling at the whites, and as soon as he had put up his horse, he called on Captain Middleton. It was not a long interview, but it was a stormy one, and when the Provost came out of the Captain’s office he had thrown down the gauntlet and there was an open breach between them. He had complained to Middleton of being beset by highwaymen and robbed of his order, and Middleton had told him plainly he did not believe a word he said.

“How did you get such an order? If there was such an order, why was it not addressed to me?” he asked.

Leech said that he declined to be interrogated, but he would soon show him that he had authority.

“Then you will have to bring some better evidence than your own word,” said Middleton, coldly.

Leech fired up and attempted a bolder tone than he had ever dared use before with Middleton, and actually forbade the meeting the following night. The young Captain, however, gave him to understand that he himself was the commandant there and that for another word, order or no order, he would place him under arrest, which step at that moment would have so interfered with Leech’s plans that he had not ventured to push the matter further.

Next night the long-talked-of entertainment came off duly, and Miss Blair Cary and Miss Elizabeth Dockett and the other girls who had waited so long, showed their little plain, sweet, white and pink dresses which they had made themselves, and their prettier white throats and pink faces, and lovely flashing eyes which God had made; and danced with their gray-jacketed escorts, their little feet slipped in their little slippers, many of which were high-heeled and faded with age, having belonged to their mothers, and grandmothers—even great-grandmothers—and enjoyed it all as much as ever the former wearers of the slippers did in their full glory of satin and lace. For of such is the Kingdom of Youth.

The Yankee officers attended, very dignified, and were treated politely, but not warmly, of course, only just so civilly as to show that Southerners knew what was due to guests even when they were enemies; but not so warmly as to let them forget that they were foes.

This, however, made little difference to the young men, for the civility which it was felt was “their due as guests” was sufficient to make a marked contrast with a past in which not a soul in petticoats had noticed them, and the girls were pretty enough to satisfy them at first, even if there was no other privilege conferred than merely that primal right of the cat in the proverb. Everyone, however, meant to be civil, and for the time, at least, at peace.

But there was more than this; the night was perfect; the breath of flowers and shrubbery came in through the open windows; the moon was almost at her full, and her soft light was lying on the grass, mantling the trees, and filling the night with that amber mellowness which sometimes comes in summer, and seems to bring a special peacefulness.

The camp lay hidden in the distance, and the throng in the streets hung on the fences, listening to the music, or laughed and danced in full sympathy with the occasion.

Steve Allen constituted himself the especial host of the two officers. It was by him that Middleton and Thurston were introduced to most of the girls, and to the older ladies, who sat at the end of the room farthest from the music, their eyes, filled with light, following their daughters or others whose success was near to their hearts, or, like Miss Thomasia, beaming a benediction on the whole throng of happy dancers.

Still, an hour after the dancing began, the one person whom Middleton particularly wished to meet had not appeared, and Middleton, who had been planning for a week what he should say to Miss Cary, found himself with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction. Little Thurston was capering around as if to the manner born; perspiring at every pore; paying attention to half the girls in the room, and casting glances at Miss Dockett languishing enough, as Middleton said, to lay the foundation for a breach of promise suit. But Middleton could not get into the spirit of the occasion. He asked a number of girls to dance, but they were all “engaged,” and politely showed their cards. So Middleton fell back. General Legaie, and the other older gentlemen courteously drew him into their conversation, and the General rallied him, with an old bachelor’s license, on not dancing, declaring that the sight of such girls was the true fountain of youth; but the young Captain was not in the mood for fun. A vague feeling of unrest was on him. The order that Leech had mentioned; the Provost’s positive manner; the warning that he had given; the covert threat he had dared to employ, all began to recur to Middleton and worry him. He felt that he would be responsible if any trouble should occur. He went out and walked through the village. A light was shining under the door of Leech’s office; but all was as it had been: good-humor everywhere. The moonlight soothed him and the pleasant greetings as he passed served to restore his good-humor, and he returned to the ball. As he did so an old high-backed carriage, which he thought he recognized, made its way slowly past him. The driver was explaining to someone who walked beside him the cause of his delay.

“Dat fool hoss—you can’t git him in de water to save your life. He’ll breck ev’ything to pieces fust. But my young Mistis, she’s dyah now, an’ she’s de queen on ’em all, I tell you. You go dyah an’ look at her th’oo de winder,” he wound up with a proud laugh.

As Middleton re-entered the ball-room there was quite a group near the door surrounding someone who was the centre of attraction, and whom Captain Allen was teasing.

“Oh! You’ll dance with him. He left because you had not come, but I have sent for him. He’s saved a set expressly for you.”

“I won’t. He has done no such thing, and I won’t dance with you either, unless you go away and let me alone.” The voice was a charming one.

“I’ll bet you do. I understand why you made old Gideon drive you up the stream that evening; but you can’t expect him to be mooning on the bank of every creek in the county, you know——”

“That settles it for you, Steve,” said the voice over behind the heads. “Jack, I have the seventh dance with you as well as the first and fourth,” she called to Jacquelin who was seated against the wall, his crutches beside him.

“Jack never was any hand at arithmetic, and besides he can’t dance,” declared Allen, as his friend professed his gratitude.

Just then Allen caught sight of Middleton, over the heads of the others.

“Ah! here—Captain Middleton, I want to present you to my cousin, Miss Blair Cary, who wishes to know how you happened not to be—” He caught his cousin’s eye, and changed his speech “—who has a question to ask you. Captain Middleton—Miss Cary.” The others made way for Middleton, and he stepped forward and bowed low.

She was all in white, and was blazing with brass buttons. They were her only ornaments, except a single old jewel consisting of a ruby surrounded by diamonds. She wore bracelets of the buttons on her arms, and a necklace of larger ones on a band around her white throat. A broad belt of them girdled her little waist.

As Middleton bowed, he caught her eye and the same look of mingled defiance and amusement which he remembered so well at the ford. He hardly knew whether to laugh or be grave, and was conscious that he was growing red, as her look changed into one of triumph. He remained grave, however, and rallied enough to ask her for a dance. She bowed. They were all engaged.

“I have the seventh—to sit out, I believe?” said Jacquelin Gray maliciously, from his seat, for Steve’s benefit. Miss Blair looked at her card;—then to Jacquelin:

“You only believe? As you have forgotten so far as to have a doubt about it, the seventh is not engaged,” said the young coquette, with a curtsey. She turned. “I will give it to you, Captain Middleton.” She looked at Jacquelin and with a little—only the least little toss of the head, took the arm of a young man who had just claimed his set, and bowing to Middleton moved off, leaving both Steve and Jacquelin looking a trifle blank.

“That girl’s the most unaccountable creature that ever was on earth,” growled Jacquelin. “I’ll be hanged if I’ll be treated so!” He looked across the room after her floating form.

“Go slow, old man, go slow,” said Steve. “You’ll be treated that way and come again for more. And you know you will.”

Jacquelin growled. He knew in his heart it was true.

Middleton thought that the seventh set would never come, but, like everything else in life, it came at last, and though there were three claimants for it, the one who was the final judge decided for Middleton and walked off with him, calmly leaving both the other aspirants fuming and scowling.

“You can’t fight him Jack,” said Steve with a laugh to his cousin, who was muttering to himself, “because I’d first have to fight you, you know.”

Having thus punished both her admirers, Miss Cary declined to dance—whether to keep her word; to avoid pleasing too much the young Federal Captain, or to soothe the ruffled spirits of his unsuccessful competitors, who may tell? For no one can thread the mazes of a girl’s caprice.

But this made little difference to Middleton. They strolled outside and found a seat. The moonlight appeared to Middleton more charming than he ever remembered it, and he discovered something which he had never known before. He wanted to please this girl as he never recalled having wanted to please any other, and he was conscious that it was a difficult, if not an impossible task. It was as though he lay in face of a foe, one who appeared at the outset stronger than he. Yet she did not appear to be attempting anything. She was simply in opposition to him, that was all. She appeared so unaffected and simple that, remembering what he had just seen of her coquetry, he wondered if she could be as natural as she seemed to be. Her gaze was so direct, her voice so placid, her manner so self-possessed, that he felt she had the advantage of him. And all the time he wanted to please her.

In the course of their conversation she spoke of her brother.

Middleton had not remembered that she had a brother.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“He was killed.” She spoke very quietly.

“Oh!” he said, softly. “I beg your pardon.”

“He was killed at Jacquelin Gray’s side, and Jacquelin brought his body out under fire—just as Steve afterward tried to bring Jack.” She sighed deeply, and her eyes seemed to say, “You can understand now?”

Middleton had a strange sensation. He had never before looked in the eyes of a woman whose brother had been killed, possibly by his command. He hated Jacquelin, but in a way he was grateful to him too; for it was the first time Miss Cary had softened at all.

“I believe that all your men went in the army,” he said, feeling about for a new subject.

“Of course.”

“And some of your ladies?” he smiled.

“All of them.” Up went her head again.

“I wonder that you were ever conquered?”

“Conquered! We were not conquered.” She looked it, as she stood there in the moonlight. Middleton had a sudden thrill that it would be worth his life to win such a girl, and she had never given him even one friendly glance. He could not help thinking,

“What would Thurston say?”

A partner came and claimed his set, and Middleton was left outside. He sat for a moment thinking how lonely her departure had made the place. He had never felt this way about any other girl. Just then a strange sound, like distant shouting, came through the stillness. Middleton rose and strolled down to the gate. There were fewer people in the street. A man came hurrying along and spoke to another. His voice was so excited that it arrested Middleton’s attention, and he caught the last of his sentence.

“It ought to be broke up at once. Go in there and call Captain Allen and McRaffle out.”

“What’s that?” asked Middleton, walking out of the gate, and up to him.

“A nigger-meetin’ down yonder,” answered the man, sullenly. “If it ain’t broken up there’ll be trouble. Leech started it by reading a paper he had, tellin’ ’em the Gov’ment wants the party broke up, and then he put Sherrod up, and now that yaller nigger, Dr. Moses, is up. Leech’s been givin’ ’em liquor, and unless it’s stopped there’ll be the devil to pay.”

“I’ll see about it,” said Middleton. He walked rapidly down in the direction the man had indicated. He was sensible, as he passed along, of some change, and, presently, the distant sound of a man speaking at the top of his voice came to him, followed shortly by a roar of applause. He hurried on and passed a group of half a dozen white men, some of whom were advocating sending for “reinforcements,” as they said, while others were insisting that they should go right in on them at once. All were united as to one thing: that the meeting ought to be stopped.

“If we don’t,” said one, “there’ll be trouble, and we might’s well do it at once. I can do it by myself.”

Some one said something about “the Yankee officers.”

“Yankees be blanked!” said the other. “Wasn’t it that scoundrel Leech as started it all? He’s been workin’ it up all day. I got wind of it up at home;—that’s the reason I come down. We’ve got to do it ourselves.” It was Andy Stamper.

Just then they saw Middleton and followed him, offering their advice and services. All they wanted was authority.

When Middleton arrived, he agreed with them that the speaking ought to be stopped at once. He had never seen such a sight. The entire negro population of the place appeared to be packed there, moaning and singing, hugging each other and shouting, whilst Moses, the negro he had ordered to leave town, was on the platform, tossing his arms in a sort of frenzy and calling on them to rise and prove they were the chosen people. “God had brought their enemies all together in one place,” he cried, “and all that was needed was for Samson to arise and prove his strength. Their deliverer was at hand.” Ain’t you heah dat de wud done come from de New Jerusalem, an’ ain’t my name Moses—Moses? Moses is my name!” he shouted, intoning the words in a sort of wild frenzy. The shout that greeted him proved the danger of his course.

“D—n him, I’ll stop his mouth,” said one of the young men, pushing his way through the throng, but Middleton was before him. He forced his way, followed by the others, through the crowd which gave way before him at his command, and, when still some yards away from the platform, he ordered the speaker to cease. But Moses was either too drunk or too excited to heed, and went on shouting his singsong.

“I’ll lead you to de burnin’ bush,” he cried. “I’ll give you de promise lan’.” As it happened, a man standing in the crowd had a carriage-whip in his hand. The Captain snatched it from him and sprang on the platform, and the next instant was raining on the would-be prophet and leader such a thrashing as he had never had in his life. The effect was miraculous. The first lash of the heavy whip took the preacher by surprise and dazed him; the second recalled him to himself and stripped his prophetic character from him, leaving him nothing but a whining, miserable creature, who was trying to deceive and mislead others as miserable and more ignorant than himself.

As the Captain laid the blows on fast and thick, Moses cringed and finally broke and fled from the platform, followed by the jeers and shouts of the crowd who had just been ready to follow him in any violence, if, indeed, he would have had the courage to lead them. And when the irate officer appeared ready to turn his whip on them, and did accompany his peremptory order that they should disperse at once, with a few contemptuous lashes at those nearest him, they broke and ran with as much good-humor as they had shown an hour previously, when they were dancing and shuffling in the street, before Leech and his agents got hold of them.