As Gabriel sat leaning against the old poplar, his back to the road and his eyes closed, he heard the sound of men's voices. The conversation was evidently between country folk who had been spending a part of the day in town. Turning his head, Gabriel saw that there were three persons, one riding and two walking. Directly opposite the tree where Gabriel sat, they met an acquaintance who was apparently making a belated visit to town.
"Hello, boys!" said the belated one by way of salutation. "I 'low'd I'd find you in town, an' have company on my way home."
"What's the matter, Sam?" asked one of the others. "This ain't no time of day to be gwine away from home."
"Well, I'm jest obliged to git some ammunition," replied Sam. "I've been off to mill mighty nigh all day, an' this evenin', about four o'clock, whilst my wife was out in the yard, a big buck nigger stopped at the gate, an' looked at her. She took no notice of him one way or another, an' presently, he ups an' says, 'Hello, Sissy! can't you tell a feller howdy?'"
"He did?" cried the others. Gabriel could hear their gasps of astonishment and indignation from where he sat.
"He said them very words," replied Sam; "'Hello, Sissy! can't you tell a feller howdy?'"
"Did you leave anybody at home?" inquired one of the others.
"You bet your sweet life!" replied Sam in the slang of the day. "Johnny Bivins is there, an' he ain't no slouch, Johnny ain't. I says to Molly, says I, 'Johnny will camp here till I can run to town, an' git me some powder an' buckshot.'"
"We have some," one of the others suggested.
"Better let 'im go on an' git it," said another; "we can't have too much in our neck of the woods when things look like they do now. We'll wait for you, Sam, if you'll hurry up."
"Good as wheat!" responded Sam, who went rapidly toward town.
"I tell you what, boys, we didn't make up our minds about this business a single minute too soon," remarked one of the three who were waiting for the return of their neighbour. "Somethin's got to be done, an' the sooner it's done, the sooner it'll be over with."
"You're talkin' now with both hands and tongue!" declared one of the others, in a tone of admiration.
"You'll see," remarked the one who had proposed to wait, "that Sam is jest as ripe as we are. We know what we know, an' Sam knows what he knows. I don't know as I blame the niggers much. Look at it from their side of the fence. They see these d—d white hellians goin' roun', snortin' an' preachin' ag'in the whites, an' they see us settin' down, hands folded and eyes shet, and they jest natchally think we're whipped and cowed. Can you blame 'em? I hate 'em all right enough, but I don't blame 'em."
Gabriel knew that the man who was speaking was George Rivers, a small farmer living a short distance in the country. His companions were Tom Alford and Britt Hanson, and the man who had gone to town for the ammunition was Sam Hathaway.
"Are you right certain an' shore that this man Hotchkiss is stayin' wi' Mahlon Butts?" George Rivers inquired.
"He lopes out from there every mornin'," replied Tom Alford.
"Mahlon allers was the biggest skunk in the woods," remarked Hanson. "He's runnin' for ordinary. I happened to hear him talkin' to a lot of niggers t'other day, and I went up and cussed him out. I wanted the niggers to see how chicken-hearted he is. Well, sirs, he never turned a feather. I never seed a more lamblike man in my life. I started to spit in his face, and then I happened to think about his wife. Yes, sirs, it seemed to me for about the space of a second or two that I was lookin' right spang in Becky's big eyes, an' I couldn't 'a' said a word or done a thing to save my life. I jest whirled in my tracks and went on about my business. You-all know Becky Butts—well, there's a woman that comes mighty nigh bein' a saint. Why she married sech a rapscallion as Mahlon, I'll never tell you, an' I don't believe she knows herself. But she's all that's saved Mahlon."
"That's the Lord's truth," responded Tom Alford.
"Why, when he first j'ined the stinkin' radicals," continued Britt Hanson, "a passel of the boys, me among 'em, laid off to pay him a party call, an' string him up. Well, the very day we'd fixed on, here comes Becky over to my house; an' she fetched the baby, too. I knowed, time I laid eyes on her, that she had done got wind of what we was up to. Says she to me, 'Britt, I hear it whispered around that you are fixin' up to do me next to the worst harm a man can do to a woman.' 'Why, Becky,' says I, 'I wouldn't harm you for the world, and I wouldn't let anybody else do it.' 'Oh, yes, you would, Britt,' says she. She laughed as she said it, but when I looked in her big eyes, I could see trouble and pain in 'em. I says to her, says I, 'What put that idee in your head, Becky?' And says she, 'No matter how it got there, Britt, so long as it's there. You're fixin' up to hurt me an' my baby.'
"Well, sirs, you can see where she had me. I says, says I, 'Becky, what's to hender you from takin' supper here to-night?' This kinder took her by surprise. She says, 'I'd like it the best in the world, Britt; but don't you think I'd better be at home—to-night?' 'No,' says I, 'a passel of the boys'll be here d'reckly after supper, and I reckon maybe they'd like to see you. You know yourself that they're all mighty fond of you, Becky,' says I. She sorter studied awhile, an' then she says, 'I'll tell you what I'll do, Britt—I'll come over after supper an' set awhile.' 'You ain't afeard to come?' says I. 'No, Britt,' says she; 'I ain't afeard of nothin' in this world except my friends.' She was laughin', but they ain't much diff'ence betwixt that kind of laughin' an' cryin'.
"About that time, mother come in. Says she, 'An' be shore an' fetch the baby, Becky.' The minnit mother said that, I know'd that she was the one that told Becky what we had laid off to do. You-all know what happened after that."
"We do that away," said George Rivers. "When I walked in on you, and seen Becky an' the baby, I know'd purty well that the jig was up, but I thought I'd set it out and see what'd happen."
"I never seen a baby do like that'n done that night," remarked Tom Alford. "It laughed an' it crowed, an' helt out its han's to go to ever' blessed feller in the crowd; an' Becky looked like she was the happiest creetur in the world. I was the fust feller to cave, an' I didn't feel a bit sheepish about it, neither. I rose, I did, an' says, 'Well, boys, it's about my bedtime, an' I reckon I'll toddle along,' an' so I handed the baby to the next feller, an' mosied off home."
"You did," said Britt Hanson, "an' by the time the boys got through passin' the baby to the next feller, there wan't any feller left but me. An' then the funniest thing happened that you ever seed. You know how Becky was gwine on, laughin' an' talkin'. Well, the last man hadn't hardly shet the door behind him, when Becky flopped down and put her head in mother's lap, and cried like a baby. I'm mighty glad I ain't married," Britt Hanson went on. "There ain't a man in the world that knows a woman's mind. Why, Becky was runnin' on and laughin' jest like a gal at picnic up to the minnit the last man slammed the door, and then, down she went and began to boohoo. Now, what do you think of that?"
"I know one thing," remarked George Rivers—"the meaner a man is, the quicker he gits the pick of the flock. The biggest fool in the world allers gits the best or the purtiest gal."
Then there was a pause, as if the men were listening. "Well," said Tom Alford, after awhile, "we ain't after the gals now. That Hotchkiss feller goes out to Mahlon's by fust one road and then the other. You know where Ike Varner lives; well, Ike's wife is a mighty good-lookin' yaller gal, an' when Hotchkiss knows that Ike ain't at home, he goes by that road. I got all that from a nigger that works for me. If Ike ain't at home, he goes in for a drink of water, an' then he tells the yaller gal how to convert Ike into bein' a radical—Ike, you know, don't flock with that crowd. That's what the gal tells my nigger. Well, I put a flea in Ike's ear t'other day, an' night before last, Ike comes to me to borry my pistol. You know that short, single-barrel shebang? Well, I loant it to him on the express understandin' that he wasn't to shoot any spring doves nor wild pea-fowls."
The men laughed, and then sat or stood silent, each occupied with his own reflections, until Sam Hathaway returned. Whereupon, they moved on, one of them singing, in a surprisingly sweet tenor, the ballad of "Nelly Gray."
It was now dark, and ordinarily, Gabriel would have gone to supper. But, instead of doing that, he went on toward town, and met Hotchkiss and Boring on the outskirts. They were engaged in a close discussion when Gabriel met them. It would have been a great deal better for him and his friends if he had passed on without a word; but Gabriel was Gabriel, and he was compelled to act according to Gabriel's nature. So, without hesitation, he walked up to the two men.
"Is this Mr. Hotchkiss?" he inquired.
"That is my name," replied Hotchkiss in his smoothest tone.
"Are you going out to Butts's to-night?"
"Now, that is a queer question," remarked Hotchkiss, after a pause—"a very queer question. What is your name?"
"Tolliver—Gabriel Tolliver."
"Gabriel Tolliver—h'm—yes. Well, Mr. Tolliver, why are you so desirous of knowing whether I go to Butts's to-night?"
"Honestly," replied Gabriel, a little nettled at the man's airs, "I don't want to know at all. I simply wanted to advise you not to go there to-night."
"Oh, you wanted to advise me not to go. Now, then, let's go a little further into the matter. Why do you want to advise me?" Hotchkiss was a man who was not only ripe for a discussion at all times, and upon any subject, but made it a point to emphasise all the most trifling details. "Have you any special interest in my welfare?"
"I think not," replied Gabriel, bluntly. "I simply wanted to drop you a hint. You can take it or not, just as you choose." With that, he turned on his heel, and went home to supper, little dreaming that his kindness of heart, and his sincere efforts to do a stranger a favour would involve him in a tangled web of circumstances, from which he would find it almost impossible to escape.
Gabriel heard Hotchkiss laugh, but he did not hear the remark that followed.
"Why, even the children and the young men think I am a coward. They have the idea that courage exists nowhere but among themselves. It is the most peculiar mental delusion I ever heard, and it persists in the face of facts. The probability is that the young man who has just delivered this awful warning has laid a wager with some of his companions that he can fill me full of fright and prevent my going to Butts's."
"Now, I don't think that," replied Boring, or Bridalbin. "I know these people to the core. I had their ideas and thought their thoughts until I found that sentiment doesn't pay. That young man has probably heard some threat made against you, and he thinks he is doing the chivalrous thing to give you a warning. Chivalry! Why, I reckon that word has done more harm to this section, first and last, than the war itself."
"Or, more probable still," suggested Hotchkiss, his voice as smooth and as flexible as a snake, "he was simply trying to find out whether I propose to go to Butts's to-night. If I had some one to keep an eye on him, we might be able to procure some important information, disclosing a conspiracy against the officers of the Government. A few arrests in this neighbourhood might have a wholesome and subduing effect."
"Don't you believe it," said Bridalbin. "I know these people a great deal better than you do."
"I know them a great deal better than I care to," remarked Hotchkiss drily. "I have not a doubt that this young Tolliver was one of that marauding band of conspirators that surrounded the church recently, and endeavoured to intimidate our coloured fellow-citizens. Nor do I doubt that these same conspirators will make an effort to frighten me. I have no doubt that they will make a strong effort to run me away. But they can't do it, my friend. I feel that I have a mission here, and here I propose to stay until there is no work for me to do."
"Well, I can keep an eye on Tolliver if you think it best," Bridalbin suggested somewhat doubtfully. "I know where he lives."
"Do that, Boring," exclaimed Hotchkiss with grateful enthusiasm. "Come to the lodge about nine or half-past, and report." The "lodge" was the new name for the old school-house, and in that direction Hotchkiss turned his steps.