VI.

A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS.

“As I was saying,” Rambler went on, “the scent was as plain as the nose on your face, and, although I passed it over, one of the other dogs had a hint of it and whimpered over it. This dog afterwards made a very good track dog. He had what they call a cold nose, and he was hard headed enough to hang on. But at that time he was young and foolish, and new to the business. He had no mind of his own. So I went back to the trail, picked up the scent and went along with it slowly, as if it were a tedious job to unravel it.

“What I wanted to do was to follow it until it crossed some other trail, and then pick up the new one and carry Old Grizzly away from the Son of Ben Ali. But it was impossible. No one had passed, and so we ran on after the Son of Ben Ali.

[Illustration: I WAS CLOSE TO THE RABBIT]

“The next best thing to finding some other track, I thought, was to get out of sight of Old Grizzly. I let myself out a little, the other dogs did the same, and in a few moments we had left Old Grizzly behind. Right then I did something I have never done before, and that was to try to catch a rabbit, when I was hunting a different kind of game. While we were going along, full tilt, a big fat rabbit jumped up right under my nose. I dashed after it as hard as I could go, and the other dogs came tumbling after. I was so close to the rabbit that it turned before going into the swamp. I made it turn again, and it ran into the mouth of one of my companions. The others ran up, and they had quite a fight over the rabbit, tearing it to pieces in short order. I was hungry myself, and nothing would have pleased me better than to rush in and take the rabbit away from my companions. But I didn’t have time.

“While the others were snapping and snarling I slipped into the swamp, ran across it and made a circle of a mile or more, and tried to pick up the scent again where I thought it ought to be. But it was not there. I knew then that the Son of Ben Ali had wandered about, not knowing or caring where he went so long as he kept out of the way of Old Grizzly. I made another circle, and this time I picked up the scent again. I had said to myself when I was hunting for it that I would remain silent when I found it, but I came upon it so suddenly and unexpectedly, and it was so warm and fresh, that I cried out at the top of my voice. It was foolish, but such is habit. My companions heard it, and they came to me without delay. I knew they were coming, and the best I could do was to discover quickly which way the scent led, and then take the back track, trusting to the dullness of my companions to mislead them. By the time they came up I was tripping along toward the cold end of the trail as noisily as if the Son of Ben Ali were in plain view. The others, not to be outdone, joined in the cry, and we went bolting along the back track. In this way we came up with Old Grizzly, who seemed to be much astonished to see us running headlong in the way he had just come.

“The scent grew fainter and fainter, and everything would have gone well but for one of my companions, the one that discovered the scent at the beginning of the hunt. When the scent grew colder, he began to circle around for himself, and about a half a mile away he picked it up with such a howl and a flourish that I ran up to him. It was so warm that I looked up, expecting to see the Son of Ben Ali trotting along a quarter of a mile away. But it was not so. He was not in sight.

“I joined in and took the lead, saying to myself that when we got into the woods I’d show my spotted companion a new wrinkle in trailing. When we came to the bushes I dropped back a little, seized my companion by the neck and dragged him around and shook him up in a way that surprised him and the others.

“‘What’s that for?’ he cried. ‘You’re too spotted,’ I replied. This quieted them down, but it was too late to carry out my new plans. The scent had been growing warmer and warmer, and I took it up again as a matter of duty, and the others followed in a more sober manner. We went through the woods at a pretty good pace, and I expected to see the Son of Ben Ali limping along ahead of us, ready to drop, for we had now come several miles in doubling and twisting and turning.

“But instead of seeing the Son of Ben Ali, we saw something that was more surprising. We came upon a young man and a young lady. The young man had been hunting, for he had a gun, and the young lady had been gathering wild flowers, for a negro girl with her had a basketful.”

“I know! I know!” cried Drusilla. “Dat nigger ’oman wuz my mammy. I been hear ’er tell dat many an’ many’s de time. Yes, suh! dat wuz my mammy! An’ dat ain’t all. Dat ar white man an’ dat ar white ’oman wuz yo’ all’s pa an’ ma.”

Buster John and Sweetest Susan looked at Aaron for confirmation or denial.

“That’s so,” Aaron said.

“Mammy say dey wuz courtin’,” explained Drusilla.

[Illustration: MAMMY SAY DEY WUZ COURTIN’]

Buster John seemed to be somewhat embarrassed at this information, but Sweetest Susan appeared to relish it. On the other hand, Rambler went to Aaron and said:—

“Son of Ben Ali, it would please me much if you would scrape your shoe just behind my shoulders. A colony of fleas has settled there, because they know I can reach them neither with my teeth nor with my hind feet.”

Aaron performed this service willingly, and the scraping seemed to tickle Rambler so that he raised one of his hind feet from the ground, and made believe to be scratching himself, but his foot was simply moving up and down in the air. At this the children laughed very heartily.

“Well,” said Rambler, “when we ran up on the young man and the young lady there was a great flurry. The negro girl screamed, and the young lady rushed into the arms of the young man for protection. My companions and I ran around and circled, but all trace of the Son of Ben Ali had disappeared.

“I found the warm scent of a horse, but there was no horse to be seen. I thought this very strange, so I followed it a few hundred yards, but said nothing to my companions about it. The scent led out of the woods, through a field in which the brown sedge grew high, and, in going through this, I caught the scent of the Son of Ben Ali. It was high on the sedge, and I knew by this that the horse had the Son of Ben Ali for a rider. But I said nothing to my companions. I turned away from the horse’s trail, and continued to go in a circle, until, coming to the point where the young man had entered the woods, I made some fuss over it, and thus drew my companions away from the sedge field. They came to me, but I told them it was a mistake, and in this way cooled them off, so that they were no longer as keen to find the trail of the Son of Ben Ali as they had been.

“I have told pretty much all I know about it,” continued Rambler, dodging another spark. “It happened that the young man who was out there in the woods with the young lady was the man to whom Old Grizzly had sent the Son of Ben Ali with the bale of cotton.”

“Was it really papa and mamma?” asked Buster John, turning to Aaron.

Aaron laughed and nodded his head.

“Well, they’ve never told me anything about it,” said Sweetest Susan, in an injured tone.

“Nor me either,” remarked Buster John.

“Huh!” exclaimed Drusilla, “folks don’t hafter tell dey chilluns all dey know.”

Just then a loud, but mellow voice outside cried out: “Drusilla! You Drusilla! You better answer me gal! I boun’ I’ll make you talk when I git holt er you!”

Drusilla put her head outside the door and yelled out: “Ma’am!”

“Come ’ere dis minnit, madam! Whar is you?”

“At Unk A’on’s house, mammy!”

“Tell her, Uncle Aaron says he wants to see her,” said Buster John. This Drusilla did, and presently Drusilla’s mother was heard coming along the path, breathing dire vengeance against Drusilla, and wondering what in the world Aaron wanted.

“Is that you, Jemimy?” asked Aaron. “Come in—don’t be scared.”

Jemimy came in laughing, and her smile was in queer contrast to the threats she had just made against her daughter.

“What you-all doin’ here?” she said, seeing the white children. “Unk Aaron is sho got mo’ time fer ter fool wid you dan what I got. An’ dar’s dat ol’ dog settin’ up dar big ez anybody. What you want, honey?” turning to Buster John. “Talk quick. I ain’t got no time ter th’ow way. I got ter go up yonder,” indicating the big house, “and set my mornin’s bread ter rise.” Then she turned to Aaron, “Did you call me sho’ nuff, er is deze yer chillun des runnin’ on wid der foolishness?”

Aaron nodded his head and brought out a stool for himself, giving Jemimy the chair in which he had been sitting.

“I ’clar’. I ain’t got no time fer ter be settin’ down here gwine on wid deze chillun. Time yo’ Unk A’on know much ’bout you ez what I does he won’t be settin’ down here worryin’ ’long wid you.”

Jemimy said this, laughing in an embarrassed way. She stood in awe of Aaron, but she sat down. “What you grinnin’ at, I like ter know?” she cried, turning suddenly on Drusilla, to hide her own confusion. “Whar yo’ manners?”

Aaron shook his head and Drusilla made no reply.

“Aunt Mimy,” said Buster John, “we want you to tell us about the time you went into the woods with mamma—when Uncle Aaron was a runaway, and when Mr. Gossett was running him with dogs.”

Jemimy laughed, and then she looked serious. She looked first at the children and then at Aaron. At last, her eye fell on Rambler, who had crossed the hearth and was sitting between Aaron and the chimney-jamb.

“Ef I ain’t mighty much mistaken,” said Jemimy, “dat ar very dog dar is one er de dogs what wuz runnin’ atter you.” Aaron nodded his head. “He gittin’ ol’, mon. Why, dat ar dog ain’t fur frum twenty year ol’.” Jemimy paused, but nobody said anything. Finally she went on:

“I never is ter fergit dat day, ef I wuz ter live ter be older dan ol’ man Methusalem. I speck I wuz ’bout fourteen year ol’, an’ Miss Rachel, she wuz ’bout eighteen or nineteen—some’rs ’long in dar. Soon one mornin’ she sont me out ter tell ol’ Unk Aberham fer ter saddle de pacin’ filly. She low she gwineter go out in de woods atter some wil’ flowers, an’ she says she want me ter go ’long wid ’er. So dey done saddle de filly, en put Miss Rachel on ’er, an’ den Miss Rachel, she rid up side de fence an’ tuck me on behine ’er, bein’s ez de filly done been trained to tote double. I had er basket on my arm, an’ dat ar basket sholy did worry dat hoss. She danced an’ she pranced, an’ twuz e’en’bout all I could do ter set up dar, her back wuz so slick.

“But bimeby de filly done git usen ter de basket, an’ atter dat I ax Miss Rachel whar she gwine. She say she gwine atter some wil’ flowers. I ax her wharbouts. I ’low’d dey wuz plenty right whar we wuz at. She up ’n say dey want ’nuff ter suit her. We rid on an’ rid on, an’ bimeby I say, ‘Miss Rache, you know you ain’t gwine atter no flowers.’ She ax me wharbouts she gwine den. I say, ‘You er gwine over yon’er in de big woods.’ She ax what she gwine over dar for. I say”—

Here Jemimy straightened herself up and looked at Aaron curiously.

“I ’clar ter gracious, I oughtn’t ter be tellin’ dis ’fo’ deze yer chillun,” she said.

Aaron made no reply one way or another, but seemed to be surprised, and the children protested loudly.

“You’ll run right straight an’ tell Miss Rachel!” exclaimed Jemimy, as indignantly as if the children had already told their mother.

“Why, mamma knows it already—if it’s true,” said Buster John scornfully.

“She’d run me off’n de place ef she know’d I wuz runnin’ on ’bout ol’ times right here ’fo’ you all. La! niggers is fools, mo’ speshually when dey er wimmen folks.”

“I reckon she’s about right,” said Rambler, yawning and stretching himself.

“What kinder cu’us fuss is dat dog makin’?” asked Jemimy, seeing Aaron and the children laughing. “I ain’t never see no dog make fuss like dat. You all better watch dat dog. He so ol’, dey ain’t no tellin’ when he’ll go ravin’.”

“You told mamma she was going to the big woods,” said Buster John, by way of a reminder.

“She wa’n’t yo’ ma den!” remarked Jemimy. “I say, ‘You ain’t gwine atter no flowers. You er gwine over yon’er in de big woods.’ She ax me what she gwine over dar fer. I say, ‘You er gwine dar kaze you speck you’ll strike up wid dat ar Dave Henry Wyche.’ Man, suh! She blush up twel it look like you kin see plum thoo her ears, dey got so red. Atter while she ax me who tol’ me dat, an’ I say, ‘How come my eyeballs ain’t big nuff fer me ter tell myse’f?’

“We rid ’long, an’ rid ’long, an’ den bimeby she low dat Mr. Wyche des ez good ez anybody else, ef he ain’t got ez much prop’ty ez some er de res’. I say, ‘I ain’t’ sputin’ dat, but how come you call ’im Mr. Wyche now, when you been callin’ ’im Dave Henry yever since he toted yo’ school bucket when you wa’n’t knee-high to a goslin’?’ Den she say it’s kaze dey done got older dan what dey useter wuz.

“We rid on, an’ rid on, an’ bimeby we come ter whar de big poplar grows dar in de woods. Right dar she w’o’d de filly, an’ tol’ me ter jump down, kaze right dar whar she gwine ter git some wil’ flowers. I hilt de hoss, I did, an’ she lipt down same ez a bird off’n de bush, an’ den she tuck de basket an’ went sa’nterin’ ’roun’.

“I ’low, ‘Ef you gwine ter git any flowers right roun’ here, you’ll hafter dig in de groun’ atter ’em,’ an’ she say I better be ’tendin’ ter my business, an’ hol’ dat ar filly so she won’t break loose an’ run away. Well, dat sorter brung me ’roun’, kaze I skeerd er hosses anyhow, but I hilt on ter de bridle reins, an’ I kep’ one eye on Miss Rachel, an’ de udder one on de filly. Miss Rachel, she went on thoo’ de woods, sorter hummin’ one er dem ar ol’ time chunes, an’ I foller’d ’long atter de bes’ way I could, kaze I skeer’d dat ar filly gwine ter walk up behine me an’ tromple me. Bimeby, I see somebody gwine ’long thoo de woods wid a gun. I look right good, an’ den I know’d ’twuz Marse Dave Henry Wyche.

“Well suh! you dunner how quare folks is. Miss Rachel she seed ’im ’mos’ time I did, an’ den she stopped and fetched a little squall, des like she didn’t know all de time he wuz gwine ter be dar, an’ den Marse Dave Henry, he stopped like he wuz ’stonished, an’ tuck off his hat like he ain’t seed Miss Rachel in a mont’ er Sundays. Den dey shuck han’s an’ stood dar an’ talked an’ talked. I dunner what dey say, but one time Marse Dave Henry would laugh, an’ look down at his foots, an’ den Miss Rachel, she’d snicker an’ blush. Dey wuz gwine on dat way when I feel de filly pullin’ on de reins, an’ den when I look at ’er, she had her ears sot forrerd, like she wuz lis’nin’ at sump’n. Den I hear houn’s a-bayin’, an’ des ’bout dat time I hear de bushes shakin’, an’ somebody come chargin’ ’long hard ez he kin come.

“Dis make de filly jerk back and r’ar, but I swung on ter de bridle rein, an’ holler w’oa, an’ den, bimeby, she w’oad. Well, suh, dat ar somebody chargin’ ’long wuz yo’ Unk A’on dar. De dogs was a-gainin’ on ’im eve’y jump. He seed Miss Rachel an’ Marse Dave Henry stan’in’ dar, an’ he went up ter whar dey wuz, an’ say: ‘You see what I git fer tellin’ you las’ night.’ Marse Dave Henry ’low, ‘I wish ter God I could help you!’ Miss Rachel riz on her tiptoes, an’ stretch out her han’ an’ say, ‘Take dat filly dar an’ ride her home fer me!’ She looked lots bigger dan what Marse Dave Henry did. I tell you now, when you git de Abercrombie blood stirred up you better go off som’rs twel it cool off.

“Well, Unk A’on dar, he fetched a jump er two an’ jerked de reins out’n my han’, an’ lipt on de filly’s back—behine de side-saddle, now, mind you—an’ hit her wid his heels a time er two, an’ wuz done gone ’fo’ I could git up offin’ de groun’ whar I fell at. Den Marse Dave Henry flung his gun ’cross his lef’ arm an’ put some fresh caps on it, an’ dar he hilt it.

“Bimeby, here come de dogs. Dey sailed ’roun’, an’ sailed ’roun’, but dey couldn’t go no fudder. Den here come dat ol’ Mr. Gossett. I hope he’ll go ter heaven, but I never shill b’lieve it twel I see ’im dar. He come a-follerin’ long atter de dogs. He rid up an’ tuck off his hat when he see Miss Rachel. But na’er one un um do like dey know he’s a-livin’. Miss Rachel she look at Marse Dave Henry, an’ Marse Dave Henry, he look right straight at ol’ Mr. Gossett. He sot dar on his hoss an’ look at um, an’ thump de pummel er his saddle like he studyin’ ’bout sump’n ’way off yon’er—an’ den he spied me. He lif’ his hat agin, like he tellin’ um good-by, an’ den he rid up by me. He say, ‘Gal, is you seed any nigger man runnin’ ’long by here?’ I look at Miss Rachel, an’ she drapt her eyeleds. I say, ‘Yasser.’ He say, ‘Which away wuz he gwine?’ I look at Miss Rachel, an’ she thow her eyes over ter de lef’, an’ I pint dat way an’ ’low, ‘Cross yon’er.’ He sot dar, dat ar white man did, an’ look at me n’ thump de pummel er his saddle, en den he broke out in a big laugh an’ rid on. I tell you now, ol’ Nick wa’n’t no sharper dan dat ar white man.

“Marse Dave Henry made a motion like he wuz gwine ter foller on atter ol’ Mr. Gossett, but Miss Rachel, she laid her han’ on his arm, an’ den we all walked back home. De las’ word I say ter Miss Rachel—an’ she’ll tell you so herse’f—wuz, ‘I tol’ you you wa’n’t huntin’ no flowers;’ an’ she ’low, ‘How kin anybody hunt flowers when de woods is full er runaway niggers an’ dogs?’ an’ I say, ‘You ain’t call de name er all what de woods wuz full uv;’ an’ she ’low ef I don’t hush up, she’ll be mad wid me all de balance er de week, an’ den I hushed up.”

Jemimy paused, looked all around, and then turned to the children:—

“Don’t you dast ter tell yo’ ma dat I been gwine on wid all dish yer ol’ time foolishness, kaze ef you do, she’ll take me out’n de kitchen an’ sen’ me ter de cotton patch, an’ I’m doin’ mighty well whar I is.”

Then, after telling Drusilla not to be sitting up all night, she went out.