VII.

RAMBLER, THE TRACK DOG, CONCLUDES HIS STORY.

“Where did you go when you rode the filly off?” Buster John asked Aaron.

“He came right here,” said Rambler; “I know it, because when old Grizzly whistled to me and my companions and started home, I went back, picked up the scent of the filly, and followed it here. At the lot, the Son of Ben Ali took the saddle off, hung it under the shed, and then came to this house.”

“That is so,” remarked Aaron; “an old man by the name of Abe lived here.”

“Why, I remember old Uncle Abe,” said Buster John. “He used to sit in the sun and make horse collars and baskets, and tell tales.”

“He was a great hand for that,” assented Aaron.

“I followed him here,” continued Rambler, “but found the door shut. I scratched at it and whined. The man named Abe opened it, and I came in, but I didn’t see anything of the Son of Ben Ali. But I knew he was in here. My nose told me so. I noticed some planks across the rafters—they are there yet, as you can see—and I looked up and whined. The man named Abe looked around until he found his axe. ‘So you are Gossett’s nigger dog,’ he said. ‘Well, you’ll never hunt any more niggers for him.’

“‘What is that?’ said the Son of Ben Ali from the loft.

“‘Gossett’s nigger dog,’ said the man named Abe. ‘He has followed you here. What shall I do with him?’

“‘Give him something to eat,’ answered the Son of Ben Ali, and this made me glad, for I had had a long, a hot, and a hard chase.

“‘What shall I do then?’ asked the man named Abe.

“‘Give him a drink of clean water,’ replied the Son of Ben Ali.

“‘What then?’

“‘Then let him alone.’

[Illustration: I LOOKED UP AND WHINED]

“Now, I was very glad of that,” continued Rambler, licking his chops, and keeping one eye on the sputtering pine knot that gave out a flickering light, “for I wanted bread, and I wanted water, and I wanted to lie down and rest somewhere, where I wouldn’t have to fight the flies.

“So the man named Abe went into his cupboard—that same cupboard there—and gave me a big chunk of ash cake, and placed a pan of water close by. Then he sat in the door and began to weave his baskets. I ate all he gave me, drank as much water as I wanted, and crept under a low bedstead that stood in the corner yonder.

“I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke I knew it was night, for I heard the man named Abe frying his bacon, and the smell of it crept under the bed where I was, and made me as hungry as I had been before I ate. After a while I heard voices. The Son of Ben Ali was asking the man named Abe if he would have to stay in the loft on the planks all night. The man named Abe said no, that he had a snug place for the Son of Ben Ali.

“Now, at that time there was a sort of closet or something near where the chimney juts out here. The man named Abe had nailed some planks across from the wall to the edge of the chimney, and in between the wall and the planks there was room enough for a man to stand up, or to lie down, if he lay on his side.

“After a while, when everything was quiet, the Son of Ben Ali clambered down the wall, but when he touched the floor he stumbled and fell over, groaning. The man named Abe was scared nearly to death, but it was nothing. I had been running hard, and I was stiff and sore. The Son of Ben Ali had been running hard, and he was stiff and sore. Besides, he had been lying on the planks in the loft in a cramped position, not daring to move, for fear he would be discovered, and this made the matter worse. But it was nothing, after all. The Son of Ben Ali raised himself, laughing, and limped into the closet.

“But he didn’t stay there long. He came out to stretch himself. This made the man named Abe uneasy, and then he became angry. But the Son of Ben Ali simply laughed at him. This made him still angrier, and he threatened to go to the white folk’s house—that’s what he called it—and tell them that a runaway negro had taken possession of his cabin. The man named Abe started out. I don’t know whether he would have gone if he had been let alone, but he was not let alone. The Son of Ben Ali seized him by the shoulders and jammed him down on his stool, and then stood over him. The man named Abe would have cried out, but the Son of Ben Ali placed his hand softly on the man’s mouth and spoke one word—‘Listen!’—but that was enough.

“The man named Abe quieted down at once. But he said he would be killed if the white people caught him hiding a runaway. At this, the Son of Ben Ali called me to him and said:—

“‘Go out and stand by the door there. When you hear any one coming, say so.’

“I limped out from under the bed the best I could, for I was stiff, and scratched at the door and asked to be let out. The man named Abe opened the door, and watched to see what I would do. I only went a few steps away from the door, and then sat down, turning my head in all directions and listening. When the man named Abe shut the door again, I went and sat on the steps. I heard the man ask the Son of Ben Ali if he was a witch, and the reply he got was that the Son of Ben Ali was witch enough not to be caught any more. Then the man named Abe wanted to know if the Son of Ben Ali was angry with him, and the answer he got was that the Son of Ben Ali was the friend of those who were his friends and was never angry with them.

“Well, they had their supper in there, for I could hear them chewing, and presently the man named Abe came to the door and gave me mine, the biggest half of a warm hoe-cake, and I don’t know that plain bread ever tasted better than it did right then.

“Not long after that I heard some one laughing and talking in the direction of the big house up yonder, and the sounds seemed to get nearer. I gave the warning, and I soon heard the Son of Ben Ali go into the closet. The voices came nearer, and I soon knew one for the Young Mistress, whom I had heard talking in the woods that very morning. The other seemed to be the voice of a child, but I heard thump—thump—thump—as of some one walking with a heavy cane. So I said to myself the Master is with them. But, no; it was the little boy, who walked with the crutches, as I soon saw. He was pleading with his sister to come to the house of the man named Abe and get him to tell a tale, such as he used to tell her when she was a little girl. She said she was too large for that, but the Little Master declared that he was small enough for both of them. And so they came to the door.

“The Young Mistress called out ‘Uncle Abe!’ and the man named Abe opened the door. He looked out cautiously, and with a frown on his face, as I could see; but when he found who it was he danced around, and opened the door as nimbly as if he had been a young man. I try to be polite myself, and sometimes I shake my tail pretty hard, but the man named Abe shook his whole body, he was so polite, and bowed nearly to the floor. And it wasn’t put on, neither, as I found out afterward, for every one on the place loved the Young Mistress and Little Master. These two went in, and I followed them. I wanted to see what would happen.

“After a while, in bustling around, one of them stepped on my foot. Of course this hurt my feelings, and I cried out.

“‘Poor doggie!’ said the Little Master. ‘Come here!’ He looked at me closely, and exclaimed:—

“‘Why, this is one of the Gossett track dogs! What is he doing here?’

“But the man named Abe said he didn’t know. Then the Young Mistress wondered if I was one of the dogs that had been running after a negro in the woods that morning, and she asked the man named Abe, looking at him hard, if he had seen a strange negro bring the filly home. But the man named Abe shook his head and fumbled with the splits which he wove into baskets.

“The Little Master said he had come to hear a story, one of those old stories about Brother Fox and Brother Rabbit. I thought to myself that if all the rabbits I had caught could talk, they would have more stories to tell than the Little Master had time to listen to. The man named Abe shuffled around and coughed and excused himself, but it was no use. I knew he wanted the Young Mistress and the Little Master to go away. He was uneasy about the Son of Ben Ali—afraid that they might discover the runaway. But nothing would satisfy the Little Master but a story, and so the man named Abe sat down and told him one. And then nothing would satisfy him but another story, and so they went on, until finally I fell asleep by the hearth. I could hear the story-telling going on in my dreams, and I remember I said to myself that if the man named Abe, or any other man, was as willing to work as he was to talk, a good many things would be different.

“While I was lying there dozing, I heard the Son of Ben Ali begin to snore. The Little Master heard it too, for he asked what the noise was. The man named Abe said it was the dog—meaning me—and then he went on with his story, moving his feet about on the floor and talking loud. I dozed off again, and was getting ready to go to sleep sure enough, for I was tired, when suddenly I heard a noise outside, as of two or three persons creeping around the cabin. I jumped up and ran to the door and smelt under it. The scent that came under the door was the scent of strange persons, and of white people at that. Just as I was about to cry out my discovery I got a whiff of another scent. I knew at once that George Gossett was with the strange persons, and that they were patroling the settlement searching for the Son of Ben Ali.

“I gave one whine, and ran under the bed, for I didn’t want young Grizzly to see me there.

“‘What is the matter with the dog?’ asked the Young Mistress, in some alarm.

“‘Sh-h!’ said the man named Abe, softly.

“Then some one struck the door with a cane, following it with a loud demand:—

“‘Hello, here! Open this door!’

“Peeping from under the bed, I watched to see what would happen. The man named Abe looked hard at the Young Mistress. She, rising, swung the chair behind her, leaning on it with her left hand. She lifted her right arm and waved it toward the door.

“‘Open it!’ she said.

“The man named Abe did as he was bid. He threw it open suddenly and stood behind it. Young Grizzly must have been leaning heavily against it, for he stumbled into the room and came near falling.

“‘What are you trying to do? Why you’—Then, looking up, he caught sight of the Young Mistress standing there with anger in her face. Young Grizzly took off his hat and bowed low. There were pieces of sticking-plaster on his forehead and cheek bones. He caught his breath and stammered: ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, I’—

“‘Uncle Abe,’ said the Young Mistress, ‘go to the house and tell father that Mr. Gossett—Mr. George Gossett—has called to see him on business, but has missed his way.’

“‘Not at all, Miss Rachel! Not at all! I beg ten thousand pardons! I was hunting a runaway nigger in the settlement, and I thought perhaps—maybe—I might find him here. A runaway nigger you know, Miss Rachel, is just as apt to be in one place as another.’ In this way spoke young Grizzly, as he backed out at the door, still bowing.

“‘Then, Uncle Abe, tell father that Mr. George Gossett believes one of his runaways is hid on his place, and wants to find him.’

“‘By no means, Miss Rachel—by no means! Not for the world. You know me too well not to know that I never intended any disrespect to you. Not the least bit in the world.’ So said young Grizzly.

“‘Who are your companions, sir?’ asked the Young Mistress, going toward the door.

“‘Just some of the neighbor boys, ma’am. I asked them to come with me. None of us meant the least harm, and certainly no disrespect to you.’ Thus spoke young Grizzly.

“By this time his companions had taken to their heels, and young Grizzly was quick to follow their example as soon as he got out of reach of the Young Mistress’s eyes. So said the man named Abe, and he was standing where he could see, having pretended to go after the White-haired Master. Never have I seen a white man more frightened than young Grizzly was.”

“What was he afraid of?” asked Sweetest Susan.

“Buckshot,” replied Aaron.

Rambler yawned and then continued:—

“The Little Master was even angrier than the Young Mistress, but he had said nothing. When the door was shut he struck the floor with his crutch and cried out:—

“‘Oh, I hope it is Aaron they are after, and I hope they will never get him.’

“‘Aaron is his name,’ said the man named Abe.

[Illustration: YOUNG GRIZZLY BOWED LOW]

“‘He rode my filly home to-day,’ the Young Mistress said.

“‘Did he? Did he? I’ll kiss you, sis, for that!’ So spoke the Little Master, and he was as good as his word. He hopped nearly across the floor on his crutches and smacked the Young Mistress right in the mouth.

“I was wondering whether the Son of Ben Ali was sleeping all this time, so I went and sat by the closet. I could hear the Son of Ben Ali breathing very hard, and I said to myself, if he is not asleep, he is sitting in there crying.”

Sweetest Susan looked at Aaron, and her beautiful eyes were full of tears. Aaron shook his head and smiled, and then pretended to be gazing at something in the fireplace.

“He may have been laughing,” continued Rambler, licking his foreleg, where a briar had scratched it, “but as there was nothing to laugh at, that I could see, I thought maybe he was crying. But maybe he wasn’t. I’m never certain of anything until I get my nose on it, and there was a wall between the Son of Ben Ali and me.

“The Young Mistress and the Little Master were very angry, but before they could say much a very curious thing happened. The door of the closet flew open, and the Son of Ben Ali tumbled out in a heap on the floor. The Young Mistress fell back a step or two and gave a little scream, but the Little Master stood his ground and lifted his crutch in a threatening manner. But the Son of Ben Ali simply fell out of the closet in a heap. He was still stiff and sore, and by the time he had gathered himself together the Young Mistress knew who he was, and in a moment, too, the Little Master knew him.

“‘Why, it’s Aaron!’ he cried, though nobody ever told me why any one ever called the Son of Ben Ali Aaron.

“Then he seized the Son of Ben Ali’s hand, and stood leaning against him for support, as he did many and many a day and night after, as I have seen. The Little Master’s head came no higher than the Son of Ben Ali’s shoulder, though the child was standing on his feet, and the Son of Ben Ali on his knees.

“The Young Mistress said: ‘If you stay here they will catch you, sure.’

“The Son of Ben Ali shook his head, and the man named Abe made this reply: ‘No, ma’am, they’ll not come back here in a hurry, after hearing what you said.’

“At this, they all laughed, except the Son of Ben Ali. ‘You may be certain,’ he said, ‘that I’ll not stay here where I can be seen. The Gossett negroes go hungry every day in the year, and for an extra pint of meal they would tell everything they know and more too. And I would be the last to blame them.’

“Then suddenly the Little Master spoke: ‘Can you climb a tree?’

“‘By this time I ought to know how,’ said the Son of Ben Ali.

“‘Then come, I’ll show you.’ So saying, the Little Master swung himself on his crutches and went hopping to the door as nimbly as if his legs were sound and whole. And the Young Mistress went too, and I followed.

“But by the time the Little Master had reached the door the Son of Ben Ali was out and before him.

“‘You are such a good rider, I’ll be your horse,’ said the Son of Ben Ali.

“He took the crutches, leaned them against the door, and swung the Little Master to his broad back, picking up the crutches, and sore as he was, pretended to be a horse. We went toward the big house.

“If you will notice, the stump of a big oak tree stands near the back porch. Before the tree was killed by fire, a big limb stretched to the little balcony above the porch. At least, it used to be so. The Little Master showed this tree and the limb and the balcony to the Son of Ben Ali, and told him that the big window that opened on the balcony was in his room. And he said to him:—

“‘Whenever at night you feel lonely and tired, climb these stairs and come to my room. Many a night I lie awake and count the stars, and I should like to have you there to talk to me. You may come to-night, if you will.’

“The Son of Ben Ali stood a moment after he had placed the Little Master on the steps and given him his crutches.

“‘Not to-night—not to-night, Little Master. But before long I’ll come. To-night I must go into the woods and find me a hiding-place.’

“So said the Son of Ben Ali, and then he seized the Little Master’s hand and kissed it, bowed to the Young Mistress, whistled for me, and went off into the woods humming an old tune that made me feel sorry.”

At this point Rambler tried to scratch between his shoulders, first with one hind foot and then with the other. Then he tried to bite the fleas, but he couldn’t reach them, being old and stiff; and he sat and whined so pitifully that Aaron rubbed his back with a pine knot. This seemed to give him great relief, so much so that, hearing the dogs barking in another part of the lot, he ran out at the door to join them, and soon the deep mellow sound of his voice was heard baying with the rest.

Shortly afterward the children bade Aaron good-night, and it wasn’t long before they were all in bed and sound asleep.