The Death Shot Part 19

"Dats jess de way he oughter look," is the husband's response.

After which they finish their frugal meal, and once more retire to rest.

But on this second night, the terrible secret shared by them, keeps both from sleeping. Neither gets so much as a wink.

As morning dawns, they are startled by strange noises in the negro quarter. These are not the usual sounds consequent on the uprising of their fellow-slaves--a chorus of voices, in jest and jocund laughter.

On the contrary, it is a din of serious tone, with cries that tell of calamity.

When the c.o.o.n-hunter draws--back his door, and looks forth, he sees there is commotion outside; and is soon told its cause. One of his fellow-bondsmen, coming forward, says:--

"Ma.s.sr d.i.c.k am arrested by de sheriff. Dey've tuk 'im for de murder ob Ma.s.sr Charl Clancy."

The c.o.o.n-hunter rushes out, and up to the big house.

He reaches it in time to see Richard Darke set upon a horse, and conducted away from the place, with a man on each side, guarding him.

All know that he goes a prisoner.

With a sense of relief, Blue Bill hastens back to his own domicile, where lie communicates what has happened to the wife anxiously waiting.

"Phoebe, gal," he adds, in a congratulatory whisper, "dar ain't no longer so much reezun for us to hab fear. I see Sime Woodley mong de men; and dis n.i.g.g.e.r know dat he'll gub me his purtecshun, whatsomever I do. So I'se jess made up my mind to make a clean bress ob de hul ting, and tell what I heern an' see, besides deliverin' up boaf dat letter an'

picter. What's yar view ob de matter? Peak plain, and doan be noways mealy-moufed 'bout it."

"My views is den, for de tellin' ob de troof. Ole Eph Darke may flog us till dar ain't a bit o' skin left upon our bare backs. I'll take my share ob de 'sponsibility, an a full half ob de noggin'. Yes, Bill, I'se willin' to do dat. But let de troof be tole--de whole troof, an'

nuffin but de troof."

"Den it shall be did. Phoebe, you's a darlin'. Kiss me, ole gal. If need be, we'll boaf die togedder."

And their two black faces come in contact, as also their bosoms; both beating with a humanity that might shame whiter skins.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

AN UNCEREMONIOUS SEARCH.

Arrested, Richard Darke is taken to jail. This not in Natchez, but a place of less note; the Court-house town of the county, within the limits of which lie the Darke and Armstrong plantations. He is there consigned to the custody of Joe Harkness, jailer.

But few, who a.s.sisted at the arrest, accompany him to the place of imprisonment; only the Deputy, and the brace of constables.

The sheriff himself, with the others, does not leave Ephraim Darke's premises, till after having given them a thorough examination, in quest of evidence against the accused.

This duty done, without regard to the sensibilities of the owner, who follows them from room to room, now childishly crying--now frantically cursing.

Alike disregarded are his tears and oaths.

The searchers have no sympathy for him in his hour of affliction. Some even secretly rejoice at it.

Ephraim Darke is not a Southerner, _pur sang_; and, though without the slightest taint of abolitionism--indeed the very opposite--he has always been unpopular in the neighbourhood; alike detested by planter and "poor white." Many of both have been his debtors, and felt his iron hand over them, just as Archibald Armstrong.

Besides, some of these now around his house were present two days before upon Armstrong's plantation; saw his establishment broken up, his goods and chattels confiscated, his home made desolate.

Knowing by whom all this was done, with ill-concealed satisfaction, they now behold the _arcana_ of Ephraim Darke's dwelling exposed to public gaze; himself humiliated, far more than the man he made homeless.

With no more ceremony than was shown in making the arrest, do the sheriff and party explore the paternal mansion of him arrested, rudely ransacking it from cellar to garret; the outbuildings as well, even to the grounds and garden.

Their search is but poorly rewarded. All they get, likely to throw light on the matter of inquiry, is Richard Darke's double-barrelled gun, with the clothes he wore on the day fatal to Clancy. On these there is no blood; but while they are looking for it, something comes under their eyes, almost equally significant of strife.

Through the coat-skirt is a hole, ragged, and recently made. Several p.r.o.nounce it a bullet-hole; further declaring the ball to have been discharged from a rifle.

For certain, a singular discovery!

But like all the others that have been made, only serving to perplex them. It is rather in favour of the accused; giving colour to the idea, that between him and Clancy there has been a fight, with shots fired from both sides. The question is, "has it been a fair one?"

To negative this, a bit of adjunct evidence is adduced, which goes against the accused. The coat, with the perforated skirt, is _not_ the one worn by him on the day before, when out a.s.sisting in the search; while it is that he had on, the day preceding, when Clancy came not home. Ephraim Darke's domestics, on being sternly interrogated, and aside, disclose this fact; unaware how greatly their master may desire them to keep it concealed.

Still, it is not much. A man might have many reasons for changing his coat, especially for the dress of two different days. It would be nothing, but for the conjoint circ.u.mstance of the shot through the skirt. This makes it significant.

Another item of intelligence, of still more suspicious nature, is got out of the domestics, whose stern questioners give them no chance to prevaricate. Indeed, terrified, they do not try.

Their young "Ma.s.sr d.i.c.k" had on a different pair of boots the day he went out hunting, from those worn by him, when, yesterday, he went searching.

The latter are in the hands of the sheriff, but the former are missing-- cannot be found anywhere, in or about the house!

All search for them proves idle. And not strange it should; since one is in the side-pocket of Sime Woodley's surtout, the other having a like lodgment in that of Ned Heywood.

The two hunters, "prospecting" apart, found the boots thickly coated with mud, concealed under a brush pile, at the bottom of the peach orchard. Even the sheriff does not know what bulges out the coat-skirts of the two backwoodsmen.

Nor is he told there or then. Sime has an object in keeping that secret to himself and his companion; he will only reveal it, when the time comes to make it more available.

The affair of the arrest and subsequent action over, the sheriff and his party retire from the plantation of Ephraim Darke, leaving its owner in a state of frenzied bewilderment.

They go direct to Mrs Clancy's cottage; not to stay there, but as a starting point, to resume the search for the body of her son, adjourned since yester-eve.

They do not tell her of d.i.c.k Darke's arrest. She is inside her chamber--on her couch--so prostrated by the calamity already known to her, they fear referring to it.

The doctor in attendance tells them, that any further revelation concerning the sad event may prove fatal to her.

Again her neighbours, now in greater number, go off to the woods, some afoot, others on horseback. As on the day preceding, they divide into different parties, and scatter in diverse directions. Though not till after all have revisited the ensanguined spot under the cypress, and renewed their scrutiny of the stains. Darker than on the day before, they now look more like ink than blood!

The cypress knee, out of which Woodley and Heywood "gouged" the smooth-bore bullet, is also examined, its position noted. Attempts are made to draw inferences therefrom, though with but indifferent success.

True, it tells a tale; and, judging by the blood around the bullet-hole, which all of them have seen, a tragic one, though it cannot of itself give the interpretation.

A few linger around the place, now tracked and trodden hard by their going and coming feet. The larger number proceeds upon the search, in scattered parties of six or eight each, carrying it for as many miles around.

They pole and drag the creek near by, as others at a greater distance; penetrate the swamp as far as possible, or likely that a dead body might be carried for concealment. In its dim recesses they discover no body, living or dead, no trace of human being, nought save the solitude-loving heron, the snake-bird, and scaly alligator.

On this second day's quest they observe nothing new, either to throw additional light on the commission of the crime, or a.s.sist them in recovering the corpse.

It is but an unsatisfactory report to take back to the mother of the missing man. Perhaps better for her she should never receive it?