Mountain Part 29

"Don't forget those fruit trees, Tom."

While Diana was finis.h.i.+ng her first year, Tom's prosperity became too much for him. He had kept his eyes on the plump Wyandotte pullets at the Ellis Dairy, the same place that had lost a prized possum dog six months before. There was an eight-foot fence, with two feet of barbed wire at the top; and he knew that the Ellis boys had guns, and used them. But the chicken runs were behind the cow barns, and thus hidden from the house; and he had discovered an opening under the rear of the fence, where a mere trickle remained of the roystering April freshet. This gap was protected only by stakes angled inward from within the fence; and the moist ground allowed the central three to be worked up with ease.

He chose a May night, moonless and peaceful. It was almost one o'clock when he made his wet way under the fence, and followed the chicken-wire to the roosts. His fumbling fingers found the staple which held the lock chain. He pulled his hammer out of one of the "croker sacks," inserted the claw and pulled. It was hard in starting, then came easily; only the last pull resulted in a subdued and nerve-wracking screech as the metal curved out of the hard wood. He let the heated staple down quietly, and opened the door. The hens kept up a sleepy clutter; now was the time to use all his skill and tact.

He moved his hand from the wall along the pole, until it collided with the first warm feathers. His mind wandered to a memory of a night when he had seen an owl steal one of Mr. Judson's prized game hens. The thief had settled on a tree limb occupied by the hen, and gradually commenced shoving. The hen sleepily gave way. As she came to the end of the lopped-off limb, she had fallen, and the bird of prey had caught her before she reached the ground. Then Tom had fired.... Good thing n.o.body was watching him!

There was a smothered gurgle as his fingers closed around the neck.

Deftly he twisted the head until the bones gave, then slipped it into the bag. Another, and another--the fowls had increased their drowsy disturbance, but were not yet alarmed.

He got two more, then decided that he had enough. No need to be a hog about it.

He started back for the door; his knee hit a feeding trough with a sudden crack. The noise was not great; but at the same moment a voice rang out, "Come out, n.i.g.g.e.r, I've got the door covered. Come out, or I'll shoot h.e.l.l out of you."

Lordie, lordie! No use lying low; there was no other door to the henhouse, and if he waited until morning, he was caught sure.

"All right, suh, Ah's comin'."

He slid open the door a trifle; the light of a lantern lit on the ground cut its way in. "No tricks, now. Drop whatever you've got, and come out with your hands in the air--or I'll blow your head off."

"Ah ain't doin' no tricks, boss. Doan' shoot, for de Lawd's sake!"

"Come on, or----" came another voice.

He slid fearfully out, his arms raised. He stood blinking in the sudden s.h.i.+ne.

From his left two figures closed in, shotguns half raised. "Just one old n.i.g.g.e.r, Ned; we'll phone the constable and turn him over."

"Lawdie, lawdie! Doan' give me to no constable; Ah ain't done nuthin!"

"How many chickens did you get, you black----"

Tom spoke volubly. "Ah thought dis was Mr. Joneses' roos', cap'n, an' he said Ah could come in some night an'----"

"Why, I know that n.i.g.g.e.r. Didn't you bring in Mr. Judson's Jersey last month for service?"

"Yessuh, dat Ah did. Ah's a minister of de gospel, an' ef Ah's made a little mistake to-night, Ah'll swear ter Gawd never to----"

"Bring him along."

"Lawd, boss, doan' send me to jail. Dey'll give me five years. Let me go dis time.... Ah won't never----"

"Come on----"

"Ah's a minister of de gospel, suh, an' ef Ah's arrested, what will mah flock think? Ef you lets me go----"

"How many hens did you get?"

'Fo', suh; fo' or five."

"I'll give you four or five seconds to get out of here. And you leave Adamsville, do you hear me? We know you. We're too busy to waste time around the criminal court. But I warn you, get out! If I catch you around this town again, I'll have Judge Hawkes send you up for ten years. Git!"

"De Lawd will reward you, suh, for----"

He raised the shotgun suggestively. "Three seconds left. Git!"

Minus cap and bags, Tom "got"--stumbling into the brook ditch on his face, then hurrying up the stream, and running blindly through the woods to the road, and so to the mountain. He sat down at last on the crest, a st.i.tch wracking his side.

What chance did he have, with the Ellis boys after him with shotguns?

Maybe he could lie low for a while; keep on the mountain, until the shotguns' energetic memories had turned to other things. He shuffled along the outcrop, then turned in to avoid the cactus that punctuated the hillock before Locust Hedge.

Mammy Stella was waiting for him. "Get them hens?"

"Ah got h.e.l.l, Stella. Ah gotter clear out er Adamsville; dem Ellis boys done said so."

"Whar you gwine?" Her marital suspicion strengthened his resolve; a holiday from home had its advantages.

"Ah 'lowed Ah'd walk down ter Hazelton 'r Coalstock. Ah could get somethin' to do 'roun' de rollin' mill."

"What de chu'ch gonter do?"

"Brudder Adams he kin preachify tell Ah comes back."

"Why 'n' cher stay here?"

"An' git shot?"

She dismissed him, in the limp dawn, with wifely solicitude. "Don' cher be up to no tricks, Tom, or Ah 'low Ah'll pull all yer wool out when Ah git hol' of you."

"You'll see me when you see me, ole' 'ooman." And he was gone.

One warm morning in the April following, the Judsons' watchman and man-of-all-work, Peter, hesitated before his mistress, a barrow of uprooted poison-ivy poised in the grip of st.u.r.dy old hands, which were immune from the noxious irritation. "Ah done got a letter f'um Tom Cole, Miss' Mary."

"Where is he?"

"He's dead."

"You got a letter from him?"

"No'm; it was f'um de man he wu'ked for, in Coalstock. Died Chuesday las' week, de letter said. Dey buried him. Ah done tol' Stella."

"That's too bad, Peter. I'll have to speak to Stella." Her heart went out to the black woman, who had lost her husband; what if it had been Paul! She determined to turn over to the widow an old black silk that she had noticed the wrinkled eyes coveting.

The gift was lavishly appreciated.

"Thank 'ee, thank 'ee, Miss' Mary. Ah'm gwineter fix it up wid puhple--it'll make a gran' mo'nin' dress!"

"You didn't go to the funeral?"