The Tobacco Tiller Part 18

Mr. Brock proved the bearer of bad news. A paragraph in a New York paper he had gotten at the Castle house, stated that in Bracken County, Kentucky, a tobacco planter had killed two negroes, and shot off both arms of a white man who he had caught sc.r.a.ping his plant beds. The name of the white man was given as Hanc.o.c.k Slemp, and the paper further stated that he was in a precarious condition. Hanc.o.c.k Slemp was no other than Mr. Doggett's brother-in-law, his sister's husband.

Mrs. Doggett was much affected by the news, but Mr. Doggett suggested that it might not be true.

"Sence the boys fooled me, I jest don't know what to believe _is_ so!"

he exclaimed. "Do you reckon hit's so, Mr. Brock?"

Mr. Brock did not know, but gave it as his opinion that it was true.

"I wished I knowed," cried Mr. Doggett, sorely puzzled as to the proper course of action. "Maybe I'd jest better go on over thar, anyway! Poor Louizy, ef hit's _so_, she's pestered might' night' to death! Jest knock me up a plateful o' victuals, Ann, and I'll throw on a clean shirt, and jerk on my Sunday clothes, and Joey, he can take me to the train. I'll jest stay a day er two, and the boys kin keep an eye on the plowin' and thengs ontel I git back."

Mrs. Doggett had made a fire in her stove, and cut a strip of bacon, before she thought to ask, "How do people travel 'thout money, Eph?"

Mr. Doggett's jaw fell. "I plumb fergot I never had nothin' left from the terbaccer! And now, what am I to do? I sorter hate to ask Mr. Castle to advance me any now, this early, on another crop that I might not git to raise."

Mr. Brock looked out of the window in a sudden strong interest in a bird in a willow on the creek's bank, so that Mr. Doggett's look of appeal was lost to him. Mr. Lindsay unfolded a worn leather pocket-book.

"How much will your 'round trip ticket come to, Uncle Eph? I guess I can fix you up."

Within twenty minutes from the time of the reception of Mr. Brock's ill tidings, Big Money was making quick application of his hoofs to the turnpike leading to the railroad station from which Mr. Doggett was to take the train.

Rain set in on the morning after Mr. Doggett's departure on his visit of consolation, and for a week, fell heavily at intervals, precluding all possibility of plowing. In the afternoon sunshine of the eighth day, Mr.

Doggett returned, and walked home from the station, his face rivalling the sun in its good cheer.

Crossing a rye field, he came suddenly upon Mr. Lindsay, tacking slats upon a strip of wire fencing,--an accommodation job, he had taken for the man for whom he had been stripping tobacco.

"I thought you had gone off for good, Uncle Eph," he greeted Mr.

Doggett, as warm, and blowing with exercise, his shoes and the bottoms of his Sunday pantaloons muddy from road splashes, Mr. Doggett seated himself on a weather-beaten "drag," lying alongside the fence.

"How's your sister's man got?"

"He wuz as well as common when I left. He brung me to the train,"

answered Mr. Doggett.

"You don't say!" Mr. Lindsay dropped his hammer. "I 'lowed he'd be dead of blood poison by now, maybe, with his arms shot off that a way."

Mr. Doggett grinned blithely. "He's all thar, Mr. Lindsay! Hain't nary bit o' him missin', so fur as I could see, from his scelp lock, clean down to his frost-bit toe-nail. Yes, sir, he's all thar. You see, he wuzn't never shot at, let alone bein' hit. Hit wuz all a made-up tale!

"Hanc.o.c.k says that the Equity men thar says that Terbaccer Company that buys all our terbaccer, jest hires some sa.s.sy, no-count fellers that hain't easy onless they're a lyin', to write made-up news. Yes, sir, them's the fellers that's a puttin' in more'n three thirds o' the killin's and barn-burnin's.

"Hanc.o.c.k, he says thar is a right smart mischief a goin' on though,--says folks' barns _has_ been burnt, yes, sir, and a good many whooped too: but some o' this is bein' done, jest like I wuz a tellin'

you t'other day, by enemies--mean fellers that jest takes advantage o'

the times to git in their private spite and meanness and lay hit on the night riders, yes, sir.

"The beeg men in the Equity don't believe in night ridin', but jest in _reasonin'_: but Hanc.o.c.k says him and them fellers that's done the sweatin' in the terbaccer raisin' and is a holdin' out ag'in the trust, they know a righteous purpose, and they hain't a goin' to 'low theirselves to be beat by some few fool terbaccer raisers that don't know enough to keep from aidin' and abettin' what's a holdin' 'em down.

"Hanc.o.c.k says him and them fellers thar thenks like him, jest aims to sp'ile the seed beds, and do a little skeerin', so the other fellers that is so shortsighted, er stubborn, er selfish, they can't see the benefit o' cuttin' out a crop, won't git to raise none."

"I reckon Hanc.o.c.k and the rest of 'em ain't a livin' very high these days," observed Mr. Lindsay.

"No, sir, they hain't," Mr. Doggett agreed. "Hanc.o.c.k and most the raisers in that County is jest got a little piece o' their own ground (farms hain't beeg thar like they are in this County) but they hain't got much else. Hanc.o.c.k never had no gla.s.s in his winders,--jest had a slidin' board, and he never had no great thengs to eat while I wuz thar.

He says him and the rest of the County has been beat down to cornbread and greens, but they are willin' to live on that, ef hit'll holp any, ontel the trust's holt on 'em is broke. Yes, sir.

"They're a goin' to have a parade some time this spreng, at Augusty, to show they're a holdin' out, and Hanc.o.c.k, he says they're a goin' to carry flags with 'Very little money, but plenty of cornbread and greens!' writ on 'em.

"Cornely, Hanc.o.c.k's girl, says she's a goin' to be in that parade ef she has to go barefooted. She's been a wearin' a pair o' Hanc.o.c.k's old shoes all winter, but they're about et into the uppers now! Hit's my belief, they're plumb right, Mr. Lindsay, a tryin' to keep the crop down this year.

"And they've convinced a heap o' others, too, one way and another, yes, sir. One man thar,--he's a goin' to be the biggest feller in the parade,--they reasoned with him both before and after they whooped him.

He's convinced, yes, sir, and don't hold no gredge, neither. He says: 'Boys, you whooped me into this theng, but I like hit so well, you'll have to whoop me out o' hit!'"

"The night rider fellers didn't give you nary skeer, did they?" Mr.

Lindsay took a wire staple from between his teeth to ask.

Mr. Doggett looked sheepishly down at the ground for a few minutes before he answered.

"The old lady--ef I wuz to tell you somethin', Mr. Lindsay," he hazarded, "would you promise ferever to keep hit from the old lady?"

After Mr. Lindsay's remark that he thought he could safely promise that, Mr. Doggett took the precautionary measure of drawing his improvised chair a little nearer.

"Hit wuz away after ten when I got to the depot thar that evenin' I went," he began, "and Hanc.o.c.k he lives five miles out, yes, sir. Hit wuz so dark I wouldn't 'a' knew my own grandmother ef I'd 'a' met her, but I got perticular diractions and 'lowed I could make out to find the way a walkin'.

"I'd got about two miles and a half out, nigh about, before I seed anybody on the road: then I heerd a trompin' and made out a gang o'

about forty fellers a ridin'. They wuzn't carryin' no beeg lights,--jest one er two lanterns wuz all--and ever' feller had a piece o' black cloth acrost the top o' his face.

"'h.e.l.lo thar, Bud!' the foremost one hollered out to me when I sorter aidged to one side the road,--'are you a goin' to raise a terbaccer crop this year?'

"I noticed some of 'em wuz a carryin' hoes and shovels, and one o' two sacks o' somethin, besides some guns, but I wuz tuck so suddent I never once thought what they wuz up to.

"'Yes, sir' I says, 'I'm a aimin' to put in a right smart o' a crop.'

"And, ef you'll believe hit, Mr. Lindsay, them words hadn't hardly left my mouth before two o' them biggest fellers jumped off their hosses, and grabbed me and tied my hands behind my back!

"'I hain't got no money, boys!' I says, thenkin' maybe they wuz a Jesse Jeemes gang.

"'We don't keer nothin' about your money,' the leader in front, says, 'you'll jest come along with us, Bud, and we'll tend to you, after we git through our work.'

"They h'isted me on behind a little feller ridin' a big hoss, and I went along with 'em. I didn't see nothin' else I could do, Mr. Lindsay.

"They kep' the beeg road, I'd jedge fer about two miles acrost the country, then all of 'em stopped by a awful beeg terbaccer bed, a layin'

sorter on a hill like.

"'Less jest seed this one,' says one of the fellers carryin' a sack.--'Jack Rout'd plant a dozen more beds, ef he knowed this one wuz sp'ilt, and we'd as well save him that trouble.'

"And, ef you'll believe hit, Mr. Lindsay, they skinned that canvas offen that thar bed, sowed hit thick with gra.s.s seed, and put the canvas back like hit wuz, before a body could ketch on to what they wuz a doin'!

"Then they rid on purty fast 'tel they'd got clean out'n the neighborhood. When they come to another beeg fine bed, the sa.s.sy little feller I wuz a ridin' behind, he says: 'Less let Bud do some diggin'

here at this bed. He's a gittin' restless, havin' nothin' to do!'

"The others all laughed, but they ondone my hands and give me a hoe and a shevel, and told me what to do. The plants wuz all a comin' up so nice,--I felt 'em when I run my hand over 'em--I jest plumb hated to tech 'em, but thar wuzn't nothin' else fer me to do, Mr. Lindsay, but jest do like they told me.