Aaron in the Wildwoods

by Joel Chandler Harris

  "What is the noise about, Lucy?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.

  "Dat what I wanter know, Marster. It soun' ter me like dat ar hoss done got loose agin."

  Then the White-Haired Master, remembering that he had consented for Little Crotchet's "friend" to remove the Black Stallion to his new quarters, regretted that he had been so heedless. It was all his own fault, he thought, as he rose hastily and went out into the moonlight bare-headed. He called Randall and Turin, and both came running.

  "Go out to the pasture there, and see what the trouble is."

  "Yasser, yasser!" they cried, and both went rapidly toward the field. They ran until they got out of sight of their master, and then they paused to listen. They started again, but not so swiftly as before.

  "I know mighty well dat Marster don't want us ter run up dar where we might git hurted," said Turin.

  "Dat he don't!" exclaimed Randall.

  Consoled by this view of the case, which was indeed the correct one, they moved slower and slower as they came close to the pasture fence. There they stopped and listened, and while they listened the uproar came to a sudden end—to such a sudden end that Randall remarked under his breath that it was like putting out a candle. For a few brief seconds not a sound fell on the ears of the two negroes. Then they heard a faint noise of some one running through the bushes in the direction of the stillhouse.

  "Ef I could git de notion in my head dat Marster don't keer whedder we gits hurted er no," suggested Turin, "I'd mount dis fence an' go in dar an' see who been kilt an' who done got away."

  "I speck we better not go," remarked Randall, "kaze ef we wuz ter rush in dar an' git mangled, Marster'd sholy feel mighty bad, an' fer one, I don't want ter be de 'casion er makin' 'im feel bad."

  By this time Mr. Abercrombie had become impatient, and concluded to find out the cause of the uproar for himself. Randall and Turin heard him coming, and they could see that he was accompanied by some of the negroes. The two cautiously climbed the fence and went over into the field, moving slowly and holding themselves in readiness for instant flight. A cow bug, flying blindly, struck Turin on the head. He jumped as if he had heard the report of a gun, and cried out in a tone of alarm:—

  "Who flung dat rock? You better watch out. Marster comin', an' he got his hoss pistol 'long wid 'im."

  "'Twa'n't nothing but a bug," said Randall.

  "It de fust bug what ever raised a knot on my head," Turin declared.

  "What was the trouble, Randall?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie from the fence. His cool, decisive voice restored the courage of the negroes at once.

  "We des tryin' fer ter fin' out, suh. Whatsomever de racket wuz, it stop, suh, time we got here—an' it seem like we kin hear sump'n er somebody runnin' to'rds de branch over yander," replied Randall heartily.

  "Some of the mules were in the pasture to-day. See if they are safe."

  "Yasser!" responded Randall, but his tone was not so hearty. Nevertheless, he and Turin cautiously followed the line of the fence until they found the mules in the corner in which they had taken refuge. And the mules showed they were very glad to see the negroes, following them back to the point where the path crossed the fence.

  "De mules all safe an' soun', suh," explained Randall when they came to where the master was. "Dey er safe an' soun', but dey er swyeatin' mightily, suh."

  "What do you suppose the trouble was?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.

  Turin and Randall had not the least idea, but Susy's Sam declared that he heard "dat ar hoss a-squealin'!"

  "What horse?" inquired Mr. Abercrombie.

  "Dat ar Sir Moleon hoss, suh," replied Susy's Sam.

  "That's what Lucy said," remarked Mr. Abercrombie.

  "Marster, ef dat ar hoss had er been in dar, me an' Turin wouldn't er stayed in dar long, an' dese yer mules wouldn't er been stan'in' in de fence corner up yander."

  But Mr. Abercrombie shook his head. He remembered that he had given Little Crotchet permission to have the horse removed to his new quarters.

  "Some of you boys see if he is in his stable," he said.

  They all went running, and before Mr. Abercrombie could get there, though he walked fast, he met them all coming back. "He ain't dar, Marster!" they exclaimed in chorus.

  "See if he is in his new stable," said Mr. Abercrombie.

  Again they all went running, Mr. Abercrombie following more leisurely, but somewhat disturbed, nevertheless. And again they came running to meet him, crying out, "Yasser! yasser! He in dar, Marster; he sho is. He in dar an' eatin' away same like he been dar dis long time."

  "See if the key is in the lock," said Mr. Abercrombie to Randall.

  Randall ran back to the stable and presently called out:—

  "Dey ain't no key in de lock, Marster."

  Mr. Abercrombie paused as if to consider the matter, and during that pause he and Randall and Turin and Susy's Sam heard a voice saying:

  "Look on the little Master's mantelpiece!"

  The voice sounded faint and far away, but every word was clear and distinct.

  "Where did the voice come from?" asked Mr. Abercrombie.

  The negroes shook their heads. They didn't know. It might have come from the air above, or the earth beneath, or from any point of the compass.

  "Ask where the key is," said Mr. Abercrombie to Turin. His curiosity was aroused.

  Turin cried out: "Heyo, dar! Whar you say de key is?" But no reply came, not even so much as a whisper. The negroes looked at one another, and shook their heads.

  When Mr. Abercrombie went back to the house he put on his slippers and crept to Little Crotchet's room. Shading the candle he carried, the father saw that his son was fast asleep.

  And on the mantel was the key of the stable.

  * * *

  XIII.

  THE APPARITION THE FOX HUNTERS SAW.

  As the fall came on, the young men (and some of the older ones, too) began to indulge in the sport of fox hunting. They used no guns, but pursued Reynard with horse and hound in the English fashion. The foxes in that region were mostly gray, but the red ones had begun to come in, and as they came the grays began to pack up their belongings (as the saying is) and seek homes elsewhere.

  The Turner old fields, not far from the Abercrombie place, and still closer to the Swamp, were famous for their foxes—first for the grays and afterward for the reds. There seemed to be some attraction for them in these old fields. The scrub pines, growing thickly together, and not higher than a man's waist, and the brier patches scattered about, afforded a fine covert for Mr. Fox, gray or red, being shady and cool in summer time, and sheltered from the cold winter winds. And if it was fine for Mr. Fox, it was finer for the birds; for here Mrs. Partridge could lead her brood in safety out of sight of Man, and here the sparrows and smaller birds were safe from the Blue Falcon, she of the keen eye and swift wing.

  And Mr. Fox was as cunning as his nose was sharp. He knew that the bird that made its home in the Turner old fields must roost low; and what could be more convenient for Mr. Fox than that—especially at the dead hours of night when he went creeping around as noiselessly as a shadow, pretending that he wanted to whisper a secret in their ears? Indeed, that was the main reason why Mr. Fox lived in the Turner old fields, or went there at night, for he was no tree climber. And so it came to pass that when those who were fond of fox hunting wanted to indulge in that sport, they rose before dawn and went straight to the Turner old fields.

  Now, when George Gossett and his patrolling companions ceased for a time to go frolicking about the country at night, on the plea that they were looking after the safety of the plantations, they concluded that it would be good for their health and spirits to go fox hunting occasionally. Each had two or three hounds to brag on, so that when all the dogs were brought together they made a pack of more than respectable size.

  IT WAS FINE FOR MR. FOX

  One Sunday, when the fall was fairly advanced, the air being crisp and bracing and the mornings frosty, these
young men met at a church and arranged to inaugurate the fox hunting season the next morning. They were to go home, get their dogs, and meet at Gossett's, his plantation lying nearest to the Turner old fields. This programme was duly carried out. The young men stayed all night with George Gossett, ate breakfast before daybreak, and started for the Turner old fields. As they set out, a question arose whether they should go through the Abercrombie place—the nearest way—or whether they should go around by the road. The darkness of night was still over wood and field, but there was a suggestion of gray in the east. If the hunting party had been composed only of those who had been in the habit of patrolling with George Gossett, prompt choice would have been made of the public road; but young Gossett had invited an acquaintance from another settlement to join them—a gentleman who had reached the years of maturity, but who was vigorous enough to enjoy a cross-country ride to hounds.

  This gentleman had been told of the strange experience of the patrollers in Mr. Abercrombie's pasture lot. Some of the details had been suppressed. For one thing, the young men had not confessed to him how badly they had been frightened. They simply told him enough to arouse his curiosity. When, therefore, the choice of routes lay between the public road and the short cut through the Abercrombie pasture, the gentleman was eager to go by way of the pasture where his young friends had beheld the wonderful vision that had already been described. When they displayed some hesitation in the matter, he rallied them smartly on their lack of nerve, and in this way shamed them into going the nearest way. George Gossett, who had no lack of mere physical courage, consented to lead the way if the others would "keep close behind him." But none of them except the gentleman who was moved by curiosity, and who attributed the mystery of the affair to frequent visits to Mr. Fullalove's still house, had any stomach for the journey through the pasture, for not even George Gossett desired to invite a repetition of the paralyzing scenes through which they had passed on that memorable night.

  As they came to the double gates, the young man who had insisted that Timoleon was Beelzebub concluded to leave an avenue by which to escape if the necessity arose. So he rode forward, dismounted, and opened the gates. Then he made a great pretense of shutting them, but allowed them to remain open instead. This operation left him somewhat behind his companions, as he intended it should, for he had made up his mind to wheel his horse and run for it if he heard any commotion ahead of him. In that event the delay he purposely made would leave him nearest the gates.

  Seeing that the young man did not come up as quickly as he should have done, George Gossett, in whom the spirit of mischief had no long periods of repose, suggested that they touch up their horses and give their companion a scare. This suggestion was promptly acted on. The commotion his companions made caused the young man to pause a moment before putting spur to his horses to rejoin them. This delay placed several hundred yards between him and the party with Gossett. He realized this as he rode after them, but was consoled by the fact that, in the event of any trouble, he had a better opportunity to escape than they did.

  But he had hardly gone fifty yards from the double gates before he heard some sort of noise in that direction. He half turned in his saddle and looked behind him. The vague gray of the morning had become so inextricably mixed and mingled with the darkness of the night that such light as there was seemed to blur the vision rather than aid it. But when the young man turned in his saddle he saw enough to convince him that he was likely to have company in his ride after his companions.

  He hesitated a moment before urging his horse into a more rapid gait. He wanted to see what it might be that was now so vaguely outlined. He strained his eyes, but could see nothing but a black and shapeless mass, which seemed to be following him. He could see that it was moving rapidly, whatever it was, but the gray light was so dim, and gave such shadowy shape even to objects close at hand, that he found it impossible either to gratify his curiosity or satisfy his fears. So he settled himself firmly in the saddle, clapped spurs to his horse, and rode headlong after his companions. He looked around occasionally, but the black mass was always nearer. The faster his horse went, the faster came the Thing.

  THE PHANTOM HORSEMAN

  Each time he looked back his alarm rose higher, for the Thing was closer whenever he looked. At last his alarm grew to such proportions that he ceased to look back, but addressed himself entirely to the work of urging his horse to higher speed. Presently he heard quick, fierce snorts on his right, and his eye caught sight of the Thing. Its course was parallel with his own, and it was not more than twenty yards away.

  He saw enough for his alarm to rise to the height of terror. He saw something that had the head and feet of a black horse, but the body was wanting. No! There was a body, and a rider, but the rider wore a long, pale gray robe, and he was headless! If this was the Black Demon that the young man had seen in this pasture on a former occasion, he was now more terrible than ever, for he was guided by a headless rider!

  The young man would have checked his horse, but the effort was in vain. The horse had eyes. He also had seen the Thing, and had swerved away from it, but he was too frightened to pay any attention to bit or rein. The Black Thing was going faster than the frightened horse, and it soon drew away, the pale gray robe of the rider fluttering about like a fierce signal of warning. The young man's horse was soon under control, and in a few minutes he came up with his companions. He found them huddled together like so many sheep, this manœuvre having been instinctively made by the horses. The dogs, too, were acting queerly.

  The men appeared to be somewhat surprised to see their companion come galloping up to them. After riding away from the young man who had taken it upon himself to leave the double gates open, the huntsmen had concluded to wait for him when they came to the bars that opened on the public road. But the gallop of their horses had subsided into a walk when they were still some distance from that point. They were conversing about the merits of their favorite dogs when suddenly they heard from behind them the sound of a galloping horse. They saw, as the young man had seen, a dark, moving mass gradually assume the shape of a black horse, with a headless rider wearing a long, pale gray robe. The apparition was somewhat farther from them when it passed than it had been from their companion, whom, in a spirit of mischief, they had deserted; but the Black Thing threatened to come closer, for when it had gone beyond them it changed its course, described a half circle, and vanished from sight on the side of the pasture opposite to that on which it had first appeared.

  "What do you think now?" said George Gossett, speaking in a low tone to the gentleman who had been inclined to grow merry when the former experience of the patrollers was mentioned.

  "What do I think? Why, I think it's right queer if the chap we left at the double gates isn't trying to get even with us by riding around like a wild Indian and waving his saddle blanket," replied the doubting gentleman.

  "Why, man, he's riding a gray horse!" one of the others explained.

  This put another face on the matter, and the gentleman made no further remark. In fact, before anything else could be said, the young man in question came galloping up.

  "Did you fellows see It?" he inquired. But he had no need to inquire. Their attitude and the uneasy movements of their horses showed unmistakably that they had seen It. "Which way did It go?" was the next question. There was no need to make reply. The direction in which the huntsmen glanced every second showed unmistakably which way It went.

  "Let's get out of here," said the young man in the next breath. And there was no need to make even this simple proposition, for by common consent, and as by one impulse, horses and men started for the bars at a rapid trot. When the bars were taken down they were not left down. Each one was put carefully back in its proper place, for though this was but a slight barrier to interpose between themselves and the terrible Black Thing, yet it was something.

  Once in the road they felt more at ease—not because they were safer there, but because it seemed tha
t the night had suddenly trailed its dark mantle westward.

  "Did you notice," said the young man who was first to see the apparition, "that the Thing that was riding the Thing had no head?"

  "It certainly had that appearance," replied the doubtful gentleman, "but"—

  "No 'buts' nor 'ifs' about it," insisted the young man. "It came so close to me that I could 'a' put my hand on it, and I noticed particular that the Thing on the back of the Thing didn't have no sign of head, no more than my big toe has got a head."

  The exaggeration of the young man was unblushing. If the Thing had come within ten yards of him he would have fallen from his horse in a fit.

  "And what was you doing all that time?" George Gossett inquired. His tone implied a grave doubt.

  "Trying to get away from that part of the country," replied the other frankly. "It was the same hoss that got after us that night," the young man continued. "I knowed it by the blaze in his eyes and the red on the inside of his nose. Why, it looked to me like you could 'a' lit a cigar by holding it close to his eyes."

  "I know how skeery you are," said George Gossett disdainfully, "and I don't believe you took time to notice all these things."

  "Skeer'd!" exclaimed the other; "why, that ain't no name for it—no name at all. But it was my mind that was skeered and not my eyes. You can't help seeing what's right at you, can you?"

  This frankness took the edge off any criticism that George Gossett might have made, seeing which the young man gave loose reins to his invention, which was happy enough in this instance to fit the suggestions that fear had made a place for in the minds of his companions.

  But it was all the simplest thing in the world. The apparition the fox hunters saw was Aaron and the Black Stallion. The Son of Ben Ali had decided that the interval between the first faint glimpse of dawn and daylight was the most convenient time to give Timoleon his exercise, and to fit him in some sort for the vigorous work he was expected to do some day on the race track. Aaron had hit upon that particular morning to begin the training of the Black Stallion, and had selected the pasture as the training-ground. It was purely a coincidence that he rode in at the double gates behind the fox hunters, but it was such a queer one that Little Crotchet laughed until the tears came into his eyes when he heard about it.