Part 17 (1/2)
A long, dusty road swept by the bleak wind of a November day. A boy, young man he seemed in his ragged frontier garb, trudged wearily on.
The long rifle he carried had a fancifully carved stock, once the pride of a veteran Wyandotte chief.
The lad's face was worn and thin and, by reason of long exposure, almost the colour of an Indian's. ”Four miles further to Charlottesville,” he said, and threw himself down beside the road as one exhausted. At the sound of a galloping horse he looked up with dull, sullen eyes, into which there came a flash of recognition and he cried, ”Nat, old boy!”
The horse stopped so quickly his rider narrowly escaped being unhorsed.
”What in thunder are you doing? er--shadder of old black Tom! is it you, Rodney Allison, or your ghost?”
”I feel like a ghost, Angus, and I don't think I'm heavy enough to bother Nat if we ride double back to town. How is mother and 'Omi?
and how did you come by Nat? Is the place gone? I feared Denham had the colt.”
”Never heard that ghosts could ask questions or I'd sure think ye was one. Ride double? You bet ye can, an' if thar ain't horse enough, I'll walk. Give us yer hand, thar, now I'll answer the rest o' yer questions. The folks are right smart but powerful anxious fer yer dad.
Reckon they'd lost hope o' seein' you again.”
”Father was killed in the battle at Point Pleasant.”
”Yer father killed! An' he thought you was dead. He was a good man, Rodney. Everybody'll be mighty sorry to hear that,” and then, words failing, he said no more and in silence they arrived at the Allison home. Angus led the colt to the stable while Rodney entered the house.
Mam saw him first, and for a moment she was almost a white woman. His mother fainted and his little sister ran from him in terror. But why attempt to describe that which words fail to express? Tragedies were not uncommon in the frontier homes of that day in this new land, and wives and mothers were heroines, though the great outside world never was to learn their names and Fame could not record them.
Angus with true delicacy went to his home, but later in the day called, and the two boys had a long talk.
”You haven't answered my questions, yet, Angus. I haven't felt like talking business with mother. I find poor old Th.e.l.lo sick and I don't know as Mam will ever get over her scare at sight of me.”
”Th.e.l.lo's bein' sick was why I was exercisin' the colt. I say, Rodney, old Denham mighty nigh owned the critter, and the place to boot. He'd got his thumb right on 'em when along come a feller as told him to take it off.”
”What do you mean?”
”I mean that Denham was--er--foreclosin', that's the word, when this man interfered.”
”What man? Not Mr. Jefferson?”
”No. He would, though, if he'd been round home an' known about it; but he's away most the time. No, I don't know who the man was. Yer mother may know fer he left the deed with her. Ye see, 'twas this way. I met him ridin' like the wind. His nag was all of a lather. He pulled up an' says, 'Can you tell me where the Allison home is?' I says, 'I reckon I can, it's right over thar.' He kept on an' met ol' Denham leadin' Nat out'n the stable. I dunno what was said, but I saw 'em an'
moused right along down whar they was talkin'. Yer mother had gone to the village. Well, when I got within earshot, I heard the man say, 'I've got the money right here.' Denham didn't act as though he had any use for money, which looked mighty funny. But the man, he was a masterful one, I tell ye,--”
”I'll bet Mr. Jefferson sent him. What'd he look like?”
”Oh, I dunno. He was one o' the quality, I c'd see that with half an eye. Anyhow he jes' tol' Denham to take that money an' Denham 'lowed he wouldn't. Then the man, he says, 'You'll take that money an' give me a deed o' that Allison place, free an' clear, or I'll fight ye through the courts an' I'll win.' Denham, he hemmed an' hawed, but the man wouldn't stand fer no foolin' an' Denham, he wilted. They went down to the Squire's to fix the matter up.”
”I wish I knew who he was or how I'm going to pay him.”
”Don't reckon ye got to pay him. Yer mother's got the deed fer I see him give it to her.”
”It's a debt of honour, Angus. You must help me to think up some way to make a living, and something besides, off the old place.”
”We'll figger it out certain sure, Rodney. You've got a home as no one can take away from ye if ye don't mortgage it.”
On his return to the house Rodney asked his mother about the matter.
”It's all very strange to me. The gentleman, and it was very evident that he was one, called and handed me a paper, saying, 'Madam, there is the deed to your home. I understand that leaves you free of debt. I do not wish to seem impertinent but am I correct?'”