The Devil's Own eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 362 pages of information about The Devil's Own.

The Devil's Own eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 362 pages of information about The Devil's Own.

The road we followed appeared to be endless, and so rough that I soon climbed down from my seat, an unplaned board, uncomfortable enough under any conditions, in the swaying, bumping cart, and stumbled blindly along behind, tripping over stumps in the darkness, and wrenching my ankles painfully in deep ruts.  Progress was slow, not only because of the difficulties of the passage, but equally on account of the obstinacy of the mule.  Indeed, it required no small diplomacy on the part of the negro to induce the animal to proceed at all, and finally, despairing of the efficiency of words, he drew a club, evidently reserved for such emergencies, from the interior of the cart, and gave utterance to an ultimatum.  Following this display of force our advance became a trifle more rapid.

I endeavored to think, to plan more definitely my course upon arriving at the Beaucaire plantation, but discovered it quite impossible to concentrate my mind upon anything.  My entire attention had to be riveted on the intricacies of the road, which wound in and out among the bluffs, down one gully and up another, until I finally lost all sense of direction, and merely stumbled on after the dark outlines of the cart, through a black cave formed by the branches of over-arching trees.

It was considerably after ten o’clock when we emerged upon an open plateau, and a glimmer of stars overhead revealed to me afar off the silver thread of the great river.  Even in that dim light I could trace its winding course along the valley, and the view by daylight from this point must have been a delight to the eye.  Pete stopped the straining mule, a feat not at all difficult of accomplishment, the animal’s sides rising and falling as he wheezed for breath, and came back to where I stood, staring about at the dimly perceived objects in the foreground.

“Out dar am de Beaucaire place,” he announced, as soon as he could distinguish my presence, waving his arm to indicate the direction.  “An’ I reckon we bettah not ride no further, fer if Alick shud smell corn, he’d nat’larly raise dis whol’ neighborhood—­he’s got a powerful voice, sah.”

“Equal to his appetite no doubt.”

“Yas, sah; that’s mostly whut Alick am.”

“How far away is the house?”

“Likely ’bout a hundred yards.  Yer see dat light out yonder; well dat’s it, an’ I reckon de ladies mus’ be up yet, keepin’ de lamp burnin’.  Here’s de slave cabins ’long de edge ob de woods, but dey’s all dark.  What’s yer a goin’ fer ter do now, Massa Knox?”

I was conscious that my heart was beating rapidly, and that my mind was anything but clear.  The problem fronting me did not appear so easily solved, now that I was fairly up against it, and yet there seemed only one natural method of procedure.  I must go at my unpleasant task boldly, and in this case only the truth would serve.  I was an officer in the United States Army, and had in my pocket papers

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Project Gutenberg
The Devil's Own from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.