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Sally Dows
by
“What? Are the Dows in this vendetta?”
“No, sah. No mo’. Dey’s bin no man in de family since Miss Sally’s fader died–dat’s let de Dows out fo’ ever. De las’ shootin’ was done by Marse Jack Doomont, who crippled Marse Tom Higbee’s brudder Jo, and den skipped to Europe. Dey say he’s come back, and is lying low over at Atlanty. Dar’ll be lively times of he comes here to see Miss Sally.”
“But he may have changed his ideas while living abroad, where this sort of thing is simple murder.”
The negro shook his head grimly. “Den he wouldn’t come, sah. No, sah. He knows dat Tom Higbee’s bound to go fo’ him or leave de place, and Marse Jack wouldn’t mind settlin’ HIM too as well as his brudder, for de scores is agin’ de Doomonts yet. And Marse Jack ain’t no slouch wid a scatter gun.”
At any other time the imminence of this survival of a lawless barbarism of which he had heard so much would have impressed Courtland; now he was only interested in it on account of the inconceivable position in which it left Miss Sally. Had she anything to do with this baleful cousin’s return, or was she only to be a helpless victim of it?
A white, dazzling, and bewildering flash of lightning suddenly lit up the room, the porch, the dripping ailantus, and the flooded street beyond. It was followed presently by a crash of thunder, with what seemed to be a second fainter flash of lightning, or rather as if the first flash had suddenly ignited some inflammable substance. With the long reverberation of the thunder still shaking the house, Courtland slipped quickly out of the window and passed down to the gate.
“Did it strike anything, sah?” said the startled negro, as Courtland returned.
“Not that I can see,” said his employer shortly. “Go inside, and call Zoe and her daughter from the cabin and bring them in the hall. Stay till I come. Go!–I’ll shut the windows myself.”
“It must have struck somewhere, sah, shuah! Deh’s a pow’ful smell of sulphur right here,” said the negro as he left the room.
Courtland thought so too, but it was a kind of sulphur that he had smelled before–on the battlefield! For when the door was closed behind his overseer he took the lamp to the opposite wall and examined it carefully. There was the distinct hole made by a bullet which had missed Cato’s head at the open window by an inch.
CHAPTER VI.
In an instant Courtland had regained complete possession of himself. His distracting passion–how distracting he had never before realized–was gone! His clear sight–no longer distorted by sentiment–had come back; he saw everything in its just proportion–his duty, the plantation, the helpless freedman threatened by lawless fury; the two women–no longer his one tantalizing vision, but now only a passing detail of the work before him. He saw them through no aberrating mist of tenderness or expediency–but with the single directness of the man of action.
The shot had clearly been intended for Cato. Even if it were an act of mere personal revenge, it showed a confidence and security in the would-be assassin that betokened cooperation and an organized plan. He had availed himself of the thunderstorm, the flash and long reverberating roll of sound–an artifice not unknown to border ambush–to confuse discovery at the instant. Yet the attack might be only an isolated one; or it might be the beginning of a general raid upon the Syndicate’s freedmen. If the former he could protect Cato from its repetition by guarding him in the office until he could be conveyed to a place of safety; if the latter, he must at once collect the negroes at their quarters, and take Cato with him. He resolved upon the latter course. The quarters were half a mile from the Dows’ dwelling–which was two miles away.
He sat down and wrote a few lines to Miss Dows stating that, in view of some threatened disturbances in the town, he thought it advisable to keep the negroes in their quarters, whither he was himself going. He sent her his housekeeper and the child, as they had both better remain in a place of security until he returned to town. He gave the note to Zoe, bidding her hasten by the back garden across the fields. Then he turned to Cato.